by V Clifford
He laughed, but Viv knew just how concerned he would be if he had to find someone else. Before Viv he’d had so many bad haircuts, always too short, always making his head look like a pea on a mountain. He was a big bloke and Viv was the first to give him permission to have longer hair, proportionate to the rest of him. It seemed as if every one else had judged what he, a surgeon, should look like. For Viv ‘should’ was shit, and was usually the loud voice of an over-bearing super-ego. It would be a great loss for Edinburgh if he went. He was one of the best neurosurgeons of his generation, but more than that, his ebullient personality had been an asset to the fundraisers. She blasted his hair dry using her fingers instead of a brush and once it was done she tucked her dryer into her kit bag. He stood and headed into the hall to check in the mirror.
‘Great, Viv. As ever. What would I do without you?’
‘Oh, you’d find someone. You just have to be more assertive.’
It was ironic that a man with so much power was terrified of anyone wielding a pair of scissors. She had seen a photograph of him with one of the disastrous cuts, and could see why he’d never want that to happen again.
‘Communication. You must be excellent at communicating with your patients otherwise you wouldn’t be so popular. So you’ll just have to imagine you are talking to a patient.’
‘Whoah! I haven’t accepted yet. It’s still in the very early stages. And it really isn’t common knowledge.’
‘Your secret is safe with me. It’d be a pity for Edinburgh if you were tempted away.’
‘I like the way you generalise. Edinburgh would miss me, but you wouldn’t.’
They had never discussed his veering off track. Viv had made herself so clear at the time that it had never been brought up again. Viv busied herself disposing of the hair and emptying the water spray. Ralph sat on an old church pew that had found a new life at his kitchen table and took out his Filofax. Security was another appointment with Viv in the diary.
Chapter Eighteen
Back in her car Viv checked her mobile and picked up an odd message from Lynn asking her to ring as soon as possible.
While Viv waited to be connected, she ran through the possible reasons for the call, first of which was what she had done with Lynn’s hair. ‘Hi, Lynn, it’s Viv. What’s up?’
‘Oh, Viv. I’m sorry to bother you. You know I wouldn’t have called if I didn’t really think it was necessary. Have you seen the papers? The article on Thurza?’
‘Well, I did see something about the stone going missing but then it wasn’t missing at all. What’s wrong?’
‘The night of the party, when all hell was let loose about that bloody stone, Thurza pointed the finger at my Martin. He didn’t know anything about it but that didn’t stop the police from giving him a going over.’
‘What do you mean “a going over”? Was he hurt?’
‘He says no but he’s in such a rage about it. She humiliated him in front of hundreds of guests, and he was only there to do her a favour, helping with the cars.’
‘Hold on. Are you saying that Thurza said it was Martin who stole the stone when it was actually her?’
‘Yes. The bitch. After all we’ve done for her . . . and to save her neck.’
‘I’m not sure what you mean by that but . . . what made you ring me? What can I do?’
‘Well Thurza has to apologise to Martin. He’s totally humiliated but his mates . . . ’
‘Go on . . . his mates?’
‘Well, his mates are threatening revenge. They’re saying that because she’s a toff she thinks she can get away with anything. If Thurza would apologise . . . ’
‘Have you spoken to her about this?’
‘Sure I have. But she said she didn’t mean anything by it and that he shouldn’t be so touchy. You can imagine how that went down. Martin is a nice boy but he’s embarrassed and angry. She’s known him since he was a baby. How could she do that?’ Lynn’s voice cracked, and Viv said hastily, ‘Lynn. I’m still not sure what I can do.’
‘Speak to her, Viv. Try to make her see that there’s an easy solution to this. Martin isn’t threatening her but his mates are and I’m not responsible for them. One or two of them are really . . . bored and looking for excitement. They could do something daft, crazy even . . . and I’m not sure what I’ll do myself.’
Viv heard a different tone in those last words. ‘Don’t do anything stupid, Lynn, she’s not worth it.’
‘You can say that again.’
Viv sighed. ‘Okay. I’ll give her a call.’
