Her footsteps downhill feel weighted with emotion until she reaches the bench and sits down. A trilling sound overhead draws her gaze upwards to a fan of reddish-brown and white feathers. Two red kites wheel high above the valley, swooping and rising with the thermals. Extracting the brown envelope from her pocket Ruth reads its contents: campion, buttercup, borage, forget-me-not, ox-eye daisy, cornflower. Elinor would have loved them.
Below the bench is a gentle slope which flattens out to an area roughly the size of four car widths. She clambers down onto the plateau and mapping out the perimeter with her feet, she scatters the wildflower seeds in her wake. From the far side of the meadow she can see the fluttering of graveside flowers in the burial ground and, below that, the twists and turns of the road as it snakes in and out of the tree canopy.
The glint of chrome makes her start. There’s a car coming up the track. A black 4x4. She crouches down, trying to make herself inconspicuous, and she watches its progress as she rocks back and forth on her heels. The thumping in her chest gets more forceful. This is a no-through road. Whoever it is will see her car parked alongside the cottage.
She waits for it to disappear, then gets up and runs back to the wood for cover. A car door slams and there’s the beep of an alarm. Ruth finds a vantage point in the shade. A man with a crew-cut, beige slacks and a blue fleece is inspecting her car. He walks round it, his hands shielding the reflection as he peers through its windows.
Suddenly he looks up and scans the area forcing Ruth to dart back to avoid being spotted. And that’s when she recognises him. But it’s not his car. He retreats. Maybe he’s checking out the cottage? A snap decision needs to be made. She’s going to be discovered but it needs to be on her terms.
Clinging to the shade of the treeline, Ruth edges towards the cottage. The chassis of the black Discovery eclipses her car. Both the vehicle and its registration plate are unfamiliar. Her breathing becomes shallower as she verges nearer. He must have gone round the back of the cottage. Stepping out into the sunlight her shadow stretches out before her on the sandy coloured earth. But there’s a much taller silhouette which overshadows hers. Its long legs and head and shoulders elongate into a willowy apparition and a chill permeates the air. Ruth wheels round to face her stalker.
‘Mac!’
‘I’m sorry, Ruth. I didn’t mean to scare you.’
Ruth feels her shoulders slump as she confronts her pursuer. So many questions. But, for now, no words.
He makes no movement. ‘I’ve…we’ve all been worried about you.’
‘But…how did…?’
Mac’s face creases into a smile. ‘You’d never pass muster as a professional fugitive. Your phone call to Val the other day.’ His features soften and delicate lines fan round his eyes. ‘We traced the signal to Inverness. Your car’s been picked up several times on CCTV in the town. It didn’t take long to spot your movements and follow you.’
Ruth bites her lip. The relief she feels that someone cares about her gives way to fear. If she’s been followed then surely she could be prosecuted for breaking and entering a property.
It’s starting again: the quickening heartbeat, the rapid breathing. The panic that she’d worked so hard to control. She brushes past Mac and walks back up the path, anxious to create some space between them. Heading towards the bench she’s conscious that he’s following her but she craves the open space.
They sit at opposite ends of the bench. The only sound is the clucking of a pheasant in the long grass. In the distance a fishing vessel breaches an azure surface. Sunlight breaks through the shifting cumulus to warm Ruth’s face. There is no denying it. She has to go home and face her challenges head on. She knew this would happen. She has a renewed determination to do this. But she wanted it to be on her terms.
She turns to look at Mac.
‘Listen to that,’ she says. ‘Listen to the sound of silence. It’s so peaceful up here. It’s something I’ve craved, Mac. I needed to get away. Find some space. Away from phones. Interruptions. Demands. I needed time out.’
He studies her face but does nothing to fill the silence.
‘I’m not perfect,’ she continues, ‘but I’ve learned to live with my imperfections. And I have this innate – or maybe misjudged–ability to always see the best in people. Much to my detriment.’ She pauses. ‘I would never do anyone any harm.’ She gives a low grunt. ‘Only myself.’
