'But you used to speak to her?'
'Just Hello and Good Morning! Maybe a word or two about the weather, and what we were both up to. That was about all.'
Emma was disappointed. She had hoped it had been more than that.
'Would you like to see around the house now?'
'Very much. Thank you.'
They paused inside the garden gate while Gregor cast his eye around the garden. 'This is good,' he said with a nod of appreciation.
'You think so? It's a bit bare for my taste. Not much colour, is there?'
Gregor laughed. 'You have no idea about gardening in Orkney, do you? Very few people even have a garden worth the name. Surely you've noticed that?'
'Well, now that you mention it, I suppose I have. It's surprising how many houses are surrounded only by grass or a patch of gravel. I just assumed it was the time of year.'
'The wind and the culture, more like it,' Gregor said, shaking his head. 'We don't really have much of a gardening tradition anywhere in the Northern Isles, but it is perfectly possible to have a garden.
'Freda has done a lot of work here,' he added. 'Just look! The perimeter hedge gives the protection you need from the wind. And there are trees, too. They're a rarity on Orkney. Even more so on Shetland.'
Gregor gazed admiringly at the two big sycamores on either side of the gate.
'I had noticed them, I suppose,' Emma admitted. 'As you say, there seem to be very few trees anywhere on the island.'
'That's right. So Freda developed a little sheltered oasis here. No doubt you'll see all sorts of herbaceous perennials – flowering plants – coming through, as we get into summer. This garden is worth a lot in Orkney terms.'
Emma took a fresh look around her and decided that perhaps there was more here than met the eye at first glance.
'I'll take your word for it,' she said dubiously. 'There's not much colour here now, though.'
'But there will be,' Gregor promised. 'The shrubs in the hedge will soon be in blossom. But come on! Show me inside the house.'
*
'I see what you mean,' he said as they stood together in the hallway. 'It is a big house, isn't it? How many bedrooms did you say?'
'Six. They're all furnished, but I don't think they were all in use.'
'Obviously. Unless Freda had lots of visitors, or she liked to use them in rotation.'
Emma shook her head. 'I don't think so. I just don't know what she wanted with a house this big.'
'It's in very tidy condition,' Gregor remarked thoughtfully. 'She must have had help looking after it. A cleaner, perhaps?'
Emma nodded. 'Yes. At least a cleaner and a gardener, for the last few years anyway.'
'We should find out who they were.'
'We?'
'Sorry,' Gregor said ruefully. 'I meant you. I'm being presumptuous.'
'Not at all!' Emma said, laughing. 'I'm teasing. You're just as curious as I am, aren't you? Aunt Freda really is a mystery. Anyway, I'm glad. I would appreciate any help you can give me.'
'Glad we've got that settled,' Gregor said with a grin.
'Let's do a quick walkabout. Then I'll show you the photographs I found.'
*
Emma was delighted Gregor seemed as interested as she was in finding out more about Freda. Apart from the fact that he was an Orcadian who knew his way around, she liked him. She liked him a lot. He was a kindly and interesting man. Good company, too.
If only he wasn't married! she thought wistfully. Unfortunately, all the best men were.
Just my luck, she thought again, only half in jest. I find a lovely man for once, and what do you know? He wears a ring on his marriage finger! Let it be a warning : don't let him come too close. Keep him at a safe distance.
All the same, she wasn't going to turn down his offer of help. Maybe together they could sort out what she needed to know about Aunt Freda. She certainly wasn't going to put the house up for sale until she had done that.
*
'So, the photos,' Gregor said, when they had done the rounds. 'Let's have a look at them.'
She took him to the storage room. 'I'm beginning to think of this as the archive,' she said. 'There's so much here.'
'I see what you mean.' Gregor looked around, fascinated. 'Everything so well organised, too. Mind you, I shouldn't be surprised about that. Your aunt always struck me as a serious and fastidious person.'
'Not much like me, then,' Emma said with a sigh.
'Oh, you can't say that until you've accumulated as much stuff as Freda had. If you had, you wouldn't want it all in a pile on the floor. You would want to know where things were, and to be able to lay your hands on them when you needed them. All us freelancers have to be well organised, or we'd soon go under.'
'I'm not too sure about that, Gregor. I might have just put it all in the bin.'
'Tut, tut! I'm sure you wouldn't. You're far too sensible a person. Now, what have we here?'
She showed him an album that seemed mostly to be a record of archaeological digs. He recognised some of the sites, which were spread around several of the islands. People were scrupulously digging and scraping, sieving soil and sometimes just standing watching.
'You must have to be a very patient person to do this,' Emma suggested.
Gregor nodded. 'That's Freda, by the way,' he said, pointing to a tall, very upright woman wearing glasses who was standing alongside a deep trench.
Emma peered at the photo. 'Yes. I thought that must be her. She's very distinctive, isn't she?'
'Very. These were obviously taken a long time ago, but she stayed like that the rest of her life. She never looked any older than she does here. And she was always the kind of person you couldn't pass in the street without wondering who she was.'
A bit like you, Gregor! Emma thought automatically. Strange how some people had that special quality about them. Was it charisma? Something like that. Anyway, Gregor definitely had it. She had seen that the first time he had spoken to her.