‘No, don’t do that. Could you drop in? Convince her that . . . oh God knows. She’s so stubborn. And I can see her getting all high and mighty, but something has to come from her and soon.’
‘I’ll think about it and ring you back.’
Viv could see Lynn’s point. To head this off at the pass was definitely the sensible thing to do but she sensed there was more to Lynn’s anger than Martin’s humiliation. Martin was a nice boy and she could imagine how he must have felt being accused of theft in front of Scotland’s great and good. What could have possessed Thurza to do such a thing? Maybe what Viv had to do was speak to Martin’s chums. She started the engine, and with a bit of effort managed a u-turn and headed towards the Forth Bridges.
Thurza wasn’t a bad woman. At times misguided, but this episode seemed out of character. Before she reached Newhall she pulled into a lay-by and took out her phone. With her finger hovering over Thurza’s number, Viv glanced up and spotted Thurza’s four by four racing in her direction. There was no doubting that she was over the speed limit. The crazed look on Thurza’s face as she passed, bawling into her mobile phone, made Viv alarmed.
But before Viv had the chance to give chase she heard the screech of rubber on tarmac. In her rearview mirror Viv saw the Range Rover shudder into silence in the middle of the road, about a hundred yards from where Viv was parked. Thurza made no attempt to get out or start up again. Viv’s belly contracted at the thought of what might be under the wheels but she jumped out of the Rav and jogged towards the enormous four by four. Thurza was slumped over the wheel. Viv opened the door and Thurza struck out with her elbow, narrowly missing Viv’s face.
‘It’s okay, Thurza, it’s Viv.’
The tracks of mascara on Thurza’s swollen and bloody cheeks shocked Viv into action. She rubbed Thurza’s arm, gently coaxing her out of the car. ‘Come on, let’s get you home.’ Like a rag doll Thurza flopped out of the driver’s seat and Viv led her round to the passenger door. Once Viv had her clipped in she took a look beneath the wheels and at the pavement on either side of the narrow road but saw nothing untoward. She jumped in, turned the Range Rover around, and headed back to Newhall. Thurza sobbed into her hands without uttering a word. There was a back entrance through the old stable block, which was now used to house garden machinery, and was a no go area for the public, so Viv parked in the courtyard and checked for stray visitors before leading Thurza upstairs to the kitchen. Thurza heaved a sigh and dropped into a chair at the table while Viv automatically put the kettle on the stove. After a few minutes Thurza’s sobs subsided and Viv said, ‘Who did it?’
Silence.
‘Come on. You didn’t do that to your own face, so who did?’
Silence.
Thurza took out a huge pink spotted handkerchief and tentatively dabbed at her face before lifting her head to look at Viv. ‘How come you were in Queensferry?’
‘On a job.’ Which was kind of true.
As if she was beginning to wake up Thurza shook her head.
‘God! I’m losing it. I’ve done the most awful thing.’ As if the whole world didn’t know about it, Thurza continued. ‘The night of the ball I did the most ridiculous thing.’
Viv remained quietly at the stove filling a teapot, allowing the story space to emerge.
‘The thing is I had no reason to do it. I had no reason to take the stone off the dress and put it in the safe. There were guards. It was per
fectly secure where it was. But I got it into my head that someone would steal it and I decided I’d double cross them . . . it didn’t work out like that but in the process of trying I’ve let myself down badly.’ She covered her face with her hands and drew in a huge breath. Then turning to look at Viv, she continued. ‘I tore a strip off Martin. Lovely, shy, insecure Martin who will never look me in the eye again. All in an attempt to save my own skin.’ She started sobbing again and Viv brought two mugs of tea to the table.
‘The way I see it . . .’ Viv paused until she was sure she had Thurza’s attention, ‘it wouldn’t take much on your part to mend your relationship with Martin. But he’s not responsible for doing that to your face . . . Was there anyone specific that you thought might harm the dress?’