Mac turns away and appears to be studying his shoes. ‘I get that. I really do.’ He grips the bench on either side of his legs and hangs his head. ‘Ruth, I’ve been worried sick about you.’ He turns to look at her. ‘You know, from the very first day that I met you, I could tell you were innocent. I was assigned as your FLO because of the road traffic collision. Once you became part of a criminal investigation I had to be moved. But I suspect my superiors could see that wasn’t the only reason it made sense for me to step down. A perceived conflict of interest. An inability to be impartial. A feeling that I wanted to get closer to you. As I got to know more about you through Val it only convinced me further of your innocence. That’s why I was taken off your case.’
Ruth stands up and regards him accusingly. ‘It didn’t stop you arresting me, for fuck’s sake.’ Her eyes prickle.
‘Ruth, I was just obeying orders. Being taken off the investigation allowed me to make my own enquiries.’ His hands move from the bench, and he laces his fingers in front of his chest, as if preparing to defend himself. ‘Anyway, it’s not just me who believes in your innocence. The Court does too.’
Ruth absorbs the words slowly. ‘What do you mean?’
Mac holds out his arm, motioning for her to sit down, but she remains standing.
‘Varsha tried to contact you, Ruth. Many times. There was even a press statement released so the public could keep an eye out for you.’
Ruth shudders. She zips her fleece and moves towards Mac, blocking him from the sun. ‘What do you mean? Tell me!’ She is surprised how her breath escapes in a strangulated cry.
Mac stands up, bringing himself to her eye level. ‘The hearing. It was yesterday. It was brought forward. The Judge ruled that, because at least three serious attempts had been made to contact you unsuccessfully, it would go ahead without your presence.’
Ruth grabs Mac’s sleeves. Brought forward? Innocent? She shakes him but he remains resolute. Unmoving. ‘What happened? TELL ME!’
Mac’s voice is barely audible. ‘There’s so much to tell you, Ruth. But there’s something you should know first.’ He swallows and looks at her with an unflinching stare. ‘David Morgan has been awarded custody of Bella.’
She glares back, not blinking. ‘Wait,’ she says, tightening the grip on his arm. ‘Let me get this straight. David Morgan? Bella’s uncle? But he lives in Australia.’ There’s a ripple of movement which starts in her toes and fingers. It spreads up her legs and arms and crests across her body in a tsunami of despair. ‘No!’ She screams, as a roost of birds take flight from nearby trees.
She breaks away from him and starts running but her legs feel like sponge. The faster she runs the harder the ground feels. The vibrations hammer into her body and her breath wheezes free of her chest. Taking the footpath further up the hill she heads towards the wood. When she gets to the clootie well she collapses onto the ground and her sobs emerge in unexpurgated gulps.
How could Bella ever forgive her? Bella, dear Bella. She’d failed to protect her. She’d breached the very safeguards that were there to keep her from harm. And now she might never see her again. It’s too awful to contemplate. The cold ground torments her body, as the damp seeps through her clothes. She sits up and brushes her matted hair away from her eyes. Mac is sitting on a nearby tree stump watching her.
‘Take me home,’ she says.
59
Ruth
Mac has everything organised, from the return of the hire car in Har
bour Road to the overnight accommodation just south of Berwick–upon-Tweed.
‘It’s a long way home,’ he says, handing Ruth her room keys at the hotel reception ‘and I reckoned you could do with a decent night’s sleep before you face the barrage of questions.’ As soon as he says this it’s obvious he’s trying to retract his words. ‘There’s no hurry, after all,’ he adds hastily, but Ruth knows he’s right. She needs to feel ready.
The porter opens the door to her room and places her black canvass holdall on the floor. A single bed, a television on the far wall, a floor-length mirror, a small en-suite bathroom. Simple but comfortable. She thanks him and flops on the bed. Fifteen minutes Mac suggested, before meeting her for coffee in the bar. She had dozed off during the car journey south, her dreams punctuated by stilted conversation. Now she feels nervous about facing Mac again.
