Old Sins, page 5
‘Oh, I’m all for it. But we still need just a bit more land to meet the requirements.’
‘Oh, tell me about it! How do I dislodge her? Come up with something.’
Shirley might have been a stay-at-home wife and mother but she had a good business head. She gave a moment’s thought to Sean’s problem, then said, ‘Maia says she’s having a fine time playing off Ben Linton against Joe Dundas. So, sack the pair of them and she’d probably leave. The wee posh laddies who volunteer for a week won’t interest her.’
He sighed. ‘Yeah, logically speaking that’s fine and I haven’t a problem with brutal when it’s necessary. But I need them both. Maia says Ben’s got the admin running now like a Rolls Royce and Joe’s a hard grafter who knows his stuff – not a lot of them about.’
‘You can never afford to lose key workers, right enough.’ Then she gave a throaty laugh. ‘But maybe just sack them both then re-employ them quickly whenever she’s gone?’
She made Sean laugh too. She’d always been able to do that, with her acerbic take on things and she knew he enjoyed her company, especially with Maia being so quiet.
She got on perfectly well with her daughter-in-law; it was almost impossible to dislike someone who was so polite and thoughtful and who never expressed a strong opinion. She could understand why Sean had married Maia – she had a sort of elusive quality that was quite compelling. It was just that she couldn’t understand why Maia had married Sean.
But she was resigned to never finding out, and if there was a tiny part of her that had felt rebuked by him choosing a wife so unlike Shirley herself – still noisy, still opinionated and still doggedly raven-haired – she’d got over it. She was lucky to have a daughter-in-law who didn’t mind her husband’s closeness to his mother.
By the time Maia came back with a mug for him, he was asking Shirley’s advice about changing suppliers for the plastic sleeves that protected the young trees from the attention of the ever-growing population of red deer. She poured coffee from the pot, topped up her own mug and Shirley’s and with a small sigh sat down again.
Inverbeg Inn was a long, low, whitewashed building, which had once been a row of four cottages, with a garden terrace at the back where there were tables for use on the rare occasions when it wasn’t raining and the midges weren’t out.
The store at one end was what used to be known as a ‘johnnie-a’-thing’, where the limited stock was tailored to what might be needed between visits to the Spar in Lochinver or the Tesco in Ullapool, with a good freezer section. The owners, a cheerful Polish couple, had bought it after it had been shuttered up and decaying for two years and the community had responded with gratitude, arranging a rota of volunteer helpers to make sure the Novaks didn’t burn themselves out and leave.
Expecting a quiet little local, Kelso was astonished by the crowd. They had lingered over dinner – an excellent game pie – so the car park was almost full when they arrived and as he opened the door to let Hattie go in front of him, the noise was like a wall of sound. It was a comparatively small space, with perhaps fifty, sixty people crammed in, and the low ceiling didn’t help; everyone had to shout to make themselves heard.
The most surprising thing was the age range of the drinkers – from kids who might well be there with forged ID, to the senior citizens who looked as if they’d been steadily pickling themselves for years. Some kind of informal apartheid appeared to be operating: a sort of student-type party going on at one end; in the middle, tables seating couples and small groups; propping up the bar a gathering that looked like the regulars he’d expected, mainly older single men with the weather-beaten complexion that goes with a life on the land.
As they made their way in, both Hattie and Ranald were hailed by friends and paused to speak to them while Kelso made his way directly to the bar. The three people serving were all being kept busy and he turned to speak to Hattie as she reached him.
‘I’m setting up a slate, so there’ll be no arguments – you’ve been feeding me for days. Tanqueray and tonic for you and the Macallan for Ranald, is that right?’ he said.
‘That’s far too kind,’ Hattie said. ‘It’s been a pleasure to have you. But it’ll be a long evening – better make that Gordon’s and Famous Grouse or you’ll be bankrupt.’
‘Think I can take the hit,’ he said. ‘As long as I can persuade someone to set it up.’
She bent closer to him to murmur, ‘That man there – the one with curly dark hair – that’s Sean Reynolds. It must be his turn on the voluntary rota tonight.’
Kelso looked at him with interest. It was hot in the room; the man’s cheeks were flushed and there was sweat on his forehead as he pulled the pints. He had a strong face, wide across the cheekbones, with a very square jaw. He looked the sort you’d be wise not to question if he’d decided you’d had enough to drink.