Thurza ignored Viv’s questions and looked directly at her. ‘And how might I do that? I’ve known Martin since he was born. He’s always been a lovely sensitive kid. Oh God, why him? What was I thinking? Lynn will never forgive me either.’
Viv, resigned that she might never get any answers, said, ‘If you apologise, sincerely apologise, then it would surely be up to them. The ball would be in their court . . . Perhaps offering him some work would help. It would be a sign that you do actually trust him.’
‘Toddy is going mad . . . It’s not the first time I’ve made things difficult with . . . ’
Viv nodded. She was aware of Toddy’s temper but needed to hear that this was actually him. But Thurza wasn’t ready to tell.
‘With Martin and Lynn?’
‘No, not them, but with . . . oh, never mind. But you’re right. I do have to apologise. I’m sure Lynn won’t answer her door if she knows it’s me but I’ll give it another go.’ She stood and looked at her reflection in the microwave door.
‘Holy shit. Do I look awful or what?’ Hints of mid-atlantic surfaced through years of clipped vowels and consonants, proof if ever it was needed that you can take the woman out of the USA but you can’t take the USA out of the woman. Viv’s recollection of the last time that Thurza was in Toddy’s bad books made her blood boil. Then a snippet of conversation with Isla, one of Thurza’s daily helpers, came back to Viv. Something to do with a gamekeeper, but it was before her or Viv’s time. Viv took a deep breath. ‘Look, Thurza, is there anything you’d like me to do?’
Thurza caught Viv’s enquiring look, but glanced away. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean . . . ’
Viv persisted. ‘I’m not worried about what you meant. I just think that you don’t need to put up with this kind of thing.’ She pointed at the swollen cut cheek. ‘Lynn and Martin are the least of your worries . . . Look, I shouldn’t even be here.’ Viv shook her head and let go of a deep breath, poured the remains of her tea down the sink and walked toward the kitchen door. She stopped with her hand poised on the knob. ‘I’m guessing that there’s something else going on, T, that you’re not talking about.’
‘You won’t tell anyone . . . ?’
‘You shouldn’t need to ask me that. ‘
Thurza stared at Viv, her eyes screwed up as if she was making a decision, but the moment passed and Viv opened the door.
‘Good luck.’
Viv sauntered back through the gloomy maze of tack rooms until she reached the back lobby, where she bumped into Toddy. The surprise on his face was obvious. ‘Oh . . . Viv. I didn’t know that you were coming today.’
‘I wasn’t.’ She looked him straight in the eye. He held her stare. He was wearing bright orange padded chainsaw trousers and heavy metal toe capped boots.
‘Chain needs sharpened.’ He held up a chain and stepped to the side to let Viv pass.
Viv looked beyond him and he turned to see what she was looking at. There was nothing to see apart from tools but Viv was weighing up what she might do or say that wouldn’t make Thurza’s life more difficult. She decided that silence was the best option for the moment, and edged past him to the outside door.
With smoke belching out of every orifice she jogged over the courtyard and round to the front of the house. She ran alongside the eighteenth-century haha onto a belt of smooth far-reaching tarmacadam. The immaculate lawns, known as the Deer Park, stretched for half a mile on either side until she reached the gates where she turned and looked back at the house, swallowing again the secrets it concealed.
The distance between the gates and house was impressive. In the early days Viv had made a deal with Thurza so that she could park at the front door. The paying public parked half a mile away in a shaded, muddy area, and Viv wasn’t up for that trek once a month, laden with her hairdressing kit.
Within minutes Viv reached the Rav and drove home, seething over all the reasons that women gave for staying with violent partners. She’d done it herself but that was no justification for her silence.
Chapter Nineteen
Back in Victoria Street, she was still unable to get the image of Thurza’s bloody face out of her head. Should she butt out and let them work it out for themselves? She’d never been a successful by-stander, and domestic violence relied on people being willing to do nothing. She’d ignored Gabriella’s shop until her key was poised to open the stair door. She glanced across Victoria Street and wondered, not for the first time, if Gabriella, controller of terms of endearment, had also been crazy enough to pull-off the marmalade trick.
