Faith (46 page)

Yet however lovely Crail was, Belle didn’t look as if she belonged here. Maybe his opinion of her had been coloured by what Stuart had told him about her, but he couldn’t imagine her having anything in common with the tweedy kind of Scotswomen he’d seen as he explored. Or the coachloads of pensioners who stopped here for afternoon tea before continuing their whistle-stop tour of Scotland.

Around Putney, where he lived, glamorous women like Belle were commonplace. They lunched with friends in the chic restaurants, frequented the many beauty parlours, hairdressers and expensive dress shops. He supposed she had hoped to attract similarly-minded guests by making Kirkmay House so elegant, but in David’s opinion, beautiful though it was, it had a chilly and soulless atmosphere.

Three hours later, at half past six, David returned to Kirkmay House. Belle came bustling out into the hall to greet him. ‘Have you had a good walk?’ she asked, and he could smell alcohol on her breath.

‘Lovely, thank you,’ David said, amused that she’d noted he hadn’t taken his car, even though he’d parked it out on Marketgate, not in the drive. ‘I’d already been down by the harbour, so I explored that road that goes inland, away from the sea.’

‘There’s nothing out there but fields,’ she said, looking surprised.

‘I like wide open spaces,’ he said. ‘I always envy people who live in remote houses. I saw one out there that I really loved. It was called Brodie Farm – do you know it?’

Her face tightened. ‘It’s my sister’s place,’ she said.

‘Really!’ David exclaimed, determined not to be put off by her frosty expression. ‘What a lucky woman – it’s beautiful. Does she do bed and breakfast too? It looked to me as if the stables had been converted for that. My wife and children would love to stay there. I went up and knocked on the door to ask, but there was no one there.’

‘There wouldn’t be. My sister is dead,’ Belle replied; her voice had an edge of cold steel. ‘I’m taking care of it.’

‘I’m so sorry. How tactless of me,’ David said quickly. ‘I have an unholy knack of putting my foot in it. Please forgive me.’

She just looked at him. He half expected her to ask him to leave. But she shrugged. ‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ she said. ‘You weren’t to know. Would you like a glass of wine? I’ve just opened a bottle.’

David gulped hard. He’d thought he’d blown it. ‘That’s very kind of you. But I don’t want to hold you up if you are preparing your dinner.’

She smirked. ‘I don’t cook when my husband is playing golf. I’ve wasted too many dinners in the past when he hasn’t turned up. And I’d be glad of your company.’

David remembered Stuart had claimed she was a maneater and wondered if it was wise to take her up on her offer while her husband was out. But it was a heaven-sent opportunity to get to know her better, and it might be the only one he’d get.

He was still in Belle’s kitchen at eight, for she’d no sooner downed another glass of wine than she began to pour out the story of her sister’s murder. David found it fascinating – not the story of course, he knew that as well as she did – but the way she portrayed it. There was very little about the actual crime, or indeed her devastation at losing her sister in such a terrible way, but a great deal about her court appearance as a witness, and how the murder had blighted her life.

It was almost as if she thought of herself as the true victim. Her life had been torn apart, the neighbours gossiped about her, and her business had suffered too. She also seemed very angry at being expected to look after Brodie Farm as well.

David wondered if she’d always been this self-centred, or if she was actually suffering from depression.

Fortunately he wasn’t called on to make any comment. Belle seemed satisfied with the odd exclamation of horror and nods of sympathy.

By the time she was on her third glass of wine she vented her spleen on Laura. ‘I thought of her as a sister, I did so much for her over the years, and yet she repaid me like that,’ she said, growing red in the face with anger.

Her tirade went on and on: how Laura had fooled Jackie into believing she was her true friend and that she had given her money which she spent on drugs.

‘You probably won’t believe this, no one would credit anyone could be this heartless, but after her little boy was killed in a road accident she skipped off to Italy for a long holiday. I think he was better off dead than being brought up by a mother like that.’

David certainly didn’t think Laura was whiter than white. There had been times since he joined up with Stuart when he’d doubted her innocence. But he knew for certain that she hadn’t gone to Italy until a year after Barney’s death, and it wasn’t for a holiday, only to work. While he knew grief did strange things to people, he hadn’t expected such malice.