Now the other man was coming over. ‘Hi Kasper!’ Hattie said. ‘This is our house guest, Kelso. He wants to set up a slate for us, so be nice to him.’
Kasper was a big man, broad-shouldered and loose-limbed, with an easy manner. ‘Am I not nice to everybody, Hattie? Especially if they are buying drinks!’
He took the order and Kelso looked round. ‘Where’s Ranald?’ he said, a moment before he spotted him standing on the far side of the room, talking to a woman. She was small and slight and pale, with delicate features and straight, light brown hair that skimmed her shoulders. Ranald was stooping over to talk to her and she was looking up at him with a slight smile; it was natural enough, given the acoustic problems, but something about the expression on Ranald’s face made Kelso look at them sharply and his heart sank. Oh dear. That would explain quite a lot.
Hattie glanced over her shoulder. ‘Oh, he’s over there, talking to Maia. She’s Sean’s wife – quite reserved, but very nice. Oh, hello, Angus, I didn’t see you there.’ She broke off to speak to the older man on her other side.
Was Hattie as oblivious as she seemed? Kelso thought she was, probably; he assessed her as a very straightforward person and he was pretty sure he’d have known if she was putting on an act. His eyes went to Maia’s husband; he was probably too busy with his barman duties to have noticed anything – and what he himself had noticed might in any case be one-sided.
Maia’s face was inscrutable.
Hattie was saying, ‘Angus, I’d like you to meet our friend Kelso Strang. He and Ran were in the army together and now he’s ever such a high-powered police officer, so you’ll have to behave yourself.’
Kelso cringed inwardly. He hated that sort of joke and he hated being marked out as a police officer in social settings; the reaction was often hostile and even if it wasn’t he was usually forced on the defensive over some story about bumbling coppers that had nothing to do with him.
Angus Mackenzie, to be fair, took neither approach. ‘How interesting,’ he said. ‘That must be quite a challenging job. I’d like—’
Hattie interrupted. ‘Kelso, Kasper’s bringing the drinks now. Shall I make a move on that table where the people are leaving?’
‘You do that. I’ll bring them over. Thanks, Kasper.’ He turned back to Angus, but someone had claimed his attention on the other side.
She had secured the table, but before she could sit down she was accosted by two women at the next one and with an apologetic grimace to Kelso went over to speak to them as he brought the drinks and sat down.
Ranald noticed him arriving and raised a hand in greeting.
‘Sorry – just coming.’ He put an arm round Maia’s shoulders and ushered her over to the table. ‘Maia, this is Kelso – old buddy of mine from army days. Maia’s pretty much our next-door neighbour, Kelso – that’s her husband, helping out behind the bar tonight.’
Kelso stood up politely. ‘Do join us. Can I get you a drink?’
She smiled a little careful smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘No thank you. I must get back – my mother-in-law’s at home and I don’t like to leave her alone for too long.’ Somehow she slipped away through the crowd without anyone having to move aside for her.
Ranald picked up his glass from the table saying, ‘Sláinte!’ then, when he’d sipped it said, ‘That’s very kind! They don’t give it away in here.’
‘Least I can do,’ Kelso said, sitting down again. ‘I’ve had a great break. But I’m interested by your neighbours. You said Sean Reynolds had all this money – where has it come from?’
Ranald gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘Well, the story is he had an Internet company that got bought up by one of the big operators. I don’t exactly know about that, but what I can tell you is he gets tens of thousands in subsidies from the Scottish government every year for this rewilding nonsense. And now he has all those pods filled with saving-the-planet types who come for a week or a fortnight and pay handsomely for the privilege of labouring for him. Nice work if you can get it.’
He broke off. ‘Oh, I’ve just seen one of the local councillors – I’m needing a word with him. Would you mind …’
‘No, of course not.’
Ranald went off to one of the other tables, leaving Kelso to pursue one of his favourite activities – people-watching.
Shirley Reynolds was watching a recording of Masterchef and pressed the remote to pause it when her daughter-in-law came in.
‘Good evening? Any gossip?’
Maia smiled. ‘Nothing much to report. Usual crowd, usual gossip.’
Shirley suppressed a sigh. She was quite sure if she’d been there she’d have managed to glean something interesting, and she felt like a dog whose nose tells him his owner is cooking something delicious but he knows he’s not going to share it. Sean was only a little better than Maia; she’d have to rely on Ishbel the cleaner when she came in on Monday to catch up with the news.
