by V Clifford
She raised her eyebrows and shrugged. ‘Thanks.’ She craned her neck as she heard the rumble of tyres on gravel at the bottom of the drive.’
Brian took off round the back of the cottage and over the paddock, out of sight.
The car pulled up and she reopened the door wide and stepped onto the porch, Mollie at her heels.
‘Hello, what can I do for you?’
‘Are you Dr Viv Fraser?’
‘I am. Who wants to know?’
‘We’re from the US consulate. We’ve been asked to deliver this. Do you have any ID?’
‘I could say the same to you.’
He pulled out a lanyard with his name, Brad Blewitt. A photograph of him and the address of the consulate in Edinburgh on it. She nipped inside and brought out her Fettes pass. ‘This do?’ They both checked it and nodded.
Both men were taller than six feet but the one closer to seven feet handed her an envelope. The official FBI logo on the front was a bit of a give-away.
She smiled. ‘I don’t suppose they could have put it in the post?’
The same man shook his head. ‘My orders were to see that it made it to your hands and your hands only.’
‘Well, thank you. Do they expect a reply?’
‘My job is just to make sure you got it.’
They got back into the car and reversed out the way they came. There was a place to turn beyond where the Rav was parked but they were already backing out before she thought to show them.
Inside she slipped the kettle onto the Aga and found a knife to slice open the envelope. It was dated that morning and it felt as if the ink had barely dried. She read slowly then reread it. They were tracking every action on Sal’s accounts and knew that she was on the inside. If she didn’t back off it would be deemed a cyber crime and she’d be hauled over the FBI version of hot coals. She grinned. That could be interesting. She returned to the study, switched off Sal’s desktop and went back down and made coffee. She typed Brad Blewitt into her laptop. He was exactly what his lanyard claimed: security to the consulate, although photographs indicated that he spent more one-on-one time looking out for the principal officer. The FBI must be hoping for some action from those accounts to secure their case otherwise they could have crashed them and saved themselves the trouble of sending her an actual paper message.
Sal still had a whole load of correspondence in real files that she could go through, so that’s what she turned to. Sal had three wooden filing cabinets that were locked. The keys had to be somewhere close by so she riffled about in the desk until she found them. She wondered what it must be like to be so organised but dismissed the thought since even within her own chaos there was order that only she knew.
It was heart-breaking reading through someone’s life when you knew they wouldn’t return to resume what they’d so painstakingly invested in. The person who benefited most from Sal’s care was Viv. Electricity bills were filed in order with treasury tags. Same for bank accounts and estate accounts. A glance through these made her realise how much Sal had been involved in the day-to-day running of things. She’d assumed that Sal must have let the trust deal with things but she hadn’t. She had the last word even down to whether they had barbed wire on their fencing or not. Not, was Sal’s decision. She wouldn’t allow chemicals to be used for weed killing but instead bought a fierce machine like a dragon that burnt them. What a revelation it all was. Could she become interested in this kind of stuff? Maybe in time but it wouldn’t happen overnight. She discovered the invoices for Mrs Chapman’s care home. Eye watering but all paid. Machinery was a major outgoing. She’d had no idea that Sal was doing all of this stuff as well as being an international profiler. Maybe the contrast was what worked for her, in the same way if Viv had too much investigation she craved hairdressing. One thing balanced the other.
The room was stuffy and she needed fresh air. Moll, delighted as ever at the prospect of a walk, birled and sprinted to the door. Viv clipped a lead onto her collar and they walked up the original drive and round the tower of the old house. She pulled her collar up round her chin to protect herself from light rain being blown in waves by the wind. She heard the guttural thrust of an engine starting and dying then starting up again. When she rounded the base of the tower she spotted Brian beneath a shelter with a lawnmower up on a ramp.
‘So this is what you get up to?’
‘One of many things to do in a day here.’
‘How do you keep track of what needs done?’
‘I’ve got a year planner marked with the jobs to do each month but everything relies on the weather. Because it’s been so wet it’s harder to do tree work. So I come indoors.’
‘Not exactly indoors is it?’
