Turning, she took her blue floral kimono from the hook on the bathroom door and slipped it on, tying it in a bow. On another day she might not have bothered; her apartment building sat right on the bank of the Water of Leith, Edinburgh’s river, and was not overlooked by any nearby buildings, and so she often stayed naked, or in her underwear, until she was ready to commit to a choice of clothing for the day. But not that Sunday; not that morning.
She stepped out of the en-suite and walked through her bedroom, without pausing to shake out the tangled summer-weight duvet, then out into the living area and through to the kitchen. He was there, his back to her as he took two mugs from a stand on the work surface and opened the cupboards above, searching. He wore blue jeans, but no shirt, and he was barefoot. In the light of day, his waist seemed thicker than she remembered it, and his blond hair seemed to have acquired silver streaks. . unless she had never noticed before.
‘Far right,’ she said. ‘Open the furthest door on the right; that’s where I keep the coffee. . or the tea bags, in case your breakfast habits have changed.’
‘No,’ he told her. ‘I still need a shot of caffeine to kick-start my day.’
‘Make a pot for two, in that case; you’ll find some ground Italian in the fridge, and a filter machine in the cupboard at your feet.’
‘Black?’
‘Did I ever take black coffee?’
‘No, but it’s been a while.’
‘You can say that again, Andy Martin,’ she concurred. ‘You know, I really do find it strange that you’re here, but thanks for coming nonetheless. Was my spare bed OK?’
‘Yes, it was fine, thanks,’ he replied, perhaps a shade too casually. ‘I’m sorry, Alex; I should have gone back to my hotel last night.’
‘Sure you should, and been remembered by the taxi driver, or the night porter when he let you in. You’re still a pretty recognisable face in Edinburgh. Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested that you come here. Christ, maybe I shouldn’t have called you in the first place! I don’t know what the hell got into me.’
He turned, and she saw to her surprise that he was wearing glasses, rather than his customary contact lenses. ‘Unresolved issues,’ he reminded her quietly, ‘that was how you put it. After we met up at your dad’s a couple of months ago, you felt that there were things left unsaid between us. I’d have met this morning for breakfast, but it was you who didn’t want the two of us to be seen in public. That’s how it went, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘and too bloody right I didn’t want us to be seen. I went out with the guy next door a couple of times, and the next thing I knew I was getting nudges and winks at work. If you and I were spotted together in a Stockbridge café I’d be getting more than that, and your wife would be getting phone calls.’
‘Karen would handle them, especially if I told her the truth.’
‘What, that your ex-fiancée wanted to prove to herself that she could discuss the circumstances of our break-up without running off in floods of tears?’
‘Is that how it was?’ he asked, as he found the coffee-maker and filled it with water from the sink’s single tap. ‘You wanted to repeat all those things you yelled at me in Bob’s garden a few weeks back, but in a quieter voice?’
She smiled at his jibe. ‘No. And be fair, last night I didn’t; I behaved much better. No, it went deeper than that. I wanted to see whether you and I can ever have a normal relationship in the future, as two old friends.’
‘And can we?’
Alex opened another cupboard and retrieved a brown paper bag containing four croissants. She twisted the control knob of her eye-level oven, setting the temperature to a hundred and fifty Celsius, then placed the curved French rolls on the centre grid.
‘Honestly?’ she asked, her back to him.
‘There’s no other way, kid.’
She turned and gazed at him; he had taken off the spectacles and hung them on his gold neck chain. She held his green eyes for a few seconds, then looked away. ‘I don’t know yet,’ she confessed. ‘We got a lot of stuff off our chests last night, that’s for sure. I’m sorry I did what I did, Andy. I dumped all the blame for me getting pregnant on to you, and that wasn’t fair. When I had the termination, I was angry with you. As I said last night, as I saw it you’d nagged me about starting a family as soon as we could, nagged me into coming off the pill.’
‘As I suppose I did,’ he conceded. ‘Not constantly, but yes, I suggested that you put your career on hold to have kids. And that was selfish of me. Alex, I’m sorry about my reaction when I found out about it all. I hope that was the last immature thing I’ll ever do in my life. You hurt me, so I had to hurt you. If I had taken just a few minutes to try to see your point of view. . But I didn’t.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘And that’s why you’re not sure we can ever be friends again?’
‘No, that’s not why. We’re square on what happened. We were both responsible for it, and we both handled it badly. That’s behind us, I hope.’
‘So what’s your problem?’
‘My problem is that every time I see you I’m confronted by the truth about the true level of my moral integrity, and by my lack of proper self-discipline. And isn’t that a fancy phrase for a Sunday morning?’
‘Yes. So what does it mean?’
‘It means that. . that, no, I don’t think we can ever be “just friends”. Because if I’m honest with myself, I have to admit that there’s an obstacle in the way.’
‘A big obstacle?’ he murmured.
‘The biggest, I’m afraid. I still love you.’ She was aware that the sash of her kimono had worked loose. It was accidental, unplanned, but she did nothing about it as the ends slipped apart and the garment fell open. ‘You know, Andy, I’m seen as this strong modern woman, but in some ways I’m just plain weak.’ She looked at him again, and this time she held his gaze. ‘You see how weak I am?’
He took a step towards her, reaching for the blue gown and pulling her close. ‘What makes you think I’m any stronger?’ he whispered.
Nine
‘I hope this is serious, mate,’ Ryan McCool growled as he settled into a chair at a small coffee table in the lobby of the Caledonian Hotel, the great red sandstone edifice that looks eastward along Princes Street, its facade angled as if it is trying not to notice the Balmoral, its grey rival at the other end of the famous thoroughfare. ‘I crashed out at two thirty this morning, and I don’t appreciate being hauled out of bed at this hour.’ His lined face was pale, his hair was tousled and he was dressed in cargo pants and a white T-shirt which claimed that Prestwick Airport was ‘Pure dead brilliant’. Little encouragement to the traveller, Sammy Pye thought, the middle word especially.
The journalist looked up at the waiter who had appeared at his side, without a summons. ‘You better bring us coffee,’ he said, then glanced at his companion. ‘That all right for you?’
‘I could use some, thanks,’ the inspector conceded. ‘I was up at half five.’ He waited until they were alone. ‘Yes, it is serious, I’m afraid. I’ve got some bad news for you.’
Instantly, McCool appeared much more awake. ‘What? News as in real news, the business I’m in?’
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’ The detective had given no thought to the question of a public announcement. It appeared that the situation was domestic in essence, but the police were involved, and it was an issue which he would probably need to discuss with McIlhenney. ‘But,’ he continued firmly, ‘this conversation has to remain confidential for a while. There’s next of kin involved.’
‘That means somebody’s dead?’ Pye nodded. ‘So why are you talking to me?’ the journalist asked. ‘You said you’re a DI. Are you on a criminal investigation?’
‘No, no, I’m not. It’s something we’ve been asked to deal with, and it’s a death, yes, but there’s no reason to suppose that there was anyone else involved. I’ve got to make a formal report to the fiscal, so I need to talk to witnesses.’