A Coffin For Two ob-2

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘Oz, pal. Hullawarerr, how yis been?’ he bellowed as I walked in. Ali was born and raised in Scotland. His complexion and head-dress may be sub-continental Asian, but his accent is pure Rab C.

  ‘Hullawrerr to youse, China,’ I responded. ‘I’s been fine.’

  ‘So ah see,’ he said, taking a closer look. ‘Yis’re fuckin’ darker-skinned than me noo. How long are yis here for?’

  I checked my watch. It was just leaving 10:30 a.m. ‘About five and a half hours.’

  ‘Is yer lass back wi yis?’

  ‘No. Prim’s in Spain. We’re living there now.’

  ‘Aye, ah ken. Yis sent me a postcard, mind.’

  The wheels were turning under that turban. ‘So have yis been stayin’ in the loft?’

  I decided to cut the interrogation short. ‘That’s right, sunshine. With Jan, my old school chum. She’s living there now. Tall girl, dark hair; shops in here according to the label on her washing up liquid. Now we’d like breakfast. So it’ll be four of your freshest rolls and half a pound of your spiciest Lorne sausage, please, my good man. Oh yes, and a Daily Record.’

  Ali glanced at his watch, as he selected four rolls from that morning’s batch. ‘Breakfast!’ he said. ‘At half past ten! You’ll be in the Daily fuckin’ Record yirself, the wey you’re goin’ on, pal.’

  Jan was in the kitchen when I got back, in her dressing gown, with her hair wrapped in a towel.

  ‘Go on,’ I said, kissing her shiny nose. ‘Get yourself sorted. I’ll make breakfast. Incidentally, shouldn’t you be working today?’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t have any meetings, so I’m okay. You know what the self-employed life is like. I’ll do a double shift tomorrow. So I’m yours for the day, or at least till you catch your plane.’

  ‘Good,’ I said, ‘for there’s something I’d like to do in town, while I’ve got the chance. So you get your legs and stuff upstairs and get dressed. I’ll be about ten minutes with the rolls and coffee.’

  It was a mild morning, so we ate in canvas chairs out on the pocket-sized wooden balcony. As the last of the coffee went down, Jan grabbed my Daily Record and handed me three envelopes, already opened. They were all addressed to Blackstone Spanish Investigations.

  They were all follow-ups from the other enquiries which Jan had fielded on the previous Friday. One was from a firm of Glasgow solicitors, looking to have a statement taken in Tarragona from a potential witness in a civil court action. The others had come from manufacturing companies looking for information on the sales potential for their products in Spain.

  ‘Interesting,’ I said, as Jan studied her horoscope. It always amazes me how intelligent people can fall for that crap. ‘I can do the interview, no problem. Prim can tackle the other two. They’ll be desk research mainly. Hal, at the consulate, will be able to give us some of the information, and probably the contacts who’ll give us the rest.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Jan, ‘but just remember that Gavin Scott comes first.’

  ‘Sure.’ I took her hand and looked out across the roofs of the Old Town, towards the crests of Holyrood Palace. ‘All this, the last few days,’ I said. ‘It’s doing my head in, you know. A week ago, Prim told me I was well down the road to vegetation. She was right. She came up with the business idea. She, more than anyone, put me on that plane.

  ‘Look at me now, seven days later. Sat on another terrace, with another woman. And you know, don’t you, that part of me wants to stay here?’

  Jan gave my fingers a squeeze. ‘Sure, darlin’,’ she said, in her lazy drawl. ‘But all of you’s got to want it or it’s no good. Okay, so you and I took each other by surprise last night. But we’ve slept together often enough before.’

  She caught my smile. ‘Okay, maybe not often enough.’ She laughed, then was serious again. ‘Still, it shouldn’t have casual consequences for either of us. Make no mistake, I know what I want, bottom line, and I know why. But I’m not going to tell you what this is. Not now, anyway.

  ‘Whatever direction you decide you want your life to take, you can’t be ambivalent about it.You’ve got to be certain, and you’ve got to be certain for the right reason.

  ‘I haven’t a bloody clue what your reason will turn out to be, but I’m sure that you’ll find it. Even then, there’ll be no guarantee you’ll get what you want, but I know that you won’t unless you’re completely committed to it.’

