by Mairi Wilson
“Can I get you anything, Miss Shaw?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine. It’s amazingly tidy in here.”
Audrey beamed at the observation. “He’s hardly ever here, so it’s easy enough to keep things in order. Dr Campbell spends most of his non-clinical time in his research lab – and that’s a very different story. Overflowing with papers and equipment and goodness knows what. No one’s allowed to touch anything there – I believe it’s a dismissable offence even to try.”
Realising it was expected of her, Lexy laughed. “That explains it. Because doctors are said to be the most untidy individuals on the planet, after all.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve only ever worked for Dr Campbell.”
“Really?”
Was that a touch of reproval in Audrey’s voice? Had she thought Lexy was being critical or was it simply that humour was not to be reciprocated? Lexy decided to be cautious just in case. “I would say he’s very fortunate.” Silence. She ploughed on. “And how long is it that you’ve been with him?”
“Nearly ten years now, ever since—” Audrey stopped abruptly, leaving Lexy intrigued.
“Since … ?”
“I finished school.” Audrey busied herself brushing imaginary dust from the top of a bookcase, then straightening the already straight books on one of the shelves.
“Well, if his office is anything to go by, he’s lucky to have you.” Lexy knew she’d been fobbed off and hoped the compliment would smooth over any offence her question may have caused. Curiosity killed the cat. Her mother was back.
“He’s a brilliant man, you know.” Audrey’s features were relaxed and smiling again. “He’s been so good to my family. Without him …” She trailed off and again Lexy’s curiosity rumbled like hunger, but before she could think of a tactful way to find out more, Audrey was leaving.
“Well, I must get on.” Audrey clicked a switch and the ceiling fan began to stir. “Will you be comfortable here?”
“Yes, thank you. Perfectly.” The door shut quietly and Lexy was alone.
So this Dr Campbell was something of a hero, to the devoted Audrey and her family at least, Lexy mused, deciding that the efficient Audrey was suffering from a monumental crush on her boss. The passion of those tight-laced PAs should never be underestimated. He had to be related to the Dr Campbell in Ursula’s photo album, didn’t he? Too much of a coincidence, otherwise. Lexy had to find a way of asking without appearing to interrogate him before he’d had a chance to take on board the fact that Ursula was dead. Exercise tact, restraint. Neither were her strong points.
She wandered round the empty office looking for clues to the man she was about to meet. But there was nothing. No photos, no ornaments, not even a discarded scrap of paper in the bin. The adoring Audrey’s hand, no doubt.
Well, nothing else for it: she’d just have to be patient. Something else that didn’t come naturally. Patience is a virt— Lexy shut off her mother’s voice. Oddly comforting how vividly all her mother’s homilies were coming back to her. It made her feel her mother hadn’t left, was still with her. Perhaps that was what happened when someone died: you absorbed a part of them into your own self. A spark from the eternal flame.
Lexy shook her head to stop the thoughts. Wicker creaked and groaned as she settled back into the depths of one of the sofas. So much of this furniture everywhere. No chance of a quiet sit-down. She let her mind drift, the soft whirring of the fan soothing and lulling her into drowsiness as the heat and the travelling and the roller coaster of the last few days took their toll.
Lexy started and snapped her eyes open at the sound of footsteps outside the door. Audrey’s, and the heavier tread of someone else.
“Wait, Robert – you have a visitor!” Audrey’s voice dropped to a whisper, but Lexy was still able to make out the words. “Miss Shaw is waiting in your office.”
“Shaw?”
“Yes, she’s from Brit—”
“I know. What does she want?”
“Something about a letter. She said it was personal. I’m sorry, I thought you’d want—”
“It’s fine, Audrey. I’ll deal with it.”
It? Lexy was wide awake now, annoyed at his tone already. She tried to make sense of what she’d overheard. Dr Campbell knew of her. That meant she was right. She had to be. This Dr Campbell must be connected to the same family as the Campbells in the photo album. She had no time to speculate, though. A click of the door and a figure in a white coat was silhouetted against the afternoon sunshine, the face in shadow.
