Beneath the Water

by Sarah Painter

  ‘Kit bag?’ Stella said, thinking of the wars, even as her brain told her that it was the wrong shape for one.

  Jamie pulled the top open, revealing ingenious layers, with a variety of instruments nestled in felted compartments. ‘Medical bag,’ Stella said. She had an overwhelming urge to take the bag and run with it somewhere private; at the same time, she felt lightheaded and almost frightened.

  Jamie held up a pair of callipers. Stella felt in the bottom of the bag and found a smooth rectangular box. Inside were a variety of scalpels. She shut the box and put it back.

  ‘Did you know your grandfather was a doctor?’

  ‘He wasn’t,’ Jamie said. ‘This must be older.’

  There were initials burned onto the side of the bag, in the bottom right-hand corner. ‘J.W.L.’

  ‘Definitely not your grandfather’s dad, then,’ Stella said. She traced the letters with her fingertips.

  ‘I guess not,’ Jamie said.

  ‘Where did your family come from before Arisaig?’ Stella said, unable to stop looking at the bag and its contents, no matter how queasy it made her feel.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jamie said. ‘We’ve been here forever.’

  ‘Not according to the folk I’ve spoken to. They say you’re relatively new.’ Stella touched a finger to a glass bottle with a length of rubber tube protruding from the stopper. ‘And where did the money come from originally? To build this place?’

  Jamie shrugged. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea. Slavery or something equally awful, I imagine.’

  ‘Have you never wondered?’

  ‘When I was wee I just accepted what we had. You know how it is, you think your family is just normal. And when I was older, I never felt part of this family. It never felt like my inheritance or destiny or anything like that so I didn’t really think about it. I was just thinking about getting away from here, and once I did, I’ve been very happy not to think about it.’

  ‘What about now? What’s changed?’

  Jamie put the callipers back into their place in the bag. ‘I don’t know. I’ve been so focused over the last few years, so sure of what I’m doing and what I want. Now I just feel a bit . . .’ He broke off, looking embarrassed. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Adrift?’ Stella said.

  He looked at her gratefully. ‘Exactly.’

  They took the bag downstairs and placed it on the dining table. It looked comfortable there, among the antique furniture. If Stella ignored Jamie’s iPhone lying next to it, she could imagine she was back in time, waiting to see the doctor. She felt a rush of gratitude that she was not, in fact, about to submit to some leeches or whatever the hell those callipers had been used for.

  ‘Water?’ Jamie seemed distracted and Stella didn’t want to step away from the bag. There was something magnetic there, something drawing her close. She opened it, gazing at the rows of instruments and lifting out the boxes and bottles from the base. It had an ingenious design, with the trays suspended above each other and a delicate cantilever system to move them over one another for easy access.

  She ran one finger over the compartments and the edges of the bag. One of the trays had a small rectangular box, in a dark blue velvet, perfectly fitted to the tray. It was difficult to lever it out, but Stella managed to get her fingernails around the sides. The fuzzy surface of the box was at odds with the glass and metal utilitarian equipment. It was like a jewellery case, and Stella wondered if it had been placed in the bag by accident and she would find a necklace or brooch.

  There was a buzzing in her ears and she realised that her vision had darkened at the edges and her heart was pounding. She lifted the hinged lid of the box and found four glass vials nestled in.

  She stepped away from the bag and took deep breaths until her pulse calmed.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Jamie returned with two glasses of water, startling Stella out of her thoughts. The bag seemed much larger than it had a moment ago.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Stella?’

  ‘Who is J.W.L.?’

  Jamie put the water down and turned the bag towards the light. Stella had to stop herself from batting his hands away. ‘Is it definitely an “L”?’

  ‘Lockhart,’ Stella said quietly. ‘Jessie’s husband was a doctor named James Lockhart.’

  Jamie looked at Stella as if she had grown a second head. ‘You think this bag is James Lockhart’s?’

  ‘Why not?’ Stella said. ‘Jessie Lockhart’s letters are in your family archive. Why not James’s bag?’

  ‘I suppose.’ Jamie frowned. ‘I just thought the letters were a bizarre mistake. Misfiled somewhere along the line.’