  Jan reached out and touched my cheek, holding my gaze. ‘Remember those birds we used to watch from the beach when we were kids, the gulls and the ducks, floating on the sea just behind the crest of the tide, getting closer to land, but never quite allowing the waves to bring them in to shore? Well, my darling, no more drifting on the tide. It’s make your mind up time.’

  I smiled at her, but I wasn’t laughing. ‘Two days ago, I thought I had; but maybe I was just treading water. The Mediterranean’s different, remember. No tides.’

  She stood up and stepped inside, drawing me with her. ‘Now, what’s the thing you want to do uptown, because time’s getting on?’

  I folded the chairs and carried them inside as Jan closed the French doors. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I want to go to a jeweller’s.’

  I told her no more than that, all the way up from the loft, through Waverley Station and out into Princes Street. I could tell that I had her interest, but typically, she refused to ask me anything about my purpose.

  Finally we reached Laing‘s, in Frederick Street. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell you now. This is a bit of detective work of my own.’ I led her inside and asked for Gregor, the manager. ‘He’s one of my Tuesday football pals,‘I explained to Jan as he came bounding down the stairs at the rear of the shop.

  His eyes lit up as he saw us, and I could tell that he was anticipating a diamond sale. I put him right at once, as he greeted us. ‘I’m after nuggets of information,’ I said, ‘not gold.’

  ‘Christ, Oz,’ he groaned, ‘that’s corny. But tell me about it anyway.’

  He motioned Jan and I to chairs at one of their fitting tables, and sat down with us. ‘Remember that watch I bought last year for my dad?’ I asked him.

  ‘Sure. Giorgio of Beverley Hills. A good line for us.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. They’ve all got serial numbers, yes?’ Gregor nodded. ‘And they’re guaranteed, obviously,’ I went on. ‘So, are the serial numbers registered with the guarantee, or are they just for show? In other words, can you identify the purchaser just by looking at the back of the watch?’

  ‘Yes, assuming that all the paperwork’s been done. Why? Has your dad been getting unwanted mail from Giorgio?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. The thing is, I found a watch just like it in Spain, and I’d like to return it if I can. A guy out there told me that those watches were made for the UK market only.’

  ‘And America.’

  ‘Mmm. But assuming it is UK, if I give you the serial number could you come up with a name and address?’

  He scratched his chin. ‘If we sold it, I can tell you straight away. But it’s probably odds against that. What’s the number?’

  ‘930100.’

  He stood up. ‘Give me a minute.’ He trotted back up the stairs to what I assumed was his office, reappearing a few minutes later. ‘No, it isn’t one of ours,’ he said. ‘But the first letter of the serial number tells me that it is a UK watch, and the second that it was sold in the West of England.

  ‘I can’t make any promises, Oz, because the manufacturers have no obligation to give me information about other people’s customers. We’re significant buyers, though. I shouldn’t imagine I’ll have any bother. Will you be at Meadowbank tomorrow night?’ he asked. ‘I should have news by then.’

  ‘Sorry. I’m going back to Spain this afternoon. But you can fax me, one way or another.’ I scribbled my St Marti number on a scratchpad which lay on the table.

  ‘Sure, I’ll do that,’ he said. ‘It’s a pity you can’t stay longer. Our Tuesday nig
ht game’s got too serious since you left. Anything else I can do for you, while you’re here?’

  I nodded, and pointed towards a display case beside our table. ‘Since you ask. See that gold necklet?You can wrap that up for me.’ Gregor’s eyes lit up again.

  Buying jewellery in Laing’s is always a pleasant experience. Very few shops these days have the knack of making the customer feel special, but theirs is one that does. I replaced my card in my wallet and slipped my purchase into the pocket of my jacket, as Gregor showed us out into Frederick Street. ‘I’ll give you information any time you like if that’s what comes of it,’ he said, waving us farewell.

  We walked casually back the way we had come, pausing to window-gaze in the specialist Waverley Shopping Centre. It was dead on 2 p.m. by the time we arrived back at the loft. ‘Better head for the airport,’ said Jan, in a matter-of-fact way, as we stood, looking out of the window once more.

  ‘Yes.’ I paused. ‘Listen, I can get a taxi.’

  She threw me one of her most dismissive looks.

