Hostage to Murder

by Val McDermid

  Only once had she experienced this sense of abandonment. Gazing across the Russian landscape, Rory finally understood something about herself. She’d fought to keep the women in her bed out of her heart because she knew only too well what it felt like to be left utterly, to be stranded on the shore when the person you loved had disappeared over an unseeable horizon. She’d never recognised before that she had been building barricades to save herself from being forsaken as her mother had forsaken her.

  But Lindsay had somehow crept behind the fortifications and laid claim to the part of herself she had never relinquished before. Rory even understood how it had happened. In the past, she’d always assumed control. She’d been the one who had taken care of business, looked after the details, made things happen. But the moment she had agreed to come on this crazy adventure, she had handed the reins over to someone else and in doing so, she had ceded more than she had realised.

  Fuck it, I love her. It was the one thing she had promised she would not let happen, and it had ambushed her. Instinctively she knew that if she let it, this time it could work. But that wasn’t the deal. Lindsay wasn’t free. And Rory wasn’t in the business of busting up other people’s relationships. She wasn’t about to cast herself as the Scarlet Woman of the West End.

  There was only one solution. If she couldn’t sleep with Lindsay without letting love come between them, she’d just have to do without her. They’d have their night in Helsinki, because it was just too complicated to explain to Lindsay what had changed. Then they’d go home and it would naturally come to an end. And in a couple of weeks, once the dust had settled, Rory would give Lindsay the brush-off. She’d find the words to let her down easy.

  Anything rather than tell the truth.

  Fuck it, I love them both. It was the one thing Lindsay had promised herself she wouldn’t let happen, and it had ambushed her. I did this on purpose, she thought, bracing herself against the deck as the evening dwindled towards night. All those risks, all that recklessness; it had all been about pushing herself so far away from Sophie that there was no way back, to the other side of a chasm where love wasn’t strong enough to bridge the distance.

  Somewhere in her heart, Lindsay had granted victory to the idea that there would be no future for her and Sophie once the baby was born. On a conscious level, Lindsay didn’t have the courage—or the conviction—to make a clean break. So without bothering to discuss it with the rest of her, her subconscious had decided to take steps to drive her away before she had to play out the depressing, long-drawn-out decline and fall of their relationship.

  Rory had been the perfect diversion from the straight and narrow. Rory made her laugh. She made her feel accomplished and talented again. She even made Lindsay feel sexy, which had been balm to a soul that felt it was taking second place to a syringe full of sperm in the attraction stakes.

  Any other time, Lindsay would have been satisfied with those fillips to the ego. But this time, she had wanted to walk out on the high wire and to hell with a safety net.

  Well, she was paying the price now. Her eyes were on the sea, but her vision was of Rory. She sailed on automatic pilot, her mind constantly replaying the past few days and inventing alternate futures she knew could never happen.

  For the irony was that now she understood the mechanism behind her love for Rory, she could no longer play the game out as Blind Man’s Bluff. It was like a magic trick; once you knew how it worked, it couldn’t fool you any longer. Knowing what Machiavellian tricks her mind had been conjuring, she couldn’t pretend fate had taken things out of her hands and left her its helpless victim.

  She had to go back to Sophie and do her best to make it work. She’d let herself love Rory, and it was going to hurt like hell to keep that as her dirty little secret. But keep it secret she must. Rory hadn’t asked for love and didn’t want it. Admitting to it would hurt everyone.

  But mostly, it would hurt Sophie, who had done least to deserve it. “Time to grow up,” Lindsay growled, checking the compass one more time and correcting her course accordingly.

  Sophie stretched her legs out on the window seat and leaned against the wall. She wondered where Lindsay was and what she was doing now. They’d spoken briefly the previous evening, when Lindsay had told her of the failed attempt to rescue Jack. She almost wished Lindsay hadn’t made the call, for anxiety had kept Sophie awake most of the night.