She reached for another album and opened it. This was the one with what she thought of as the construction collection. Black and white photographs. Men busy building something. They were hammering and sawing, lifting and carrying, perched on ladders.
'A hive of industry!' she said with a chuckle. 'Also from a long time ago. Looking at the men, I wondered if the photos were taken somewhere around the Mediterranean. Perhaps it was an archaeological site in Greece, or somewhere like that?'
Together, they pored over a couple of the photographs.
'Ah!' Gregor said, leaning closer and chuckling. 'I know exactly where this is – and I know what they are all doing, as well. But I've never seen these photos before. They're wonderful.'
He straightened up, turned and smiled at her, with an infuriatingly smug expression.
'You know where it is?' she said impatiently. 'Come on, then! Tell me.'
'I can do better than that. I can take you there right now. Come on! Get your coat.'
Chapter Eleven
'So where are we going now?' Emma asked.
'You'll see.' Gregor said with a mischievous grin. 'Have patience.'
They drove down through the village of Twatt, on past the lochs of Stenness and Harray, through Finstown, and on to Kirkwall. On the way, they talked about the archaeological sites in the photographs.
'Freda seems to have been involved in all the big ones over the past forty or fifty years,' Gregor said, shaking his head. 'It's amazing what that woman did.'
'She must have had a lot of spare time,' Emma said, disgruntled by the mystery of where she was being taken, and by Gregor's refusal to tell her where they were going.
'As a freelance journalist? A magazine writer?' Gregor mused. 'I don't know if she would have had a lot of spare time. It's a demanding way to make a living. What she must have had was a good nose for a story. Freelancers need that.'
'Maybe she was just colossally rich.'
/>
'Is your family rich? Do you have that in your background?'
She sniggered. 'Not really. My dad would probably take great offence if anyone presumed he was. He's worked very hard for what he and Mum have.'
'Doing what?'
'Oh, nothing glamorous. He worked for an engineering firm on Tyneside, before it went bust and he had to take early retirement.'
'That must have been an interesting career.'
'Well, he liked it. And it paid the bills, including the mortgage for the family home in Gosforth, where Mum and Dad still live.'
'And you, too?'
She shook her head. 'I have my own place, a flat just over the river in Gateshead. It's in a converted warehouse that was part of an ironworks in the olden days.'
'Like it there?'
'It's pretty good. Handy for the town centre, and for work. I won't stay there forever, but it's ideal at the moment. What about you?'
'Oh, I have a flat here in Kirkwall.'
She was about to ask for more information when she realised they had passed through Kirkwall already, and now were leaving it behind.
'Where to now?'
'It's not far. Five minutes, ten at the most.'
'Then what will I see?'
He just grinned.
'You know, you can be a really infuriating man?'
He grinned even harder. 'I know,' he admitted. 'You're not the first person to tell me that.'
*
They ran through a small village along the water's edge, a line of traditional stone cottages and a modern retirement complex that looked like a beach resort somewhere more exotic.
'St Mary's,' Gregor informed her. 'And that's Scapa Flow, on the right. In both World Wars it was the Royal Navy's main naval base. That was where they kept the battleships and the cruisers – all the big ships of the line – until they were needed.'
'Isn't it too remote? They were a long way from the action, surely?'
'Well, the thing with battleships was that you rarely used them. Mostly you wanted them on call, as a sort of deterrent, and while they were at rest they had to be somewhere safe. In its wisdom, the Admiralty thought Scapa Flow was a good place.
'Apart from the time in 1939, six weeks after the way started, when a U-boat got through, it was.'
'What happened then?'
'A battleship, The Royal Oak, was sunk, 800 men drowned, and the U-boat got away.'
She grimaced and straightened up to peer ahead. The road curved and ran on a long bridge out across the water. As they reached the entrance, she saw the way ahead was just two lanes of tarmac, with railings on either side.
'Goodness! Where are we going?'
'This is the first of the Churchill Barriers,' Gregor said. 'After the sinking of The Royal Oak, the Prime Minister ordered barriers to be built between the islands on the east side of Scapa Flow, to prevent it ever happening again.'
'Hence: the Churchill Barriers?'
He nodded. 'Exactly. They worked, too. But in the long run the really important thing about them was the road that was built along the top of them. You can drive all the way down to the tip of South Ronaldsay now. Previously you'd have been faced with umpteen short boat trips between the islands.'
They crossed the first of the barriers in a minute or two. Almost immediately, Gregor turned left and drove a little way up a track towards a small building on a slight rise.
'And this is?'
'The Italian Chapel. Have you heard of it?'
She shook her head.
'There's a lovely story behind it. Many of the men who built the Churchill Barriers were Italian Prisoners-of-War, captured in North Africa and sent to camps here. This one was called Camp 60.'
'What a shock Orkney must have been for them!'
'It must have been, but I don't think it was entirely unwelcome. At least here they were out of the war, and safe. I don't suppose many of them hankered after being back on the front line in the desert.'
'Ah! Wait a minute.'
The penny had dropped.