  ‘Okay,’ I grinned, ‘but I had to offer.’ I picked up my bag, and Gavin Scott’s print, in its tube, and we headed for the door.

  Half-an-hour later, Jan pulled up at the airport. We looked at each other. It had all been said. Well, almost. ‘Whatever,’ said Jan. ‘I love you.’ We kissed.

  ‘Whatever,’ I said. I took the long box from my pocket, ripped the paper from it, took out the necklet and fastened it around her throat. She looked at me in surprise, but didn’t say a word. The gold seemed to shine even brighter.

  She smiled and touched my cheek. ‘Think of it this way. At worst we’ll be step-brother and step-sister … or maybe at best.’

  19

  My flight landed in Barcelona ten minutes early, and so it was just after nine-thirty when I stepped through the blue channel and out into the concourse. The arrangement had been that I would catch the last train to Girona and take a taxi home.

  But there she was, copper tan, sun-gold blonde, bright-brown-eyed. My Primavera.

  All the way home I had thought of my weird weekend. My reunions, my serious conversation with my sister, and the ShaneWarne googly that Jan’s rediscovered emancipation had thrown into my comfortable, complacent life.

  I was certain that I loved Prim. I was certain that I loved Jan. I was certain that sometime very soon I was going to have to make a painful choice. That was where my certainty ended.

  Somewhere in there, there was something profound, something meaningful, something which gave me the answer. The big overwhelming reason leading me to the decision which I knew I had to make, a situation which I had not as much as contemplated only twenty-four hours before.

  My eyes were closed for most of both return flights, apart from the occasions when I was shaken by the flight crews so that I could decline their offers of drink, token food and duty-free that I could buy cheaper in the shops in Spain. But was I asleep? Oh no. All the way back to what I had called home when I left it, my mind was racing, full of thoughts of Jan, our night together, and of the many nights in our past.

  I had no idea what I was going to say to Prim, or even how I would feel when I saw her. For that matter I had no idea how I would look to her. Would the truth be written in my eyes, or betrayed by the way I spoke to her?

  I still had no answers to any of it as I stepped out through the International Arrivals doorway, to find her there, in the front of the crowd. I was surprised, and in there was a tiny flash of frustration, for some little devil inside me had worked out that if she hadn’t been there I would have had an opportunity to throw a moody, to begin an undermining process, a distancing of myself from Prim and her love.

  But when I saw her my smile broke out, in spite of itself. I heard myself say, ‘Hello love, I wondered if you’d be here, in spite of what we agreed.’ And my arms, burdens and all, spread out to enfold her and to return her hug.

  She kissed me and whispered, ‘Welcome back. I’ve been cold these last two nights without you.’

  ‘Hah,’ I heard myself say. ‘Think yourself lucky. You might have been in Anstruther.’ My first tiny half-lie.

  She took my arm, just like Jan had done, as I slung my bag over my shoulder. ‘What’s that?’ she asked, intrigued, pointing at the long tube, which I was carrying sloped like a rifle against my neck, as we emerged into the warm, humid, evening air and crossed the road to the car park.

  ‘I’ll show you when we get home. It’s too awkward to open it now, but it has to do with our commission.’

  Because I had declined the aircraft booze, I was able to drive us back up the autopista to L’Escala. We sat in silence for the first part of the journey, for the ronda north through Barca is a bit of a bugger to find, and you can get seriously lost if you take the wrong option.

  But eventually, we were through the city and safely on our way. ‘So how is everyone?’ asked Prim, as the Frontera’s lights cut a swathe through a bank of mist.

  ‘Everyone’s fine. Dad and Mary are as happy as I’ve ever seen them. My nephews are exhausting. Wallace is being spoiled rotten. Oh yes, and my sister’s got a bit on the side.’

  ‘What!’ Prim sat bolt upright and turned towards me in her seat, until she was caught by her seat belt. There was a huge grin on her face, as if she found the notion preposterous.

  I couldn’t help but feel slightly offended, on Ellie’s behalf. ‘You heard me,’ I said. ‘What’s so funny about that?You haven’t seen my sister in going on three months. She’s quite a piece of work now, I can tell you.’

  ‘I’m sure she is. It’s just that I didn’t expect …’ She trailed off, and out of the corner of my eye I could see her smile. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, though. After all, you Blackstones are fast workers.’

