Beneath the Water

by Sarah Painter

  The story was reported in the local paper, too, and Stella felt sick as she realised something; Caitlin and Rob must have known about Ellie MacDonald and had chosen not to tell her. Stella felt sure that it would have been to protect her from unnecessary worry, but Caitlin knew Stella’s attitude to risk. How could Caitlin have kept information like this secret? And what else might Caitlin have decided not to tell her? Without consciously agreeing to it, Stella typed in James Munro. Jamie’s Wikipedia entry was first on the list, followed by his own website, that of his publisher, and a raft of interview links, but the second page of hits mentioned his father.

  There had been a boating accident. Ten years ago, when Jamie was just twenty and away at university. The bodies were never recovered. The story was illustrated with a picture of James and Helen Munro and another of their boat. Given she knew absolutely nothing about boats, it looked expensive. Further down the page was a small headshot of Jamie – a school picture, judging from the style. The article didn’t quote Jamie, but Stella knew that he would have had journalists asking him how he felt. She felt a rush of sympathy and understanding; Jamie’s need for privacy and his aversion to the press had no doubt started early.

  There was another piece, published a couple of months later, titled MUNRO TRAGEDY SHROUDED IN MYSTERY. It rehashed the – scant – details of the original news story and then speculated as to the reason Helen Munro had accompanied her partner that day. Friends close to Mrs Munro reveal that she hated the water and never made use of the family yacht. Along the bottom were links to related articles, one titled HIDDEN TREASURE. That seemed insensitive, but Stella clicked on it anyway. It was a piece about the number of shipwrecks in the waters around the Small Isles, Eigg and Rùm, which sat just off the coast from Arisaig. Galleons containing ancient gold, U-boats from World War Two, fishing vessels and canoes – the seabed was littered, apparently. And the bodies of the drowned. All those sailors and passengers, their bodies sinking below the surface, never to be seen again.

  CHAPTER NINE

  3rd March, 1848

  My dearest Mary,

  Thank you for your letter and the picture of wee Angus. You are silly to say that you dashed it off, as I simply cannot believe that to be so. It is quite a darling sketch and you have captured his likeness very well.

  I am sorry we did not get to Haddington on the first, as promised. Mr Lockhart had a flurry of patients and could not spare the time for a trip. It was selfish of me to ask for it when I know perfectly well how busy he is with his work. I know you will understand and not judge too harshly. It must be similar when Callum is rushed at his workshop. Speaking of which, I was very sorry to hear of the disaster with the tacket-mackers. The Provost must understand that if the tackets cannot be found, then your dear Callum cannot finish his boots. I remember Provost Urquhart as being a reasonable fellow but perhaps the matter to which you alluded has soured his nature of late. Wives must comfort their guid men, not add to their woes!

  On a brighter note, I write to you in great excitement. I have finally found my feet here in the city and have been invited to no less than four engagements this week alone. Great store is set by the tea circuit and, just as in dear Haddington, there is a hierarchy. You know how Mrs Gillies would serve dainty wheat bread to some folk and neeps and tatties to others? Well, it is just the same in Edinburgh society. Mr Lockhart is very pleased because I have been invited to dine with Lady Anstruther on Thursday. He wants me to take my place in society and it is a reflection of his reputation as a doctor. He says I am to listen carefully if the talk should turn to medical matters and, if it is at all appropriate, I should mention the way he cured Lady Bailie’s sister from puerperal fever when he was visiting Newburgh.

  I was so naive. I believed that doctors simply sat back and waited for their customers to seek them out (old Dr McInnes was always busier than he seemed to like) but Mr Lockhart says that is only any use if you don’t much care about the quality of your patients. To become a physician to those of breeding you must cultivate a reputation and that is what he intends to do.

  I quite understand. Mary, the coal situation is not quite as bonny as I had first assumed. He is not thrifty entirely from a moral standpoint. The downstairs rooms are warm and sumptuous, but the rest of the house is bare and cold. And Mary, I made an awful mistake in asking for some cloth for a new dress. He grew quite wild. He soon calmed when I reminded him of my visiting duties and all was well. He said that I must be presentable for Lady Anstruther and has ordered a bolt of silk.

