by Susan Lewis
“What about Nick? Have you tried him? She’ll be with him.”
Jenneen shook her head. “He hasn’t heard a word from her since she went in.”
The bitterness in Ashley’s voice was thinly disguised as she said: “You don’t think she’s gone back to her father?”
“No. I spoke to him this morning. She’s not there.”
“Thank God for that. But where could she have gone? Didn’t she give you any idea at all?”
“None. I haven’t seen her, Ash. She would never agree to see anyone.”
Their eyes locked in shared anguish. What had been a nightmare for them had turned out to be so much worse for Kate. If only that stupid, nosy old woman from upstairs who had knocked on Kate’s door that night hadn’t panicked and called the police. If only her father had had the decency to speak up and tell the police what had really happened then she would surely never have gone to prison. And if only Kate had told the truth herself. So many if onlys. But thank God Nick had managed to get one of London’s top solicitors. If he hadn’t then it was almost certain that Kate would have been charged with grievous bodily harm, and gone to prison for a very long time. As it was, she had been sentenced to nine months for assault, and was now out after six. But even after everything Nick had done for her, Kate had still refused to see him.
Two months after it had happened Jenneen had visited Kate’s father in Surrey. She had noticed, and had felt sure that she was meant to notice, the difficulty he had in moving his left arm. Jenneen had deliberately not mentioned the wound, but had pleaded with him to do something about getting Kate released. Throughout their short encounter he had remained impervious to her pleas.
“She’ll only go back to him,” was the only answer Jenneen had been able to get.
Now Calloway was sitting at home, firm in the belief that his daughter would return to him when she was released. And despite the anger Jenneen felt towards him, she felt pity too for his dying sanity.
“Haven’t you heard anything from her? Nothing at all?” Ashley pleaded.
“Just one letter. I received it last week. You can read it when we get back, but you’d better steel yourself first, it’s not the Kate we know.”
“What does it say?”
“That she feels no remorse for what she did to her father. Reading between the lines, I think she almost wishes she had . . . Well, it doesn’t matter now. There is no doubt, though, that she believes she’s been doing penance for Ellamarie.”
Ashley felt Conrad’s hand tighten round hers and realised that what he had said to her the night before, that the three of them must sit down and talk everything through, was more crucial than ever.
But first they must find Kate.
FORTY
Mrs Duff looked up from the battered old typewriter she was using, allowing her half-lensed spectacles to slip to the tip of her nose. Her eyes followed the young woman from the bottom of the stairs to the front door, and as she disappeared outside into the rain, Mrs Duff got up and went to the window.
The concern on the old lady’s face was less this morning – the young woman was looking better now. There had been a healthier hue to her cheeks, and a spring to her step that hadn’t been there before. Whatever it was, it was a change from when she had arrived, just over a week ago. Her face had been gaunt, and her eyes had seemed to sink back into their sockets if anyone peered too closely. It was because of that that Mrs Duff hadn’t recognised her immediately, but the name had struck a chord on her memory, and looking over her register she had found it.
“How is she today?”
Mrs Duff turned away from the window to find her husband standing in the doorway of the small sitting room-cum-office. She smiled, rather sadly. “Better, I think.”
“Did you tell her about the telephone call?”
His wife shook her head. “He asked me not to, so I won’t.”
Mr Duff smiled and picked up the newspaper that was lying on the desk. “You’ve taken a fondness for the lassie, Mary.”
Mrs Duff didn’t deny it. She had no idea what it was that Kate had suffered these past months, but her air of loneliness and confusion had stirred something in the old woman.
She watched her husband as he packed his pipe and settled down in his favourite armchair to read the paper. As he turned the pages, Mrs Duff stood over him, glancing down at the occasional headline. She wondered if she was doing the right thing in not telling Kate about the telephone call she had received the night before.
Suddenly she reached out to stop her husband from turning the next page. “Isn’t that that director’s wife?” she said, looking at the picture of a woman holding a baby.
“Who?”
“You remember, Bob McElfrey. He stayed here once.” She stooped to get a closer look at the photograph. “So that’s his wife. I thought the young lassie he was with was his wife, but it seems not. Do you remember her? She was American. Organised us all into chaos and still managed to make us laugh.”
Mr Duff chuckled. “How could I forget her? She took the place over.” He frowned. “She came back again, didn’t she? After that.”
“Aye,” his wife answered. “She came back with the wee lassie who’s with us now.”
Mr Duff turned in his chair to look up at his wife. “You know, I thought I’d seen her before.” He paused. “So the other one, the American, do you suppose she was the mistress? The one who killed him?”
Mrs Duff nodded very slowly. “Aye, ‘twas her all right. She killed herself after. Such a tragedy all that. They say she was pregnant too, you know.” She sighed. “I wonder what really happened there?”