  Suddenly I was back in the loft. ‘That’s what you think,’ I muttered, almost, but not quite, to myself. I couldn’t hold it in. I was thinking of the passing of most of a lifetime, and of the confusion that had run through it.

  She looked at me, puzzled, as I stared at the road ahead. ‘Oh, don’t be huffy. If Ellie’s got a new light in her life, that’s great. God knows, my own sister’s had a few torches in her time.’

  ‘Aye,’ I said. ‘We’re talking about the Hampden floodlights there, right enough.’

  ‘Oz!’ Now it was Prim’s turn to flare up. ‘Look, what’s got into you?’

  There it was. My opening. My chance to spill the beans, to confess all about the night before … and maybe throw Prim’s life, and mine, down the crapper.

  ‘Och, I’m sorry, love,’ I said at last. ‘Two flights in a day. It’s too much for me. As a matter of fact one’s too much. Flying stresses me out, and it takes me a while to get back to normal.’

  Suddenly her hand was on my sleeve, then stroking my cheek. ‘Full of surprises, aren’t you. I didn’t think anything stressed you out. Never mind, I’ll cure it once we get home.’

  I flashed her a weak smile. ‘Tonight, my love, I’m a rat. Food and drink come first.’

  ‘My God,’ she laughed. ‘It has been a tough day.’

  Casa Minana was closed up tight when we got back to St Marti, just before 11:15 p.m., but they were still serving food at the tables outside Meson del Conde. We chose a place well back from the doorway and sat down, without even taking my bag upstairs to the apartment. We ordered sardines followed by chicken and chips, and I told the waiter to keep the beer coming.

  Suddenly I was hungry and thirsty at the same time. Prim watched me as I demolished my sardines, then what was left of hers, and set about my half chicken. ‘When did you last eat?’ she asked.

  ‘Breakfast,’ I said, without thinking.

  ‘Let me guess,’ she said. ‘Rolls and sliced sausage.’

  ‘Got it in one,’ I said, finishing my third beer. ‘From Ali’s.’

  ‘I thought you said you were in Anstruther?’

  ‘That was Saturday night.’ I don’t think I paused, or batted an eyelid. ‘Ali�
�s isn’t all that far from Jan’s.’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I suppose not. How is Jan, anyway?’

  ‘Blooming. We’re plotting our parents’ wedding.’

  ‘I’ll bet. And how’s Noosh?’

  ‘Okay. She’s advising Ellie on her separation agreement, or her firm is.’

  ‘Mmm. That’s good.’

  ‘Sure is,’ I thought. ‘I didn’t tell her a single lie there.’ ‘Not fucking much!’ an invisible wee red devil on my shoulder whispered in my ear.

  ‘By the way, Dawn phoned yesterday morning,’ said Prim, ‘from Los Angeles. She’s at Miles’ place. She sounded really happy. What a difference from the girl we met at Auchterarder a few months ago.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it. But don’t let’s get back to talking about sisters, eh.’

  ‘No, I suppose not. But the cow woke me up. They had just got in from a party. It was nine-thirty in the morning here.’

  I finished my chicken and attacked my next beer. ‘How was the party you were at? That Anglo-Catalan thing on Saturday.’

  She shrugged. ‘It was okay. Quite interesting, I suppose, although I was the only person there aged under fifty, apart from someone’s son.’

  ‘Who was that?’ I asked.

  ‘A couple called Miller. He’s visiting them for a couple of weeks. His name’s Steve. He’s in the motor business, in Brighton.’

  ‘So what was interesting about the night? Him?’

  She shot me a piercing look. ‘Don’t be silly. I made some new acquaintances. D’you remember that lady we’ve seen at the Trattoria? Very tall, slim, blonde.’ I nodded.

  ‘I was introduced to her. Her name’s Shirley Gash. She’s fantastic. She had this amazing little man with her. I’m not quite sure where he fits in. She announced him as a house guest. His name’s Davidoff, would you believe. Sounds like a Russian Prince. Unfortunately he looks like a Transylvanian gypsy. You might meet him. We’re invited up to Shirley’s for drinks tomorrow afternoon. Apparently she lives in a big house up on what they call Millionaires’ Row. Janice says she’s a widow.’