  Partly, she was anxious for Lindsay, afraid that her lover would blunder into some disaster that would keep her from home for an unimaginable time. But mostly, she was anxious for them both. The worst of the phone call was not what they had said, but what they had been unable to say.

  Sophie was under no illusion about how hard she was driving Lindsay. If she had felt any choice in the matter, she would have backed off. But no one who had not felt the inexorable demand for a baby could begin to understand its overwhelming hunger. It informed every minute of her waking life. It was like a constant, discordant background music to every action and thought. It was implacable and inescapable. It had hit her like a tidal wave rising out of a calm ocean, and it had battered her ever since.

  It had cast her uncommon decency and fairness to the winds. Sophie had lost herself to this imperative that had turned her into a baby factory. She didn’t like it. In fact, mostly she hated this invasion. But it was undeniable. The only thing that would calm the turbulence was a baby. All she could do until then was cling to the wreckage and pray she would survive.

  The big question in Sophie’s mind was whether Lindsay would find a lifeboat and set sail without her.

  Chapter 19

  The sun was still shining as they went about, ready for the approach into the harbour at Helsinki. The weather had meant near perfect sailing for the past three days, and the atmosphere on board had been surprisingly light and playful. Andy seemed to have relaxed once they had cleared Kronstadt and Lindsay made the most of the rare opportunity to share quality time with her father.

  Lindsay sat in the bows, legs dangling over the side, enjoying the cooling spray that tickled her skin. “Lindsay, can you put a couple of reefs in the mainsail?” Andy shouted from the cockpit.

  Lindsay scrambled to her feet and made for the mast, noting that Tam was putting his weight into the winch that furled the big genoa sail. It was nearly over. In a matter of minutes, they’d be tying up at the quay and the proper journalistic work would begin. Rory had called from Helsinki to say she had already negotiated a deal with one of the Scottish tabloids for the full story of Jack’s rescue and his reunion with his mother, while Lindsay had written the copy, leaving out her and Rory’s part in the drama. All they had to do now was take some photographs with the digital camera, garner some quotes from Bernie, Jack and Tam and insert them into the story. They could transmit the whole package from Helsinki and it would be in the papers within hours of them returning to Scottish soil.

  Lindsay leaned against the mast and put a hand up to shield her eyes from the late afternoon sun. They were still too far from the quay to distinguish any individual, but she felt sure Rory and Bernie would be there waiting. Tam had called Bernie at her hotel in Helsinki an hour earlier, warning her of their approach. Then he’d phoned the airport to confirm they were all on the next day’s flight to Amsterdam and then onwards to Glasgow. It was going to be some celebration, Lindsay thought. And then home to Sophie. Which would be a different kind of celebration. It didn’t make a lot of sense to her, but in spite of all that had happened with Rory, a large part of her was still looking forward to getting home, still eager to be reunited with Sophie.

  At her father’s instruction, she lowered the main sail completely, feeling the throb of the engine through the fibreglass hull. The harbour loomed ever closer, till at last Lindsay could make out two figures standing on the quayside. “Jack,” she called excitedly. “I can see your mum. Can you see her?” She pulled the small digital camera out of the pocket of her shorts and took a few shots of Tam holding Jack up so he could
see Bernie. The look of sheer delight on the small boy’s face was a reward in itself for the anxieties of the past week. His grin split his face from ear to ear, and he was waving both arms in a salute.

  They’d barely come alongside when Tam plonked Jack ashore. Mother and son sprinted towards each other, Lindsay’s camera bearing witness to every stride. Tears streamed down Bernie’s face as she gathered her son into her arms and crushed him to her breast. Lindsay couldn’t hear their words, but that was as it should be. Some things were just too personal.

  She looked up and caught Rory’s eye. The electricity between them made her feel suddenly weak in the knees. To hell with good resolutions. They could wait for tomorrow.

  The “fasten seat belts” sign illuminated above their heads as the plane began its approach to Glasgow Airport. Lindsay glanced across the aisle to the line of three seats where Jack sat sandwiched between Tam and Bernie. Tam was glowing with delight and pride, but Bernie was more subdued. Lindsay couldn’t quite figure her out. The woman should be overjoyed to be reunited with her son. But there was something off key in her response, just as there had been at their first encounter.

