by Karen Swan
They sat on the mossy riverbank, their hands wrapped around the plastic lids of their thermos flasks as they sipped on the oxtail soup with which they’d been provided. Lochie was looking out over the water, his elbows on his knees.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said for the hundredth time. ‘I’m completely messing this up for you.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
But she could see it did. ‘I wouldn’t have come if I’d known I was going to handicap you.
‘Well, as you said, I had invited you.’
‘Lochlan, we both know you only invited me because you wanted to put me in my place. You wanted to show me what you could do and I couldn’t.’
The truth – plain and simple as it was – sat like a red coal between them, too hot to touch.
‘Yeah. And see how well that’s turning out for me,’ he said finally.
She bit her lip, sensing an opportunity, but bracing herself for the slap down that would inevitably come with it. ‘You know, one thing I go into with my clients is the abundance mentality.’ She paused, waiting for him to turn away, walk off, take her by the arm and throw her into the river. Instead he just stared. ‘Have you ever heard of that before?’ she asked, tentatively.
He shook his head, looking too weary to argue for once.
‘A lot of us – well, most of us – grow up with a belief system which propounds the idea that for me to win, you must lose. People in my line of work call it a zero-sum game. We prefer to find win-win scenarios which are mutually beneficial to both parties; you know, trying to be cooperative, rather than competitive.’
‘Good in principle,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve worked out how to make today a win-win scenario?’
She pulled an apologetic expression. ‘I’m afraid no, not for this.’
‘But you have for something else?’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘I suppose you’ve got a long list identifying all the things I’m doing wrong.’
‘It’s not a matter of you doing anything wrong; it’s just a question of finding methods to be even better and at the moment, you’re overextending yourself. You feel besieged and embattled, and as a result, you’re trying to do everything alone.’
‘You mean you want me to delegate. Your favourite word.’
She smiled. ‘Yes, that. But also synergize – you need someone you can debate and discuss ideas and problems with. It’s not weakness to look for other perspectives. You’ll go mad if you can’t externalize all the problems and issues you have to deal with on a daily basis – and, before you say it, I know you talk to Rona, but she can’t talk back!’ She paused, not wanting to rush him. ‘Is there anyone who fits the brief for you?’
He shook his head.
‘What about Torquil? He seems solid.’
He looked away sharply. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’ She remembered how he had closed up when she had brought up Torquil’s name in their meeting yesterday too. What exactly had happened between them to make Lochie assault him at the family assembly?
He was quiet for a long moment. ‘We’re too different.’
‘Is that a bad thing? People mistake uniformity for unity, sameness for oneness, but they’re very different things.’
He shook his head. ‘The guy’s a robot.’
So one of them had too much emotion, and the other not enough? ‘Okay, how about Bruce? He seems level-headed and vastly experienced.’
He shook his head again. ‘We used to be close, but ever since—’ He stopped abruptly and Alex realized the problem: ever since he’d jilted his daughter. ‘I just can’t. It would be an intrusion for him.’
‘Okay, I can see that would be difficult,’ she said, her heart beating a little faster as she got to the point she’d been wanting to make. ‘So then, what about Skye?’
His eyes darted quickly, defensively. ‘What about her?’
‘Well, I know things have been . . . tricky,’ she said quickly, seeing how he began to move his feet, straightening up and holding his drink higher as though he was protecting his heart. ‘But couldn’t you reach out to her, as a friend, a colleague?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because she’s not a senior manager for one thing – it would be inappropriate.’ His voice was snappish again.
Alex stared at him. ‘Are you sure that’s what it is?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’
She paused for a moment. ‘Do you remember yesterday, when I suggested the root of your problem with Sholto might be a personal problem rather than a business one?’
‘Vaguely.’ She was losing him now, she could see it in his eyes; they were becoming guarded, blank.
‘What if it’s the same with Skye? You and I both know it’s not because she’s junior to you that’s the problem. It’s that your personal situation is unclarified. There’s unfinished business between you both.’
