“So what happened when you and Davina split up? Did you have another girlfriend?”
He took her hand and she let him hold it. “A few. Later. But I went to Philadelphia right after that. That was one of the reasons I broke off with Davina. I got into Wharton and it was such a chance for me, to start over in America. To get out of Scotland.”
She glanced at him, wondering about the vehement way he’d said that. “But you love Scotland.”
“Do I?” He laughed ruefully and pulled away his hand. “Then I am a very good actor, I suppose.”
“All this rain can get to a person,” she said.
“Oh yes.” He sighed.
“And one’s mother can get on one’s nerves,” she added. He rewarded her with a lop-sided smile. She said, “I was engaged once myself. Although I didn’t invite him to our wedding.”
“If there had been a way, Annie,” he began.
She took his hand again. “I broke off my engagement as well. You know, we may have been around the same age. Twenty-three or so.”
“Too young.”
“I guess so. We were in law school. About to graduate. So we didn’t feel young, we felt like we had the world by the tail. So maybe we were young, and naive.”
“You loved him?”
“Probably.” She glanced at Callum who was now examining her with his blue eyes. They reminded her of his bluebells. “But I wasn’t sure about marriage.”
“Same with me.”
“No, marriage itself, as an institution. I just couldn’t do it.”
He rubbed her palm with his thumb for a moment then pulled his hand away again, looking out the side window. “This again,” he whispered angrily.
“Callum, I— ”
He whirled back toward her. “Why don’t you just admit it? You don’t love me that way. You don’t love me enough to commit to me. I’m too young for you. You’re too old for me. Whatever bullshit you can make up, it doesn’t matter. You just don’t love me.”
“That’s not it. None of that is true. Look at me. I do love you.”
He held her gaze, searching for truth. “I do love you,” she repeated.
“But— ”
“But I’m not sure I’m the marrying kind.” She pulled his hand to her breast. “I told you that months ago. I’m sorry I let things go on this way. It was very wrong of me. I can’t explain it. It seemed like you wanted all— this. Your mother sure did. And I wanted to make you happy. But this isn’t me. I am not a bride. I am not a wife.”
He hung his head. Oh, God. She had crushed him. What was wrong with her? She was a horrible tease, a maker of bad promises that must be broken. She had hurt him badly and no matter how she still felt, he would never forgive her. She pressed his hand into her chest, his big palm, his warm fingers. Nothing would be the same.
She began to cry as she let his hand go. It dropped to her lap, inert. She felt the pain in her chest in its absence, the ragged, gaping hole in her heart.
He looked up at her finally. He was crying too. She pulled him to her and kissed him then, kissed his eyes and his mouth. He was limp at first, passively letting her take his tears away with her lips. Then he took her shoulders in his hands and kissed her hard, roughly, taking her breath away.
They broke apart and stared at each other for a moment, stunned by passion or whatever the hell this was.
“I haven’t cried since 1989,” she said. “I want you to know that. You made me cry.”
“You made me cry as well,” Callum said. “And I haven’t cried for two weeks.”
She laughed. “Is this love then? When you make each other cry?”
There was more kissing.
Finally he pulled away from her and cleared his throat. “There’s more, Annie.” He looked very solemn.
She searched his eyes. “More?”
“I haven’t told you everything. Do you want to know it all? Do you still care?”
“I still love you, Callum.”
He took a deep breath. “Then it’s time you knew about my father.”
* * *
The drive back to Kincardie House was nearly silent. Francie broke in a couple times with exclamations about drenched cows and collapsed roofs but the rest of the time Merle observed what she hoped was a truce in the wedding wars. They’d come back to the car after texting Annie twice for permission. The two of them, Annie and Callum, looked raw but not angry. It was an equilibrium Merle wasn’t eager to break. She would give Annie the time and space to figure out the next move.
Merle and Francie jumped quickly from the car as soon as Callum parked in the gravel drive. They had meddled enough for one afternoon. Merle dragged Francie inside and whispered: “We’ll find out when they’re ready.” Francie sighed and clomped up the stairs to her room. Pascal stuck his head out of the drawing room.
“There you are, blackbird.” He motioned her inside and shut the door.
“What’s going on?” He asked her to sit. “You look serious. Has someone been arrested?”
He perched on a worn brocade chair, their knees almost touching. “Not yet. But there is evidence that our little Napoleon has fled the country.”
“Really?” The eagerness in his face was endearing.
“He took a flight to London earlier today. The police are questioning Callum’s brother Hugh about their business arrangements.”
“Do they think Hugh is involved somehow?”
“Of course, chérie. They are business fellows.”
“I mean, in the murder of Miss Petrie.”
He shrugged. “That I do not know. But they are interested in Bruno enough to follow his movements. That says something, no?” He raised his eyebrows in anticipation of something juicy ahead then blinked. “I am sorry. How is your father? Is he well?”
Merle filled him on Jack’s progress, his release the next day, and the plan to convalesce at the Hydro with Stasia’s family. “Annie and Callum finally got to talk,” she said, explaining the little intrigue to get them alone together. “But I don’t know what will come of it. I guess they’ll tell us when they’re ready.”
