Taken Identity

by Raven McAllan

  “Why on earth don’t you put in on speaker phone and go hands free?” she asked. “Save you a sore arm.”

  “Ah, but this way, I have an illusion that I’m in charge,” he said. “And in theory, don’t have to react like Pavlov’s dog when it rings.”

  “But you always do.” She pointed out the obvious.

  “Yes, but I choose to, and if I was hands free, I couldn’t use the excuse of hands busy, now could I?”

  She shook her head. Men. You’d gotta luv’em, idiosyncrasies and all.

  “Well, fine,” she said prosaically. “So, what do we do now? Gray Reynard, clear your mind.”

  Gray laughed.

  She looked down at the scrap of paper where Sean had been writing what seemed to be an address. “What’s that?”

  “An address—for a certain Mr. Archer. Although, sadly, he’s not there. Away on holiday, so the obliging neighbor said. Moreover, Mrs. Archer is with him. Their last chance before the baby comes, according to said neighbor. ‘Such a lovely couple. Only got eyes for each other, and so excited about the baby.’” His voice was invested with so much disgust that Jules and Gray had to laugh.

  “Not much help to us though, is it?” Jules was disgruntled and sounded it. “How dare they have bloody holidays? Hell, if Julia is on holiday, as me, then as me, at least I should be enjoying it. What?” Both men were looking at her with varying expressions of bemusement and amusement.

  Gray shook his head.

  “Oh, Jules, what will I do with you? Hold that thought, love, until later. Think about it. If Mr. and Mrs. Archer are away—” He put his hands in the air, miming quotation marks. “Then, who is driving his car, phoning you up, and posting you nasty packages? QED, this holiday of theirs is just a trip to the country. To upset us.”

  “Bastards. So, we just have to sit and wait, then? Until they decide to go home, or come and see us, or something? I don’t think so.”

  “That’s my girl.” Gray sounded approving.

  Sean nodded and got ready to leave. “I’ve got a few more things to do. I’ve got a lead on the jewelry that may be something or nothing. I wasn’t going to mention it yet, but thought, well, a crumb and all that. I’ll ring if I find anything out. And I’ll take Boris with me.” He waved and went out.

  Gray was puzzled and showed it. “Boris?”

  Jules regarded him with a twinkle in her eye. “The spider. A sixties song. Boris the Spider, by Melanie, I think. Don’t you know your classics?”

  He shook his head. “Evidently not. But a bit before your time, isn’t it?”

  “Ah, but not my mum’s. I grew up with a child of the sixties as a parent. I’m just thankful Dad persuaded her to call me Julia and not Damask as she wanted to.”

  Gray had just picked up his now-cold coffee. Was she ever thankful he hadn’t drunk any, as his mouth dropped open. “What?”

  She nodded, glad to have lifted the atmosphere. “Yup, or Larkspur Ophelia.”

  “Julia Frances Frayne, you are having me on.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not. It’s all true. Mum’s biggest regret was that she didn’t go to Woodstock. Though, as she met my dad at one of the Isle of Wight festivals, I don’t think she did that bad. We all had cowbells, joss-sticks, granddad shirts, thongs—the lot—in our house.”

  Gray’s face was a study in incredulity.

  “Even your dad. Thongs?” He shuddered.

  “Of course. Oh.” She noticed his face and sniggered. “Thongs in those days were something very different to today. Not knickers or Australian flip-flops, but thin, leather strips you wore around your forehead. Sometimes with a gem on them. Mum had a lovely black leather and Jet one. Think I’ve got it somewhere. She decided not to take it on her travels.”

  He looked at her inquiringly.

  “They’re doing their gap year—or three. Dad retired early. Last I heard, they were in Kenya and heading to Zanzibar.” Her tone held both love and acceptance. “Which is a lot more exotic than us, heading for Catriona and the post office.”

  “We are?”

  “We are.” She confirmed and took his hand. “Purse, keys, phone. Okay. Let’s go.”

  Muttering, Gray allowed himself to be led out of the house and down the path.

  “I thought we were going to do lots of exciting things. We’ve got lots to discover and really ought to get on with it.”

  “We are. I’m leading you down the garden path.”

  “Not the sort of exciting things I had in mind. I need to recheck that tattoo, for a start. Hey, where are we going? The cars are over there.”