When she walks into the tartan-heavy sitting room, having rearranged her hair and applied more concealer to the dull half-moons under her eyes, he is sitting by the log fire which crackles and spits. He looks up and smiles, then shuffles some papers under his newspaper. A waitress is dispatched with their order and Mac leans back in his chair and looks around the deserted bar area.
‘I have a confession to make,’ he says, with a grin, but his expression changes to one of concern when Ruth frowns. ‘Oh no, no, it’s nothing serious. How tactless of me.’ He leans towards her. ‘What I should have said is that I know this part of the country pretty well.’ There’s a softness to his voice and Ruth knows he is trying to distract her with trivial conversation, but she can’t stop dwelling on Bella. It’s all she could think about during their silences in the car.
‘I grew up in Kelso,’ Mac continues. ‘A small market town in the Borders, not far from here. I used to come here on holiday as a child. Not here exactly. A caravan park near the cliffs. Probably long since gone. Maybe we can take a walk along the shore later, if you feel up to it.’
‘What were those papers, Mac?’ asks Ruth.
Mac looks confused but follows her eye-line to the pile of crumpled newspaper on the coffee table.
‘I know you’re trying to distract me with small talk but you’re hiding something from me.’ She grabs at the papers but Mac is too quick for her. He snatches them just as a young girl appears bearing a cafetiere and two cups on a tray. The sheaves land on the floor. The waitress sets down the tray and, in a soft lilting accent, asks them if they’d like anything else, before disappearing. The sitting room is deserted. Ruth pounces forward, grabbing the stapled sheets and her eyes scan the pages.
‘Well-presented two bedroom cottage for sale. Sitting in an elevated position with commanding views over the Moray Firth. Grants Estate Agents, Inverness. And a photo of Alt-na-Beinn.’ She shakes her head. ‘Why?’
‘Curiosity,’ says Mac, with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘Nothing more, nothing less. Read it if you like. I’ve nothing to hide.’
Ruth picks up the heavy cafetiere. ‘Did you go to the hearing?’ she says, casting Mac a sideways glance. The blurb on Alt-na–Beinn has unsettled her but she has so many more important questions. As she fills the cups she tries not to splash coffee over the saucers.
‘No, it was a closed case. Varsha briefed me afterwards. She knows I’m here. So does Val and … I’m not sure about Mike.’
Ruth nods.
‘Your statements-the one you sent with a sample of Dominic’s handwriting, and your e mail with the drug information-both were considered, as were statements from Viviane Zuckerman, David Morgan, plus the Local Authority reports-you know, the psychiatrist, Social Services and the hospital paediatrician.’ He looks puzzled. ‘There was one more, I think, but I can’t for the life of me remember who it was from.’
Ruth bristles at the mention of Viviane Zuckerman. It’s a name that had completely fallen off her radar. ‘Dominic’s mother?’
‘Yes.’ Mac has turned his head and is stroking his chin. He doesn’t look at her and it makes her feel uncomfortable.
‘What is it, Mac? Please tell me.’
‘You met Viviane Zuckerman, didn’t you?’ he says, turning towards her.
‘Yes. She arrived in the UK shortly after Dominic … soon after the accident. We met in the hospital, maybe a couple of times.’
‘Presumably you knew about his childhood accident?’
‘Dominic told me about it. His mother was in an abusive relationship with his father. The night of his accident he tried to protect her from being strangled and he fell through a window shattering his arm and spleen.’
Mac leans forward again and this time he places his hand gently on her knee. Her sharp outline is reflected in his eyes.
‘He was a pathological liar, Ruth. And a psychopath. Mrs. Zuckerman provided a lengthy statement which was no doubt pivotal in the Crown Prosecution Service deciding not to pursue a criminal case against you.’
‘Wait, wait,’ says Ruth. There’s too much information coming at her all at once.
‘The CPS are not taking this further? So DS Bailey is off my back now, too?’ Mac grips her knee.
