An Ocean Apart (21 page)

His travelling companion tilted back his head to catch the last drops of beer in the can and placed it neatly on the floor at his feet. Then, putting his hand in his plastic bag, he took out a second can, flicked open the ring-pull, and took another dainty sip. David thought about moving, but then simply shut his eyes and leaned his head against the hard metallic edge of the aluminium windowsill. He felt the feeling of nausea spread over him once more, this time made more acute by the smell coming from the lavatory. Why the hell should he move? This was exactly where he was meant to be, stuck in the corner of this filthy, seedy train with his chain-drinking companion, two losers together, the perfect theatrical scene for his own complete self-degradation.

He clenched his teeth and screwed up his eyes in an attempt to stop himself from sliding over the edge of the emotional abyss, but this time there was nothing to hold him, every saving foothold of pride and self-esteem at which he had grasped so many times in the past having been chipped away by the events of the day. He felt the first of the tears force their way through his tightly closed eyes and run in parallel lines down the side of each cheek before falling, their sly, discreditable work finished, onto the lapel of his suit jacket.

It was some time before he noticed that the beer-drinker had quietly moved away from him to the opposite end of the car.

Chapter
  
THIRTEEN

Having only gone through the motions of working that morning, owing to his unabating hangover, Richard decided that he could be of no further use to Dammell's Bank that day and slipped discreetly out of the office at two-thirty. He knew that it would take his last ounce of fortitude to suffer the tedious train journey back out to Long Island. Two hours later, he pushed open the unlocked door of the kitchen—an indication that David was home—and, chucking his brief-case onto the table, went over to the sink to fill up the kettle. As he plugged it in, a slight movement on the sofa in the corner of the room made him turn around abruptly.

“David? Jesus, what a fright you gave me!” He walked over to the sofa. “What the hell…?”

He knew something was wrong immediately. David lay, his back turned towards him, making no move to acknowledge his arrival. He clutched a cushion tightly in his arms and his legs were drawn up into his stomach. Richard leaned across him and looked down on his ashen-white face. His eyes, swollen from crying, focused blankly into the fabric of the sofa.

“David,” he said quietly, “what's up, old boy? Christ, you look all in.”

David swung his legs round and sat up and rubbed hard at his eyes with his fingers. “Sorry, Richard. I'm so sorry.”

“For what?”

David shook his head. “I don't know. Just being here. I shouldn't be.”

Richard sat down next to him. “Christ, of course you should be here. What do you mean?” He bit hard on his lip, not understanding quite what had happened. “What is it, David? Is it … Rachel?”

David fixed his gaze out the window and slowly nodded.

Richard put a hand on his friend's shoulder. “Christ, David, I really am so sorry.” He glanced around the room as if trying to search out an answer to David's problem. “Would you like a whisky or something?”

David shook his head. “No, I've already had a skinful.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Listen, if you don't mind, I think I'll just get out of your way and go to bed. I'm not feeling too good.”

Richard jumped up. “Yeah, of course. Do you want me to get a doctor or anything like that?”

David shook his head. “No, I just need to sleep.” He walked to the door and turned round. “I'm sorry, Richard.”

“Look, you really don't have to apologize, my friend. Just go to bed and sleep as long as you want. I'll be leaving pretty early tomorrow morning, but … er … listen, I'll tell you what. Angie's sister, Carrie, lives here in Leesport. She's always popping in, so I'll get her to organize something for you to eat, okay?”

David shook his head. “You don't need to bother—really.”

“It's no bother, old fellow. Carrie won't mind at all. You just get to bed—and sleep.” He paused for a moment. “Listen, Angie's got some pretty lethal sleeping pills. Do you want one?”

“No. I'll be fine.”

“Okay.” Richard walked over and patted him on the back. “But try to clear your mind, David.”

David smiled and let out a shuddering sigh. “I doubt I'll ever be able to do that again, Richard.”

“Yeah,” Richard said quietly, “I know.”

He waited until he heard David's door close before letting out a long, relieved breath. He walked over to the kettle and made himself a cup of coffee, then leaned his back against the sideboard as he tried to work out what he should do.