  Do write to me soon and pass on my love and good wishes to the family – with an extra kiss for wee Angus.

  Your loving Jessie

  On the following Saturday, Stella picked Caitlin up and drove to Fort William. Having packed a suitcase for a few days only, she had begun to think longingly of her wardrobe and felt the need to buy some clothes and toiletries. After a solid couple of hours of retail therapy, including an hour in Mothercare looking at impossibly sweet sleepsuits and tiny vests with poppers, they stopped at an Italian café for coffee and millefeuille. And two large glasses of cold milk for Caitlin, who was craving the stuff.

  They talked about how Caitlin was coping with her job. ‘I thought the early months were the worst with the tiredness, but it’s getting harder. I can’t lift stuff and that’s a major issue,’ Caitlin said, chasing the last of her milk with her straw. ‘I’m really down to wildlife counts and paperwork. Everyone is being really nice about it, but I feel bad. It’s not like we’re overstaffed.’

  Stella made sympathetic noises as she attacked her cake, the fork slicing through layers of delicate pastry and soft crème pâtissière. She wondered what Jamie would be enjoying for his Saturday-afternoon treat. A handful of almonds and goji berries, perhaps.

  ‘I always said I wouldn’t take much maternity leave,’ Caitlin said, ‘but now I’m not even sure I want to go back at all after the baby arrives.’

  ‘You’re tired at the moment,’ Stella said. ‘Who knows how you’ll feel later?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m going to be so well rested when I’ve got a tiny baby screaming at me all night.’ Caitlin was smiling but her voice was flat.

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  Caitlin picked up her second glass of milk and then put it down again. ‘It’s just the unknown. And I’m on a temporary contract. I’ll have to reapply, assuming there’s even still funding for my position. And temp work means my maternity benefit isn’t amazing.’

  ‘Does Rob get paternity leave?’

  ‘Yeah, some. But he won’t be able to take the unpaid stuff or we won’t be able to pay the mortgage.’ She drained her milk. ‘At least he has the long holidays.’

  Stella was finding her cake too sweet. Her throat closed and she put her fork down, pushing her plate away. ‘Can you manage on his salary? If you don’t get a new contract with the countryside council people?’

  ‘Scottish Natural Heritage? I don’t know.’ Caitlin shook her head. ‘But I think we’re going to have to.’

  ‘Babies don’t cost much to start with,’ Stella said. She had run the figures for her and Ben, back when she had been in full planning mode.

  Caitlin gave her a look. ‘Did you see the price of those prams?’

  ‘I’ll buy you a pram,’ Stella said. ‘Baby gift.’

  Caitlin laughed. ‘Thanks. Rob’s mum is getting the pram. And my folks are springing for the cot. I’ve already been given a Moses basket and a metric ton of clothes.’

  ‘There you are, then.’ Stella pushed her plate across to Caitlin. ‘Eat up.’

  Caitlin scooped up a forkful of cake and then put it down. ‘I thought I was going to have more help. I mean, we came here to start a family. Rob wanted them to grow up where he did, and with his mum being on her own, I know he’s always felt responsible for her. It’s just . . .’

  ‘You miss your parents?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Caitlin pushed the plate away. ‘And now Rob’s mum has buggered off, anyw
ay. She moved to Lewis a few months ago. Totally out of the blue.’

  ‘Why?’

  Caitlin’s eyes slid to the left. ‘Family stuff. I’ve been reading your boss’s book.’

  Stella accepted the change of subject. Caitlin had never been a big one for heart-to-hearts. ‘Which one? I picked up the body one in the charity shop.’

  ‘No, the one about working efficiently. It doesn’t really apply to my job, unfortunately. There’s only one way to count butterflies or build a path.’

  Stella thought that Jamie would probably have an answer to that. He had an answer for everything.

  ‘So what’s he like?’

  ‘Intense,’ Stella said. ‘You should ask Rob, though. He must have known him at primary school. Before Jamie went to boarding school, anyway.’

  ‘Bladder alert,’ Caitlin said, getting up. ‘I swear this baby must be bigger than they think.’