He wondered if Belle told all her guests about her sister’s death. He thought it would be very offputting for holidaymakers, for her intensity was enough to frighten anyone. He knew that if he and Julia had turned up here without knowing about it in advance, they’d probably have backed out the door double quick.

He found himself watching her rather than just listening. She lit up cigarette after cigarette, and she drummed her long pink fingernails on the table. Then she’d get up and pace the room, straighten china on the dresser. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone quite so strung out and full of nervous energy.

Stuart had commented that he thought that two years after the event she should have at least begun to get over it, and David agreed totally. It was as if it had become an obsession. He was, to his knowledge, the only guest in the house, yet Crail had been buzzing with tourists that afternoon. Why weren’t some of them staying here? Was it that potential guests asked around before booking a room and were put off by unfavourable reports? Or was it that she turned people away if she didn’t like the look of them? He wished he’d thought to ask around about the guest house during the afternoon, it might have been enlightening.

He had only one glass of wine, refusing more when she attempted to top up his glass, yet that didn’t slow down her drinking. She finished off the bottle, then opened a second one, and at that point she was turning her spite on to Roger, Jackie’s husband. David really didn’t want to listen to the litany of grievances she had with him, they were all about rents he was collecting on Jackie’s properties, and as David understood it, the man was entitled to do this anyway. David had had enough; he wanted to go to his room and watch television in peace.

But mindful that Stuart would be disappointed in him if he didn’t come back with some new information, he decided he must hang on a little longer.

‘What made you move up to Scotland?’ he asked, the moment she stopped to draw breath before another onslaught. ‘Did you become disenchanted with London?’

‘Not really,’ she said. ‘We came up here a few times to stay with my sister, and we saw how cheap property prices were. It was so tempting – in London a house this size would always be out of reach. I guess you could say it seemed like a good idea at the time.’

‘I sense you regret it,’ David said.

‘I regretted it before we’d even repainted the front door,’ she said bitterly, once again refilling her empty glass. ‘It was a big mistake, but we had burned our bridges and there was no way back.’

‘But Crail is lovely, I’d give my eye teeth to live here,’ David said. ‘And you must have made dozens of new friends?’

‘You can’t make friends here, it’s a closed circle,’ she said with disdain. ‘Not that I really want to be part of that dull, flower-arranging Kirk set, they act like they think they are all superior to us English people.’

That wasn’t how David had found people here. Everyone he’d spoken to had been very warm and friendly.

‘And your husband? How does he feel about it?’

‘As long as he’s got someone to have a round of golf with and someone beside him propping up the bar, he’s happy,’ she said sharply.

The sound of the front door opening made David turn in his seat.

‘Speak of the devil. Here he is, my husband Charles,’ Belle said as if she had a bad taste in her mouth. ‘And look at the state of him!’

David wanted to laugh, for Stuart had described Charles as a handsome, smartly dressed playboy. This drunken man wearing loud checked golfing trousers with matching flat cap and a bright yellow sweater was swaying on his feet in the hall and looked more like a large Norman Wisdom.

‘My little flower,’ he exclaimed and staggered towards the kitchen with his arms outstretched. ‘The champion returns!’

David got up from his seat to make his escape. Much as he had wanted to meet Charles, he didn’t think he would get anything useful from him while he was so drunk.

‘Don’t go,’ Belle said, then, turning to her husband, she frowned at him. ‘We have a guest, Charles. David Stoyle. Now, behave yourself.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Boil,’ Charles slurred, offering his hand.

Charles sat down at the table and began talking about golf. Belle interrupted him frequently, telling him that David didn’t play and therefore had no interest in hearing about his game. Charles was too drunk to take any notice and Belle was desperately trying to drag David’s attention back to herself.

It was acutely embarrassing to David to be party to the friction between the couple. Belle was in fact almost as drunk as Charles, but she took the moral high ground and berated him for driving home in such a state.

‘I drive better with a few drinks in me,’ he said. ‘Eyes like an owl’s, rapid reactions, and anyway, I came home early to be with you.’