“Oh!” Her hands scrambled for purchase, as she pushed herself up from the deep cushions. “I’m sorry … I was just … I …” Finally, she was on her feet. She tugged her rumpled skirt back down to a respectable length, flicked her hair back and squared her shoulders.
“I’m Lexy Shaw.”
“Lexy?” He sounded surprised.
“Yes, for Alexis. Dr Campbell, I presume.” She winced. Stanley greeting Dr Livingstone? Well, it was Malawi.
“You presume correctly, Miss Shaw.” There was a hint of amusement in the smooth, low voice. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Dr Campbell stepped out of his sunlit halo and into the room. Able to see him clearly for the first time, Lexy was surprised and a little flustered to find that he wasn’t middle-aged and stuffy, as she’d expected, but young, handsome and, yes, clearly amused by her.
“So, what can I do for you, Miss Shaw? I take it this isn’t a medical matter.” He shook her hand, gestured for her to sit again and dropped down opposite her, all in one easy, fluid motion. This was a man who didn’t waste time.
“N-no. Not medical,” Lexy stammered, unsettled by his purposefulness, struggling to recalibrate her expectations of the man watching her, a hint of wariness in his face. “I have something of yours that I want to return.”
“Really? How unexpected.”
Lexy was galled that he didn’t appear to be taking her seriously. Even more galled that she was behaving like a smitten teenager. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d blushed like this.
“Yes. Well, I’m afraid it comes with sad news.” Lexy hadn’t meant to snap, but he was getting to her.
The professional smile slipped a little. “I see. And what might that be?”
Lexy was struggling for words. She hadn’t envisaged the scene playing out like this. She was supposed to be in control, but the man sitting opposite her had her flustered and wrong-footed and she didn’t really know why. Or at least she didn’t want to admit to the effect he was having on her.
“Miss Shaw, what is it?” Dr Campbell prompted, concern rather than amusement or wariness now evident in his pale features. How could you live in a climate like this and still have pale skin? Her own was already sun-kissed, and she’d only just arrived.
“Miss Shaw?”
“Sorry. Yes. Sorry.” She scrabbled in her bag for the smooth envelope, its edges rubbed to the velvet texture of peach skin by her hands turning it over and over since it had come into her possession.
“It’s a letter of yours. To Miss Reid—”
“What on earth … ?” His gaze hardened. “Have you read it?” He leant forward and snatched the envelope from her to check the seal. “I see you have. You shouldn’t have done that, Miss Shaw.”
“I had to! I mean, it arrived after …”
“After what? For goodness’ sake, spit it out, whatever it is.”
“Yes. Right.” The rattan complained again as Lexy shifted. She was uncertain where to start and disturbed by his reaction to the letter. “Sorry. I know you must be busy.”
“Extremely.”
She was stung by his impatience, but she could see herself reflected in his dark eyes and knew how idiotic she must seem. How slight. How could she explain that she’d come all this way to return a letter, and one he clearly would much prefer she hadn’t read, when she could have simply dropped a brief, polite note telling him of Ursula’s death in a postbox and been d
one with it? That she’d used his letter as a catalyst, a talisman, to spur her into action, into tracing a dead woman’s son, her own fam—
“Miss Shaw?” There was steel in his voice now.
“It arrived after I … Miss Reid … She had an accident, a fall, and went into hospital and she didn’t … I’m afraid she …” Lexy dragged her eyes up from her lap to meet his as she trailed off, and he nodded slowly.
“Died,” he finished for her.
“Yes. And I’ve inherited, you see. I’m her … or rather my mother … Well, it’s complicated, but I decided to come to Malawi anyway and I brought the letter with me. I thought you might want to know if she’d read it or not and … and she didn’t.”
She stopped, appalled at the mess she was making of this and the mixture of emotions her limping explanation seemed to be summoning in Dr Campbell. Sorrow, incredulity, surprise, shock all flitted across his features until anger swept in and washed everything else away.
