Mistakes We Make Page 10

  ‘Here you go.’ Malkie took a long slug of his pint and slid in beside her.

  ‘Thanks for meeting me.’

  ‘I’ll never say no to seeing you.’

  She managed a weak smile. The tension that had kept a knot in her stomach ever since Mr Blair’s phone call eased a fraction.

  ‘So what’s it all about?’

  Caitlyn took a deep breath, and explained.

  ‘So you see,’ she finished, just as she got to the last sip of her beer, ‘I’ve got to make a decision.’

  She didn’t expect Malkie to understand the ins and outs of her story, but she did trust his instincts.

  ‘Right.’ He leant forwards, his elbows on the table, deep in thought. ‘So you saw something you didn’t think was right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You challenged the guy, and he had an explanation?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you still thought it was wrong?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You didn’t think anyone would believe you, you were just a wee junior and he was a boss.’

  ‘One of the partners. Yes.’

  ‘So you left.’

  ‘It was when Mick Boyce walked out,’ Caitlyn said. ‘It all happened around the same time.’ She crumpled. ‘I funked it, Malkie, that’s the truth of it. I kidded myself that I’d be helping Mum, but it was a huge mistake.’

  Malkie was frowning with concentration. He was more used to making decisions about whether a rose was ready for deadheading than following the ins and outs of office procedures.

  ‘I’ve got it. But I don’t see the problem. You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t know for sure he did. You’ve been asked back. It’s great money. All you have to do is keep your head down and do your job. It’s a no-brainer, isn’t it?’

  ‘You think it’s that simple?’

  He took her hand. ‘Sweetheart.’

  Caitlyn’s heart swelled at the endearment.

  ‘You need the money. Your mum needs help. You’re great at the work. It is that simple.’

  ‘What if I find something else when I get there?’

  ‘You don’t know you will. The guy’s explanation might have been true. You don’t need to look for trouble. Just do the job.’

  ‘But if I—’

  ‘Look at me.’

  She looked. Malkie’s feelings had always been transparent. When he’d been a boy, that had led him into all sorts of trouble with the bullies, but now he was a man, she loved him for it. Right now, his expression was earnest.

  ‘If you do come across something dodgy, the first thing is you tell me. The second is we discuss it. The third is we do whatever we decide is right. You’re not going to get into trouble, sweetheart. The worst that can happen is that you lose your job again. Isn’t it?’

  Caitlyn laughed. ‘Put like that, it doesn’t seem so bad.’

  ‘That’s my girl.’ He pulled her close and gave her a cuddle.

  ‘Is that what I am, Malkie? Truly? Your girl?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said. And this time he kissed her properly.

  The corner they were sitting in was gloomy, but it wasn’t dark. ‘Hey,’ someone called after a minute, ‘why don’t you two get a room?’

  They broke apart, giggling like teenagers.

  ‘Come on,’ Malkie said. ‘I’ll take you home.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Adam was resolute.

  ‘You have to come with me, Dad. Your brother is dying. I don’t think he has long. Don’t let him carry your grudge to the grave.’

  ‘The situation was not of my making,’ James Blair said stiffly. He was standing at the window of his office on the main floor in Blair King’s Queen Street premises. The street had turned into an urban race track ever since vehicles had been barred from Princes Street. Buses, lorries, cars, bicycles all fought for space and played catch-me-if-you-can with the traffic lights – but there were compensations. They were high enough above the traffic not to notice the noise, and beyond the road were grand gardens with trees that could not mask the views to the north, across the Firth of Forth. It was a small recompense, thought Adam, for enforced imprisonment in this place.

  ‘No,’ Adam said, ‘and it wasn’t Geordie’s either. It was my grandfather’s scheme.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Was it really so terrible?’

  James swung round, his bushy eyebrows knitted. ‘He got all the money.’

  ‘You got the shares in the firm,’ Adam reminded him, ‘and they’ve yielded you a good income over the years. All Geordie got was an advance on his inheritance.’

  ‘He got it then and he got it unconditionally. I’ve had to slave here for forty years, and I haven’t been able to release any capital.’