'So were they the men in those photographs of Freda's?'
'Yes. They were building what you see in front of you now. They wanted to have a little piece of home here with them. So they asked the commandant for permission to build their own chapel. He gave them it, and much else besides, and they got to work, mostly using scrap materials.
'Come on!' he added, 'Let's look inside.'
They got out of the car and started walking. As they neared the building, Emma squinted at it and laughed. From the front, it was a typical small Italian church, but that was only part of the story.
'It's just an old hut!' she cried with amusement.
'Indeed it is. An old Nissan hut. Two, actually, I believe. The prisoners were given them, and told to get on with it.'
Gregor pulled open the door and ushered her inside. She stepped forward and stopped in her tracks, marvelling at what she could see.
'It's beautiful,' she said with astonishment, taking in the painted walls, the altar piece and much else.
'All, or most of it, made from scrap materials, remember? There was a war on. Materials of every sort were in short supply.'
She wandered around, marvelling at the artistry on display, and at the depth of feeling that so clearly had gone into the design and execution of the work. It was a work of love and dedication, all accomplished so long ago by men so far from home.
Gregor let her wander alone for a few minutes. When she was ready, she turned and nodded to him. He smiled and led the way back outside.
'Thank you for bringing me here,' she said putting her arm in his without even registering that she was doing it.
'You're very welcome,' he said softly back. 'Most visitors find it a moving experience, especially if they know nothing in advance.'
'So Freda saw what was going on,' she said thoughtfully, 'and wanted to make some sort of photographic record of the work in progress? Perhaps write about it, too?'
'It looks that way.'
'How clever of you, Gregor, to identify the site. I would never have known this place existed.'
He nodded complacently. 'The tricky question,' he suggested, 'is to know how Freda came to be here at all. It was a POW camp, remember? A war was raging. People were dying in their millions. Secrecy was draconian, as was security. How come Freda was here?'
'You mean, was she here in some official capacity?'
'Well, she could scarcely have got inside a POW camp as a private visitor, could she? Not in wartime.'
'I suppose not, no.'
'It was a very dangerous time. Why, anyway, would a young woman so far from home herself have even wanted to be consorting with the enemy, as I believe the offence was called at the time?'
'Well, perhaps the first question to be asked is how and why Freda was in Orkney at all,' Emma said slowly. 'What was she doing on the island?'
'Yes, indeed,' Gregor said, nodding agreement. 'We'll get nowhere without knowing the answer to that one.'
Chapter Twelve
They got no further with the questions they had raised about Freda. Eventually, Gregor announced that he must be off. He had work to do.
'Oh, of course!' Emma said. 'How selfish of me. I'm keeping you from your work, and from your family.'
He shook his head and said with a smile, 'No, you're not. There's no-one waiting for me.'
'Well, I appreciate the help you've given me.'
'I'm as interested in Freda as you are now, Emma, but I'm afraid duty calls. I'll pop by again in a day or two, to see if you've made any further progress.'
He studied her for a moment, and she wondered if he was going to kiss her good-bye. He didn't. With another little smile, he turned and departed, giving her a final wave as he set off in his Land Rover.
Afterwards she sighed and wondered what to do now. She had rather hoped Gregor would stay longer. Without him, it threatened to be a long da
y. Without him, in fact, she didn't think she would get any further with her inquiries.
Besides, she thought ruefully, she liked his company. He was a very nice man, as well as being so handsome and interesting. It was hard to believe he was the brother of a man like Archie.
She did wonder, though, why Gregor wore a wedding ring if he wasn't married, and she hoped he had been truthful with her.
*
By coincidence, just as she was leaving to return to the guesthouse, Alastair put in another of his appearances. She wasn't in the least surprised. In fact, she had half-expected it. Sometimes she wondered if he was keeping an eye on her comings and goings, just so he could catch her at a weak moment and get her to sell Broch House to him at a knock-down price.
'Has that no-good brother of mine gone?' he demanded in a mock-serious tone.
'I'm afraid he has, Alastair. What can I do for you today?'
'I was just wondering if you were ready yet to put the house on the market. As I told you, I might be interested.'
She shook her head. 'Nothing has been decided yet. Don't worry. I'm sure you'll be one of the first people to see the For Sale sign if and when it goes up.'
'Well, I suppose that can't be far off now. You'll not be wanting to spend much more of your valuable time in a place like this. How long are you planning on staying, by the way?'
'I'm not sure,' she said, irritated by his questions. 'That's something else that hasn't been decided. As long as it takes, I suppose.'
'Well, don't let that brother of mine distract you. You just concentrate on your main business here.'
'What on earth do you mean?'
'Why, getting this old house on the market! Spring's advancing. Summer's coming. You don't want to leave it too long. The potential buyers will all have found somewhere else.'
'I'll bear that in mind, Alastair. Thank you so much for your advice. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be on my way.'
'Of course, of course. Time and tide – they wait for none of us, do they?'
He followed her as she made her way towards the car.
'Here's another word of advice,' he said. 'You're best keeping your distance from my brother. Gregor will only disappoint you in the end.'
Orkney Mystery Page 5
