‘Pipes and taps and radiators?’ said Hugh. ‘At Gilverton?’
‘And Benachally, yes. And Gilchrist said they’d finished with one house but not started on the next yet. So depending on which one it is we might not be able to go home. Just yet. Until they’re done. But I must say for them to have done one in a week is a miracle so it shouldn’t be long.’
He had, I realised, stopped listening a while ago. I think he stopped listening when I said ‘Gilchrist’.
‘My factor,’ he said and his voice was shaking. ‘My factor knew about this and never told me?’
‘You were ill, Hugh,’ I said. He marched across the room to the little desk where there was a telephone and fumed and swore until the call had been connected and Gilchrist – I assumed – was on the line. There were a few sharp exchanges and then the earpiece was banged into the cradle.
‘Well, at least we can go home,’ he said.
‘They did Gilverton first?’ I said. I hated it when he was this angry, but the thought of my new bathroom and the delicious warmth in my bedroom lifted my spirits anyway.
‘In a week, Dandy? Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Hugh. ‘They started with Woods Cottage. The factor’s house. Well, that’s all to the good in a way. When we advertise for a new man we can say the house is modern, can’t we?’
‘You’re not sacking him!’ I said. ‘Hugh, it was my fault. And you stopped it in time. And think if we’d crashed with the stock exchange. How can you be angry with anyone today?’
There was a soft knock at the door and we both composed our faces.
‘Come in,’ I called.
It was Grant.
‘I’m sorry I’m so late,’ she said. ‘Madam. Only every stitch you had on last night is ruined and Mrs Tilling tells me your pale grey is in a bad way too. And I can’t even find your good coat.’ It was snagged on a bush on the Gallow Hill, so one could hardly blame her. ‘So I’ve been down to the town to Irene’s, which is not a bad little dress shop for a place of this size, and I’ve bought you something new.’ She turned in the doorway, picked up three enormous parcels done up with pale yellow paper and tied with dark brown ribbon. ‘Now, they’re quite daring for you, madam,’ she said, heaping them on the bed beside Bunty, ‘but they don’t carry a wide stock. You’ll need to stop in and pay the bill, by the way, and just remember when you do that these are London modes. She goes down on buying trips three times a year.’
I turned to see what Hugh was making of all this.
‘I shall have Gilchrist and you shall have Grant,’ he said softly and left the room. I was delighted to note that he was whistling.
Postscript
I would greatly have preferred it had the Addies been willing to send a cheque through the post, for the thought of facing them once the endless grisly details came out was not an easy one. As Sergeant Simpson had said, all we ever want to hear is that death was instantaneous and our loved one did not suffer a moment’s pain, but that soothing tale was never going to do in this instance.
Unfortunately Mr Addie was immovable on the point. Alec and I were summoned back to Fairways to give our report and receive our dues and as we stood on the doorstep one bright, crisp November day, the grin he gave me was as sickly as the one I returned. When the door opened, however, our reception was not at all what we had been dreading.
Mrs Bowie née Addie had beaten the housemaid to the tape. She surged across the doorstep, pressed me to her bosom and then threw out an arm to haul Alec into an uncomfortable and somewhat excruciating three-way hug. Over her shoulder I saw the housemaid boggle, shrug and turn back to the baize door, leaving us to it.
‘How will we ever thank you?’ said Mrs Bowie, almost shrieking but muffled quite a bit against Alec’s coat and my fox fur. She stood back at last, just holding on to one hand of each, and beamed. Never had an Edinburgh matron acted more like a West End starlet on an opening night.
Now Mr Addie joined us too, coming halfway along the hall from the drawing-room door and shifting from foot to foot, saying:
‘Hear, hear. Yes, indeed. I quite agree. Now away and let our guests in the door, Margaret. We’ve many things to say.’
Mrs Bowie gave us both one last squeeze of the hand and then switched to ushering us inside, taking coats, offering coffee and fussing about the fire, the sunlight coming through the blinds and the comfort of the chairs. Anyone would think we had brought her mother back to her and Alec and I shared more than one puzzled glance, before the coffee and plain biscuits were served and the four of us were settled.
‘I’d a letter from the Dumfries Fiscal you wouldn’t believe,’ said Mr Addie. ‘Grovel? What? He tied himself in a sailor’s knot apologising. And another from the Chief Constable. A telegram, no less, from the Edinburgh pathologist and, ahem-’ He broke off and smoothed his moustache before continuing. ‘An invitation to dine with the Fiscal here in Edinburgh.’
‘Both of us,’ said Mrs Bowie. ‘To dine with him and his wife.’
‘Of course, I know him from the golf club,’ said her brother, playing it down, but I could see what a leap it was from two men drinking in a clubhouse to Mrs Bowie putting her pearls on and climbing into a taxi for dinner at eight. The Addies, it would appear, were being wooed out of plans to write to The Scotsman or instruct a lawyer.
‘And all because of you,’ said Mrs Bowie. ‘If it weren’t for you two dear people, the story of Mother’s death would have stood forever quite quite wrong, and her troubled spirit would never have found its rest.’
‘And for that we are most grateful of all,’ Mr Addie said. ‘It’s a new world to me, I must say, and I’m a plain man for the most part, but your associate has opened my eyes as well as calmed my mind.’
‘Ah,’ I said. I could think of nothing more, but threw a frantic glance at Alec for aid.
‘I’ll just fetch him in,’ said Mrs Bowie. ‘He stepped out to take a turn in the fresh air. It’s that draining, you know.’ And she bustled off through the double doors to the adjoining room and then out of the french windows into the garden. Alec and I both sipped coffee the better to cover our total bewilderment and within a minute Mrs Bowie was back, skipping up the stone steps like a girl and holding the french window wide. I only just began to realise who was about to step through it as he appeared: leonine and magnificent, the sunlight giving him a kind of halo in his full regalia of astrakhan coat, silk scarf and silver-topped cane, Loveday Merrick strode into the room.
‘Mrs Gilver, Mr Osborne,’ he said.
‘Mr Merrick. What are- What a pleasant surprise.’ Alec had found his voice first.
‘I had to come,’ said the great man. ‘Mrs Addie would not be denied.’
‘Marvellous,’ said Mrs Bowie. ‘I always believed there was something, but I never dreamed to have it proven to me.’
‘Proven?’ I said, unable to help myself.
‘Beyond all doubt,’ said Mr Addie. ‘Mr Merrick seems to know my mother better nearly than I do myself. And it’s not at all a case of – ahem – crossing the palm with silver, for he has refused to take a penny piece and has told us from Mother in the strongest terms that she’s going to her rest now and if anyone else comes around saying they’ve a message we’ve not to listen.’
‘Marvellous indeed,’ said Alec. ‘It’s good to hear that she’s… in such good… after her ordeal.’
‘Oh, but that’s what she was so very determined to tell us,’ Mrs Bowie said. ‘There was no ordeal.’
‘Really?’ I said.
‘She was warm and comfortable and she drifted off to sleep,’ Mr Addie said.
‘And when she awoke she was surrounded by soft white light and she was floating, quite weightless, above the ground, looking down but feeling nothing but calm.’