It was signed Alicia Davison.
When Bella first met Dougie her name had been Davison. Perhaps Edie was right and Bella had been previously married. To a relative of the headmistress’s for whom she was working? A son or brother? Now there was more to work on it should be possible to find out. Why had Bella kept the marriage secret?
All that was left in the box was a letter inviting Miss. Noble to attend the Corbin Primary School Christmas Concert on 15 December 1969 at 7.00 p.m. Mince pies and tea would be provided. At that time then, Bella was still unmarried. There was nothing to show whether or not she attended the concert, or what had become of her between her resignation in 1967 and her appearance at the bus stop in Langholme in 1989.
It took some time for Rachael to decide what to do with the information. She felt that the box and its contents belonged to Black Law. If Neville had been inclined to snoop he’d already had the chance when he came to collect Dougie’s clothes. But this was the only connection she had with Bella’s past. In the end she found a circular in a brown envelope in the kitchen. She slipped the papers and photos between its pages, and returned it to the envelope. She would keep it at Baikie’s until she had a chance to take it home.
She was just leaving the house when the telephone began to ring. For a while she left it, but it continued, insistent and nerve-shattering. At last she gave in and picked it up. It was a feed rep, used in these hard times to being persistent. She said Bella had left the farm without giving details. After replacing the receiver in the middle of his sales patter she phoned Edie. At first Edie pretended to be hurt, because she hadn’t been included in the search of the house. Then she was gleeful. It seemed she had been right about Bella’s previous marriage. And it shouldn’t be hard to trace Alicia Davison, who’d once been headmistress of Corbin Primary School. Not with her contacts in County Hall. If, of course, she was still alive.
Chapter Ten.
“You do realize,” Anne said, ‘ she’s barking.”
They were in the pub in Langholme. It had been Rachael’s idea. The three of them should get away from Baime’s, have a few drinks, relax.
She felt it was her responsibility that they weren’t getting on. Since the funeral there had been an undercurrent of tension, a tetchiness which expressed itself in trivial gripes, explosions of bad temper. Now it had come to a head. Anne was proposing moving into the box room at the back of the cottage. It was tiny, freezing, hardly room for the bed. Because the big room with its view of the burn and the crags beyond was so much more pleasant, it had been assumed at the start of the contract that Anne and Grace would share. Rachael had a small room to herself. There was nowhere else. In the pub Anne had waited until Grace went to the phone before making her announcement. For some reason the room was very crowded and noisy. Rachael picked up that there had been a family event a birth or an engagement. There was an air of hysterical celebration. She felt awkward conducting such a sensitive conversation in a yell.
“I thought she was getting on better. She seems happier. And at least she’s been eating.”
“She’s also awake for most of the night, prowling around.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I’ll have a word.”
“Where did you get her from anyway?”
“She did a contract in Dumfries last year for a friend of Peter’s. He said she was brilliant. A real find.”
Anne gave a snort of contempt. Grace returned, stared into her empty glass, didn’t answer when Rachael spoke to her. They left the pub early.
Back in the cottage Anne went upstairs to move her things. They could hear her banging about. Grace went to the table in the living room which she used as a desk and began immediately to work. From the kitchen Rachael could hear her punch the buttons of a calculator. She went in. It had been a mild day and they’d not bothered to light the fire. A film of wood ash had settled on everything.
“Isn’t it a bit late to start now?” Rachael said.
Grace jumped round with a start. The calculator clattered to the floor. Rachael stooped to pick it up.
“The idea was that we should all take a break. There’s still a bottle of wine left from my trip into town. Shall we open it?”
“Why not?” The reply was unnaturally loud, artificially bright.
“I’ll just get it. Pack that away. It’ll wait until tomorrow.” My God, she thought, I sound just like Edie telling me to take it easy before A levels. There was something about Grace’s passion for her subject, her intense desire for privacy which Rachael recognized. She poured the wine into the tumblers which were the only glasses to have survived a season of student washing-up, then waited for Grace to move into an easy chair before handing one to her.
“How’s it going?”
“Very well.” Grace, drinking deeply, looked warily over her glass.
“The data much as you expected?”
“Pretty much.”
“I’ve been looking at the information you passed on last week. Was that typical?” Rachael, waiting for an answer, felt ridiculously anxious.
“I don’t know. Too small a sample yet.” Grace was casual, apparently unperturbed.
“I see.” Knowing how irritated she felt when pestered about ongoing work, Rachael let that go, though the anxiety remained. “Anne says you’re not sleeping very well.”
Carefully, Grace set down the glass by her chair. “I don’t think Anne has the best interests of the project at heart,” she said seriously.
“What do you mean?”
But Grace wouldn’t say.
“Are you sleeping?”
The wine which she’d drunk very quickly must have taken effect because she was almost truculent. “As much as I need to.”
“You do know you can take the weekend off. Why don’t you go home for a while? You’re the only one who hasn’t had a break from this place.”
“I don’t need a break. I take my work seriously.” Unlike Anne Preece, she implied. “Besides, I haven’t got much of a home to go back to.”
She stood up and went defiantly back to the table and her calculator.
The next day Rachael had to go into Kimmerston. A meeting had been arranged sometime before with Peter and a representative from Slateburn Quarries, to inform them of the progress of the project so far. She was reluctant to leave Anne and Grace together. They were like quarrelling children who needed an adult as peacemaker, to stop things from coming to blows.
Please be good, she wanted to say as she drove up the track.
She was surprised to find that Neville Furness was the Slateburn representative. Although she was early he was at the office before her. He and Peter were already deep in conversation. They both looked very smart, very professional in their suits. She had expected an informal meeting and was wearing her field clothes. Nothing of consequence was decided at the encounter but it seemed to drag on. She had the impression that Peter was prolonging the explanation of the methodology, making it more complicated than necessary in an attempt to impress. Afterwards he made her stay for tea. Again she felt he was building up to some confidence, and when he suggested going for a drink, she insisted on leaving. All afternoon she had been uneasy about the two women left behind in Baikie’s.
She drove back in the dusk. Now the track was so familiar she could take it more quickly. She knew the best line to take so the exhaust wouldn’t catch on the ruts and how to swing the car through the ford to stop the engine getting wet. On the dry stone wall by the wooden gate there was a ring ouzel, its collar crescent startlingly white against the gloom.
From the top of the bank she looked down on Black Law and Baikie’s. Black Law was still and empty. All the animals had gone, even the dogs. Without a function the buildings seemed ramshackle and pitiful. In the garden at Baikie’s there was a line of washing left out, though it looked as if it might rain. Although from this angle she couldn’t see the windows a square of orange light spilt onto the grass. It should have been reassuringly domestic but she realized she was driving more slowly, putting off the moment when she’d have to face the hostility between the women inside, remembering, as she always did approaching the barn, Bella’s body in the torchlight.