He was looking angry now. ‘You don’t know the first thing about what happened between us.’
‘But I do. I know you jilted her the night before the wedding. And I’ve seen with my own eyes how you are around each other: you’re both jumpy and nervous as hell because you literally don’t know where you stand with one another.’
‘I’m not listening to this,’ he said, getting to his feet and throwing the remains of his soup into the grass behind him. But where was he going to go? He couldn’t get away from her, not out here.
‘Do you know what I think?’ she persisted, calling after him as he went back to get his rod from where it lay in the grass.
‘I don’t care!’
‘I think you still love her,’ she said to his back. ‘You love her and she loves you, but she’s about to marry another man because she has no idea that you still have feelings for her. And that’s why you’re so angry and rash and impetuous: leaving her was the worst decision of your life and you are fast running out of time to make it right.’
He was in the water now, wading furiously over the rocks.
‘I know you can hear me, Lochlan!’ she called after him. ‘You’re running out of time. This time next week it’ll be all over. You’ll have lost her for good and your lives will have changed for ever. Can you live with that?’
But there was no reply. He was facing downstream and casting into the water, the top hand pushing sixty per cent into the current and the bottom hand at forty per cent pulling back against it, a tension that might make the line fly – but the rod was stuck in place.
Chapter Twenty
The hours passed. The soup had had a brief warming effect that enabled her to momentarily feel her toes again but standing motionless up to her waist in cold rushing water was taking its toll and she was beginning to shiver. It didn’t help that Lochlan, still not talking to her, was now sitting on the bank with a face like thunder and making her ever more nervous. He had landed his salmon an hour ago but they were at an impasse – it was more a lesson in pique, rather than chivalry, that he flatly refused to move from the spot until she caught hers too. It didn’t matter that they both knew she was never going to catch a fish today. He knew he couldn’t win without her but if he was going to lose, he was going to make sure she knew it was her fault. So much for that abundant mentality.
Not that she was leading by example, for she had just as stubbornly refused to come out of the water for lunch, almost weeping with hunger as he tucked into the beef-and-horseradish sandwiches without her.
Their silent war continued even though her teeth chattered and her arms ached, but she remained where she was, casting the line out, over and over. It had become automatic now, the rod and line part of her own body. The sun had moved round to behind the trees, its low angle in the sky sending thick rays through the bare branches, straight into her eyes.
She cast out again, angling her body slightly more to turn away from the light when she felt a sudden tug. It was so surprising, so unexpected, that her first instinct was almost to drop the line.
‘Oh!�
� She pulled her arms up, lifting back on the rod.
Lochie heard the surprise in her voice and his head snapped up. ‘What? What is it?’
‘I . . . I think I’ve got one!’ she cried, sounding more alarmed than anything.
He was on his feet in an instant. ‘Okay, okay, just stay calm,’ he said, running down the bank and over the rocks towards her, the big fishing net in his hand. ‘If it wants to run, let it run. Don’t resist. Let it tire itself out. But if it’s coming in, reel it in, you hear me?’
‘Uh . . .’ she cried, feeling flustered as she felt the tugging become more frantic, the tension ratcheting up on the rod.
‘Let him go, let him go. That’s it . . . Now lift the rod a little – no more than that,’ Lochie said. But he was running downstream, away from her. ‘Come towards me.’
She took hesitant steps downstream. Why did she have to go down to him? Why couldn’t he come up to her, she wondered in frantic silence?
‘That’s it. There’s no rush. Now when you feel the rod bend, let him out. He’s fighting the rod and the current. He’s going to tire.’
She tried to calm herself down – the excitement and surprise, not to mention the struggle, had left her almost panting.
‘Whatever you do, don’t lock the reel,’ Lochie cautioned, standing only knee deep by the water’s edge with the net.
‘Aren’t you going to get it?’ she cried. Why wasn’t he going further out with the net?
‘Lift up the rod. Lift up the rod,’ he said, his eyes on the water. ‘He’s not ready yet. He’s about a foot away.’
