Cauldstane (26 page)

‘Aye, but you’ll never get rid of her smell.’

‘Smell?’

‘Can you not smell her sickly perfume? It’s suffocating. Like something’s rotting.’

‘No, I can’t smell anything. But the air is very stale in here. Who knows, maybe if you get rid of all her stuff—’

‘You’ve been talking to Sholto.’

‘Yes. He summoned me. You know he did. And he gave me the sack. I imagine that was your idea. Give up on Cauldstane and give up on Sholto’s book.’

‘You know why I want to get you away from here.’

‘Yes, I do, but I have a contract with my employer over which you have no control and he agreed to give me a week’s grace in which we will finish our interviews, after which, if he still wants me to leave, I’ll go back to London and complete the book. It’s up to Sholto whether he wants to seek publication. I shall encourage him to do so because I think it’s going to be a damn good book, though I say so myself. I think there’s every chance it could make him some money.’ Alec said nothing and I got to my feet. ‘One week, Alec. You surely can’t begrudge me that?’

‘It’s not a question of begrudging, Jenny, it’s about your personal safety
. Meredith won’t baulk at murder.’

‘
Believe me, Alec, I
know
.’

I could have told him then. Perhaps I should have, but looking into his dark and
, yes, haunted eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t bring myself to hurt that poor man any more. Instead, I said, ‘Why don’t you explain? Tell Sholto exactly why you want me out. I think you’ll find he’s got an open mind about these things. Why give up on Cauldstane before you’ve even tried to evict Meredith? Before you’ve exhausted all the commercial possibilities for the place?’

Hi
s mouth twisted into a smile. ‘Aye, Ferg told me about your wee money-making schemes.’

‘Some of them aren’t schemes.
I’ve suggested the sale of some valuable assets. I didn’t even tell Sholto about one of the things I’ve found because I didn’t want to get his hopes up. I could be very wrong. But I have a contact at Sotheby’s who’s desperate to come and find out.’

Alec couldn’t disguise his interest.
He folded his arms and leaned against the door frame. ‘What d’you think you’ve found?’

‘
Well, there’s an unsigned portrait in your lumber room that’s either a long lost Raeburn or a copy of it.’

‘Raeburn? You mean Henry Raeburn?’

‘The same.’

‘But if it’s not signed—’

‘Raeburn didn’t sign. I sent a photo of the portrait to my friend at Sotheby’s and he said it conforms in size and appearance to a portrait that was lost in the 1930s. It’s always been assumed the portrait was destroyed. But there are photographs of it, so we know what it looked like. And I think it’s in your lumber room.’

Alec shrugged. ‘It’s probably a copy.’

‘Unlikely. It’s an early work and not his greatest.’

‘Maybe someone copied it, hoping to pass it off as the lost portrait?’

‘Since the 1930s?’

‘I wouldn’t put anything past Uncle Torquil and his
impecunious bohemian pals.’

‘Well, i
t should be simple enough to establish whether or not the painting is twentieth-century or eighteenth. But you’d need to send it to Sotheby’s in Edinburgh or get them to come up here.’

‘You say you didn’t tell Sholto about this?’

‘No. But I did tell him about some other pictures. The MacNabs might not have two ha’pennies to rub together, but in other respects, you could be sitting on a smallish gold mine. I also told him the business potential here is enormous.’

‘As is the potential for injury or even loss of life.
I want my family – and you, Jenny –
out
. And I’m going to make it happen. We need to start over and put all this,’ he said, gazing round the room at Meredith’s possessions with obvious distaste, ‘behind us. We have to move on.’

‘I agree, but I don’t think you have to move out. I think we could stand up to her.’

‘We?’

‘You. The MacNabs. As a family. I think if you clear out all her stuff, including that damn harpsichord – one
like that reached £100,000 at auction recently, by the way – if you get a priest in to bless the castle and do whatever it is they do to banish evil spirits, you could all have a fresh start
here
.’

He shook his head. ‘Will you never give up?’

‘No, probably not.’

