Call of Glengarron (15 page)

But as it turned out, he did. “When we heard the car— that’s when we came back. Auntie Fiona ran on in front to see who it was.”

So when Craig and I met in the hall, she had only just got back from the beach, every minute of her afternoon accounted for.

Whoever had caused the “accident,” it was not Fiona Lennox.

Fortunately Jamie had discovered the box of checkers, and was starting to build a tower with them, intent and deeply preoccupied. I was free to examine the new situation.

It was one thing to feel a certain relief that Fiona could not possibly have caused the log pile to collapse. It was quite another to realize what this meant.

I was facing an unknown enemy, now.

Somebody here wanted to kill me—I was certain of it. The “accident” hadn’t been staged merely to scare me off. Only a chance in a million had saved my life.

I was to find even Craig’s presence in my room a mixed blessing that evening. What I needed was a chance to think, and Craig was bent on preventing me from doing just that thing. He was carrying out the doctor’s instructions to keep my mind occupied, to stop me from brooding.

He insisted on staying and having dinner in my room, each of us with a tray on our knees. He got me to drink a couple of glasses of wine with my chicken omelette. The wine certainly made me feel calmer.

The Lennoxes came up to see me later. They expressed great concern. Alistair Lennox couldn’t apologize enough. Even though the accident had not occurred on the Glengarron estate at all, but on a neighbor’s land, he seemed to feel himself in some degree responsible.

“I shall get Angus MacRae to check all our timber. A thing like this is most alarming.” He was striding about at the foot of the bed, hands behind his back, sandy eyebrows clinched in a frown. “And I shall have a serious talk with Nairn. It’s just not good enough....”

Craig said quietly, “You needn’t bother, Uncle. I’ll see Nairn myself.” There was an ominous note in his voice.

Alistair Lennox glanced at his nephew in surprise. “Just as you wish,” he said stiffly. “It’s your right, of course.”

Craig frowned, but he didn’t reply. His lips were pressed firmly together.

It was nearly nine o’clock before I was alone at last. I’d had to pretend I was ready to settle down for the night. Craig had produced a sleeping pill the doctor had left, but I refused it.

“I certainly won’t need any help to sleep tonight,” I said with a feigned yawn. I had to avoid being drugged into sleep. I wanted to stay awake, my brain sharp and lucid.

I needed to sort out just what it was I was up against. I had to untangle the evidence I’d got and see where it would lead me.

The professional way of setting about a piece of detective work would be to look for a motive. At first I’d thought it was Fiona who had sufficient inducement, but now that she was undoubtedly in the clear, my earlier suspicions seemed more and more ludicrous. She might well have tried to get me sent back to London, but as for attempting to
murder
me ....

But who else? Who else wanted to be rid of me?

Or looking at it another way—who could possibly feel threatened by my presence here?

Lambert Nairn.

The moment I whispered his name, the pieces started clicking into place, just like parts of a machine in the hands of an expert mechanic. The cogs meshed and began driving wheels until my mind was roaring away at full speed.

Lambert Nairn. That stack of logs had been on his land. And I recalled his expression when he’d been helping Craig get me out, the face of a frightened man.

It must have been a shock to him to find I was alive and uninjured beneath that chaos of fallen timber.

I knew a lot about Lambert Nairn. Through an idle remark of little Jamie’s, I’d been put on a scent that led to a shattering discovery about the man’s relationship with my cousin. Nairn was mighty anxious that his wife shouldn’t learn about his affair with Margo. He’d said so, and I believed him. And I could guess he was pretty nearly as anxious that Craig shouldn’t find out, either.
“I can’t risk you blowing up my whole life,”
he’d told me.

I’d been afraid of Nairn even then, so that I’d readily promised to keep silent, only wanting to get away from him.

But had he still been scared that I might get around to telling Craig? He couldn’t know how passionately I wanted to protect what little remained of my poor cousin’s reputation in Craig’s eyes.

I felt certain now that Lambert Nairn was the guilty one. But still I made myself go on considering the evidence objectively. Was Nairn really prepared to kill me to conceal a past affair? Would he embark on murder so lightly?