  While Caitlin was in the bathroom, Stella pulled Jamie’s paperback from her bag and continued reading. It wasn’t exactly enjoyable, but she had always taken pride in being knowledgeable about the companies she worked for, even if she was only temporary. In Stella’s mind, nothing lasted forever and a temporary contract was no excuse to half-arse things.

  Only a fool does more than is necessary. It’s a waste of time and energy. Why exercise for hours every week when fifteen minutes of large-muscle high-intensity workout will give you the same or better results?

  Stella looked up from the chapter which advocated two-minute sessions of deep squats or pull-ups ninety minutes before and immediately after every meal. High-intensity workouts were all the rage now, but Jamie must have been one of the first to advocate the technique. Caitlin was making her way back to their table, another glass of milk in hand.

  ‘Couldn’t resist,’ she said, sitting down.

  Once Caitlin was settled in her seat, Stella was ready to rant. ‘It’s like he’s never met anybody with anything less than a perfect body. Not everyone can do deep squats.’ Stella had tried, in fact, and had fallen over on the fifth one, her thigh muscles quivering. ‘The way he talks, it’s like anything less than perfect – the best, most optimised peak performance – is a failure. And who decides what peak performance is, anyway? Loads of athletes have health problems. Not to mention it’s not exactly a balanced way of life.’

  ‘You might be taking this a bit personally,’ Caitlin said, clearly amused.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Stella held up the book. ‘This says it’s going to help, but it just makes people feel bad. We’re all imperfect, all of us, and drinking kale juice isn’t going to change that fact.’ The feelings of insecurity – of inferiority – that she had been suppressing bubbled up. Stella could understand why people gave Jamie Munro such a hard time; he made them feel bad about themselves. Next to his self-discipline and productivity and fitness, everyone else was a slob.

  ‘Well, you have had to overcome health problems—’ Caitlin began.

  ‘I haven’t overcome anything.’ Stella held up a hand to stop Caitlin from continuing. ‘You know I hate that phrase. You don’t overcome chronic illness, you survive it. You live with it. You keep on keeping on. It’s not a battle you can win through the force of your will.’

  Caitlin had her hands up. ‘I know, I know. Sorry.’

  As quickly as the anger had come, it had gone again. ‘No, I’m sorry.’ Stella looked around, hoping that her voice hadn’t carried. The other patrons seemed unconcerned and their table was reasonably isolated, thank goodness. ‘I didn’t mean to get ranty. I just hate the language people use. As if someone who dies from an illness didn’t try as hard not to as a person who doesn’t. I’m not brave or strong because I’m still alive, I’m just lucky.’

  Caitlin put a hand on her arm. ‘I understand what you’re saying. And I know how much you hate all that.’ She smiled widely, raising her glass of milk in salute. ‘I still think you’re brave.’

  ‘I don’t feel very brave,’ Stella said. She tried to keep her voice light, to disguise the swooping feeling in her stomach.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I want. I know I don’t want to go home yet, but I don’t know about Munro House, either. There’s a weird vibe and Jamie is—’ She broke off. She had been going to say ‘split personality’ but wasn’t sure if that would contravene the NDA.

  ‘Weird vibe?’ Caitlin leaned forward.

  Stella shook her head. ‘It’s probably me, projecting. I’m still really unsettled. Nothing feels safe anymore. Not since Ben left.’

  ‘That makes sense. You need time to adjust.’

  Stella went back to the book and read out a few more choice nuggets, trying to make Caitlin laugh. It went on to suggest inversion therapy to expand the spaces between the vertebrae, and high doses of a vitamin supplement she had never heard of. The disclaimer I AM NOT A DOCTOR SO PLEASE CONSULT YOUR PHYSICIAN appeared at the front of the book and regularly throughout.

  Caitlin moved her chair around to Stella’s side of the table and looked over her shoulder at the page. ‘How many times do you reckon he’s been sued?’

  ‘Lots, probably.’

  She nudged Stella’s arm. ‘What’s the new book about, then?’

  ‘You know I can’t tell you,’ Stella said.

  ‘Not even a hint?’ Caitlin said.

  ‘Why are you so interested? I thought you thought he was a quack.’