  Jules turned left outside her gate and began to walk along the grass verge.

  “It’ll still be there later. It’s not a figment of your imagination.” She had wondered if he had noticed the tiny daisy, as he had made no mention of it. “And we’re walking. It’s not far, and exercise is good for you.” She did a pseudo-leer. “Gives you an appetite.”

  “Oh, well, in that case.” He began to walk faster.

  Jules laughed as she kept up with him until they walked hand in hand at a normal pace along the lane toward the village. It was a perfect summer’s day. Not something you see a lot of in Scotland, Jules though wryly. In the distance, a tractor or log lorry could be heard making its ponderous way along one of the forest tracks or farm roads. But there, where they were, the full, non-quiet of summer surrounded them. Perfect. She felt almost happy and at peace with the world, apart from doppelgangers, Awful Adrian and nearly, but not quite hairy, monsters. She said as much to Gray.

  He nodded.

  “A perfect day with the perfect companion does that to you. Ouch. What was that for?” He rubbed his arm where Jules had laughingly nipped him. “I meant it as you being my perfect companion, not me being yours. Although I hope I am.”

  “Stop fishing,” she said severely, wondering if the laughter she could feel bubbling up showed in her eyes. “You need to be able to get into the post office. The door is too tiny for a swollen head to get through. Okay, let me do the talking or we’ll be here for a week.”

  She opened the low and narrow door, which had a faded sign attached to it.

  “Now, hello, Julia dear, how are you?” Catriona, small, gray-haired and with twinkly eyes, married to Dougie the Postie, had run the post office in her own inimitable way for years, after taking over from her mother before her.

  “Fine, thanks, Catriona. This is my friend Gray.” She watched as Gray held his hand out to shake, and saw Catriona fall immediately under his spell. Typical.

  “Catriona.” She regained her attention. “I got a parcel today. Dougie brought it for me. I had to sign for it. Do you know who brought it in to you? It was mailed from here today.”

  She could sense Gray waiting, as anxiously as she was, for the answer.

  “Bless you, Julia. Are you thinking I’d not know that? Of course I do. It was that nice young couple who are renting the old MacDonald farm.” She beamed at them. Jules dug her elbow sharply into Gray’s ribs, as a warning not to open his mouth. She could almost hear him singing, “Ey ay ey ay oh,” under his breath.

  “What, Sandy and Flora’s cottage? The holiday place? Since when? I thought they weren’t going to let it out anymore. Something to do with the roof?”

  If Catriona wondered why Jules was being so nosy, she didn’t say, just answered her questions patiently.

  “Well now, this is their third week, I believe. According to Lorna Farmer, they have it on a long let. The roof wasn’t as bad as Sandy thought, and Lucy’s Ruari was able to fix it. Now, the young lady, Mrs. McBeth, her husband’s cousin is a friend of Ruari’s cousin Alex. And so, via the grapevine, got to hear of the cottage.”

  “Grapevine?” Gray muttered, sotto voce. “It’s a bloody labyrinth.”

  Jules glared at him.

  “Did you say Mrs. McBeth? What does she look like?” Oh, hell, it was so difficult trying to sound subtle and casual at the same time. Jules just hoped she was pul
ling her casual interest off. Catriona didn’t seem to sense anything amiss in Jules’ curiosity. This was the village, after all. Everyone always needed to know what their neighbors were up to and accepted it as part of village living.

  “Well.” Catriona put her head to one side.

  “About your height, not as slim— Well, she wouldn’t be, would she, being what was it, over six months gone. Dark brown hair, quite shy, but not unfriendly.” She seemed to realize she was being questioned. “Why?”

  “Oh, um, a school friend of mine said she might be moving up this way. She’s not pregnant though, and her name is Archer.”

  “Ach well, no’ the same body then.”

  Jules shook her head. “So, um, what’s her husband like? Will he make maidenly hearts go aflutter?”

  “Him? Huh, he most certainly will not. I can no’ stand the man.” The more indignant she got, the less refined her accent became. “A creepy, crawly sort of man. No’ nice.”

  “Smarmy, is he?” Gray must have thought it was time to get a word in. “They’re the sort who give men a bad name.”