He wiped his hands on a rag and switched the engine off. ‘No, but at least it’s dry. If you want to see the planner it’s no bother. Sal organised it a few years back. It’s a godsend.’
‘Maybe some time. At the moment I’ve . . .’
He nodded. ‘Aye. There’s a lot to take in. But when you’re ready let me know. I got a letter from her solicitor. They said you’d be taking over.’
Her eyes almost popped out, ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do. She’s organised things so that whatever happens you’ll continue as you have been.’
‘She and I had a meeting once a week to go over what’s on the calendar. If there’s anything I can help you with just let me know.’
Viv looked at him. ‘I’m sure if you carry on the way you are we’ll both find a way through this.’
She tugged at the lead and raised her hand to wave. Mollie bolted ahead and made for the stile into the paddock. It was rickety, one more thing to think about having fixed. As she walked a deep sadness seeped into every muscle in her body. The sheer waste of such an amazing person was unfathomable. She understood why Sal had left things the way she had since she didn’t seem to have anyone else to leave it to but she didn’t want to live in the country and felt coerced, frustrated by the extent of Sal’s will. She had to find a way of not getting dragged into being someone she was not. This was Sal’s life not hers.
Light was fading and out in the open field the wind swirled the rain around. She wasn’t up for getting completely soaked so they headed back. The cottage was warm and comfortable. Too comfortable. It wasn’t right. In the US they’d even fought over Christmas. They both always worked at Christmas so why they’d found it worth arguing over was anyone’s guess. In her heart she knew that she and Sal wouldn’t have worked things out. Two strong women, too independent for their own good - nothing was going to change that. She felt ashamed at being named as the beneficiary of all this.
She returned to Sal’s files, opening one of the other cabinets. Sal knew that Viv would be the person to go through these documents so she’d never have left anything behind that she didn’t want found. Or would she? Her phone pinged with a text from Mac. ‘Hope you’re ready, I’m on my way.’
‘Shit!’ She’d forgotten about the drinks party.
Chapter Nine
When Mac arrived she was already on the porch waiting for him. She jumped into the Audi and they took off through the village towards the distillery. Not far after turning off the main route they took a right through a pillared entrance with a turreted gatehouse lit up like a miniature fairy castle. The drive was an impressive mile, or more, with estate fencing lining either side. Mature specimen trees were caught intermittently in the headlights as they drove through the parkland.
‘Impressive amount of space to have around your house. Sheep; you think they have to have sheep to cut the grass?’
Mac said, ‘Rare breeds. Something interesting to look at.’
‘Talking of rare breeds, do you know anything about Sal’s wishes?’
‘Not much. Just that she thought you were the woman for the job. She thought you’d make wise decisions. Also she doesn’t have any family apart from her mum. I’m guessing she’ll have sorted out her mum’s needs.’
‘I don’t want the hassle. If you knew what I had to go through with Dawn’s family you’d understand that when someone leaves you all their worldly goods it’s a burden. I don’t need or want worldly goods. I never even owned a flat until Sal very generously sold me the West Bow. It’s more than I need.’
‘You could give it to the National Trust or something.’
She sighed. ‘It’s not that easy. Wow!’ The house came into view. A large circular area in front was already full of parked cars. ‘It’s amazing. How old is it?’
‘Not as old as it looks. The bits that look like a castle are Edwardian but I think there’s a really old core to the house that you can only see when you’re inside.’
They approached the front door and it swung open before they had to ring the bell. A young man in dark trousers and a white shirt took Mac’s coat. Viv said she’d rather keep her jacket on.
Mac said, ‘You’ll have to wait for me if you’re planning an early escape. We should have a code.’
‘Yeah, like “We’re out of here”.’
Mac smiled and put his hand in the small of her back. ‘This way. Follow the noise.’
‘I’d much rather snoop around.’
‘Oh, I expect you’ll make time for that after you’ve had a drink.’
