Call of Glengarron (8 page)

“You mean another man?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“But why should you have gone? Why didn’t Margo put the other man off?”

His laugh was short, dry, entirely without humor. “She could hardly have done that.”

“Why not?”

There was no answer. I said determinedly, “I think you’d better tell me who this other man was, Mr. Nairn.”

He swung his head slowly so that he looked me in the eyes. There was a long pause before he said levelly, quite without emotion, “It was her husband—Craig McKinross.”

Lambert Nairn had made a stupendous blunder. In order to clear himself of any connection with Margo’s death, he was trying to implicate a man who had not even been in Britain at the time. Craig had only returned from his job with the U.N. Forestry Unit the day before I arrived in Scotland.

In my contempt I flared at Nairn. “That can’t possibly be true. Craig was abroad when Margo died.”

Lambert Nairn shrugged. But I knew he couldn’t really be indifferent. He must be mighty anxious for me to believe his account of that evening.

“Craig chooses to say he was abroad, but I say he was in London. When he phoned Margo to tell her he was coming around right away, I got out of the place damned quick.”

The man sounded so sincere. “Maybe,” I began slowly, “it could possibly be that for some reason or other somebody phoned pretending to be Craig....” I trailed off. It seemed ridiculously improbable. But the only other answer was that Lambert Nairn was lying to me.

“I only just about got out in time,” he went on, shaking his head. “Craig must have phoned from around the corner, because he was already coming into the entrance of the apartment house as I got out of the elevator. I had to dodge up the stairs to avoid him.”

I stared. “You mean you actually saw Craig McKinross?”

“Yes, I do. Quite clearly.”

“But how could he have been there?”

“Search me. I only know he
was
there.”

“And did you see him leaving?”

“Good God, no. I didn’t hang about for that pleasure. I guessed there was going to be trouble, and I certainly wanted no part of it.”

My mind was racing round and round in a tight spiral, somehow never quite reaching the same spot twice. I said nothing—because there was too much to say. How could I pick a single coherent question when my world was being torn apart?

Since the death of my father, Margo had been easily the most important influence in my life. I loved and admired her. And when her marriage went wrong, I had felt for her quite desperately.

Now I was asked to believe that she’d been another person altogether from the Margo I thought I knew. If Lambert Nairn was speaking the truth, then Margo had deceived me, lied to me, and deliberately played upon my sympathy. Many times I’d looked after Jamie at short notice, often having to cancel my own arrangements. But I’d never minded a bit. I was glad to be helping Margo toward success in her career under very difficult circumstances. Never had I suspected she wanted Jamie out of the way so she could entertain lovers.

And on top of disillusion was the further shock of learning that Craig had visited Margo just before her death. Craig, who was supposed to have been thousands of miles away at the time.

I couldn’t believe it—any of it. I
wouldn’t
believe it.

If Craig had really called on Margo, surely he’d have come forward and said so.

But
something
had happened that night to drive Margo to suicide. Could it have been a visit from her husband? Had a fearful quarrel with Craig taken her to the edge of despair? Over the edge.

A sudden claw of fear gripped me. I thought of another possibility. I’d always found it hard to understand why Margo should have killed herself. Perhaps, after all, it had not been suicide. Perhaps Craig had killed her, and then disappeared, sulking away until it suited him to turn up, pretending he had just arrived in Scotland from abroad.

No, I couldn’t accept that—it was too horrible. Anyway, why should I believe what Lambert Nairn had told me?

I hardly knew what I was saying. “I shall ask Craig about this as soon as I see him,” I announced loudly.

“No, don’t do that.” Lambert Nairn barked out the words.

“Why not?”

“You’d have to tell Craig about me, that’s why. Besides ...” He stared out ahead through the windshield. “It ... it might be dangerous....”

“Dangerous? How could it be?”

“He might think you know too much for his comfort.” Nairn reached across and took my elbow, pressing it urgently. “Leave this business alone, my dear. Take it from me, nothing will be gained from stirring up trouble. You just go back to London and forget it.”