Men weren’t normally so absolutely terrified of their indiscretions becoming known. Lots of marriages survive infidelity. Rockily, uncertain maybe—but wives swallow the pill and keep going somehow.

I found it difficult to believe that Nairn, would attempt to kill me for this reason alone. There must be something else that had to be hidden—something worse.

He had been with Margo the night she died. He had left her flat when he knew Craig was coming.

But had he returned afterward?

Once again the idea of murder rather than suicide sprang into my mind. Maybe Margo’s affair with Nairn was not as casual on his part as he’d made out. If he was seriously in love with her, he’d have been maddened to have Margo push him out unceremoniously for Craig’s visit. He might have waited around until he saw Craig leave, and then gone back. Had jealousy driven him to kill Margo in a fit of rage?

How did the facts fit?

The police inquiries had revealed that Margo had been drinking heavily, and that  was unusual for her. But a bitter quarrel with Craig might well have accounted for this. And who better to encourage her to drink to excess than Lambert Nairn—her lover?

And when she was in an unconscious stupor, he had arranged everything to look like suicide, turning on the gas before leaving, unseen. A quiet getaway via the fire escape would have been easy enough for anyone who knew the layout of the block of flats.

It added up.

Lambert Nairn had killed Margo. And because he was terrified that I might let out his connection with her, he had also tried to kill me.

He’d nearly succeeded, too. What a stroke of luck it must have seemed to him when he saw me walking alone—as if I was delivering myself into his hands.

His attempt to murder me must have been a spur of the moment plan, conceived and acted upon at once. Lambert Nairn couldn’t have known in advance I’d be on that track at that particular time. No one but Craig had known it.

Craig …. I jerked bolt upright in my bed.

Of course—
Craig.

My hands flew to my face as I tried to keep away the horror. Needles of fire spiked me, burning into my brain. Yet I could see it all with a sickening cold clarity.

Every clue that pointed to Lambert Nairn pointed also to Craig—but with far more weight, far more damning certainty.

For the last half hour I’d been busy teaching my mind to ferret out facts. Now I couldn’t stop its pitiless probing.

My presence on that hill track had been engineered by Craig. And he had fixed the time I should be passing the stack of logs almost exactly, since I was on my way to meet up with him at two-thirty.

I knew now why Craig had been so attentive to me these last few days. It was not a new bond of understanding between us, as I had so fondly, so gullibly imagined. It was nothing but fake. He had deliberately set out to charm me in order to secure my uncritical confidence.

With a few easy phrases, a few intimate smiles, Craig McKinross had swept aside my loyalty to Margo. He had persuaded me that the breakup of their marriage had been all her doing. Trusting in Craig, accepting his version of what had taken place, I had readily agreed to say nothing about his visit to Margo’s flat on that last fateful evening.

“It’s much better left alone. I think we both want to avoid any more muckraking.”

That wasn’t all Craig wanted to avoid. He must be worried that, if it became known he’d visited his wife that night, the inquiries about her death would be reopened.

And having so easily won my connivance, Craig had kept up the charm. Cunningly he had ensured my continued silence until he could find some way to dispose of me—just as he had disposed of Margo.

There was one fragment of comfort in all this misery. I could believe in Margo once again. I no longer had to accept Craig’s cruel lies about her.

If I had left Glengarron Castle as Isabel Lennox had suggested, I should never have made this unbearable discovery about Craig. I should have remained happy in my illusions. But would I have been physically safe even then? If he was so determined to silence me, he would have come after me, wherever I was.

It struck me suddenly that maybe Mrs. Lennox suspected Craig had killed Margo. His aunt had brought him up since he was twelve years old—who better to understand his mind, to know what inner forces drove him? Had her plan to send me away stemmed from fear of what might happen if I stayed?

Her indecisive, strangely withdrawn manner could well be the result of some dark secret that sapped at her confidence. Maybe she shut herself away from life, rather than face up to what she knew.