‘Viviane Zuckerman provided extensive details about Dominic’s childhood in her statement,’ Mac continues. ‘He was a bright kid at school, but he was always a bit of a troublemaker. A bully. A cheat. A liar. He got into trouble for peddling cannabis. One day he truanted with a friend and they were found by the police hours later, having fallen through the roof of a disused warehouse. He sustained life-threatening injuries. The doctors said that if he’d been found sooner and had treatment earlier his arm would have healed properly.’
Ruth tries to digest this information. So that explains the Volkmann’s ischaemic contracture. He’d convinced her it happened while he was protecting his mother. He lied. She sits in stunned silence as Mac proceeds.
‘He spent weeks in hospital with his injuries, then years attending hospital outpatient appointments. His father was a pilot and was frequently absent from home, then became ill and died of cancer, leaving Dominic and his mother. Not long after his father’s death his mother remarried. There was never any history of domestic violence in either of their marriages. According to Dominic’s psychiatrist the accident and the months Dominic spent in hospital reinforced his attention-seeking behaviour.’
Ruth sits back compelling Mac to do the same. She lifts her cup to her lips and takes a sip of lukewarm coffee, spilling some of it down her top.
‘His last contact with the psychiatric service was about ten years ago when he was graded a score of thirty one out of forty on the Hare Psychopathy Revised Checklist.’
Ruth’s coffee cup clashes down on the saucer. Her cheeks feel hot. The coffee tastes bitter. ‘Thirty one? That high?’
Mac nods.
‘My God,’ she says, considering this. In her head she goes through Dominic’s traits like a ready reckoner. ‘And to think I had confused the mood swings, the attention-seeking behaviour and the lack of empathy with a bereavement reaction.’
‘Don’t be hard on yourself. I can see why you did.’
‘The smooth-talking compulsive liar. The juvenile delinquency.’ Ruth tries to recall the diagnostic criteria.
‘The promiscuity.’ Mac darts her a look and she feels her cheeks colour.
‘It’s okay,’ she says, ‘Val told me.’
Mac’s eyes widen. ‘About Courtney? When?’
‘No, about Val. Wait, we may be talking at cross purposes here.’
Mac stands up and paces round the room. He stops and looks at her. ‘You first.’
‘Val told me she had an affair with Dominic. About six years ago. She said she regretted it and that Mike knew all about it.’
‘Ah, yes. I see.’
‘Why did you mention Courtney?’
Mac turns his back to her. He looks out the window.
‘Mac, answer me, please. What did you mean?’
/>
Mac turns round. ‘Dominic had an affair with Courtney too.’
Ruth reels back in her seat. She feels sick. ‘Oh, my God. No. When was this?’
Mac advances towards the sofa and sits down. ‘Courtney used to be a care worker. She was employed by Dominic to look after Madeleine when she was very ill. The affair started then. After Madeleine’s death Courtney thought she and Dominic might get closer. She became a teaching assistant at Bella’s school. And then you came along.’
‘But I had no idea. How do you know this?’
‘She was taken in for questioning when we discovered that she was the instigator of the abusive on-line posts about you. It was easy for her to get access to Dominic’s computer. She was often alone in the house with Bella and she even had her own key.’
‘And the derogatory posts?’
‘Not only was she jealous of you but she has a deep resentment of the medical profession. Doctors accused her sister Bridget of harming her own baby and had it taken into care. It took months of legal wrangling and the belief of a psychiatrist that she was innocent to get Bridget acquitted.’
‘Niall Freeman. I read about it.’
‘She was trying to discredit you. She was seeking revenge, not only for being usurped as Dominic’s lover, but for the wrong-doing meted out to her sister.’
Mac, his eyes like enamel, has adopted his sleuthing persona. ‘The Crown Prosecution Service has no interest in pursuing a case against you. Even the computer sheets and the earring they found in the box of drugs was deemed inadmissible. Everything was taken into account.’
Love Until It Hurts Page 27