How I longed to do just that. I was hopelessly confused by what I’d heard, confused and frightened. I didn’t know whom to believe, whom to trust.

But if I didn’t trust Lambert Nairn, if I didn’t believe his story, then I ought to fear him. He must be a desperate man, desperate enough to ...

I shivered, feeling a snake of terror slither down my spine. Nobody knew where I was at this moment. Nobody could possibly know I had met Lambert Nairn.

“Perhaps you’re right,” I conceded. “I ... I’ll think it over. Could we drive on down to the road now, please.”

“But I must convince you first,” he said with a wild earnestness. “I can’t risk you blowing up my whole life for the sake of that... for the sake of Margo’s memory.”

All I wanted now was to get away from him. I had to pretend to be won over by his reasoning, to agree to leave well alone and go back to London.

“I see what you mean,” I said slowly. “After all, it can’t do Margo any good now....”

“Exactly,” he cried in relief.

“And for Jamie’s sake too,” I added for good measure, “maybe it would be best to say nothing.”

He was ready to seize upon any justification. “That’s right. Poor little chap.”

“Yes,” I said, as if reaching a definite conclusion. “I think I will take your advice. I’ll just stay on here for a few days to help Jamie get used to life at the castle, and then I’ll go back to London and put all this unhappy business right out of my mind.”

I must have played my part well. He was absolutely delighted with me. “You’re a very intelligent girl. I thought you’d see the good sense of what I’ve been saying.”

He started the engine, and we jolted on down the track. At the highway Lambert Nairn stopped. There was no sign of life anywhere, and the castle was hidden beyond a bend.

“I’ll walk from here,” I said, climbing down. “I think it’s best not to mention our meeting to anyone else.”

He reached out and patted my shoulder. “You can rely on me.” His fingers had the slightly clinging feel of a man who finds it hard to keep his hands off women. Even in the present situation Lambert Nairn’s true character betrayed him.

I pretended not to have noticed. “Goodbye,” I said, holding out a formal hand.

He held on a shade too long. “I wish we could have met under different circumstances.”

It was an effort not to run as I turned away and headed back to the castle. But not even those thick stone walls could give me any sense of security. Either Lambert Nairn or Craig McKinross was deliberately lying. It must be one or the other. Had Craig really been to Margo’s apartment that night? Was his story about arriving from abroad only two days ago just an invention?

I’d made Nairn believe that for Jamie’s sake I would keep quiet and go back to London as planned. But I couldn’t do that. How could I go away now? How could I leave Jamie in the care of a man who might even be a ... ?

Somehow or other I had to find out the truth. And I’d have to do it alone. There was nobody I could turn to for help.

* * * *

“Come in, my dear.” Alistair Lennox jumped up from a fireside chair, and tossed his newspaper aside. His wife made vague noises, motioning me to a chair beside hers.

I had changed after my walk and come straight downstairs. It was better to be with people—any people—than alone with my thoughts. I didn’t really believe it myself, did I?

Sharp at one o’clock Duncan appeared to announce that luncheon was served.

I was surprised. “Aren’t Craig and Fiona coming back for lunch? I thought they said ...”

“Craig telephoned,” Mrs. Lennox explained. “The Camerons invited them to ... He said he didn’t know when ...”

Coming back along the road just now I had decided, however little I liked the idea, that I’d have to do some detective work. Here was an opportunity—sooner than I’d expected. With Craig safely out of the way, maybe I could put into operation a plan I’d worked out.

If Craig’s story about flying into Prestwick airport was true, maybe his passport would bear out that fact. It might be date-stamped accordingly.

My problem was how to get a look at his passport. Presumably it would be somewhere in his room, but I didn’t even know which of the many bedrooms in the castle was the one Craig used.

I dared not ask. What possible reason could I give for wanting to know? I would simply have to go by trial and error. I’d have to take my chance to look in each bedroom when nobody was around, until I found the right one.

Just now I only had the Lennoxes to consider—and the domestic staff, of course. I knew the servants had their own lunch immediately following the family meal, so that would give me a bit of time.

