Beneath the Water

by Sarah Painter

  She shook herself from this unpleasant thought and went to Jamie’s office to check for more correspondence from Jessie Lockhart. Jamie wasn’t there, and Stella was grateful not to have to see him at that moment. She checked the neat lists taped to the top of each box, looking for mention of private correspondence, letters, or the name ‘Lockhart’.

  There were drifts of paper and books all over the office and Stella suddenly saw the room as Nathan might, the outward manifestation of a disordered mind. Jamie was like a one-man cyclone and Stella automatically began shepherding some of the mess.

  ‘Don’t touch anything in here,’ Jamie said, walking in to find her in the process of moving one stack of books from his chair to the table.

  His sharp tone made Stella waspish in return. Her earlier thoughts didn’t help, and she felt the rush of blood to her cheeks. Either irritation or embarrassment or something else. ‘You store your reading material on your chair? Where do you sit?’

  ‘I try not to. Sitting is killing us all.’

  Stella was saved from answering by the sound of the landline. Jamie never answered it so she was surprised when he reached across the desk and picked up the handset. She moved towards the door to her office, giving him privacy, but then she heard her name.

  ‘Stella? Did she give you this number?’

  She turned to see Jamie frowning at her with full force as he listened to whoever was on the telephone. She shook her head to indicate that she hadn’t given Jamie’s home number to anybody. Which she had not. Caitlin had requested it for emergencies but Stella had fobbed her off by saying that she would give it to her later.

  ‘Hold on, I will see if she is free.’ He covered the receiver with his hand. ‘Ben Dawson.’

  Stella shook her head, sudden panic shooting through her body. Not here. Not now.

  ‘Hi, Ben,’ Jamie spoke into the phone, not taking his eyes off Stella. ‘She just stepped out. Can I take a message?’

  When he had finished the call, Stella started to say ‘thank you’, but Jamie was already speaking. Low and quiet and absolutely furious. ‘What part of “discreet” did you not understand? My privacy is the most important thing to me. If I can’t trust you not to hand out my home phone number—’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Stella said. ‘I swear to you.’

  Jamie paused, evidently seeing something in her face. ‘Then how the hell—’

  ‘I have not given your number or any other information about you to a single person.’ Stella hesitated, then corrected herself. ‘Barring the sanctioned information you have allowed for replying to certain correspondence and to your agent.’ She felt the sudden urge to cry and widened her eyes, willing the tears to stay put. It was irritating how that response could mark you out as weak or unprofessional when it had absolutely nothing to do with the sharpness of your mind or your ability to do your job and was only a physical reaction.

  ‘Who is he, then?’ Jamie crossed his arms. ‘Ben Dawson.’

  ‘A friend,’ Stella said.

  ‘And you told him you were working for me?’

  Stella shook her head. She hadn’t given Ben Jamie’s name, hadn’t told him anything about her job. She was about to say so when a thought hit her. She had telephoned from Jamie’s landline. ‘He usually texts me. Maybe he rang Caitlin, he has her number.’

  ‘You think she told him?’

  ‘No.’ Stella took a deep breath. ‘I rang him and I was worried about the reception cutting out so I used the landline. I didn’t withhold the number. I forgot to dial 141.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Stella,’ Jamie said.

  ‘Sorry,’ Stella said.

  Jamie didn’t say anything else, was already distracted by something on his computer screen. Stella left the room, adrenaline coursing through her body. He really was unbelievably rude at times. Too much time on his own. Too much money. At least that answered one question: she definitely wasn’t trying to replace Ben with Jamie Munro. The man was insufferable.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  28th July, 1848

  My dearest Mary,

  I have the most astounding news. I am going to have a baby! I know this is probably not so shocking to you and is quite the natural order, but I had begun to worry that it would never happen. I was concerned that I was too infirm and sickly. My breath does not always come easily and although I have followed all of your good advice, it still often feels as if I have been laced too tightly and for too long. Mr Lockhart had grown quite impatient at my barren nature and I was concerned that he was disappointed and that he might even regret our union. But, Mary, I am wi’ bairn! My own wee one. My happiness is almost complete. To make it so, I would just need you with me. Mr Lockhart says that you will be able to come and stay with us, if you wish, once the babe is safely born. He says that the excitement will be too much for me before. I hope you understand. Curse my delicate health!

