So she had set up their meeting, in spite of all the instincts that told her not to. Her play for him in the kitchen had been unplanned, but once it had begun it had been unstoppable, neither of them thinking of what would come after. But as soon as he had gone, and the air around her had cooled to its normal even temperature, she had known within herself that nothing would come after. She could read him too well to believe that he would ever allow his betrayal of Karen to be more than a one-off. And so his call an hour earlier, his voice, metallic through his car’s small speaker, telling her, apologetically, remorsefully, that it could never happen again, had come as no surprise. Yet still that torch burned, scorching her emotionally, and at that moment she could think of nothing, nobody who could ever put it out. To make it worse, the hurt would always be hers alone. She had never confided her deepest secrets to anyone but her father, and this one had to be kept, even from him.
She winced, and realised that she had been staring into space; for how long, she had no idea. She was on the point of turning on her heel and leaving when she heard a ringtone in her ear and remembered that she was still wearing her hands-free device. ‘Yes,’ she said, answering by voice command.
‘Stand where you are, and look slowly to your right.’ She did as she was instructed, and saw him, sitting at a table beside the coffee kiosk, phone held to his ear, the other hand waving. ‘Come on over,’ he said. ‘The flight’s delayed twenty minutes.’
‘OK. I’ll get myself a coffee.’
‘Get me another one as well; filter, touch of milk, and since you’re buying, I’ll have a bun of some sort.’
She laughed as she walked towards him. ‘I’ve always assumed I’d have to look after you in your old age,’ she said, ‘but I didn’t realise it had started now.’
She went to the bar, waited while her order was made up, paid the inevitably Polish server, and carried a tray across to the table. When she arrived he was speaking on his mobile once again. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I was just letting Aileen know we’ll be later than planned, and catching up with developments.’
‘Yours or hers?’
‘Both. We’ve had a sudden death this morning that’s turned into a homicide. It’ll also turn into a Holyrood by-election.’
‘Ah! I heard something about that on the radio news as I was driving here, but I didn’t really catch it.’
He updated her, explaining how Glover had been found and how the story had unfolded. ‘Aileen’s taken a double hit. She liked Glover, but on top of that, his death could have serious consequences for her politically.’
‘She’ll just have to win the seat.’
‘How?’
‘By putting up a candidate of her own who’ll catch the anti-Trident vote as effectively as Ainsley Glover did.’
Bob smiled. ‘Since when did you take an interest in politics?’
‘Shortly after you started going out with the First Minister, or Justice Minister, as she was then. Plus it was on my university course as a fill-in subject, remember.’
‘Then you should realise that Aileen’s party’s official line is pro-nuclear. ’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Alex pointed out. ‘Defence is a reserved power; it has nothing to do with the party in Scotland. She can put her own runner in there, throw up her hands in mock horror when he or she disowns Trident, then carry on, giving them full support against Anderson.’
‘Anderson?’
‘That’s something I did pick up from the radio. I didn’t understand the context but now I do. Bruce Anderson was on, saying that if the Labour Party doesn’t select him this time, he’ll fight the by-election as an independent candidate.’
‘Bastard. It didn’t take him long, but that doesn’t surprise me.’ He scowled. ‘Maybe we’ll have put a spoke in his wheel before then. Maybe we’ll have charged him with murder.’
‘Really?’
‘I wish. Neil’s interviewing him this afternoon, but more as a witness than a suspect.’ He looked at her. ‘Do you have anyone in mind for Aileen as a candidate?’
‘That’s her field, not mine. I’m sure she’ll come up with someone.’
‘How about you?’
Alex gasped. ‘Me? That’s the best laugh I’ve had all day; the first, for that matter.’
‘Who’s joking?’
‘You’d better be.’
‘Why should I be?’ he challenged her. ‘You’re articulate, attractive, very clever, a fine analytical thinker, and you don’t back off from anyone in debate. Plus you’re anti-Trident yourself.’
‘Dad, how do you know that I’m even a member of Aileen’s party?’
He chuckled. ‘I don’t, but whether you are or not, that’s a mere detail. You vote for her; you told me.’
‘Because of her, mostly. Dad, stop it. What’s put this crazy idea in your head?’
‘I’m not sure. Just lately I’ve been a bit concerned about you.’
‘In what way?’ she asked cautiously.
‘Like I say, I’m not sure. How can I put this? Looking at you, I’m not sure that your life is completely fulfilled. You say that you’re totally focused on your career, and I believe you, but I find myself wondering whether these ambitions of yours, to be the world’s youngest partner and so on, come from the heart, or from the drawing board. I want you to be all you can be, love, and I know you do too. I just wonder, your career. . whether that’s it.’
‘So you want me to stand for Holyrood, to fulfil my subconscious desires, is that it?’ There was a hard edge to her voice.
‘No, no,’ he protested, backing off hurriedly. ‘That was just an idle suggestion, so don’t take it seriously. But it must have dawned on you by now that I think you’re the most talented person on the surface of the planet and that you could achieve anything you set your mind to achieving.’
As she looked at him, he thought for a moment or two that her eyes were a little blurred, but decided that the artificial light in the hall was patchy, and could be playing tricks.
‘A real wee Wonderwoman, eh?’ she murmured. ‘Dad, let me just stick to my career, for I know where I’m going there, and, to be honest, blinded by love as you are, you just can’t see that I’m fuck all good at anything else.’
He gazed back at her, trying to read her, realising that he may have stirred up something that might have been better left alone. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’ he ventured.
‘No,’ she replied, but realised to her great surprise that she was lying. She really did want to pour everything out so that, as he always did, he could make it better.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘When you do. . You’re my blind spot, Alex. I’ve built a career out of finding things that people try to hide from me, and I can be a holy terror at it. It doesn’t work with you, though.’
For a moment, she came to the very edge of proving him wrong. And then a voice sounded on the other side of the arrivals hall.
‘Dad! Sis!’
She and her father both turned, and saw running towards them the tanned, sturdy form of James Andrew Skinner, maybe an inch or so taller than when he had left for America six weeks before. They stood and went to meet him, and Alex was reminded of something that perhaps she had forgotten in his absence, that there was someone else who made her life worth living.
Twenty-three
‘What’s this guy’s background?’ asked Sammy Pye.
Neil McIlhenney looked up at the grey stone facade of the Georgian building in Darnaway Street, the short terrace that links Moray Place to Heriot Row. ‘He’s a doctor from Glasgow.’