‘Stop trying to save us, Jenny.
’

‘Why should I? Isn’t that exactly what
you’re
trying to do? Save the MacNabs – and me – from Meredith? But why must you bear all this
alone
? I could help you! Or if I can’t, I can at least help you share the burden.’

‘Why? Why would you want to do such a thing? Put your own life in danger for a family that isn’t even your
s?’

‘Becau
se you’ve suffered enough! And… and it isn’t fair. It’s wrong! And
you’re
wrong.’

‘What d’you mean, wrong?’

‘It’s wrong that you… that you should have suffered your whole life. That you should have to give up everything, just to be free.’

‘Och, I’ll never be free! Don’t delude yourself, Jenny. Even if Meredith decides to let me go, I’ll never be free of the anger. Or the hatred. But I’ll make sure she harms no one else. And she’ll take nothing more from me.’

‘
Please
let me help!’

‘For Christ’s
sake, Jenny, why should I let you put yourself in harm’s way?’

‘Isn’t it
bloody obvious? Because I’d rather suffer
with
you than walk away. Because… because I think I might be in love with you. And I can tell you now because, thanks to you, I’ve been told I have to go.’

‘Thanks to
Meredith
,’ he said softly, looking down at the floor, so I couldn’t see the expression on his face.

B
y now I was in so deep, I didn’t care what I said. I didn’t care about anything, I just wanted Alec to understand and it gave me some small satisfaction to make my declaration beneath a portrait of the woman who’d ruined lives and taken them, in the name of love for MacNab men. Oh, I said far too much to retain a shred of dignity or self-respect, but what I said was from the heart. A broken heart.

‘
Look, Alec, I don’t want to leave. I was horrified when Sholto said he was shelving the book, but the main reason I was so upset – and I didn’t realise until he said it – was that I didn’t want to leave
you
. I’d thought maybe you felt the same way. Some of the things you said that night when Meredith was hurling things round my room… and the way you kissed me, not just that night, but later… Well, if I misunderstood, I don’t think I’m entirely to blame. You led me to believe the main reason I was in danger was Meredith’s sexual jealousy. You actually said what put me in danger was how you felt about me. Are you now saying I got that wrong?’ He was silent for a long time. ‘Please answer, Alec.’

‘Yes
. You got that wrong.’

‘But you risked your life for me in the river!’

‘Anyone would have done the same. Ferg would have done it if I hadn’t.’

‘But
until Meredith made it clear she was prepared to kill me, you showed every sign of wanting a relationship with me. But it didn’t happen. You
changed
. I wondered if you were trying to fool Meredith into thinking you no longer cared for me. You certainly convinced me!’ He said nothing and I suddenly felt foolish. ‘I’m sorry if I misunderstood.’

‘Don’t be. You’ve nothing to be sorry for. I h
ave the highest regard for you and all you’ve done for my father. But if that’s how you feel about me… I think it best you leave, Jenny. As soon as you can.’

‘Yes, of course. I’ll shut up about saving Ca
uldstane, but if you don’t mind, I’ll give Sholto all the information I’ve gathered. About the paintings and so on. It would be on my conscience if I didn’t explain to him… give him every opportunity to—’

My voice dwindled into tearful silence
. I sensed a movement from Alec at the door, a movement he curbed. I looked up, but couldn’t quite bring myself to meet his eyes. ‘I think Sholto’s grown quite fond of me. He said he’ll miss me. Wasn’t that sweet? I’ll certainly miss him.’ I sniffed heartily. ‘I’ll miss all of you. Another reason I should go soon, I suppose. It’s not going to get any easier to make the break. And in any case…’ I managed a humourless little laugh. ‘How can I stay now, after – well, after my stupid declaration?’ I bowed my head and put my hand over my eyes. ‘God, I’ve behaved like a lovesick schoolgirl. I’m so sorry.’