A waitress dressed in the same kit as the man at the door approached them balancing a drinks tray. The young woman’s make-up was perfect, eyebrows applied as if she’d prepared for a photo-shoot. Mac took soft and she took a glass of fizz and nodded her thanks. Within seconds a tall broad man, dressed in Ralph Lauren, edged through the gathering and shook Mac’s hand. He turned to Viv. ‘You must be Viv. Sholto. I’m so sorry to hear about Sal. She was one helluva lady.’
This was completely unexpected and threw Viv off balance. ‘Thank you. She was indeed an amazing woman.’ Sal would never have appreciated being called a lady. It was no compliment in her eyes, just a way for society to divvy up the classes. Women of the working class were never regarded as ladies. Ladies were defined by what they didn’t do rather than what they did. They didn’t run in the corridor, they didn’t sit with their knees apart, they didn’t speak their minds but instead said what people wanted them to say, didn’t ruffle any feathers. No, Sal wouldn’t have risen to Sholto’s outdated, but probably well intentioned, comment. People don’t know what to say to the bereaved so filled the gaps with platitudes. Viv had done it herself many a time but now just wanted to go home, discard her armour and crumple on the couch with Mollie. She glanced at Mac who was staring at her. She questioned why with her eyebrows.
He said, ‘So, Sholto, what is it that you think we can do for you?’
Viv was impressed. No beating about the bush for Mac.
Sholto glanced around him to check for anyone who might overhear what he was about to say. Just as he said, ‘I think . . .’ a tall woman with strawberry blonde hair swept up into a knot, with tendrils immaculately freed from their tether and framing a heart-shaped face, came breezing over and took his arm. ‘Sholt I’d like you to come and meet . . .’
She dragged him away before they heard who was so important that he had to meet them at that precise moment.
Viv turned to Mac. ‘You think that’s our cue for a retreat?’
Mac shrugged. ‘You can wait in the car if you like. I’d better do a round of the room and maybe get a feel for his nearest and dearest. I mean if that was her, the soon-to-be wife, her manners weren’t exactly polished.’
‘Okay, I’ll hang about. Try and meet his family.’
‘Actually. If you are going to stay why don’t you find out more about her family? We can get two lots of info for the price of one.’
She glanced at a clock on the mantelpiece. ‘See you back here in twenty minutes.’
Mac also glanced at the clock. ‘Is it a test?’
‘Of course, you just set it.’
‘Deal.’
And with that he wove through the crowd. The waitress returned and asked Viv if she’d like a top-up. Viv shook her head and raised her half-full glass, ‘No, thanks. I’m still all right. I’m new to the area. Do you know Sholto’s girlfriend’s name?’
The young woman blushed, ‘Pamela Hamilton.’
Viv raised her eyebrows in a question. If the waitress was local they’d definitely have had a nickname for the girlfriend and she’d lay bets on ‘Pam the Ham’.
‘Ah, you mean Pam the Ham?’
The waitress’s eyes almost popped out. ‘I thought you weren’t local.’
‘I’m not. But who wouldn’t call someone with that name “Pam the Ham”? I mean . . .’
The waitress blushed again. ‘She’s older than me but my brothers and sisters were at primary with her. She was quite . . .’ She gestured with the hand holding the bottle.
‘Ah so she had what was once called puppy fat?’
The girl’s face turned a deeper red. ‘I’d better get this served.’
‘Just before you go, are Pamela’s family here?’
The waitress nodded towards the window where a man in his thirties was in conversation with an older couple. ‘Those three are all Hamiltons: brother, dad and stepmother.’
‘Great. Thanks.’
Viv squeezed through a couple of other pairs who were polite enough to move to let her pass but not to ask if she was okay. Locals keeping themselves to themselves, and the Hamiltons clearly keeping it within the family. As she drew closer the son suddenly uncrossed his arms and planted his feet wider than shoulder width. Ready for attack or defence?
The stepmother was speaking through slightly gritted teeth. ‘It had to be done.’
Dripping sarcasm, the son replied, ‘Really?’ dripping sarcasm.
And right on cue the father said, ‘Don’t you take that tone with . . .’
He dropped his voice so Viv couldn’t pick up the name. One reliable way to find out. She backed into the stepmother and as she’d hoped the woman spilled her drink.
‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m . . .’
The woman looked as if she was about to give Viv a rollicking but then her face changed, ‘Oh, don’t worry, dear, you’re the woman who has . . .’
The son coughed to interrupt her, took her glass and said, ‘I’ll get you another drink, Brenda.’
The father put out his hand, ‘Hello, I’m Hugo Hamilton and this is my wife Brianna.’
Viv’s face must have registered confusion.
Mr Hamilton tightened his jaw and said, ‘Brenda’s an in joke.’
Brianna bristled, indicating that she wasn’t getting too many laughs from it.
‘What a lovely house this is,’ Viv said, hoping for a way into a conversation.
Hugo said, ‘Yes, I think Pamela will want to make a few changes to the décor. But it does have potential.’
The house had a mix of old and new, one or two lamps on the camp side of Liberace. Vases of Strelitzia and Eryngium set in architectural displays on every surface showed attention to detail that even Mac, with his love of large chandeliers, couldn’t compete with.
Viv said, ‘It certainly packs a punch.’
Brianna flinched. ‘It’s slightly over the top for Doune don’t you think?’
Viv shuddered knowing the question for what it was: a way to coerce someone into an agreement that they didn’t want to make since it would deny social convention to disagree. Viv said, ‘Oh, I can see it has some merit. It’s quite fun, no?’
Right back at you. In no mood for games she said, ‘Sholto seems like a nice man.’
A warning look passed from husband to wife who said, ‘Maybe too nice for his own good.’
The husband said, ‘Bree. I don’t think, sorry I didn’t catch your name.’
‘Viv, it’s Viv Fraser.’
The son reappeared with a glass of bubbly and handed it to his stepmother. He then put out his hand. ‘Hugo.’
Viv shook his hand. Not very creative with their names. Two Hugos and a Pamela. She wondered if t
he first Mrs Hamilton had been Pamela too.
Hugo junior said, ‘So how do you know Sholto?’ Oblivious to the previous conversation.
‘Oh I don’t really. My partner is over there. He’s obviously got chatting about something interesting. He lives on the Braes.’
Hugo junior’s face turned to an expression of concern. ‘Is he a tenant?’
‘No. No he isn’t.’
A brief look of relief passed over his face, and he said, ‘So how long has he known Sholto?’
‘Oh not long, although I couldn’t be sure. I expect you’ve all known him all his life?’
Hugo senior, ‘Yes, yes. Our families grew up together. Inevitable. Inevitable.’
Viv said, ‘Sorry? What was inevitable?’
‘That he and Pammy would end up together.’
Hugo junior snapped, ‘Only inevitable because you made it thus. Pammy would have been just as . . .’
Hugo senior, ‘That’s enough Hugo. I’m sure Viv doesn’t want to hear our domestic history.’
Oh, but she does. She was already building the family politics into something useful. Why did children, whatever age they were, feel threatened by stepmothers? And vice versa. When money or property were in the frame it seemed unavoidable. What was it that Hugo junior believed wasn’t inevitable? What else could Pamela have been happy doing or becoming? Just as Viv was about to ask this question a man dressed in tweed bustled into the space and to the relief of Mr and Mrs Hamilton the conversation turned to the amount of money the wind farm had generated that month. Time to make a move to leave.
Viv raised her glass, said cheers to them all and slipped into the crowd making her way to where she’d last spotted Mac. He was still in conversation with a group of three so she caught the waiter and asked where the loo was. The country house loo was often where the real family portraits were. Photographs of generations all Blu-Taked onto boards and hung up for the inner world to see, until nights like these when they were made available to all and sundry. This loo was grander than others she had been in. No sign of the usual horsey or doggy tack. A double marble basin with shiny brass taps, white linen curtains thick enough to hold back the Armada and a beautiful art deco lamp. It reminded her of an old theatre dressing room. Inside the actual loo cubicle she found what she knew she would - pinned to each wall, the ubiquitous panels of family snaps. She had to use the torch on her phone to get a proper look at them but they made for interesting research.