  Lindsay couldn’t quite put her finger on it, and she hadn’t had the chance to discuss it with Rory, since Andy had pointedly sat between the pair of them on the flight. But it was as if behind Bernie’s delight there was a lurking and continuous edge of fear. Maybe she was simply anxious that Bruno Cavadino would react badly to being thwarted. Whatever it was, it was eating her up from within. She must have lost a stone in weight since they’d first met, Lindsay thought. Her clothes were hanging loose on her, and her face had gone from pleasantly full to gaunt.

  Oh well, there was nothing she could do about it, she told herself. Her involvement was over now. She and Rory were the visiting firefighters who parachuted in, did what they had to do and walked away, leaving people to get on with their lives. She didn’t imagine they’d be seeing Tam and Bernie again after the follow-up stories to the rescue. The time they’d spent together had been intense and had produced a false sense of intimacy. But in her experience, once the dust had settled, the subjects of such intense scrutiny usually withdrew sharply afterwards, almost embarrassed by the extent to which they’d let strangers into their lives. It was the nature of the game, and it didn’t really bother her. She understood the difference between real closeness and its simulacrum.

  To Lindsay’s surprise, Sophie was waiting for them at the airport. She tried to hide the awkwardness she felt introducing her to Rory, camouflaging it behind their farewells to the Gourlays, who were heading for the taxi rank. Tam engulfed her in a hug. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough,” he said. “What you’ve done for us, it’s nothing short of a miracle. Any stories I come across, they’re yours.”

  Bernie’s farewell was more formal. She hugged Jack to her and extended a hand to Lindsay, then Rory. “I appreciate what you did. It took real guts. Thank you.”

  Then they were gone. “I better go and get myself a taxi too,” Rory said.

  “Don’t be silly,” Sophie said. “Lindsay told me you live near us. I’ll drop you off.”

  Lindsay realised she’d been right to think that what had seemed so simple and straightforward in St Petersburg was fraught with discomfort and danger here in Glasgow. It wasn’t that she feared Rory would say or do anything that would give their secret away. It was more that having the pair of them in such close proximity made her feel confused, and confused wasn’t ever the best way to steer a sensible course. “You’ll stay with us tonight, Dad?” she asked as they loaded their bags into Sophie’s car.

  “Of course he will,” Sophie said. “You’re not thinking about driving home tonight, Andy. I won’t hear of it. There’s a leg of lamb roasting in the oven, you’ll have dinner and a good night’s sleep before you even think about getting behind the wheel of your Land Rover.”

  Andy grinned. “You’ll get no argument from me on that score. Lindsay, you get in the front with Sophie, I’ll be fine here in the back with Rory.”

  He really does know, Lindsay thought. And not because of anything he’d witnessed between them. He knew simply because he knew his daughter too well for her own good. And she minded. Not because he would ever say anything to Sophie; he was far too fond of the woman he regarded as his daughter-in-law ever to hurt her like that. But because she valued his good opinion, and knew that he couldn’t understand what had impelled her into behaviour he would only ever interpret as disloyal and disreputable. Nothing, she reminded herself, ever happened in a vacuum.

  They dropped Rory off at her flat and headed home. It was, Lindsay thought afterwards, one of those rare, apparently perfect evenings. The food was delicious. Sophie was relaxed and mellow, Andy was in fine form, full of tall tales and tittle-tattle about the inhabitants of Invercross. Lindsay herself was simply happy to be home, her first major story under her belt and the sense that for the first time since she’d come back to Scotland, the prospects looked bright.

  Just after ten, Andy yawned and stretched. “Well, I’m away to my bed. It’s been a long day. Good night, girls.”