Pascal was quiet for a minute, checking his watch, frowning. Merle touched his arm. “What?”
“The week is almost done. I must go home.” He took her hand. “I don’t want to go home alone, Merle. This week has been so crazy, with the storm and the death and the wedding cancelled. But all through it I think of only one thing, chérie. You.”
Merle felt her heart swell even as a bell of alarm rang in her mind. Did she love him, she wondered, then threw the thought out. Of course she did.
He rushed on. “When I first arrived I thought, ‘oh, another little vacation with Merle. I don’t see her very often, this will be so nice.’ Then when I am with you I never want to leave.” He scooted closer, grasping both her hands. “Please come back to France with me, my darling.”
“But you have to work, right?” And so did she. She had another week off from Legal Aid but eventually she would have to go home. Tristan was waiting for her.
“Damn Police, fuck that job,” he said, smiling. “I don’t mean that. I have to work. But this is more important than any work, isn’t it? You and me?”
Merle searched his face. Was he serious? What was he saying exactly, since she knew he didn’t believe in marriage? After this week no one would ever tempt fate in that direction again, at least in her family.
Someone called her name from outside the wooden doors. “Merle? Where are you?”
“In here,” she called. It had to be Francie. Or Annie. Their voices were similar.
Pascal let a twitch of annoyance pass over his brow then squeezed her hands before releasing them. He held her eyes with a warm, pleading glance.
The door opened. Francie fell inside, clutching an envelope. “There you are.” Her color was up, or she’d somehow gotten sunburned in rainy Aberdeen. “You won’t believe this.”
Merle and Pascal stood, as if being upright would help them de
al with whatever hit them next. Francie pulled a sheet of white paper from the envelope and began to read.
“Dear Sisters. How I wanted to start this letter with ‘You will laugh when you hear where I have gone. I can scarcely stop laughing myself.’”
Merle gasped. “Oh no.”
Francie nodded. “She’s done a fricking Lydia. Listen—
But I am not fifteen, eloping with a dangerous man. I am a middle-aged woman in sound mind and with a rather substantial bank account. And should I want to run away for awhile with a certain Frenchman— ”
“Merde,” Pascal said.
“—That is my prerogative. I didn’t get to spend as much time as the rest of you in France last year, by my own stupid choice. I didn’t even get in on that lawsuit, you know. All I got out of that early exit from our vacation was a cubicle next to Andrew’s and an African violet. And that is almost as awesome as it sounds.”
“What is she saying?” whispered Pascal to Merle. She shook her head and waved for Francie to continue.
“So I’m going to take a little me-time and let myself be squired around Paris or wherever we may go, in a fashion to be envied. I don’t need to tell you how relieved I am to be out of the sisterly mix for a wee bit. I don’t mean anything by that, but you have to know how suffocating all that togetherness can be— at least for me. Don’t try to find me. I’m fine. Please tell Bernie and Jack to be patient. Trust me for once in your lives. Case of courage and a bucket of balls, Elise.”
Pascal was twitching. He stared at Merle. “But you told her about him, yes?”
Merle blinked. Had she? “I —”
“Told her what?” Francie asked.
“She lied to us. She told us she was going home.” Merle scrambled in her pockets for her cellphone. “I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“Wait, wait,” Francie said. “What were you going to tell her about Bruno?”
“He is a goujat,” Pascal explained. “A— a cad. A liar, a fraud. A womanizer. He has been to prison for helping a winery commit fraud. And there is more.”
“How long have you known this?” Francie demanded.
“Since the big storm,” Pascal said. “Before our phones went dark we made some inquiries. I made some inquiries.”
“Then he disappeared so I figured, you know, why make a federal case out of it?” Merle said. “Only he hadn’t actually left.”
“He must have been hiding in the house until they put the temporary bridge in,” Francie said. “Why would he do that?”
“Because Pascal figured out who he was, what he was.” Merle turned to Pascal. “He discovered you were in the wine fraud unit that night when the power went out, Pascal. Somebody said it—”
“I said it,” Francie said. “I don’t remember any reaction from him though.”
“He went completely still. I remember thinking that he didn’t know exactly who Pascal was until then.” Merle reached out for the note. “But she’ll be all right with him, won’t she? She is a grown woman, as she reminds us.”
“You think?” Francie wrinkled her nose as if smelling something awful.
“Maybe it’s a reaction to whatever is going on with Andrew. Sounds like it.” She looked at Francie. “What is going on there?”
“Nothing as far as I can tell. If I ask she changes the subject.”
“So they’re done?”
“I don’t know. Why do you think she mentioned her bank account? Is she going to give him money?” Francie groaned. “That little—”
“Would she, Merle,” Pascal asked. “Is she rich?”
“She’s only been out of law school for a few years.” Merle looked at Francie. “Has she been saving or something?”
“I was complaining about my finances last month when we went out to dinner. You know, the partners were on my case about billable hours and all that. I can’t even trade in my clunker. She said she didn’t have to worry about that for a while,” Francie said. “She didn’t explain. We got interrupted, or ordered another round or something.” Her voice trailed off.