She felt the tension stiffen the rod again and she lowered the tip, feeling the line run. ‘Oh God, I’m going to lose it,’ she whimpered. Her arms were tired, her muscles cramping. She hadn’t eaten, she hadn’t rested. All of this and the damn thing was going to get away. It would all have been for nothing. She wanted to cry. To scream. ‘My arms . . .’
But Lochie wasn’t looking at her; his eyes were on the water.
‘Take another step towards me,’ he said in a calm voice, taking a step deeper himself.
She stepped, just as the reel stiffened again, the fish thrashing as it surfaced momentarily and Alex felt a violent jerk on her arms, the rod almost torn from her grasp. Lochie lunged, swooping the net and catching the fish within the big hoop.
‘Yes!’ he yelled, the fish flipping and flopping about as he held it high above the water. It was big – bigger than his! ‘You actually did it! I don’t bloody believe it!’ he cried.
‘Oh my God!’ Alex cried, jumping up and down on the spot as much as she dared, actual tears falling from her lashes as they waded out of the water as quickly as they could. ‘I did it? I actually did it?’ She felt hysterical with relief. Delirious.
‘You bloody did it!’ he laughed, holding the net up high so that she could see it properly.
‘Oh my God, that was . . .’ She was open-mouthed, not sure what it had been. It had been so awful, standing there for so long braced against that cold, rushing water. But now it felt exhilarating. ‘It’s amazing,’ she gasped, her hands on her cheeks, her eyes bright.
‘You were amazing!’ he laughed, beaming down at her. ‘I can’t believe you stuck it out. You’re just amazing.’
His words made her look up at him. He’d never said anything nice to her before.
There was a pause, both of them as surprised as the other to not be arguing for once and as his gaze fell to her mouth, she felt a sudden drop in her stomach. What—?
‘Hey, you’re shivering. Your lips are blue. We need to get you warmed up,’ he said, putting down the net and, opening his jacket, wrapping its sides and his arms around her.
Alex went very still as suddenly his warmth and smell enveloped her and she felt her stiff, frozen muscles instinctively soften. She closed her eyes, grateful for the reprieve from the cold as his hands rubbed her back, moving quickly, getting the blood flowing. ‘Is that better?’ he asked after a few minutes, his voice a rumble against her ear.
She nodded and he moved back a step. ‘Thanks,’ she said quietly, tucking her hair behind one ear.
‘Hmm, your lips are pinking up again,’ he said. ‘But you need to eat. Have the sandwiches whilst I get this lot sorted,’ he said, and he walked over to the net to disentangle the hook from the salmon’s mouth.
Alex stared at his back, still trembling. But it wasn’t the cold she was feeling.
Her haul had energized them both and after a brief look at the map, Lochie led her purposefully away from the river, towards the uplands. Though the shadows were lengthening, they suddenly had hope again. They knew she was a keen shot, and tracking and sighting a stag in time was the only obstacle in their way now – Daisy and Ambrose had booked the coach to leave Borrodale at half six and whether Lochlan had considered it or not, she (as a female of the species) was going to need time to get ready beforehand.
The packs were lighter now that they’d eaten and drunk their provisions, although the game bag – which Lochlan was carrying; it hadn’t even been up for discussion – was heavy with two salmon on the inside and the brace of grouse swinging outside.
They stopped every so often for Lochie to look through the binoculars, but her blue lips were quickly replaced by flushed cheeks as they marched at speed, rifle and shotguns on their shoulders, nets and rods in their hands. The ground was uneven and rutted, hidden rabbit holes a constant peril, but before too long, the heather-striped moors were behind them, the ground becoming craggier, with rocky outcrops and swathes of dense woodland. Lochie spotted some deer droppings that he said looked fresh. To her they just looked like deer droppings.