  It was an old argument, although they hadn’t aired it for a long time. Adam hadn’t dared. Now he gritted his teeth and ploughed on.

  ‘He got cash because he needed the money to buy the farm – and he’s been slaving away too. He’s not exactly a rich man, Dad. Farming’s no sinecure.’

  Silence. James had swung back to the view, his shoulders hunched.

  Adam crossed the floor and laid a hand on his father’s shoulder. ‘It’s over, Dad. It has been over for years, admit it. The settlement was fair in some ways, unfair in others. In the end, what does it matter? He’s dying. He can’t take it with him. He’s lost his son. Don’t let him lose his brother too.’

  His father was breathing heavily, but he hadn’t refused.

  Sensing a weakening, Adam pressed on. ‘I’m going out to see him after work today. Come with me.’

  Silence.

  At last James said, ‘We’ll see. Have you found a replacement for Shereen yet?’

  Adam swung away, the smallest of smiles playing on his lips. It hadn’t been a ‘yes’, but it was better than a ‘no’.

  ‘Caitlyn Murray has just called back.’ His smile broadened. ‘She’s no fool, that girl. Can you believe it, she asked for a hefty pay rise, and when I quibbled, she said she’d checked the agency fees and I was still getting a bargain.’ A low chuckle from somewhere near the window told him his father’s mood was lifting. ‘She’s willing to come for six months.’

  ‘Good. I like spirit.’

  James turned and pulled his chair out from under his desk. The meeting was at an end.

  ‘There’s a lady here to see you.’

  Puzzled, Adam glanced at his diary. It was empty. He frowned. He’d been on the point of nipping out for a sandwich.

  ‘Did she give a name?’ he asked the duty clerk on reception. He shouldn’t have to ask.

  There was a muffled conversation.

  ‘Miss Ghosh, she says.’

  Sunita?

  ‘Tell her I’ll be there in five minutes.’

  It had been two weeks since the difficult weekend at Loch Melfort. Adam hadn’t seen Sunita since they’d arrived back in Edinburgh full of false protestations of ‘Wasn’t that great?’ and ‘How clever you are to arrange my favourite hotel for me.’

  That was bad of him. She’d meant well; it hadn’t been her fault that Molly had been there, dampening his enthusiasm. Nor had it been her fault that he’d allowed Logan to tempt him along to Billy’s seventieth birthday party last Sunday, but, wrung out, he’d called her and cancelled their evening date.

  He set his desk in order, pulled his jacket off the hanger on the back of the door, ran his hands through his hair, and headed for the stairs.

  ‘Hi, darling. What a nice surprise.’ He took both her hands, pulled her from her seat and kissed her cheek. ‘You’re looking exceptionally smart today.’

  The hair that sometimes hung so heavily to her shoulders was neatly coiled and swept to the back into some sort of bun arrangement. ‘Bun’, Adam thought, was perhaps not the right word – it smacked of spinsterhood. This was elegant. The coiled hair hung low to her collar, thick and shiny, and showed off her long neck.

  He took her arm and turned her half round. ‘It’s nice. I h
aven’t seen you wear it like that. It makes you look very businesslike. Are you in court?’

  She shook her head. ‘Just meetings. Have you time for lunch?’

  ‘Only if we can grab a sandwich somewhere. Sorry, but I’m quite pushed for time today. I have to go out later.’ He steered her outside and down the wide stone steps that swept down to the busy pavement.

  ‘That new deli, then? The girls at the office were saying they make great sandwiches to order, and the coffee’s good.’

  ‘Perfect.’

  She tucked her arm through the crook of his elbow and they strolled along the street. I couldn’t ask for a better partner, Adam thought. Her figure was stunning; she was clever, and fun to be with. On an impulse, he stooped to kiss her cheek. It was smooth as a polished pebble and the colour of light toffee.

  ‘What was that for?’

  ‘Couldn’t resist. You’re looking so beautiful.’

  ‘Flattery,’ she laughed, ‘might get you a long way. Here we are.’