  Do write soon. Please give my love to all the family with an extra kiss for yourself.

  Jessie

  Stella folded the letter carefully and stared out of the window, not seeing anything. Another pregnancy. It was borderline insane to be envious of a woman who had lived and died years ago, a woman she didn’t know. Along with the needle prick of envy, Stella felt happy for Jessie, and that was a relief. She didn’t want to be a bitter person. She put a hand to her chest, felt her heart beating and wondered about Jessie’s ‘delicate health’. It had been a concern of her own and she had got as far as making an appointment with her consultant to discuss possible complications of her hoped-for pregnancy. An appointment that she then cancelled when Ben left, the questions still unanswered. The last thing she had been told was that ‘normal activities’ were unlikely to cause her any problems, but whether pregnancy and birth were counted in that category she hadn’t thought to ask at the time, or possibly she hadn’t broached it as she didn’t care to hear a doctor say it might not be a good idea.

  Later that evening, Stella could hear voices coming from the living room. Jamie was sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine and laughing in a way Stella had never heard. Free and big and almost uncontrolled. Nathan was in the middle of some riff, waving his arms around and playing to his audience. She paused in the doorway, uncertain whether to intrude.

  Jamie saw her and straightened up. ‘Have a drink with us!’

  ‘Yeah, do,’ Nathan said, sounding less sincere.

  Jamie was already up and pouring a glass of wine. Stella took it, vowing to herself to sip slowly and leave as soon as humanly possible. Jamie put his hand on her arm, drawing her to the sofa. Stella stepped away and took one of the armchairs instead. Nathan watched her as she did, a smile that was most definitely more of a smirk on his lips.

  ‘What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?’

  ‘Working,’ Stella said crisply. ‘As you know.’

  ‘I meant this place,’ he waved at the window. ‘The ass-end of nowhere. I mean, he’s got to be here. Family ties. I can see that, but why you?’

  He emphasised the last two words, making it sound like a larger question. More like why do you exist, what is the point of you? than an innocent query on location.

  ‘I have friends in the village,’ Stella said. ‘Rob and Caitlin Baird.’

  Jamie nodded. ‘I know Rob Baird. His family used to be invited to the godawful Hogmanay Dad always put on.’

  ‘Oh, Christ. Hogmanay.’ Nathan pulled a face.

  ‘What have you got against New Year’s Eve?’ Stella said. She didn’t know what it was about Nathan that made her argumentative, but he made her want to stake her place, prove herself in some way.

  ‘Hogmanay is a much bigger deal in Scotland than Christmas,’ Jamie said. ‘Turn of the year, light in the darkness, all that.’

  ‘Auld Lang Syne.’ Nathan raised his glass.

  ‘Aye. Lang may yer lum reek,’ Jamie said, smiling. Then he drank, too.

  Stella was wondering if this new, relaxed-looking Jamie was entirely
down to the alcohol, or whether he had turned some kind of corner, when the door opened and Esmé appeared with a tray.

  ‘I didn’t know you had company,’ she said, lips pursed. ‘There’s fruit cake.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Jamie said. ‘We’re on the booze now.’

  ‘Fruit cake would be lovely,’ Stella said, standing up to help with the tray. Anything to soak up the alcohol. Her head seemed to swim very quickly in this house, like the air was intoxicating.

  ‘You look radiant tonight, Mrs C,’ Nathan said. ‘Going somewhere special?’

  Esmé was wearing a silky blouse with her customary trousers and jacket, and her hair looked neater than usual. ‘What I do in my own time is none of your concern,’ Esmé said, walking out with the empty tray.

  Nathan waited a beat for the door to close and then turned to Jamie, his mouth opening. Whatever smart remark he had planned stayed unsaid as a crash in the hallway made them all jump.