  He left them in the flickering light of the candles that gleamed against the rich wood of the dining table. The wavering flames cast a flattering glow on Sophie’s skin, emphasising the brightness of her eyes and the sparkle of the silver strands that shot through her curls. “You look particularly beautiful tonight,” Lindsay said, surprised at the sudden flare of desire she felt for her lover.

  Sophie smiled. “And it doesn’t occur to you to wonder why that might be?”

  “If I said the candlelight is flattering, that would spoil the moment,” Lindsay teased. “I suppose it’s because I haven’t seen you for the best part of a week.”

  Sophie shook her head. “Try again.”

  Lindsay struggled. There was nothing obvious; no new hairstyle, no tinted eyelashes, no sunbed tan. “A clue?”

  “What makes women bloom?”

  Lindsay’s stomach flipped and settled with the dead weight of a stone. “It worked?” she said, feeling the ground beneath her feet plummeting away from her.

  “It worked. I’m pregnant.”

  Lindsay was waiting outside Café Virginia when it opened the next morning. After her father had left, the house had felt too claustrophobic to contain her. She’d gone for a short run, her ankle still too fragile for anything sufficiently cathartic. Then she’d showered and taken the bus into town, reluctant to meet Rory outside a work context.

  She needn’t have worried. By half past eleven, there was still no sign of her business partner. Lindsay felt faintly disconsolate. Her story on the rescue of Jack Gourlay had made the splash and spread of the Standard and she wanted to share her moment of glory. She also wanted to lay her head on the table and weep because Sophie’s news had left her in the grip of a profound panic that threatened to engulf her. She couldn’t deny that a small part of her rejoiced for Sophie’s triumphant delight, but mostly she was scared of what this would mean.

  It was so early. So much could still go wrong. Sophie could easily miscarry. There could be a problem with the foetus. Then there were all the things that could turn nasty during pregnancy. Sophie might be blooming now, but there was no guarantee that would last. And then, if she somehow made it to term, birth was still such a bloody, dangerous business. Lindsay didn’t even want to look at what lay beyond birth. How could she be a parent when she couldn’t even organise her own life in a sane and sensible fashion? What would she do if Sophie stopped loving her?

  None of it bore thinking about.

  So Sandra Singh’s arrival felt like a small gift from the gods. Sandra plonked herself down opposite Lindsay and wrestled her cigarettes out of her bag. “Hiya,” she said. “I see Splash Gordon’s back with a vengeance,” she added, prodding the pile of newspapers on the table. “Nice one.”

  “It’s always encouraging to get a good show,” Lindsay admitted.

  “Especially when it involved
taking as many chances as this one did. Though we did have a lot of fun in between the scary bits.”

  Sandra raised her eyebrows. “So I hear. Rory and I went out clubbing last night. She told me all about it.”

  “Ah,” said Lindsay.

  “Don’t worry, she’s not a blabbermouth. But we’re best pals, we tell each other everything. And it stops there. Your secret’s safe with me.” She shook her head as her coffee arrived. “My, but you like to live dangerously.”

  “Sometimes you just have to get on the rollercoaster,” Lindsay said. “Life’s hardly worth living if you don’t take the odd risk.”

  Sandra spooned sugar into her coffee and stirred it. “Maybe. But I can’t help thinking it might have been better all round if you hadn’t got on this particular fairground ride. I don’t think it’s passed its health and safety inspection. And I hate to see anybody get hurt needlessly.”

  Uh oh, Lindsay thought. The gypsy warning from the best friend. Break her heart, I’ll break your legs. “I hear what you’re saying, and I think your concern is commendable. But there’s no reason why anybody should get hurt, Sandra.”

  “That’s easier said than done. There’s more to Rory than meets the eye, you know.”

  Lindsay’s smile was entirely spontaneous and it lit her eyes. “I think I’d worked that one out for myself. Sandra, trust me. I’m not going to break her heart.”

  Sandra gave her an odd look. But before she could say more, Rory herself appeared, looking hangdog and hungover. “What the fuck was I drinking last night?” she groaned as she eased herself into the booth.