‘You don’t drive better when you’re drunk,’ she exclaimed. ‘Haven’t you learned anything? It’s only a matter of time before you hit someone again.’

There was a sudden electric charge in the air. Despite being drunk, Charles’s eyes widened at what she’d said, Belle’s face flushed pink, and she quickly leapt up to switch the kettle on to hide her confusion.

‘I think we must all eat something,’ she said too loudly and with desperation in her voice. ‘You must be hungry, David? I could rustle up some pasta, or get a curry out of the freezer.’

There was no doubt in David’s mind that Belle had blurted out something that was not only a secret, but a sore point. But he was also certain Belle wouldn’t forget herself again that night, not even if he poured another gallon of wine down her throat. Furthermore, he knew that if he stayed he’d be dragged into their marriage problems. Charles was beyond talking, his chin was on his chest, and it was only a matter of time before he fell asleep.

‘Not for me, thank you, Belle. But it was kind of you to offer,’ he said. ‘I’m bushed after driving out from Edinburgh and then the long walk this afternoon. I’m not used to this good clean air.’ He made an elaborate yawn and got up. ‘I’ll see you both tomorrow.’

As David drove into St Andrews the following morning, his stomach rumbling with hunger because he’d refused breakfast at Kirkmay House for fear of being subjected to another of Belle’s tirades, Stuart was in Morningside.

He had found Laura’s old shop, Imelda’s, at about nine, before it opened, and smiled at the name, guessing it was Laura’s idea. The display of two very glamorous suits in the window, along with a couple of handbags, shoes and some costume jewellery, gave no hint that they were second-hand items. He peered in though the door, noting the elegant cream and gold decor, the neat rails of clothes, and the French-boudoir-style console table and chair which acted as a counter. He was impressed.

He took himself off to get a coffee, rather surprised by how much smarter Morningside had become in the last twenty years. He remembered it as a place where impoverished gentlefolk lived, the houses dignified yet a bit shabby, but it was clear it was fast becoming a very fashionable place to live. A well-stocked delicatessen, florist’s and expensive lingerie shop were all testimony to the affluence of the new arrivals in Morningside. Even the butcher’s and the greengrocer’s looked upmarket. But he was fairly certain that it was still what his mother used to call ‘a fur coat and no knickers’ place, and Laura had clearly tapped into this when she decided to open her shop here.

He went back to Imelda’s at half past nine and as he walked in an old-fashioned bell tinkled on the door. A willowy blonde of about forty, wearing black slacks and a white shirt, was arranging some handbags on a hat stand and turned to smile at him.

‘I’m not actually open until ten, sir,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to nip out to the bank in a minute.’

‘I didn’t want to buy anything, I’m looking for Angie Turnbull,’ he said.

‘Then you’ve found her,’ she said in a soft and cultured Edinburgh accent, which was as attractive as she was.

Her smile froze as Stuart began to explain who he was and why he’d come.

‘I must stop you right there,’ she said with a wave of her hands. ‘I have absolutely nothing further to say on the subject. I gave what evidence I could at Laura’s trial, and I cannot help further.’

Stuart knew that she and Laura had been good friends, above and beyond being employer and employee. Angie had supported Laura right through her period on remand, during and just after the trial. It was she who had packed up Laura’s belongings in her flat and put them into storage, she’d continued to run this place, and Laura had given it to her because she saw no likelihood of ever getting out of prison to run it again herself.

Laura had also told him that Angie had written to her four months after she was sentenced, saying she felt unable to continue visiting her. Laura said she found this understandable.

Stuart didn’t agree. To him, a friend was someone you stuck by in good and bad times.

‘I don’t believe Laura killed Jackie,’ he said gently but firmly. ‘I am going to prove it too. And when I read the transcript of her trial, I got the impression you believed in her innocence as well?’

‘I did,’ she said and looked flustered. ‘But you see, there was so much stuff that came up in the trial that I didn’t know about before. Being a witness for the defence was awful. The prosecution twisted my words and made me feel stupid and tainted somehow. It knocked me sideways, I hadn’t been prepared for that.’