They continued on, Alex wondering how many miles they had covered today and how long it was going to take them to get back to the house. She didn’t think she would be capable of going to a black-tie event tonight; she felt physically broken and wanted to have a bath and be in bed by eight—
She felt Lochie’s hand on her arm, stopping her. ‘Shh,’ he hushed, motioning with the other hand for her to crouch down.
She did so, squatting on her haunches and wondering what he’d seen and where. Without a word, he pointed to an area north-north-west of where they were positioned. The light was beginning to fade and she struggled to pick out anything against the pale camel-coloured moors. Only a slight movement caught her eye.
She felt her heart quicken as her eye attuned and she thought she saw a stag with three females. But it had to be three hundred metres away.
Lochlan took the rifle off his shoulder and unzipped it from the slip, his eyes never leaving their quarry. ‘Lie down,’ he whispered. ‘Take this.’
She took the rifle from him. ‘Me?’ she hissed.
‘Only one shot for this,’ he whispered back. ‘It has to be you.’
Why? Why did it have to be her? She lay down on her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows, feeling the adrenaline begin to surge again – it had been up and down like a yoyo all day.
The ground was damp; they were lying in a peat bog and she could feel the coldness of the earth through her tweed layers.
‘Check the scope,’ he murmured, the binoculars up at his eyes.
She looked through the telescopic sight – and was amazed. Suddenly, a magnificent red stag was beamed to her through the lens: it was surely twenty stone, its antlers a six- or eight-pointer.
Her heart rate increased. It was beautiful.
‘Got it?’ he murmured.
‘Yes.’
‘Now you need to aim the crosshairs halfway up the body, right behind the shoulder.’
‘Crosshairs . . . behind the shoulder,’ she repeated, feeling herself begin to tense, her hands to tremble. She tried to slow down her breathing.
‘That’s where the vitals are – it’s about a five-inch circle. You need to get a good clean shot.’
‘Okay,’ she whispered, swallowing hard as she watched the stag grazing, intermittently stopping to nose the air.
; She kept staring at it.
‘Got it?’ he asked again after a few moments.
‘Mmhmm.’
‘Take the shot when you’re ready then.’
She could hear the suppressed urgency in his voice. Tension overlaid with enforced calm.
‘. . . You okay?’
‘Uh-huh.’ But she wasn’t. Her hands were shaking and her breath was coming too fast. Panic was making the deer swim before her eyes and she had to keep alternating eyes, opening and closing one, then the other.
She heard him turn his head to look at her. ‘Alex, there’s over a million and a half deer in the UK,’ he said. ‘Their numbers have to be controlled. We have to cull. They can devastate the countryside if they’re left unchecked.’
‘Yes, I know,’ she murmured.
‘So then take the shot.’
‘I am. I will. I’m just . . .’ She took a deep breath. Cull, not kill. She refocused on the scope; she could see the animal’s brown eye moving in its socket, its ears twitching for untoward sounds – for them. It wouldn’t hear the bullet speeding towards it and by the time the gun-crack got to it, it would already be lying on the ground. Her finger twitched by the trigger.
‘This is our only chance, Alex. We’ll never find another in time.’ Lochie was sounding anxious now. She could hear the urgency in his voice.
He was right. It was almost four o’clock and the light was fading fast. Hat-trick.
Come on. She could do this.
But a tear blurred the stag from sight and she dropped her arm down. She looked across at Lochie, already scared of what she’d see, as she held out the rifle for him to use. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t do it.’
Chapter Twenty-One
WEEKLY MONTANIAN
February 9th, 1918
THOMPSON FALLS MAN IS AMONG MISSING TUSCANIA TROOPS
Edward Samuel Cobb, of Thompson Falls, Montana, enlisted in the forest reserve unit of the 20th Engineers on December 22nd, 1917. He was sent to train at the American University Camp in Washington DC, and assigned to company E, 6th Battalion. He was one of the men aboard the SS Tuscania which was torpedoed by a German U-boat five days ago. The troopship, bearing 2,197 American soldiers to the war zone, was sunk off the coast of Scotland. 267 men are missing.