  ‘Gossip, though. I bet he’s a character. Rob keeps asking if I’ve met him yet. I think he wants you to introduce us.’

  ‘Jamie’s not very sociable,’ Stella said. ‘Why is Rob so worried, anyway? He sent Doug to check up on me.’

  ‘Oh, you know he’s always been like that. Overprotective. He’ll make a brilliant father.’

  Stella knew she was going to sound daft and Caitlin would laugh like a drain, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking: ‘Do you think I should be worried?’

  Caitlin didn’t laugh. She looked concerned, which was worse. ‘Are you all right?’ She put a hand on Stella’s arm. ‘Are you sleeping?’

  ‘I know how it sounds,’ Stella said. She weighed the words carefully in her mind before speaking, wondering how Caitlin would react. ‘I was reading about Ellie MacDonald.’

  ‘Oh God, yeah,’ Caitlin spoke after a slight hesitation. ‘That was tragic.’

  ‘You knew?’ Stella tried to keep her tone even.

  ‘Everyone knows everything around here, you’ve seen what it’s like.’ Caitlin pulled a face. ‘Rob always says I’ve got to be on my best behaviour, ’cause nobody will let you forget—’ She broke off, seeing something in Stella’s expression. ‘It was an accident. Just bad luck.’

  ‘I know,’ Stella said, and she steered the conversation back to prams.

  Stella had thought that she felt better after talking to Caitlin, but back at work at Munro House on Monday, she felt the strange tension return. She had been trying to get Jamie to look at the daily digest of messages, to sign some forms from the US tax authority, and deal with several other small things she could not sort out without his help. He waved her away, eyes fixed on a battered old notebook.

  The man was impossible.

  Stella marched out of the office, slamming the door behind her. She kept up the pace along the wide hallway and through the formal dining room.

  She was so angry, suddenly, that she could hardly see where she was going. She knew it probably wasn’t Jamie’s offhand manner which was causing her fury, just the all-too-familiar sense of inertia. Stella wanted to take control of her life, but it felt as if every attempt to steer her own destiny was thwarted. She felt as if she was being continually pushed around – by her health, other people, her boss . . . It took a moment after she had stormed into the kitchen and opened the fridge before she realised that the room wasn’t empty.

  Esmé put down the white package she was carrying and began opening it. The scent of raw meat hit Stella a
nd she turned back to the fridge, staring at the contents as if they would give her the answers she needed.

  Why was Jamie so hard to reach and deliberately evasive? And why didn’t she just leave him to it? Get the hell out of this backwater. Go home.

  ‘He wasn’t always like this,’ Esmé said.

  Stella was so surprised to hear her speak, her anger disappeared completely. She grabbed a bottle of milk and closed the fridge.

  ‘He was such a sweet wee boy.’

  Esmé’s voice was soft and, since she wasn’t scowling at Stella, she looked quite pleasant.

  ‘Tea?’ Stella said, reaching for the kettle.

  ‘I’ll do that.’ Esmé reached across and plucked the kettle from Stella’s grasp.

  ‘Why won’t you let me help?’

  ‘You have a job and it’s not in here. Got to set boundaries or people will walk all over you.’

  ‘I’m not trying to walk over you.’

  Esmé made a short barking noise which might have been a laugh if she was the laughing sort. ‘Not me. People will walk over you. You’re paid to do one job, you shouldn’t take on any more. That boy’ – she pointed at the doorway as if Jamie were stood there – ‘will take and take and he won’t notice that there’s nothing left.’

  ‘I thought you said he was a sweet boy?’ Stella didn’t understand the change in Esmé, why she was suddenly speaking to her like an ally, not an enemy.

  ‘He was,’ Esmé said. ‘He still is at times. But he’s like his father. He’s only got eyes for his own wants. You have to look after yourself with folk like that or they’ll drag you right along with them.’

  ‘Maybe I want to be dragged,’ Stella said. ‘It beats doing nothing, and God knows I need the distraction.’ Stella realised the truth of the words; she was angry with Jamie for obstructing her job as his assistant because she craved the distraction of work, of feeling needed and useful and efficient.