Together they read the story beneath the photograph, announcing the birth of Bob McElfrey’s son. “So she’s going to call the laddie Robert,” Mrs Duff remarked. “Och dear, it fair makes your heart bleed.”
“It says here,” her husband read on, “that ‘Linda McElfrey is working closely with Adrian Cowley and Nicholas Gough, on trying to set up the Famous Tragedy of the Queen of Cornwall once again. The film will be dedicated to her husband, who died before it could be made.’”
He sucked silently on his pipe. It had gone out so he leaned forward to pick up a match. His wife was there before him. “The young lassie with us now,” he said, accepting the light from his wife, “why do you suppose she’s come back?”
“I don’t know,” Mrs Duff answered, shaking out the match, “but she’s here for a reason, you can be sure of that.”
She said no more, and mumbling to himself her husband went back to the paper. Mrs Duff stooped to kiss the top of his head before she went off to prepare rooms for the guests arriving later in the day.
The rain was less heavy now, but it was still cold. Kate pulled the collar of her coat higher around her face and pressed on.
There was no one else around and from time to time she stopped on the rocky path to watch the river, far below, gushing its way towards the distant loch. Sometimes the trees grew thicker, curling their twisted limbs across the pathway; and boulders that had long since fallen from the mountain interrupted the easy climb.
Finally, with the rain still streaming into her face, she reached the suspended valley. As it rolled out in front of her she felt her heart swell and wanted to cry out at the stark and unexpected beauty. She tilted her face to the sky, inhaling deeply, and willed the rain to come faster. In the distance, coming from far above, she could hear the wind as it whipped around the mountain tops. It was a gentle, almost comforting sough by the time it reached her ears.
She stretched out her arms and turned slowly, looking up at the peaks, shrouded secretly in a gently smoking mist. The rugged challenge of the mountains, the aura of victory and defiance that emanated from every gully made her skin prickle. And the gentle swell of the breeze that was suddenly whipped into gale seemed to speak straight to her heart. At last she was free.
She climbed down onto a small ledge that jutted from the pathway. Leaning against the tree that overhung
the strath far below, she watched the quickening water as it splashed and roared across the rocks.
The feeling of euphoria that had gripped her body was slowly locking itself into her heart. She had waited so long for this and wanted to savour every moment.
It was some time later that she pulled the newspaper cutting from her pocket and looked down at the photograph of Linda McElfrey and her baby. Then she smiled sadly as once again she read the story that ran alongside the picture. When she came across Nick’s name she stopped and looked up to the mountains. Her heart was beating a little faster. She so badly wanted to be with him now.
Time slipped by and the rain stopped. The grey clouds became ringed with irregular circles of bright light as the sun forced its way through and coated the mountains with dark shadows.
It had been many years since Kate had prayed, but now, surrounded by the awe-inspiring beauty of nature, she found herself whispering to God.
When she had finished she raised her eyes to the sky. Her heart was full and she had to swallow against the rush of emotion that forced tears to her eyes. Not only had she gained her freedom, but by coming here she had found Ellamarie and Bob. Their presence was so strong that she felt if she reached out she might touch them. She had found them, but it was time now to leave them in peace. She knew she would never come here again.
Kate turned back to the path and took the hand that reached out to her. She looked up and as she saw his face her breath caught in her throat.
His face broke into a grin and he pulled her up beside him. She looked searchingly into his eyes, hardly able to believe her own. For a long time neither of them spoke, until Nick suddenly laughed and pulled her into his arms. And then she was laughing too, as tears streamed down over her cheeks. “You got my card?” she said, finally.
“I did.”
“But how did you know where I was? I never said.”
Nick pushed the damp hair from her face. “It didn’t take much working out,” he answered, “once I knew you were in Scotland.”
She turned away, and quietly he watched her face, as for the very last time her eyes slipped from mountain to valley.
“They came here, you know. Ellamarie and Bob.”
He slipped an arm about her shoulder. “I know.”
“It’s over now. I came to say goodbye.”
Nick smiled and ran his fingers across her cheek. “Come along, I’m taking you home.”
As she followed him down the mountain she watched him move from rock to rock. She had missed him, even more than she had allowed herself to admit. And now, looking at his dark hair soaked by the rain and curling over his collar and his broad back tilting towards the rockface as he reached out to steady himself, she was overcome by the strength of her love for him.
“Nick,” she called.
He turned his head, his eyebrows raised in question, but as he saw the look in her eyes he stopped.
The rain grew heavier, but neither of them moved. The wind caught her hair and blew it about her face. Then, with droplets of rain running down her face and curling into her mouth, she whispered, “I love you, Nick. I love you so very much.”