  Jamie was first into the hall and Stella’s view of Esmé on the floor was partially obscured by his broad back. ‘What is it?’ Nathan said but Stella couldn’t answer. Everything slowed as she got down on the floor. ‘Esmé! Esmé, can you hear me?’ Jamie was on the other side. Esmé was very still, but when Stella leaned down she felt breath on her cheek and saw a slight rise of her chest. Her silk blouse had fallen open at the neck and Stella rearranged it, feeling awkward for doing so but knowing that a woman as proud as Esmé would not want any hint of her underwear on display. ‘Jesus wept,’ Jamie muttered. He placed two fingers on his housekeeper’s neck and looked at his enormous watch.

  Nathan had his mobile out and was swearing at it. ‘Landline,’ Stella said, rising for the phone. Her head swam and the edges of her vision went dark. Not now, Stella prayed, and reached out a hand to steady herself. Nathan was down the corridor and at the telephone table before she had taken two steps. Stella took a few deep breaths and then sank carefully back down at Esmé’s side. She held the hand that Jamie wasn’t using to take her pulse, and kept up a stream of inane reassurance, hoping that Esmé could hear her.

  ‘They’re sending a chopper,’ Nathan said, joining them.

  ‘Good,’ Jamie said. He hadn’t looked away from Esmé, and now he leaned close and said, ‘Hear that? You’re getting the mountain rescue. They’ll be here in a minute. Just hold on.’

  Esmé’s eyes fluttered and for a moment Stella thought she might look around and ask what all the fuss was about, but she didn’t. Her eyes did open though, showing yellowed whites.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Stella said. ‘You’re okay. You fainted.’

  Esmé seemed to be trying to focus, and her mouth moved as if she were going to speak, but then just a terrifying, slurred mumble came out, along with some spittle.

  ‘Help her sit up,’ Jamie said.

  ‘No,’ Stella said. ‘She fell, and she might have hurt her back or her neck. We can’t move her.’

  Esmé was still making sounds, but they were clearer now. ‘Tabitha.’

  ‘Get Tabitha,’ Jamie said, and Nathan obediently left.

  It didn’t seem possible that someone as solid and steady as Esmé could be ill, but then she wasn’t a young woman. ‘Does she take medication?’

  ‘What?’ Jamie glanced up. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’

  Esmé was struggling to move, trying to sit up.

  Jamie glanced helplessly at Stella. ‘Stay still,’ he said. ‘You need to stay lying down. Do you take any medicine? We need to know.’

  ‘Tabitha,’ Esmé said.

  ‘I’ll check her room. They might need to know.’ Stella was glad to have something to do, to be in motion.

  Esmé’s room was neat and smelled like Esmé. A mixture of allspice and fresh air with the faintest floral undertone. There was a pot of rose-scented face cream on top of the chest of drawers and a pile of library books on the table by the bed. Stella didn’t want to invade Esmé’s privacy but she had no choice. The small drawer in the bedside table held a handkerchief, reading glasses and a small address book. There was a brown plastic tub with a white printed label, but it just held ibuprofen. Standard strength. She pocketed it anyway.

  There was nothing on any of the surfaces, and a quick look in the chest of drawers revealed neatly folded clothes.

  As Stella had assumed, Esmé appeared to be supremely healthy. Stella tried not to think of horrible things like brain tumours or heart attacks or strokes, all of which could fly out of the clear blue sky. She hadn’t seemed to be having a heart attack but then the symptoms for women were different. Women were less likely to clutch their chest or complain of pain down one arm; they often had backache, shortness of breath or nausea instead.

  Back in the hall, Jamie was still kneeling next to Esmé, talking quietly. He looked up as Stella approached. ‘She’s cold.’

  ‘I’ll get a blanket,’ Stella said, turning on her heel.

  ‘And a pillow for her head,’ Jamie called.

  Stella ran up the stairs and into her bedroom. She had seen folded blankets on the top shelf of the wardrobe and she grabbed them both. She forced herself to descend the stairs carefully, knowing that around seven hundred people died every year through falling on steps.

  Back downstairs, Stella handed the blankets to Jamie. ‘I don’t know whether we should lift her head onto a pillow,’ she said. She wished she knew more about the specific statistics for neck injuries.

  Jamie had already taken off his lightweight jumper and folded it underneath Esmé’s head. ‘You’re fine,’ he was saying quietly. ‘The paramedics are on their way.’