Carrie. He should call her first. No, maybe not. He went across to the table and opened his brief-case and took out his telephone book. He flicked through it to the correct page, then, picking up the telephone, he dialled the number and stood scratching at his cheek while waiting for an answer.

*   *   *

With a hot-water bottle tucked under her arm, Effie had made it to the half-way stage on the staircase when she heard the sound of the car scrunching to a halt on the gravel outside the house. She stopped, a puzzled expression on her face, then turned and descended the staircase and went over to the door of the drawing-room, knocked and entered. Alicia Inchelvie glanced up from her book at her, then swung round to look at the clock on the mantelpiece.

“Effie? Have you not gone home yet? It's half past nine!”

“Not quite. I was just going to put a hot-water bottle in your bed before I went—but—well, I was wondering if you were expecting someone. It's just that I'm sure that I heard a car stop at the front door.”

“No,” Alicia replied, putting her book down on the side-table and heaving herself up from the chair. “I can't think who would be coming at this time. Let's go and have a look.”

As she walked across the drawing-room, the sound of the front door opening made the three dogs jump up from their place by the fire. Barking furiously, they skidded their way past her and out into the hall, their claws scraping on the polished wooden floor as they developed wheel-spin in their eagerness to find out who had entered their house. Alicia glanced inquiringly at Effie, then together they followed the dogs out into the hallway.

Surrounded by bouncing and panting animals, George Inchelvie slowly took off the scarf from around his neck and hung it on one of the coat-hooks.

“Good boys. That's enough now.” He looked up as his wife and the little housekeeper came out of the drawing-room.

“George!” Alicia exclaimed, a concerned expression on her face. “What on earth are you doing home? I thought that you were spending another night in Glasgow.”

George took off his coat and laid it on the pew. “I was meant to be.” He steadied himself on his stick before starting to walk across the hall towards them. “Duncan Caple telephoned me at the hotel at about five-thirty. He said that he'd been on the point of leaving the office for his European trip when he'd had a call from this new distributor fellow in New York. Anyway, I had a fairly intensive conversation with him for about half an hour, after which I decided that I didn't particularly feel like staying away for another night—so I just drove home.”

Alicia watched him closely as he spoke. If the economy of his slurred words was not enough to register his exhaustion, the colourless features of his face, its shadowed lines accentuated by the dim lighting in the hall, gave her the strongest indication that her husband had just about used up every reserve of energy.

“What's happened, George?”

He hesitated before replying, and Effie, realizing that her presence was no longer required, backed away towards the staircase. “Right, well, I'll just away and put the hot-water bottle in your bed, Lady Inchelvie.” She bustled off, then stopped and turned back. “Would you be wanting a wee something to eat, my lord? There's a bit of the stew left over in the fridge, which I could heat up, or maybe a cheese sandwich?”

George shook his head. “That's kind, Effie, but no, I'm quite all right.” A glimmer of a wry smile crossed his tired face. “I think I'll probably just make do with a whisky.”

Alicia moved towards him and took his arm. “Come on, let's go and sit in the drawing-room.” In silence they walked together across the hallway and into the drawing-room, where George sat down heavily in one of the chairs, grimacing in pain as he did so. “Bloody back is bad at the minute,” he said, his voice croaking. “Too much driving.”

“Too much of everything, Geordie,” Alicia said, looking down at him and shaking her head. “Now, I'll get you a whisky and you tell me what's happened.”

She went over to the corner cabinet and took out a glass and a half-full bottle of Glendurnich.

“Has David telephoned?” George asked.

“No,” Alicia replied, pouring out a double measure and replacing the cork in the bottle. “Were you expecting him to?”

For a moment, George looked at his wife as he gathered his thoughts. “I'm afraid that David's meeting in New York didn't go too well.”

Alicia handed him the whisky, then sat down on the edge of her chair, resting her elbows on her knees and eyeing her husband intently. “What happened?”

“I'm not sure. David apparently walked out half-way through, much to the surprise of everyone present. At any rate, that's what Duncan told me.” He took a drink from his glass. “Anyway, that's only half the problem.”