“Are you sure it was an accident?”
“Yes, of course it was. She fell. The stairs at her flat—”
“Were the police involved?”
“Yes. Her carer called 999 and they came as well as the ambulance.”
“Was she there when it happened, this carer?”
“I don’t know. I suppose so, unless she arrived and found her. I’d need to ask her. Why, though? Does it matter?” He was staring at the letter in his hands. “Oh. Goodness, sorry. Yes, of course it matters. I’m afraid I don’t know, but I … I hope so. I mean, it would be awful if she’d died alone without anyone … I’ll ask when I get back. Or I could call—”
“No.”
Lexy’s rambling was halted by the sharpness in his voice. “Well, if you’d rather I didn’t …”
“No need. It really isn’t important.”
Lexy had the feeling, though, that it was.
Dr Campbell stood and strode across the room to his desk. Pulling a key from his pocket, he unlocked a drawer, pulled out a blue folder and slipped the letter inside. His fingers drummed its surface for a moment before he dropped it back into the drawer and slid it shut. He rested his hands on the desk and dropped his head for a moment. When he looked up again, the professional mask had returned and he spoke calmly.
“Miss Shaw, why have you come here?”
“I just wanted to return your letter and …”
“And what?”
“Ask you a few questions. About the letter and my family. Look, I can explain …” Lexy offered, though she wasn’t really sure she could.
“Please do.”
Ignoring the sarcasm in his voice, she took a deep breath to calm herself. The whole thing seemed preposterous now that she was faced with explaining herself to a stranger. To a doctor, a man of science and facts who would be unlikely to understand the emotional reaction she’d had to the letter, to the mystery of its foreign address and colourful stamps, to the hint of spice she’d smelt when she first held it but which had long since faded. To the clues she was sure it held about Ursula’s past, and her own.
“I’m afraid I don’t have time for this.” He started towards the door.
“Wait, please. I’m sorry. Ursula was my mother’s guardian. I think Ursula knew my grandparents when they were all here in Malawi in the forties; my mother’s parents were missionaries, apparently, and Ursula was a Sister here in the hospital. But you know that, don’t you? I mean, you knew her.”
His face was giving nothing away and Lexy’s discomfort grew.
“Ursula was back in Scotland but stepped in as legal guardian when my grandparents died, and so my mother grew up with Ursula. She was the only family we had, really, especially after my father died. But you know that too, don’t you?” The briefest of nods, enough to encourage Lexy to continue. “So it’s probably not surprising that she, Ursula that is, left everything to my mother. Only now I think it is a bit, because I’ve discovered, or I think I’ve discovered, that Ursula had a son and in your letter I think you’re talking about him and I can see it’s meant to be a secret but you don’t think it really has to be any more so I wondered if you’d help me …”
Lexy stopped. She was gabbling. What was this man turning her into? Whatever it was, the look on his face made it clear he wasn’t impressed. And that he was unlikely to help. Not today, anyway. As if to confirm her fears, he turned away and looked out the window, arms crossed across his chest.
“I’m sorry,” Lexy said to his back. “I should go.” She snapped her bag shut and stood. “I don’t blame you for being angry with me, suspicious or whatever. I can see this all looks wrong. I only read the letter because I had to, and I haven’t discussed it – won’t discuss it – with anyone. But, you know, if I hadn’t read it, you wouldn’t even have known she had died. Or how. Look, I really am sorry. Sorry to have broken the news so badly, if nothing else.” She of all people should have been more considerate in breaking the news of the death of someone close. She wished she could think of something to say that would make amends.
Dr Campbell’s attention remained fixed on whatever it was he was watching through the window. She wasn’t even sure he was listening any more.
“I’ll leave you in peace.” She paused in the doorway. “If there’s anything else I can tell you when you’ve had a chance to take this all in, then please let me know. I’m staying at the Residence—”
“How long?”
“Sorry?”
“How long are you staying?”