All at once I was ashamed. In my wretchedness I had forgotten there was a child in this house—a defenseless little boy. And I believed his father was a murderer. I knew suddenly that I could never go away and leave Jamie to Craig’s mercy. Maybe he did love the boy. Maybe he would never consciously wish his son harm. But if Craig’s mental balance was disturbed, anything might happen.

Thinking of Jamie immediately made me want to go to him. There was no real logic behind this urge—I just knew I’d feel happier being near him.

I slipped on my dressing gown, and dragged a blanket off the bed. Cautiously, I opened the door. The corridor outside was dark and silent—not a sound anywhere. I turned toward Jamie’s room, one door further along. For a moment I was facing the big mirror, and in it I saw reflected a faint glow from the light above the staircase.

A slight shadowy movement made me swing around in quick fear. The thin figure of Isabel Lennox was standing peering at me through the gloom.

“Is that... er ... Lucy?”

“Yes, Mrs. Lennox.” My voice was a whisper. Craig might be in his room just across from me.

She took a step nearer. “What is it, dear?”

“Oh ... nothing. Please don’t worry. I was just going to look in on Jamie. I thought I heard him calling out.” I tried to hold the blanket behind me, so she wouldn’t notice it. .  “Well... if there’s anything ... you’ll let me ...”

“Thank you, Mrs. Lennox.”

She was still watching me as I went into Jamie’s room. I hoped she wouldn’t wait around expecting me to come out again. But whether she did or not, I was here to stay now.

Taking great care to be quiet, I closed the door and turned the key. Then I switched the light on, thinking it might frighten Jamie if he woke up and heard someone moving about in the dark.

He stirred at once, and asked drowsily, “Wha’s a matter ... ?”

“It’s all right, darling, it’s only Lucy.”

I had planned to sit in a chair with the blanket draped around me, but I realized there was plenty of room in the big bed—Jamie was so tiny. I climbed in beside him, and he reached out sleepy arms to me.

“Nice ...” he murmured. And then he was fast asleep again.

The warmth and the steady breathing of the little boy beside me had a strangely soothing effect. I’d hardly imagined I would sleep that night, but I did. With a start I awoke to find daylight edging around the window curtains, and the electric light still burning.

Jamie roused at the same instant and stared at me with eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Why you here, Lucy?”

Nothing ever seems as frightening by daylight. I began to think that my suspicions were grossly exaggerated. Really, the evidence against Craig was very slender.

I avoided Jamie’s eye as I told him the necessary white lies. “You were a bit fretful in the night, darling. I thought I’d climb into bed with you until you dropped off again, and I went to sleep myself.”

He gave me a funny little grin. “That’s nice.”

Playfully I pressed my forefinger on his snub nose. “You just stay here while I go and get dressed. Then I’ll come back for you.”

“All right, Lucy.”

Nothing I’d told him would explain why the door was locked, so I had to make sure he didn’t notice my turning the key. It was with an inexplicable lightness of heart that I went into my own room, and drew back the curtains. Morning sun flooded in. I crossed straight through to the bathroom, and turned on the taps.

While the bath was filling, I laid my clothes out ready on the bed. I hadn’t brought the changes of clothes that I’d have liked to have with me. I hadn’t expected to be staying at Glengarron Castle for so long.

The bath was already well filled, and I turned off the taps. As the turbulent surface of the water settled, I noticed something black against the spotless primrose porcelain. It was quite small, like a half inch of pencil lead.

I reached down and picked it out of the water. At first I couldn’t make out what the tiny thing could be. It was plastic, pliable, with a needle-fine hole running through the center.

At Glengarron the maids were so meticulous in their cleaning that it was hard to believe they could overlook so much as a speck in the bath. Suddenly, I remembered seeing something similar before, when my landlady’s son had replaced the cord on my hair dryer. What I held in my hand was a piece of insulation stripped from the end of an electric cable.

Somebody had been doing electrical work in here. It was very curious, I hadn’t noticed any fault.

Immediately I felt apprehensive. In my present hypersensitive state, anything the least bit unusual was enough to bring fear and suspicion bubbling to the surface.

All my life I’d had a special awe about anything electrical. My father’s oft-repeated warnings had taken root.