  Since setting eyes on the bag, Stella’s mind had been racing and one possibility seemed larger, more real than all the others. ‘What if James Lockhart is your great-great-great-grandfather, James Munro?’

  Jamie’s frown deepened. ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘He could have changed his name.’

  ‘I think you know more about my family than I do,’ Jamie said, shaking his head. ‘But why would he have changed his name?’

  ‘I don’t know. A scandal of some kind? He was very combative with James Young Simpson and the medical establishment in Edinburgh. Maybe he got on the wrong side of someone important.’

  ‘Mebbe.’ Jamie traced the letters on the bag.

  ‘How are you getting on with the journals?’

  ‘Most of them are more recent, but I do have one of James Munro’s. His name is on it and the dates are right, but there’s not much in the way of personal detail,’ Jamie said. ‘It’s all numbers and diagrams.’

  Stella wanted to push Jamie’s hand away from the bag. She didn’t know why, but she felt even him looking at it was wrong. Her heart was thumping and, as she gazed at the bag, it got faster.

  ‘Tea?’ Mercifully, Jamie was walking in the direction of the kitchen door.

  ‘Brilliant,’ Stella followed him, and as soon as she was away from the bag, she felt her pulse slow to normal. She realised that Jamie had been speaking for some time and she hadn’t heard a word. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Miles away.’ The image of the scuffed leather bag sitting on the polished wood of the table just kept jumping into her mind. It seemed important and Stella didn’t know why. She didn’t know why she felt so frightened.

  Jamie hit the switch on the kettle and got one of his disgusting green smoothies out of the fridge. ‘I was asking if you would you like to have dinner with me tonight?’

  ‘Are you cooking again?’ Stella said, struggling to pull herself into the conversation.

  ‘Could do. Or we could skip the food part and get straight to the red wine and sex.’

  Well, that did the trick. He was refreshingly upfront, and it felt wonderful to be wanted. ‘Why don’t we go out tonight? We could go to the hotel restaurant.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you had a thing for doing it in public,’ Jamie said.

  ‘I’m being serious. I think it would be good for us to get out for a while, get away from the research.’ And away from that bag.

  He pulled a face. ‘You know I don’t—’

  ‘I know,’ Stella said, as gently as she could. She didn’t want to be disappointed and wasn’t even sure why she was pushing him. It was his life, he could live it the way he wanted. More to the point, there was no reason for him to make any kind of effort, and if she pushed him, she would just push him away. Maybe that was what she wanted, to hasten the end of the fling or whatever this was, before it could do any real damage.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Challenge accepted.’

  It was a Saturday, but Stella hoped the hotel wouldn’t be too busy. The boys were always in the bar on a Friday and, after all, none of them had that much money. Jamie opened the door for her, but she told him to choose a table, figuring that he would know where he would feel most comfortable. Stella went to the bar to get a gin and tonic and a glass of water.

  The noise level in the room drop
ped, like a scene from an old western. The girl serving wasn’t from the village and she seemed oblivious, but people were whispering and casting glances into the corner Jamie had chosen. Stella risked a look, too, and saw Jamie’s stony expression. Her stomach dipped. This had been a bad idea. She squared her shoulders and took their drinks to the table.

  She sat side-on, wanting to be able to see what Jamie could see and not have her back to the room, hoping that if people knew she could see them, they wouldn’t openly glare at Jamie. Stella had thought that she had built up good will in the village, that she had made real friends. Surely that would buy Jamie a bit of decency?

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want a proper drink?’

  ‘I’m driving,’ Jamie said.

  ‘You don’t have to, we can walk. Or you can have this.’ Stella pointed to her untouched glass. ‘I told you I’m happy to drive.’

  Jamie shook his head and picked up his water.

  ‘I want you to relax.’

  He smiled tightly. ‘I said I would take you for dinner, I never promised to relax.’

  ‘This is true,’ Stella said. She asked him about San Francisco, trying to get him talking and take his mind off being out of his comfort zone.

  After fifteen minutes or so, Jamie stood up. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘To the restaurant,’ Jamie said. ‘It’s time.’

