Despite his resolve MacLean could not help but notice the strong physical resemblance between Carrie and her mother. They had the same auburn hair, the same wide, generous mouth that could change to smiling so easily and the same dark eyes. Where was Carrie’s father? he wondered. He was annoyed at himself for even thinking about it. It was none of his business and it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
Carrie went up to bed and Tansy accompanied her with an armful of toys, which she had collected from the floor. MacLean sat alone by the fire, looking at the flames and hearing Tansy and Carrie exchange muted bedtime banter. A final giggle from Carrie and a last exhortation from her mother that she get to sleep quickly and Tansy returned. Without asking, she filled two glasses with brandy and brought them over, handing one to MacLean as she sat down to face him. MacLean started to feel uneasy again. Until now, Tansy had been Carrie’s mother but now she was a beautiful woman who was clearly appraising him. He felt her gaze probe his defences and prepared to defend himself with banality.
‘Well, Mr MacLean,’ said Tansy softly. ‘When and how are you planning to do it?’
‘Do what?’ said MacLean but the question had cut him deeply. Tansy knew it.
‘Kill yourself,’ she said without taking her eyes off him.
MacLean took a breath to protest but capitulated immediately. ‘Soon,’ he said quietly. ‘How did you know?’
‘Your eyes,’ said Tansy. ‘I read it in your eyes on the canal bank. I’ve seen that look before. Keith, my husband, Carrie’s father, took his own life.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said MacLean.
Tansy smiled wistfully and said, ‘So am I. He was a lovely man but things just got a bit too much for him. Our son died of leukaemia when he was seven. He was the apple of his father’s eye; he was everything that Keith ever wanted; the pair of them were inseparable. All Keith’s dreams for the future were tied up in Paul and then quite suddenly he wasn’t there any more. Keith was never the same again. I got over it but he didn’t. Then when the business started to fail, Keith started to drift further and further away from me. It was as if he was in a small boat drifting out to sea. I stood on the shore and watched him. He was out of reach before I even realised that… ‘
‘He was drowning not waving.’
Tansy nodded and said, ‘Just before he died his eyes had the look that yours did today. Officially he was overcome by exhaust fumes in the garage while he was working on the car but I know different. That morning he came into the kitchen just after breakfast… He kissed me on the cheek and looked at me with such sadness in his eyes that I remember holding my breath and being totally at a loss to understand. I said something silly about getting something different for lunch at the shops and he said that would be nice. When I got back he was lying dead in the garage. He faked it to look like an accident so that there would be no problem over the insurance.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said MacLean. It seemed inadequate.
Tansy looked at the fire and said, ‘I’ve relived that moment when he kissed me a million times. I should have understood. I should have realised what he intended to do. All the signs had been there for months and yet I failed to see what was going to happen.’
‘You can’t blame yourself,’ said MacLean. ‘If his mind was made up he would have done it anyway. Maybe not on that day but on some other.’
Tansy looked directly at MacLean in a way that made him feel uncomfortable. ‘But you, Mr MacLean are still alive,’ she said. ‘And I am a stranger. Perhaps if you were to talk about it… ‘
MacLean shook his head and said, ‘No. No more talking, no more running, no more hiding, no more anything. I must be going.’ He got up from the chair.
‘Sit down Mr MacLean,’ said Tansy. She said it quietly but something in her voice made MacLean feel compelled to comply. He sank slowly back into the chair.
‘How long have you been running?’
‘Three years,’ he said. He felt himself start to lose the battle to remain detached. The warmth of the fire and exhaustion from his earlier tussle with the ice were conspiring to give the woman the upper hand.
‘Tell me about it,’ she said.
THREE
‘It’s a long story,’ said MacLean. He leaned his head on the back of the chair and closed his eyes for a moment.
‘There’s no hurry,’ said Tansy softly, ‘Begin at the beginning.’
‘I’m a doctor,’ said MacLean.
Tansy looked at him questioningly. She said, ‘You carry a gun, you smash your way through ice with your bare hands and you’re a doctor?’
MacLean smiled sadly at her reaction. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he conceded. ‘I used to be a doctor. So much can happen in three years.’
‘Go on,’ said Tansy.
‘I was born and brought up here in Edinburgh,’ said MacLean. ‘I played on the canal banks out there. I fished in the water for tadpoles; I skated on it when it froze over in winter and I fell into it from rope swings in the summer. I went to the local schools with the rest of the kids from round here and then, when I was nineteen, I spread my wings and went south to study medicine in London.’
‘I was a good student, a lad o’ pairts, as they say up here and it was what I wanted to do. Don’t get me wrong, I had as much fun as the next student but I never lost sight of the main goal and that was to become a doctor. Six years later I achieved my ambition.’
‘Then what?’ asked Tansy.
‘After my pre-registration year I was determined to become a surgeon so I set off on that road. In time I decided to specialise in plastic surgery.’
‘Nose jobs and face-lifts?’ said Tansy with ill-disguised disdain.
‘No,’ replied MacLean evenly. ‘In my last year at medical school my closest friend was burned when some idiot threw paraffin on a barbecue fire. He was badly disfigured and had to give up any idea of being a doctor because of the damage to his hands. I’ve never forgotten how he looked when I went to see him for the first time after the accident. I wasn’t prepared and it must have shown on my face. His eyes told me that he’d seen the revulsion; I can still feel the guilt to this day when I talk about it. Anyway, that was what decided me that I should go into plastic surgery. I thought, if I could make a difference in improving the lot of such patients then it would be a life well spent.’
‘And did it work out that way?’ asked Tansy.
‘It was frustrating,’ said MacLean. ‘Everyone knows about the dramatic results in cosmetic surgery but repairing accident damage is a completely different story. Patients can go through dozens of operations over many years and still end up looking not much better than they did in the beginning. I wanted to do better for them.’
‘How?’
‘The way forward is always through research. I heard that Lehman Steiner, the Swiss-based Drug Company, was working on tissue regeneration so I wrote to them. I sent them my c.v. and after a couple of interviews they offered me a job on their research programme.’
‘Just what you wanted,’ said Tansy.
‘Exactly what I wanted,’ agreed MacLean. ‘I moved to Geneva and everything went like a dream. The facilities were magnificent, the research went well and I liked living in Geneva. Within three years I was made head of surgical research.’
‘You must have been young?’
‘I was thirty-one and on top of the world. I had a penthouse flat, a Mercedes car and complete job satisfaction. Then came Cytogerm.’ MacLean paused as if a dark cloud had come over him.
‘Cytogerm?’ prompted Tansy gently.
‘It was our biggest breakthrough, a brand new compound that aided tissue regeneration. Treating burns cases with Cytogerm reduced tissue damage by eighty-five percent. We could hardly believe it at first but the early indications were proved right. Suddenly we had the power to perform miracles.