My luck was in.

After Duncan had cleared away the coffee things Isabel Lennox announced that she was going to take a nap.

“I usually do,” she said in her vague way. “Just for a...”

Pretending I wanted to get a book, I followed her upstairs and discreetly observed which room she went to. It wouldn’t have done at all for me to walk in on her.

Downstairs again, I found Mr. Lennox in the hall, dressed to go out. It seemed like fate was doing a good job for me.

I waited around until he departed. From a window I watched him cross the courtyard and disappear through the outer gate.

The coast was clear.

I started searching along my own corridor. Mrs. Lennox was in the other wing. The first two rooms were obviously not in use. Then came my bedroom and Jamie’s. After that were two smaller rooms before the dark corridor ended at the wall with the huge mirror.

Working back on the other side, two rooms were quite empty and uncarpeted, obviously unused for many years. Two more were ready for use as guest rooms.

Then at last I came to one that was occupied, and it looked like a man’s room. On a chest of drawers I saw a pair of hairbrushes, and a book lay open on the bedside table.

I closed the door quietly behind me and went straight across to the chest. But there I stopped, hesitating unhappily. I had to overcome a strong physical reluctance before I could even pull open a drawer. The action made me feel like a criminal.

But too much was at stake to give up now—Jamie’s whole future. I couldn’t just kid myself that all was well and abandon the little boy to his father.

I had to make sure....

The top drawer contained a miscellaneous collection of male oddments—handkerchiefs, socks, bits and pieces. I recognized the royal blue necktie Craig had been wearing when he met us at the airport. The lower drawers contained shirts, sweaters, a pair of paisley pajamas. Nothing of interest there.

I tried the wardrobe next. Several suits and jackets were hanging neatly. A bathrobe. Below, there were shoes.

I wondered if I ought to search through the pockets of the suits. It seemed so horribly personal. Was it likely, anyway, that Craig would casually leave his passport in a jacket pocket?

While I stood dithering I spotted a leather case, rucked away half hidden at the bottom of the wardrobe. A zipper document case.

Suddenly the still afternoon silence was broken by the sound of a motor. I ran across to the window, which on this side of the corridor overlooked the courtyard. If Craig and Fiona had come home, I’d have no time to look inside the case. But to my relief the vehicle went straight past the castle causeway. I guessed it was probably one of the estate trucks. I could hear it thundering up a gradient, the noise fading very slowly.

At last silence returned. I looked at the case in my hands. It wasn’t locked. I unzipped it quickly and began searching through the various papers. I was looking for just one thing, Craig’s passport. I refused even to let myself glance at anything else.

And if I did find it, what then? What if I discovered that Craig had after all arrived back in this country when he claimed? I knew I should feel utterly despicable.

Would I then have to tell Craig that Lambert Nairn had been with Margo the night she died? That Nairn was falsely implicating him in an effort to clear himself? Was it possible to disclose so much without telling Craig everything? I could never confess that, even for a single minute, I had believed such a fantastic story. I could never admit that I had actually searched his room in order to check up on him.

I was dreaming, not getting on with my distasteful task. Hurriedly, I rummaged among typewritten business letters, envelopes, formal-looking documents. Then I saw what I was looking for—his passport.

I dreaded what it was going to tell me. I no longer wanted to know. I had a strong urge to put the passport back in the leather case, unopened. I could easily have turned and run out of the room, because I didn’t want to be faced with the truth.

But I made myself look. I forced myself to turn the pages slowly, pages covered with the official record of departure and arrival. The last rubber stamp was smudgy, scarcely legible. I couldn’t make out the date.

I took the passport over to the window, and in the better light the evidence was clear enough.

Craig had arrived at Prestwick airport in Scotland two days ago, just as he had said.

I was so relieved that I almost put the passport away without looking any further. But something caught my eye. A familiar date—a date I would never forget.

It was incredible, almost past belief, that two faint rubber stamp impressions could add up to such a damning indictment.