‘No,’ Alec said, so softly I almost didn’t catch the word. ‘There’s nothing…’

If he completed the sentence I didn’t hear. I was bending down to pick up my notebook and pen when I realised the incriminating journal was still lying at my feet. I had a choice and really only a split second in which to make it. The journal could sit there like an unexploded bomb, until someone detonated it by reading the contents. Or I could take it with me, back to my room, which would at least give me more time to work out what was the best thing to do with it.

Stop trying to rescue them, Jenny
. I heard myself say that, quite clearly, in my head. Then I glanced up at Alec. He wasn’t looking at me, but standing in the doorway, to one side, to let me pass. He looked as if he’d just been given very bad news. Actually, he looked broken. But perhaps it was acute embarrassment.

I ignored my
sound advice to myself, picked up Meredith’s journal and hid it under my notebook. I hugged both of them to my chest and, head down, walked over to the door. Alec didn’t move aside, didn’t move at all and, as I squeezed past him, my arm brushed his. My legs almost gave way, but I kept walking – across the landing, down the stairs, back to my room, where I flung my notebook and Meredith’s journal on to my desk, then I lay down on the bed and allowed the tears to come.

A
few moments later, I heard Alec come thundering down the stairs. When he got to my landing, his footsteps faltered. I stopped crying, stopped breathing. (I’m not proud of the pathetic hope I cherished in those few agonizing seconds.) I heard his door, opposite mine, open, then slam shut. After that there was silence.

I lay on my bed, calmer now
. Or perhaps I was just numb. I strained my ears to catch any sound coming from Alec’s room, but all I could hear was the distant sound of the River Spey, the river that would have claimed my life, were it not for the heroic actions of the man across the corridor, who apparently felt nothing for me.

~

Later – much later – I rang Rupert and told him God would not be needed at Cauldstane and neither would he. When pressed for details, I reminded him about my confidentiality clause and simply said my work was almost done. I would be driving back to London in a few days. I asked if I could break my journey in Newcastle and pick up my houseplants, then I got off the phone quickly, to avoid any more questions.

I don’t remember
a great deal about my last few days at Cauldstane. I did my best not to mope. If I wasn’t very good company, I was at least professionally detached. Everyone talked about me coming back some time soon. Everyone except Alec, of course.

The
MacNabs were so kind. Fergus gave me a book about red kites and Zelda had made me a needlepoint case for my phone. Sholto invited me to choose a souvenir from one of his expeditions and I selected a favourite photograph of him taken in Antarctica. (“Ah,
that
one was taken just before I fell into a crevasse”, he announced cheerfully.) He signed it, scrawling my name and his across the desolate snowy waste.

Wilma sent me away with a
fruit cake redolent of whisky which I resolved to offload at Rupert’s. I’d put on several pounds at Cauldstane. When Wilma described me as looking “bonny” (a Highland euphemism for “chubby”, I suspect), I decided the time had come to cut down. After my last disastrous conversation with Alec, I found I didn’t have much appetite anyway, even for Wilma’s baking, so I assumed the pounds would come off as easily as they’d gone on.

I wasn’t expect
ing anything from Alec and we didn’t say a private goodbye. There were hugs and a few tears on my final day, but from Alec there was only a firm handshake. I could tell Wilma was shocked.

What she
didn’t know – I presume nobody knew, and I didn’t find out until I unpacked my case in London – was that Alec had placed a small replica of the Cauldstane claymore, wrapped in soft cloth, in one of the outside zip-up pockets of my suitcase. I examined the blade for the mark of the red kite and I found it. He’d made it himself and probably intended me to use it as a paper knife. There was a small scrap of paper wrapped up with the cloth. Written on it were the words,
Take care. Alec.

I smo
othed out the creases and put the paper, together with Sholto’s photo, inside the bird book. I placed the little sword on my mantelpiece. Most days, I would pick it up at some point and stroke the blade, remembering the time I’d held the real thing; how heavy it had been; how brave it had made me feel. I remembered Alec and his smiling grey eyes, how tall and strong he’d seemed standing beside me, handling the claymore so easily. Then, when I could stand the pain no longer, I would put the little sword back on the mantelpiece and try to settle down to work.