  ‘I feel sick,’ Esmé mumbled, turning her head to one side.

  ‘Is that bad?’ Jamie said, looking helplessly up at Stella.

  ‘I’ll get a basin,’ Stella said.

  As she crossed the front hall towards the kitchen she heard a whump, whump sound. She went into the dining room and looked at the back garden. On the lowest lawn, the large rectangle of tended grass before the wild stretch of marsh and scrub which acted as a buffer between the garden and the beach, was an orange helicopter with two uniformed figures already running towards the house. Stella went to the nearest door and opened it wide. ‘This way.’ Her voice was lost in the sound of the helicopter; the blades were still turning, slowing down.

  The paramedics followed, carrying professional-looking bags and a folding stretcher. Stella led them to Esmé, who had her eyes closed again. The sharp smell of vomit overlaid the usual scent of floor polish and there was a pool of viscous brown fluid on the floor.

  ‘They’re here,’ Jamie said to Esmé, moving back to give the paramedics access.

  Within moments, their bulky bags were open and an air of brisk efficiency surrounded the scene. Esmé wasn’t moving and her skin was waxy and pale, but the grown-ups had arrived. Jamie, Nathan and Stella stood back, relieved to be sidelined. ‘Can you go with her?’ Jamie said. ‘There will only be room in the helicopter for one, maybe not even that.’

  ‘No problem,’ Stella said automatically. It wasn’t until she was being strapped into the back of the aircraft that she realised how odd this was. This wasn’t a job for the hired staff, this was Jamie’s place. Esmé was the only family he had left and he was down on the ground, looking up as the helicopter lifted, his hand shading his eyes and his expression unreadable. Stella didn’t know where to look on the short flight. Esmé was still and had a mask over her face. One of the paramedics was leaning over her, adjusting things, speaking to her and generally doing useful and life-saving things. Stella reached out and touched the hand nearest, squeezing Esmé’s fingers and then just holding them loosely. Occasionally she thought she felt Esmé squeeze back but she wasn’t sure if she was imagining it.

  At the hospital, Stella was shut out of the room while they got to work. After what felt like a day, but was less than an hour, she was moved to a ward and Stella was allowed to see her. Esmé’s eyes were open but Stella wasn’t sure if she was actually awak
e. She didn’t move her head for a few minutes, and then her eyes swivelled slowly and her mouth pulled up a little as if she was trying to smile or speak. ‘You’re in the hospital,’ Stella said. ‘But everything is okay. You’re going to be fine. They’re looking after you.’ In the absence of actual information, Stella didn’t know what else to say. Also, she had the feeling you were supposed to be encouraging in situations like this. Esmé nodded and closed her eyes. Just when Stella thought she was asleep she murmured, ‘Tell Jamie.’ Stella waited for the rest of the instruction, but after five minutes all was quiet. Just Esmé’s uneven breath and the sounds of the hospital.

  Out in the corridor, Stella used her mobile to phone the landline at Arisaig. She didn’t realise she was angry until Jamie answered the phone and her words came out clipped and business-like. ‘I thought you might like an update,’ she began. ‘They are working on the theory that she took too much of a heart medication.’

  ‘Is she all right, though?’

  ‘They seem to think she’ll make a full recovery.’

  ‘Thank Christ,’ Jamie said, the emotion in his voice making Stella soften a little. But then the fury came back, stronger than before. ‘You should be here,’ she said.

  There was a pause. ‘I know,’ Jamie said. ‘I want to be. How long do you think before they’ll let you bring her home?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Stella said. ‘You should come in. You’re the one listed as her next of kin. Nathan can look after the dogs.’

  ‘He’s gone to Glasgow,’ Jamie said. ‘There’s a sister in Inverness. They’re not close. I might have a number for her somewhere. Do you think I should let her know?’

  ‘Do whatever you think,’ Stella said, suddenly desperate to get away from the conversation. These were not her people; this was not her problem. She didn’t understand why Jamie hadn’t come to the hospital with Esmé, and was trying to ignore the sharp stab of disappointment at his behaviour.

  ‘Anything she needs,’ Jamie was saying. ‘Use the company credit card. If she needs care at home, I can get a private nurse.’