“Well, I haven’t quite decided. It depends on what I can find out and—”
“There’s nothing to find out. You should go h—”
“Dr Campbell!” The shout ricocheted around the courtyard outside and Audrey burst into the room, bumping into Lexy, pushing her so she stumbled back down again onto that noisy sofa. “Rob— Dr Campbell, it’s the Ellory boy!”
He sprang forward, all his attention now focused on Audrey.
“He’s bleeding again, they’re struggling—”
Dr Campbell strode towards the doorway. “I’m sorry Miss Shaw, I have to—”
“Of course. Go, please.” Lexy followed them to the doorway and watched as he and Audrey disappeared down the stairs. She started to pull the door shut behind her, wondering if it would lock by itself or if she should—
Her eyes fixed on the desk. He hadn’t locked the drawer. Looking around her to check she was alone, she slipped back into the office and closed the door quietly. The drawer opened easily. The sound of her breathing filled the room, her blood awash with adrenalin. She had no right to do this. She should leave.
God helps those who help themselves. Her mother was right. Lexy pulled out the folder and slapped it down on the desk in front of her. A small scrap of yellowed paper fell from between the cardboard flaps and floated to the floor. One edge was frayed as if torn from a book and it was blank but for a few scrawled marks at its centre. In black ink.
Blantyre 144.
She couldn’t be sure but … She scrabbled in her bag, remembering the still-unopened note she’d received at the hotel the night before, Miss Alexis Shaw in scratchy writing across its centre—
Footsteps in the corridor. She scooped the folder back into the desk drawer, already turning towards the window as she slammed it shut, her breath shallow and fast.
“Miss Shaw.” Audrey’s voice had lost its polite warmth. “I’ll show you out, now.”
7
Chizumu & Chizumu, Blantyre, June 9th
Lexy sat waiting in yet another reception area, waiting to see yet another lawyer. She could have been anywhere. Money cocooned you, muffled you.
As the quiet car that brought her here had slid forward like a shark through teeming waters, she’d watched the tumble and chaos of the African streets roll past, a fundraising documentary with the soundtrack turned down, Lexy herself some kind of voyeur at a peep show, tinted windows sealed to protect her anonymity.
Looking around, she could see money also
introduced an element of blandness. Different continent but same bland furnishings, same bland receptionist, same quiet burr of distant phones and muffled clacking of keys as the receptionist typed whatever it was receptionists typed when they weren’t intimidating visitors. Lexy had been assured Mr Chizumu was on his way, but as she was just that bit early she’d understand if it took a few minutes? The subtext was clear: any discomfort Lexy felt was her own fault.
Lexy didn’t mind. It gave her time to collect her thoughts, run through the notes she’d made last night, the questions she wanted to ask. She’d come to expect surprises, but she’d no idea what these lawyers might have in store for her, what the “Malawi interests” Ms Hamilton in Edinburgh had referred to might reveal. Or who. There’d been nothing in the bank statements. She’d gone through them again in detail, concentrating hard to stop herself dwelling on the debacle of her meeting with Robert Campbell. Still nothing. No trace of money going in or out that might represent these financial arrangements between Ursula and her son. So that clearly was a question she had to ask, just a breath behind who this son might be. Ms Hamilton had claimed her office had no details, as it had all been set up over here. But Lexy had the feeling that even had she known, the formidable Ms Hamilton was not one to give anything away.
“It was all set up to remain confidential,” Ms Hamilton had pointed out, her voice still crisp and efficient over a crackling phone line, “so there’s every possibility only third parties can be traced and that the son’s identity may not be retrievable, even by our Malawi associates.”
Retrievable? She’d made him sound like data in a corrupted computer file.
“I am Miss Reid’s sole beneficiary,” Lexy had pointed out, doing her best to sound authoritative, but if she’d succeeded, Ms Hamilton wasn’t a woman to be cowed and remained, regrettably of course, ignorant on the subject. Lexy didn’t buy that, but she’d decided not to push unless the Malawi associates were less than forthcoming too; then she’d have to launch a more sustained attack.
