She looked at me, with a very straight face. ‘Oz, if you want to do what’s best for Jan, you should cut her out of your life completely. Maybe both of you should have done that years ago.’
She paused. ‘Let me ask you something? Just suppose that instead of Jan More it had been Primavera Phillips that you grew up with, and drifted towards marriage with. Would things have been different then?’
‘Stop!’ For a second I was afraid my shout might have wakened the boys. ‘You’re doing my head in. Things are as they are, and that’s it. As for cutting Jan off, no way could I do that. But if that’s what she wants, it’s open to her.
‘As for you, get back into your glass house, with your fancy man, and stop throwing stones!’
14
I took my nephews to St Andrews next morning, in the back of my dad’s beloved and exceptionally low mileage old Jag, with Jonathan on a booster seat and Colin in his car seat attachment. I called Auntie Mary’s to ask if Jan wanted to come too, but she said that the supermarket was at the top of their agenda.
I took them into the castle, and showed them the bottle dungeon, and the mine and counter-mine, telling them the same tales of John Knox and the wars of the reformation that Mac the Dentist had told their mother and me, but leaving out any mention of the Cardinal’s body hanging in the great window, or of burning martyrs down yonder on the Scores.
We wandered down towards the old course. There, on a whim, I took Jonathan into Auchterlonie’s and bought him his first golf clubs, a junior three wood, seven iron and putter, smiling at the realisation of the pestering they would cause my dad after I was gone.
Finally, having shown them the ruin of the cathedral, told them more spooky stories, and treated them to multi-coloured ice creams from Janetta’s, we headed back over the hill to Anstruther, leaving enough time for Colin to be sick before lunch.
‘You’ll keep Christmas free then,’ said my dad quietly as I said goodbye, to him and to Wallace, at Auntie Mary’s front door, with Jan waiting outside in the Fiesta.
‘Sure I will.’
He gave me a hug. ‘No fuss, remember. Good luck with the new business.’
‘Did you get the renewed message from Mac about quiet weddings?’ Jan asked, as we headed out of town. ‘I did from Mum.’
I nodded.
‘What are we going to do, then?’
‘What else? I’ve told Ellie to book the village hall for the afternoon as soon as we know the date.’
Jan beamed across at me. ‘That’s my boy. Who do they think they’re messing with, eh!’
As we skirted Kirkcaldy it started to rain. ‘First I’ve seen in four weeks,’ I said. I tilted up the glass roof, and breathed deeply to enjoy the smell of the moistened dust by the roadside, and of the dampening fields.
‘D’you miss it?’
‘I’ve made a point of not thinking in terms of missing. Thanks for arranging last night, though. I really enjoyed it.’
‘Did you and Ellie sit up late?’
‘Late enough. She’s sorted, okay. Has she been talking much to you?’
Jan laughed. Her rich, deep laugh. ‘Do you mean has she told me about her illicit nookie? Oh, yes. But don’t you worry about it. She’s grazing, darlin’, that’s all. Just grazing.’
I looked across at her in surprise, but her eyes were on the road.
‘So,’ I said at last. ‘Where are we meeting BSI’s first client?’
‘At his house. He lives in Milton Bridge, just outside Penicuik. He faxed me a map showing how to get there.’
‘Mmm. So what does he do for a living, this Mr Gavin Scott? I can’t say I’ve ever heard of him.’
Jan shook her dark head. ‘Your clients have been mostly lawyers till now, so that doesn’t surprise me. The header sheet on the fax he sent me came from Soutar’s, the advertising agency in Leith. I’ve got a small agency on my client list, so I was able to check him out.
‘Soutar’s is the biggest in the business north of the border, and Gavin Scott is managing director. The chairman is a Tory life peer, but Mr Scott is the main man. He and his wife, also a director, own all the shares. He bought the business for a song ten years ago when it was on its uppers, and he turned it around. He’s in his early forties, very well respected and very rich. According to the Insider magazine top people survey the Scotts drew down?300,000 between them in salary last year, and the same again in dividend.’
‘They’re not short of a pound then,’ I muttered. ‘I should have flown first class. Is there any other background on them?’
‘Only that he’s a member of the Scottish Arts Council. He was appointed last year.’
Gavin Scott’s map was clear and accurate. It led us straight up the driveway of Westlands, as the sign at the entrance named the property. The house itself wasn’t all that big, but there was a stable block to the side, and beyond a paddock, in which a woman and a girl, wearing Barbour jackets, were exercising steaming horses in the rain.
My new client answered the door himself. Jan had been intending to wait in the car, but I insisted that she came with me. Apart from anything else, I had never met this man; a witness might be handy.
‘Mr Blackstone, Ms More. Come away in.’ Gavin Scott was a stocky bloke, an inch or two shorter than me but thicker in the chest. He had wiry black hair, flecked with grey at the sides, and eyes that shone with a real intensity. My instant impression was that he made me feel comfortable.
‘Bugger of a day, isn’t it,’ he said as he showed us through a panelled hall and into the sitting room. I looked around. As in the hall, much of the wall space was taken up by paintings, a mix of portraits and landscapes, oils and water-colours, all of them looking like originals, and if I was any judge, expensive.
Scott jerked a thumb towards a window at the end of the room, through which we could see the paddock. ‘You must think my wife and daughter are mad, out riding in the rain, but the horses need the exercise.’
A thermos jug and three cups lay on a low table. Our host poured the coffee and offered biscuits, which we declined. ‘Thank you for acting so quickly, Mr Blackstone,’ he said, as we settled into the yellow velvet upholstery. ‘Once I’ve decided to do something, I’m the sort of bloke who wants it to happen yesterday. Your ad was a godsend. It came just at the right time.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ I said. ‘Would you like me to tell you a bit about myself, and about my associates?’
He shook his head and smiled. ‘No need. I’ve checked you out. I have a friend in the police force, DI Michael Dylan. After Ms More explained your background, I asked him. For reasons which will become obvious, I didn’t give him details of why I was asking, but he gave you a glowing report. Two glowing reports, in fact; both on you and on Ms Phillips.’
I concealed my surprise. I knew Mike Dylan, all right. I thought he was a bampot, and until that moment I had believed that he held the same opinion of me.
‘Mike said that Ms Phillips’ sister is involved with Miles Grayson. Is that right?’
‘Dawn? Yes. She’s an actress. She and Miles have just finished a movie together. They’re off in the States now, starting work on another.’ I wondered which had impressed Scott more, Dylan’s OK or our vicarious connection with the mega-rich and famous.
‘Very good. Now, to business. Take a look at these.’ He stood up and walked around behind the couch on which Jan and I were seated. We turned, watching him. Behind us stood a tall easel, and on it was what we took to be a big landscape-style picture covered by a white dust-sheet.
‘Behold,’ said Gavin Scott, dramatically. He switched on a single spotlight set into the ceiling, and whipped off the sheet with a flourish.