Viv bumped her shoulder against the edge of the bathroom door and blasphemed. She pulled off her jacket and checked in the mirror to see how her own bruises were healing. The dark purple was fading and spreading out into an ochre yellow sunset. Pretty impressive. She stretched her arm above her head, pushing the pain barrier until tears stung her eyes. She reckoned in a couple of days she’d be ready for a swim.
She opened her emails, relieved to read them on a bigger screen than her iphone. She ignored one from Walter, but was irritated to see another from the guy with the almond eyes. The content was embarrassing – trying for non-committal but with a covert invitation to meet again. Viv, still alarmed at how quickly he’d found her personal details, deleted it as if by keeping it he might materialise. No sooner had she deleted the message than she hovered the cursor over the trash half-thinking of retrieving it, but was distracted by a message arriving from Mac.
There was something about Mac that she yearned for, and it wasn’t simply access to police data. The message said that Grampian police had started a search of the farm property. She grabbed her mobile and punched in Mac’s rapid dial number. He answered on the second ring.
‘Hi, Viv. I’ve just sent you an email.’
‘Yeah, that’s why I’m ringing. Any more news?’
‘Well, they’ve found a cellar, actually more of a cupboard under the stairs kind of thing, with evidence of habitation: empty bottles of Iron Bru, a wrapper that had the remains of pies in it. Very little chance of finding the person alive who has eaten that lot.’ Viv visualised him sitting at his desk in Fettes pushing a fountain pen round with his elegant fingers.
‘Does it look like the home of one person or more?’
‘They didn’t say but it sounds to me as if it was just one. There are a couple of bales of straw that someone had been lying on.’
There was a pause as they each considered the implications of this. Was the someone alive or had that someone been dead?
Viv broke the silence. ‘Don’t suppose there’s anything either of us can do? I guess Grampian will want to keep the reins.’
‘It’s their patch. There’s no reason for them to let us get involved.’
‘Even if one of their possible victims lives on your patch?’ She emphasised the last words.
‘Look, Viv, they’re on our side, and as competent as any other force. Let’s just wait and see what they turn up.’ Then, ‘Wait . . . They’ve sent me another email . . . ’
Viv chewed the edge of her lip. It wasn’t inevitable that they’d find Tess’s body but it was her biggest fear.
‘Clothing. A jacket and a cap . . . in the cab of a tractor.’
/> ‘They could belong to the farmer.’
‘Apparently too small, and the cap has Edinburgh University embroidered on it . . . Listen, I’ll have to go, but I’ll keep you posted. And remember, Viv, while there isn’t a body there’s still hope.’
‘Okay. Speak later then.’
Her imagination already in overdrive, she visualised the barn and recalled the smell of the chicken shed. She paced round her sitting room like a distressed elephant but then recalled the cap and jacket left in such an obvious place with no attempt to hide them. On autopilot she sought out the kettle, which gave her a chance to structure her thoughts. In her mind she walked over the floor of the barn and remembered the area that had been disturbed, but had there been a trap door? Perhaps the tractor was parked over the top of it. Too bad her search had been hampered by the small matter of being knocked out. It briefly crossed her mind to return to the farm, but the idea of a rollicking from Mac made her think again. She wasn’t gifted with patience and would have to dig deep to wait until Mac got back to her with the next report from Aberdeen.
The many ‘what ifs’ of Tess’s disappearance crept through her mind. Viv’s sitting room, too furnished to make pacing satisfactory, allowed her only to tread from door to window with the odd pause at her computer to check her inbox. Eventually she sat tapping her pen against the notepad on the desk and scrolled back through the emails she’d received from Rebecca, hoping she might see something that she hadn’t before. This process was interrupted by the sound of her mobile ringing. It was Margo. ‘Hi, Margo. How are things?’
‘I’d ask you the same question but I probably have more than you do at the moment. Beccs just rang to say that she received a letter this morning. She’s hysterical. It’s apparently so horrible that she can hardly stand to handle it. It’s from Tess or someone claiming to be Tess.’