  “Exactly. All well thought out compliments. All ‘oh, how nice you look today. What a lovely blouse.’ Hah, as if me in my work top looks anything other than, well…me in a work top. No, not a nice man. Anyway, better get on. Were you wanting anything other than a blether?” Her eyes were enquiring.

  “Of course.” Jules jumped in quickly. “I need a book of stamps and some groceries. I’ll get those. Gray, will you carry the basket, please?”

  She hurried him to the farthest end of the aisle before he started to laugh.

  “Shh, you moron.”

  He turned it into a cough. “Sorry.”

  He gasped and put two packets of cough sweets in the basket, along with what she guessed where random items he picked off the shelves. Jules looked at what he had picked and burst out laughing herself.

  “Oh, God, Gray, that’ll get the gossip going.”

  “What?” He looked down into the basket and joined in the laughter. “Well, it’ll confuse them for sure, anyway.”

  Along with the cough sweets, he had added a box of condoms and a pregnancy testing kit.

  Hurriedly, he put them back. “If we ever need those, I’m not buying them here, that’s for sure. They’d have you expecting triplets before we’d buried the rabbit. That’s a certainty. So, what do we need?”

  “Nothing, but I had to say something. Oh, grab some shower gel and toothpaste. And we’ll get some fruit when we pass it.”

  The shop bell tinkled.

  “Good afternoon.” Catriona’s voice had starch in it. “How can I help you, Mr. McBeth?”

  “Fu—” She grabbed Gray by the arm. “Stay here. And listen.”

  She moved forward.

  “Not a chance. We go together.” He slung an arm over her shoulder, carrying the basket on his other, and propelled her forward, toward the counter.

  “Okay, darling, anything else? Oh, hello, Adrian. What are you doing here?” Jules feigned surprise and pleasure. She turned to Gray. “This is Adrian Archer, darling, a friend of Bill and Carole’s. Remember, I told you about him. I met him at their wedding.”

  She beamed at the man standing mouth open, rather like a fish.

  He recovered quickly and contrived to look puzzled.

  “I’m sorry?” Pure smarm, as she remarked to Gray later. “Charming as you seem, and as much as I wish I was, alas, I am not the lucky Adrian. Edward McBeth.”

  He smiled, although as Catriona had commented, “That one’s too tight to share his smile with his eyes.”

  “Really?” Jules showed she did not believe him. “Don’t let us stop you.”

  She turned to the veg box and found a very shriveled parsnip. “Now, this reminds me of someone.”

  Gray smirked. Catriona smothered a cough before addressing the newcomer.

  “So, Mr, McBeth? Strange you don’t know Jules, as this morning you sent her a wee parcel?”

  He looked taken aback, but recovered his equilibrium quickly. “Oh the parcel? An acquaintance asked me to mail it. I didn’t know this was the young lady to whom it was addressed. Now, may I have an Air Mail stamp, please.” He took it, paid, and with a considering look at Jules and Gray, left the shop. A staccato burst of engine followed his exit then the sound of a car being driven away too fast.

  “God, I hope we haven’t scared him off.” Jules said under her voice as she put her basket on the counter.

  “That one? No way. Skin like a rhino.” Gray, spoke softly, before he got out his wallet and paid the bill.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs.—” He spoke to Catriona who blushed and twittered like a demented canary.

  “Catriona’s fine, Gray. Come again.” She smiled at them as they left the shop.

  “You’ve scored there. You don’t usually get to call her Catriona until you’ve lived here at least fifteen years.”

  “Have you?”

  Jules nodded.

  “Longer, and my mum went to school with her, so we’re almost bosom pals.” She burst out laughing as Gray looked at her breasts and raised his eyebrows. Although she was very nicely endowed, Catriona could beat her hands down in that department.

  It really was no surprise to see a large car parked outside the cottage. Gray pulled her to a halt.

  “Hold on.” He took out his phone and waited impatiently for his call to be answered.

  “Sean? Yeah, Archer is here. Parked outside the house. Yes, seems like there is someone with him— Ye Gods, it’s the wife! Yes. Okay, see you.” He put the phone away.

  “Sean will be here in about fifteen minutes.” He looked toward the two figures that, having got out of the car, were standing side by side, looking toward them as they approached. “Deep breath, Jules. Let’s go get ’em.”