His eyes held hers as he moved towards her, and taking her in his arms he pressed his mouth to her hair. “Don’t go away again, Kate,” he murmured.
“Oh Nick!” she cried, and clung to him fiercely.
He took her face between his hands and covered it with tiny kisses, tasting the salt of her tears through the rain. When he lifted his head to look at her she looked back, letting her eyes speak the words she was suddenly too shy to utter. His arms closed behind her, almost lifting her from the ground, and this time it was with a growing desperation that they kissed, moulding their bodies together and pushing their desire to the point where it could no longer be denied.
Taking her by the hand he led her into the trees.
Making love in the rain on the side of a mountain, waterfalls gushing downwards to join the river below, was something that neither of them would ever forget. And in the years to come they would look back and know that it was then that their daughter was conceived.
As Nick pulled the car to a stop outside the old stone-built hotel, Mrs Duff was waiting at the door.
“Och, there you are,” she said. “Come along in . . . Oh dear! And just look at you, what have you been doing to yourself?”
Kate looked at Nick and saw that he was laughing. “Mud,” he explained. “It’s all over your face.”
“Oh, you might have told me,” Kate cried, wiping at her cheeks but only succeeding in spreading the mud down over her chin.
Mrs Duff caught Nick’s eye and broke into a beaming smile as he shrugged his innocence. Then, standing back, she ushered Kate in through the door. As Kate looked across the dimly lit room her expression suddenly changed and her voice escaped in a cry of pure joy.
“Jenneen!” she cried. “What are you . . .?” But she didn’t have a chance to finish the question. Jenneen leapt up and threw her arms about her friend.
Nick laughed as he came in and found them both crying. He took out a crumpled handkerchief, but as he didn’t know which one of them to give it to he stuffed it back into his pocket again.
Mrs Duff came bustling in behind them, carrying a tray of tea which she set out on the table.
“Think I’ll go up and change.” said Nick.
“Oh, but there’s a cup of tea for you here,” Kate protested.
“Not for me,” Nick answered, and he turned away as he heard footsteps on the stairs.
Kate followed his eyes, then gasped as she saw Ashley coming towards her.
Later, after Nick had sat on the side of the bath sponging the mud from Kate’s face and legs, he lay back on the bed and watched her as she dressed for dinner.
“You’ll be late,” she said, catching his eye in the mirror as she combed out her hair.
“I intend to be,” he answered. “You’ve got a lot to catch up on, you three. Besides, I think they’ve got something they want to show you.”
“Oh?”
Nick was prevented from answering by a knock on the door.
Kate followed Ashley and Jenneen down to the small bar. They were the only ones staying at the hotel so had as much privacy as they could have wanted. Jenneen ordered the drinks, which Mr Duff brought to the table and then disappeared.
Catching Jenneen’s eye, Ashley nodded. Kate watched them and waited while Jenneen took something from her handbag.
It was a letter. Jenneen handed it to Kate. “From Ellamarie,” she said quietly. “She wrote it the night she died. I think it’s time you read it.”
The blood had drained from Kate’s face and her hand was shaking as she took the letter from the envelope.
During all the long months she had spent in prison, Kate had struggled to come to terms with everything that had happened. Jenneen had guessed rightly that Kate had believed herself to be doing penance for Ellamarie’s death as well as for what had happened between her and her father. Watching her closely, both Jenneen and Ashley were afraid that she might not be able to take it. But a long time had passed since that night. And now, as Kate read Ellamarie’s final letter, she could almost hear her speaking the words and felt her friend’s strength and courage reaching out to her in the way it always had. She realised the love and happiness Ellamarie had known before despair and heartbreak had claimed her. And she knew too what Ellamarie was asking. She was asking their forgiveness.
When Kate had read the last word she put the letter on the table and looked up. Her eyes were filled with tears, and with relief Jenneen and Ashley saw that they were tears of real grief, no longer remorse.
“So he did still love her?” Kate whispered.
Jenneen nodded.
“You see, it had nothing to do with us letting her down the night she . . .” Ashley’s voice trailed away. “She believed that by doing what she did, she could be with Bob for ever.”
Kate looked away and out through the unc
urtained window. The clouds were passing overhead, billowing in the wind. In the distance the mountains pushed their way manfully through the misty dusk; they had brought her close to Ellamarie that day. Jenneen and Ashley followed her gaze.
“And she is,” Kate whispered. “Oh she is.”
There was a long silence. As they looked into one another’s faces they realised that it had been Ellamarie who had brought them all here tonight, not Kate.
Jenneen reached out for Kate’s hand. Kate swallowed hard, and lifted her other hand to take Ashley’s. She smiled, and her voice came in a broken whisper. “Sometimes it takes tragedy to make one appreciate life – and what would life be without friendship?”