Alicia did not speak, but waited for her husband to continue. He chewed pensively at the side of his mouth before resuming. “Duncan feels that David's mysterious behaviour at the meeting is proof enough that he needs a complete break from his job. He says that he cannot operate Glendurnich without a marketing director, and he wants to appoint a new one as soon as possible.”

Alicia sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. This was it. The worst had happened. She had never thought that it would come to this. “What did you say to him?”

“What
could
I say?” George retorted almost defensively. “I mean, even though the company belongs to the family, I can't exercise my own nepotistic muscle if David is not up to fulfilling his role. I know it's not his fault, but I have to understand Duncan's position as well.” He drained his glass and took in a deep breath to compose himself. “Anyway, that's what I was negotiating with him on the telephone. What has been agreed is that Duncan
will
appoint a new marketing director, but I have managed to limit it to a one-year contract for the time being, and hopefully by then David will have managed to get himself together. If, at the end of one year, there is no change to the situation, then the contract will be extended at Duncan's discretion.”

There was complete silence in the room, except for the rhythmic thumping of one of the dogs scratching at its neck with its back paw, and the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece.

“What is happening with our lives, Geordie?” Alicia said eventually in a quiet voice. “Everything seems to have gone haywire. I mean, we have never had so many worries as we do now, and here you are, having to work harder than ever before.” She paused and sat back in her chair and began brushing her hair over the top of one ear with her fingers. “I was so hoping that this trip might be the turning point for David.” She looked across at her husband. “I really could not bear it if we found ourselves back to stage one with him, because I can't see how either of us will cope.”

George nodded slowly, as if in submission to what his wife was saying. “I know. It's not good, and I just wonder where on earth he is at the minu——”

The telephone trilled noisily on his desk, and Alicia pushed herself to her feet and walked across the room to answer it.

“Hullo, Inchelvie … yes … yes, of course, Richard, how are you?… Why, what's happened?… Oh, no … oh dear, this was something I always dreaded taking place … Flu as well!… Oh, my word!… Oh, Richard, I'm so sorry … Yes … yes … but can you cope with all that?… I see, but does Carrie have time to do that?… Right … well, that is most kind, Richard.… Yes, I think you're right. The sooner he gets back here, the better … on the Monday-evening flight?… Yes, that would be fine. I'll arrange for someone to meet him at Glasgow on Tuesday morning … of course, and many thanks for letting me know, Richard … bye.”

She replaced the receiver, keeping her hand on it for a moment before turning back to her husband to answer his unfinished question.

*   *   *

Knowing that the reception for his car telephone was better on the A9, Duncan Caple waited until he was south of Aviemore before punching in one of the three autodial numbers he had for John Davenport, chairman of Kirkpatrick Holdings Plc. The hands-free speaker crackled out three ringing tones before being answered.

“Hullo?” a female voice replied.

“Could I speak to John, please?”

“Yes, one minute, please.”

Duncan heard the receiver being clunked down on the table, followed by the female voice calling out John's name. There was the sound of footsteps, the receiver being picked up again, and a man's voice spoke. “Hullo?”

“John, it's Duncan Caple.”

“Where are you, Duncan?”

“In the car. Sorry to call you at home, John, but I thought it better if we were both out of our respective offices.”

“Good idea. How did you get on? Manage to get hold of that information?”

“Yup, and it's exactly as you thought. Glendurnich
did
set up a stock-purchase plan specifically for distillery employees about twenty-five years ago, I think actually at the instigation of Inchelvie himself. Quite forward-thinking of the old boy, but he's always been a great one for boosting work-force loyalty. Anyway, the way it works is that if an employee wants to take up the company share option, he or she contributes fifty per cent of its value and the company forks out for the rest. However, to protect shares going out of the company, it was written into the original plan agreement that if any employee left and wanted to realize the capital value of his Glendurnich shares, he had to resubmit them to a pool system to allow existing company employees the chance of purchasing them. If they were not taken up by them, the family would then step in to purchase them. I also found out something else quite interesting: In the past twenty-five years, the Glendurnich work-force has expanded by thirty, mostly all within the office, but surprisingly only eight have left across the board.”