  “I feel I should be whistling High Noon,” Jules muttered out of the side of her mouth. “Do I need to get something to defend us with? There are pea sticks in the garden. Or I could squirt the toothpaste at them.”

  “Hold that thought.” They had almost reached the car.

  “Well, well, well.” Gray’s voice was not pleasant. “My oh so beloved, errant wife. You looked better as a redhead.”

  The woman in front of them blushed and held her extended stomach.

  Jules glared at Gray. “And you think that’s a welcome? Oh no. Watch this.” Without a scrap of remorse, she drove her fist into the so-called Mr. McBeth’s stomach.

  “Now,” she said with satisfaction. “That is a welcome.”

  “Hey! Why did you do that?” The man was rubbing the offended area of anatomy. His look at Jules was full of reproach.

  “Why? Why? You piece of dog dirt. For that shit parcel you sent. I have a phobia about spiders. You knew that and played on it. You’re lucky I don’t have secateurs in my hand. I’d demonstrate how I cut the string on a stringy bit of your anatomy, you, you…” Words failed her, and she simply glared. “Pissant,” she said finally.

  Gray collapsed into laughter. “Oh, Jules, that’s cruel. Look at his face.”

  “Huh? Oh, well.” She shrugged. “Serves him right. Think what he did to me.”

  “That’s true. Shall I go and get the secateurs?” Gray offered. Hope sounded in his voice.

  “Now, er, look.” Adrian laughed nervously. “Um, we need to talk to you. Can we go inside? Lizzie needs to sit down.”

  “Lizzie indeed, eh?” Gray said in an ugly voice. “What happened to Julia? She disappear at the same time as my wife?”

  “Gray.” Jules’ voice held a warning. Suddenly, she was very tired of everything. “I’m not letting either of you into the house, but we can sit in the garden. Come on.”

  She led the way around the side of the cottage, to a couple of benches set carefully in the shade.

  “Gray, will you bring some juice out, please?” Her eyes pleaded with him.

  “Oh, er, water will be fine.” Lizzie/Julia spoke for the first time. “Thank you. I
know I owe you an explanation.

  “Yes.” Jules’ voice was hard. “You do. Both of you. But we’ll wait for explanations until Gray comes out again and Sean arrives.”

  “Sean has arrived.” He appeared next to her and sat down as Gray reappeared with a tray holding water, fruit juice, and glasses.

  “Right.” Jules waited until they all had a drink and Gray was seated. “Who goes first?”

  She looked at Sean as she spoke.

  He shrugged. “Mrs. Reynard, I think. Or whatever she wants to be called.”

  “Lizzie,” said the lady in question. “Just Lizzie will do. And I will start. With an apology. With several apologies, actually.”

  Her voice was stronger, and Jules watched as she briefly squeezed the arm of the man she now was convinced was Adrian. She saw his face soften and a brief smile cross it.

  Yuck.

  “Okay then, Lizzie.” Gray’s voice was sarcastic. “I’m sure you have a perfectly plausible reason for pretending you were Jules, marrying me, and buggering off with my family’s heirlooms. Unfortunately, I just can’t bring one to mind.”

  “Well, no, I guess you can’t. And Julia, it wasn’t directed at you. Um, your details just fit.”

  “Jules. I’m Jules, never Julia.”

  She kicked Gray at his muttered, “Larkspur or—”

  “Ignore him. Carry on. So, you decided you needed to be me. Why?”

  “Okay, from the start. Adrian knows all this now. And I’ll be having words with him later—about parcels. Now, let me get on.” She took a sip of water. “To go right back, my dad was, shall we say, straddling a fine line between legal and shady. He’s a lovely, caring dad, but, well, I couldn’t swear on a bible all his life is above board.

  “Then, a few years ago, he was being threatened into doing something really bad. No, I won’t say what or who by, except they were using me as collateral. You know, ‘if you don’t do it, guess what will happen to your daughter.’ So we decided I should disappear. My cousin Dmitri, er, borrowed your details, and well, you know.” She trailed off at the look in Gray’s eyes.

  “You stupid, stupid bitch.” He was incandescent with fury. “Selfish doesn’t even begin to describe it. Sit down, you.”