  Over toasted focaccia stuffed with goat’s cheese and rocket, the reason for her presence became clear.

  ‘My auntie,’ she announced, ‘is getting married. Will you come with me to the wedding?’

  ‘Sure. When is it?’

  ‘Oh, not till next April.’ She bit prettily into her sandwich, her creamy white teeth leaving a precise scalloped edge in the thick bread.

  ‘Fine. I’m sure I’ll be able to arrange time off.’

  ‘It’s in Kolkata.’

  Adam, chewing, choked inelegantly, crumbs spraying onto the table and wedging themselves somewhere deep in his throat.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Kolkata! She’d sprung that one on him. Adam’s mind raced ahead. Popping down the road to Leith to attend a Hindu wedding was one thing. Travelling half way across the world to Kolkata was quite another. It was a statement. Her family would see him as a fixture in her life – the man she cared for enough to bring all that way, to introduce to her nearest and dearest. It was, if you thought about it that way, a kind of trap. And he had just walked right into it.

  ‘You will see my grandfather’s house,’ Sunita said when he had recovered. ‘He made money. He bought a house in Alipore. It’s a very beautiful place. Once it belonged to the British, of course – all the property in that part of the city belonged to the British. White Calcutta, they called it. But now everything has changed.’

  Across the room a girl had just come in, tall and blonde, just Molly’s build, and his mind switched instantly. There’d been such anguish on her face during Logan’s speech and he couldn’t miss the subtle shifts in her expression as her cake was carried in, until at last he could see the pain ebb away. He loved that he could read her so well. Even at the lowest point of their relationship, that skill had never deserted him.

  But it wasn’t difficult to read someone’s expression when you had your hand raised to strike her.

  He winced.

  ‘Are you all right, Adam?’ Sunita asked, noticing.

  ‘Sure, sure.’ He picked up his focaccia but his appetite had deserted him and he dropped it back onto his plate.

  He would never forget that night, not for as long as he lived. And nor, he guessed, would Molly. How could you forget the moment you discovered that your wife had been seeing someone else? Offering her body to someone else – her beautiful, familiar limbs entwined with his; her mouth shaping words of endearment that had always been murmured to you? How could you forget the writhing pangs of jealousy, or their lightning transformation into anger?

  No, he would not forget, nor could he ever forgive himself. And even if Molly could find it in her heart to pardon his behaviour, he was sure that there was no way she could ever trust herself with him again. One moment, one terrible, uncontrolled moment, and he had messed up everything.

  ‘It’s big, and it’s white, and there are verandahs on two sides, towards the garden. You should see the garden, Adam! There are fire trees and mangoes, and a beautiful big tamarind. The mangoes are so sweet and juicy! They never taste the same over here. And there are figs and a jacaranda, and laburnum. And curry leaves, of course, for the cook.’

  ‘Sounds idyllic.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘And very big.’

  ‘He is rich. He will love to meet you, Adam. I know he will.’

  ‘April, you said.’ Already his mind was racing. He knew he didn’t want to go, but how could he get out of it without hurting Sunita? Damn it, he wasn’t very good at this.

  ‘April. But we need to check some things. You must have at least six months on your passport, you know. Perhaps you should check this? And you must apply for a visa. We can combine the visit with a small tour, perhaps? Along the Hooghly river? That is very beautiful. Or perhaps to Rajasthan? To the famous palaces? To Agra. You must see the Taj Mahal, Adam. It’s so beautiful. So romantic.’

  If he’d been in love with her, the smile that accompanied this statement would have been something to treasure.

  James Blair sat in silence, his large frame hunched down into his jacket as though he could pretend he wasn’t really there at all, as Adam drove to Forgie End Farm. He kept his face averted from Adam, looking out of the side window. Every part of his body spoke of discomfort.

  Adam knew better than to try to make conversation. What would they talk about, anyway? He’d had enough of work for the day, small talk was out of the question, and a discussion about what would meet them at the farm would be ill advised.