  Relieved that he wasn’t marching out, Stella followed Jamie across the hallway to the restaurant. She had glanced through the doorway but never been into the room. It was a good size with pleasant, light decor and modern wooden tables and chairs. The waitress who greeted them was smiley and she chatted as she seated them, asking if they were on holiday. Stella wondered if she was new or if she only ever worked on the restaurant side.

  She was leading them to a table at one side of the room, but when they arrived Jamie didn’t sit down. ‘May we sit in the window, instead?’

  ‘Um. I don’t know, they might be booked.’ She glanced over to the area Jamie was indicating. ‘And they’re tables for four people.’

  ‘When I booked I asked for the best table. This is not the best table.’

  ‘We don’t really have a best—’ she began.

  ‘No.’ Jamie held up a hand to stop her speaking. ‘You mean you’re not aware of the optimum positions for the tables and their relative merits. Which is a sign that you’re not very experienced or very observant or particularly good at your job.’

  ‘Jamie,’ Stella said, trying to telegraph through the medium of glare that he should stop being an arse. To the girl, she said, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, it’s okay. I’m sure it’s fine for you to sit in the window.’ She led the way to a large table and Jamie sat down.

  As soon as the girl had left to fetch menus, Stella leaned forward. ‘Why so rude?’

  ‘I wasn’t rude,’ Jamie said. ‘I was firm.’

  ‘You told her she wasn’t good at her job.’

  ‘That was honesty. You’re too nice.’

  ‘I prefer my food not to come with a spittle garnish,’ Stella said. ‘And I don’t like unprovoked attacks on people who earn minimum wage doing a difficult job.’

  ‘It’s hardly difficult.’

  ‘It is when dealing with people like you,’ Stella said. She paused while the girl brought their menus and resumed once she was out of earshot. ‘Besides, how the hell would you know? I doubt you’ve ever waited tables or collected glasses in a pub.’

  He looked around, and for a moment Stella thought he was going to get up and leave. Instead, he blew out a sigh. ‘Fair point.’ He flipped open the menu and began reading, not looking up.

  Stella opened her own menu and tried to relax. When the waitress came back, looking nervous, she ordered hot-smoked salmon with new potatoes. Jamie asked for the same and a side salad, but not before interrogating the waitress on the origin of the fish, the vegetables provided and salad dressing options. Before the waitress could escape, Stella asked for a glass of red wine.

  ‘Merlot or Cab Sauv?’

  ‘Merlot, please.’

  ‘What is the Merlot?’ Jamie said.

  ‘Um—’

  ‘Never mind,’ Jamie said, not smiling. ‘I’ll have some water.’

  ‘I can find out . . .’ the girl began.

  ‘Just water will do, thanks.’

  Stella sat back in her seat and regarded Jamie. It was as if the previous few weeks hadn’t happened and she was back with the prickly, closed-off man she had first met. As the silence between them lengthened, Stella began to wonder why he had bothered to take her out at all. She opened her mouth to tell Jamie they should leave, that she had no interest in having dinner with him anymore, when she heard her name being called. She turned to see Stewart and a woman she didn’t recognise.

  ‘Hello, you,’ she said, making to stand up.

  ‘We won’t disturb you,’ he said, glancing at Jamie and then doing a double take. ‘Bloody hell,’ Stewart said. ‘It’s you.’

  ‘You’re not disturbing us,’ Stella said at the same time as Stewart said, ‘Long time no see,’ staring at Jamie as if he’d seen a ghost.

  Jamie stood up and held out a hand. ‘Good to see you. Would you like to join us?’

  Stewart paused and Stella held her breath, unsure whether he was going to take Jamie’s hand or not. Eventually, he did, shaking it quickly and introducing his friend. ‘This is Rebecca. We’ve got a table booked. Mebbe see you for a drink after, though. If you’re still around.’

  Stewart nodded to Stella and walked on, taking a table by the back wall of the room.

  ‘Wow. So how long is it since you saw Stewart?’

  ‘Long time,’ Jamie said.

  The waitress was back with their meals, and she placed Jamie’s down without looking at him and departed hastily. Stella didn’t blame the girl.