“It doesn’t matter how much she has,” Pascal said adamantly. “He will take everything, no matter how little. He will charm her into opening her purse.”
“Not to mention her legs,” Francie muttered.
“That ship has sailed, honey.” Merle rolled her eyes. “What we don’t want now is her getting scammed out of her cash.” She pulled out her phone again. “At least I can text her about what we know about him.”
“Call her, Merle. This is important,” Pascal said.
“She’s a big girl,” Francie said hopefully. “Right?”
28
Kincardie House
Dinner with Mrs. Logan was decidedly weird. Callum took up his seat at the far end from his mother and Annie sat to his right, the favored position. Hugh and Davina were absent although Hugh had been around during the cocktail hour. Where he’d gone was a mystery. The policeman, DI Grassie, was also absent. Gone for good, Merle hoped.
Callum’s mother waited until the pudding course to make her announcement. The cherry tart was sour, almost inedible, Merle thought. But Fiona didn’t need sour cherries to pucker up and give them her latest declaration.
“The contractors arrive on Monday morning to rebuild the bridge. That won’t impact any of you, I’m sure. Because you’ll be leaving tomorrow anyway,” she said, the decided nature of it perfectly clear. They were no longer welcome. “I am glad to have been informed that your father is recovering, and has been well-treated by Scottish physicians, the best in the world.”
Callum blinked then rolled his eyes behind his wine glass. Fiona continued.
“It’s been a pleasure getting to know you all.” She stood up suddenly. “Safe journeys.” Her footsteps echoed out into the hallway and up the stairs.
“I’m sorry,” Callum said softly.
“Don’t be silly,” Francie blurted. “We have to leave. Of course we do.”
Callum looked at Annie, worry across his brow. What had transpired between them? Merle still didn’t know. But Annie reached out and took his hand. Merle sighed with relief and took Pascal’s hand under the table.
“I must go home anyway,” Pascal said, looking pointedly at Merle. “The time has come.”
After dinner Merle and Pascal went for a walk as the sun set over the hills. The bluebells were recovering, pushing up out of the wet ground under the trees. She picked a small bunch and stuck one in Pascal’s button hole. They didn’t talk about her going to France. He had made his wishes known but she hadn’t made up her mind yet. Should she stay and help Stasia with their parents, or go gadding about France? And what about Elise? Should she try to run her down? What was Tristan doing? Was he studying hard, getting good grades? Should she go home and check on him? And what about her job at Legal Aid? She was definitely looking forward to going back to that— er, sort of.
So many priorities pulling her different directions.
As they came out of the woods they saw two police vehicles parked by the house. One was official, the other the blue sedan that had brought DI Grassie to the house before. Pascal looked at Merle and picked up his pace.
By the time they rounded the front of Kincardie House three policemen, two uniforms and DI Grassie, stood at the door of the women’s quarters. The door was open. Grassie’s bulk filled the small doorway. Pascal came up to the red-haired cop standing back a ways and asked what was going on.
“Been a break in the case,” he said in a low voice.
“What is it?” Merle joined them, breathless.
“I don’t know,” Pascal whispered.
Callum appeared from the back door of the house, joining them. “What’s happening?”
Pascal shrugged and the cops continued the stony faces.
Minutes passed, then DI Grassie moved to one side of the door and took the arm of Jinty Arbuckle, leading her down the steps toward the police car. Pascal and Merle frowned at each other.
“Is she going to give a statement?” Merle asked the uniformed policeman.
He was walking back to the other vehicle. Callum called out to him: “Please, sir. What is happening? Where are you taking Jinty?”
“Ask the inspector,” the cop said.
Callum and Pascal approached Grassie’s sedan in tandem, catching his attention as he maneuvered the young caretaker into the back seat. Callum caught the door before he could close it.
“Mr. Grassie? What are you doing with Miss Arbuckle?”
The round policeman gave Callum a withering look and pulled the door from his grasp, shutting it forcefully. “For your information, sir, Miss Arbuckle is going in on her own volition.”
Merle crossed her arms, glancing at the frightened face of the young woman. “Are you charging her with something?”
Grassie glanced at each of them in turn, his jowls slack, inert, but his eyes sharp. “Miss Arbuckle has confessed to the murder of Vanora Petrie.”
* * *
The next day Merle looked up through the windshield, blinking at the sudden flash of morning sunshine off the shiny hood of the heather green rental car. Bruno’s car, still under their command while the man himself was somewhere in France, waltzing around with Elise.
Pascal had admonished Merle again for not reaching Elise. It wasn’t for lack of trying. The girl just didn’t answer her cell phone. No one was sure whether it even worked in Europe. And now Pascal was off on an airplane, back to Toulouse and points in southwest France. He had begged her to go with him, and she had not. She was an idiot, that was plain.
“What are we doing here?” She peered up at a large gray edifice, somewhere in downtown Aberdeen. Callum was behind the wheel again, having driven Pascal to the airport for his mid-morning flight home.
“My mother tells me she feels some responsibility for Jinty. That Jinty’s grandfather and my father were friends or something. It’s hazy but somehow that’s how Mother gave Jinty her job at Kincardie.”
The Things We Said Today Page 16