  When they drove through the copse and stopped at the gate, there was a pause. Adam was just thinking he would have to get out and open his father’s door himself when his father did so. At once, a chill wind blasted in, bringing a couple of papery beech leaves with it. Autumn was here, with a bleak message. Time was marching on, and his uncle might not live to see another year.

  At least, Adam thought as he watched his father put a hand on the gate, he’d managed to get him here. What was he thinking? Was he nursing the smouldering embers of resentment, or battling with his darkest feelings? Adam held his breath. Don’t stop now, he thought, don’t do that to me, or to Geordie.

  His father reached out and unhooked the chain.

  Adam let out his breath. It was going to work.

  He’d reckoned on an hour and had prepared himself for half that. What he’d never considered for a minute was that they would still be at Jean and Geordie’s farm almost two hours later – or that he would hear laughter coming from the room next to the kitchen, where Geordie’s bed had been set up.

  He looked at his aunt, the small vertical line between his eyes the measure of his puzzlement.

  ‘Was that—?’

  Her face, a mask of exhaustion, relaxed a fraction and a faint smile played at the corners of her mouth.

  ‘Oh Adam, lovey. It’s more than I hoped for. That’s a sound I haven’t heard in here for a long time.’

  Adam rubbed his hands up and down the sides of his nose. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘It’s good.’

  Jean leaned forward, her gaze direct. Adam had an inkling he knew what was coming.

  ‘About Molly.’

  He didn’t want to talk about Molly.

  ‘What happened?’ Jean Blair had never been less than challenging and old age hadn’t changed that.

  ‘It—’ Adam searched for a way to answer her. ‘It didn’t work.’

  Jean’s look was scathing. ‘Don’t give me that. You two had been together for years. I’ve never seen anyone happier. You don’t just let a marriage go. Especially not someone like you, Adam.’

  Adam shifted on his chair, leaned back, crossed one leg over the other, then uncrossed and re-crossed it. Restless was a normal state for him, but pressure of this kind exaggerated the feeling.

  ‘You two were perfect for each other. That wedding of yours was one of the best I can ever remember, and not just because you kept it simple. Molly could no doubt have called in a truckload of favours to have the most ostentatio
us wedding of the century, but she didn’t. I liked that. I felt it was right for you. She was right for you.’

  Adam swallowed. He found it hard to think about the day he and Molly had married. ‘We’re getting married outside,’ they’d announced on the invitation, ‘whatever the weather does. So come prepared!’

  The minister had agreed, the guests had arrived dressed in kilts, smart suits or sparkly or floaty dresses – and every one of them had worn walking boots.

  He shuffled on the chair. However hard he tried to put that day out of his mind, he would never forget it.

  They hadn’t been married ten minutes when Molly, surveying the assorted range of wellies, hiking boots, winter boots and hefty shoes, had said, ‘It’s great to see everyone listened to the instructions.’

  ‘Except the bride.’ Adam had smiled, looking down at the ground-length ivory silk of her wedding gown. Friends teased Molly that if her career in marketing ever stalled, she could always turn to being a model, and she had never looked more beautiful than she looked that day.

  ‘What do you mean, except the bride?’

  ‘Well – not under that, I imagine.’

  ‘I am so wearing boots!’

  ‘I don’t believe you. Lift up your skirt!’

  ‘Really Adam! In front of our guests?’ Long tendrils of blonde hair had escaped from her elaborate French braid and were wafting in the brisk breeze. Her face had been aglow with happiness.

  Adam had captured a stray frond and tucked it behind her ear. He hadn’t been able to resist kissing her neck, just below where a fat pearl hung from her lobe, creamy and gleaming in the sunshine.

  ‘I don’t believe you’re wearing boots,’ he’d challenged. ‘Prove it.’

  ‘OK, I will!’

  She’d grabbed fistfuls of silk and hoisted her dress upwards to reveal her hiking boots, scrubbed to look as good as new, specially polished to a high sheen and laced with scarlet ribbon.

  Cameras snapped and flashed, and the laughter of the guests had echoed down the valley and startled a flock of crows.