  ‘We’ll see them for a drink, though. You two can catch up properly.’

  ‘I don’t know the guy,’ Jamie said. ‘You don’t catch up with someone you last saw playing tig.’

  Stella unfolded the cloth napkin. ‘I thought you came home to find your roots.’

  ‘My family, yes. I don’t know why you’re so keen on me getting to know the whole village.’

  ‘And I don’t know why you’re so resistant,’ Stella said.

  ‘Can we please talk about something else?’ Jamie made a visible effort to lighten the mood. ‘This is supposed to be a romantic evening.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Stella wasn’t about to let the subject go that easily.

  ‘Yes.’ Jamie reached a hand across the table and caught her wrist, rubbing his thumb along the tender underside. ‘And I want to talk about you.’

  ‘I think we should talk about your book. I was reading an interview with the oldest person in Scotland, I thought you’d be interested.’

  ‘I am interested. In Stella Jackson. Why has she fallen in love with this rain-soaked corner of Britain, not that I’m not grateful. What does she want, what can I do to make her happy . . . ?’

  He was being charming. Ben had been charming and it had all been a lie. Making her happy had actually meant keeping her quiet while he got what he wanted and she wasted her time. She forced Ben from her mind and concentrated on Jessie Galant. ‘Her name was Jessie, just like our Jessie, and she lived to one hundred and nine. She said the secret to her long life was staying away from men.’

  Jamie released her hand and sat back, smiling. ‘Well, I should be golden, then. I’m not much for the gents.’

  ‘Ah, but I think it’s different for men. Wasn’t there that study that showed that married men lived longer than unmarried?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not much for marriage, either, I’m afraid.’

  The jokey tone of the conversation took a sudden and unexpected dip. Stella blinked. It was ridiculous to be upset by a throwaway comment from a man she had known for a few weeks. Pain that Stella had been expecting for days dro
ve in on a bus and sideswiped her.

  ‘What?’ Jamie stopped smiling. ‘Christ. What did I say?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Stella shook her head. She was not going to cry in front of Jamie. Not in this restaurant. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Bit of a sore spot.’

  He frowned. ‘I don’t—’

  ‘Ben,’ Stella said. May as well get it over with. ‘We were engaged but he broke it off. He decided he wasn’t for marriage, either. More accurately, he wasn’t up for marriage with me. He met somebody else.’

  ‘Oh,’ Jamie said, visibly regrouping. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Stella took a healthy slug of her Merlot. ‘We bought a house together, too. That’s actually trickier to sort out than a broken engagement.’ Stella mimed taking off a ring. ‘That was pretty easy. Tears, removal of heirloom ring, fling ring back at boy. Done.’

  ‘Was he unfaithful?’ Jamie’s face was stony.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Stella said. ‘Probably. The thing is’ – she took another sip of her wine, fortifying herself – ‘we weren’t very compatible in the bedroom. We were best friends, really, and we had an agreement. If he’d just been honest and told me he wanted to have the physical stuff elsewhere, then we could have made it work.’

  ‘You would have got married?’ Jamie frowned.

  ‘He loved me,’ Stella said, certain it was true. ‘He loved me very much and I loved him and we both thought it could work. We were lying to ourselves, and he realised it first.’

  ‘You’re being very reasonable.’

  ‘I’m a very reasonable person.’ Stella drained the last of her wine and looked in her bag for a tissue to blow her nose.

  Jamie shook his head. ‘I’d be furious.’

  Stella blinked. ‘Why angry?’

  ‘How long were you together?’

  ‘Six years. We got together in my last term of university. Before I had to drop out with my health issues.’

  ‘And were you, um, compatible to start with?’

  Stella shrugged. ‘We met at an LGBT club and I assumed he wasn’t interested in my gender. But we started going out and it was brilliant. We clicked. Stayed up all night talking, all those clichés.’ Stella picked up her empty wine glass and then put it down again. She would be a mess if she carried on drinking at the same speed. ‘And by the time I realised the sex side wasn’t going to kick off, I was in love. And he always said it wasn’t important to him, that it was just something he didn’t crave.’