‘You shouldn’t worry about coming back for me, you know,’ she said. ‘I’m quite happy here with my programme.’
‘It’s not a sacrifice, honestly. Are they any good?’ Maia sat down and looked at the TV and Shirley clicked it back on. The end was just coming up and as John Torode decreed that one contestant should leave, Shirley tutted. ‘You’re wrong there, John. He’s better than that girl that was making eyes at you.’
Just as she switched off there was a knock on the door and Ben Linton opened it tentatively.
‘Hello – hope I’m not interrupting your programme.’
‘No, no,’ Shirley assured him. ‘It’s just finished. Come and sit down.’ She liked Ben; quite a serious-minded young man, much what any mother would hope her son would be – well-mannered, nice, neat hair, smartly turned-out and prepared to carry on an interesting conversation, unlike some people she could name.
‘Did they send the right one home?’ he asked, smiling.
Shirley snorted. ‘Fell for the pretty girl, like they usually do, poor saps. Not at the pub tonight?’
For some reason he looked uncomfortable. ‘Just back from there,’ he said.
Shirley gave him a quizzical look. ‘Much going on?’
‘Not much,’ he said, disappointingly. ‘Maia, I’m going to pop into the office. A couple of the girls who were sharing a pod have fallen out and aren’t far from the hair-pulling stage. There’s empty ones at the moment and I thought it might be good PR just to let them split up and use another, if that’s OK?’
‘Of course. Oh dear!’ Maia shook her head. ‘Those girls! They do make each other so miserable.’
‘Not just each other, I hear,’ Shirley said slyly. ‘How’s your friend – Danni, isn’t it?’
She enjoyed seeing the young man turn pink. ‘Oh – Danni? She’s fine. Thanks, Maia – I’ll go and leave a note for the staff to have it ready.’ He left.
‘Oh, that’s a pity – he seems to have taken fright,’ Shirley said. ‘This Danni doesn’t sound the right sort of person for him, anyway.’
‘No, I’m sure she isn’t,’ Maia agreed. ‘She’s not doing either of those boys any good.’ She hesitated, as if she was making her mind up about something, then said, ‘Actually, Shirley, I’d value your opinion about Ben.’
Shirley was surprised. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said. This wasn’t like Maia.
‘You know we’re looking to expand the business. I decided to let him have a look at the books, and he’s come up with some pretty good suggestions. I’ve actually been wondering if we should invite him to make a third on the Auchinglass board along with Sean and me. He’s making a name for himself around here and we don’t want him getting restless and being poached by someone else – landowners are always on the lookout for a good factor and none of them would scruple to pinch him. He could handle it if something came up when my parents need me in London – you remember that time I’d to come rushing back to deal with a grant application that had to be returned at a moment’s notice.’
‘Oh yes!’ Shirley said. ‘That was a right hassle. The girl who was doing the books at the time hadn’t a clue and neither did Sean.’
‘It would be a big step, though,’ Maia said. And she was, Shirley noticed, definitely looking quite nervous. ‘Antony Stanton – you know?’
Shirley nodded. He was a big wheel in Maia’s dad’s business and he’d stayed once or twice on his way north. Very London, she’d thought, and it wasn’t a compliment.
‘Well, he’s coming up for some fishing near Scourie next week, so if he came here first, he could check Ben out. But he doesn’t know him, you do, and you’re a good judge of character. Would he be loyal, do you think?’
Shirley was flattered. She was used to Sean consulting her, but it was Maia who ran all the business and she’d always dealt with any problems in her usual quiet, competent way. The only time Shirley had offered advice unasked – when they were discussing sending nine-year-old Oliver off to prep school – it had been politely ignored. But right enough, Maia’s father was getting very old now and Maia might have to spend more time in London than she did at present.
‘It’s a big decision, but he seems a nice, reliable young man to me, and it would certainly be useful to have another good practical brain involved,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘He’s very competent that way, isn’t he? Sean’s certainly got the vision thing but you can’t look to him for business input.’ Then she paused. ‘I’ve just been wondering of late – you don’t think he could be doing something really stupid, do you?’
When Maia didn’t reply immediately she hurried on, ‘No, that’s not fair. I shouldn’t ask my daughter-in-law to be rude about her husband to his mother’s face. And, of course, we both know he could be, don’t we?’
But Maia just looked back at her with that small, enigmatic smile.
Hattie was still talking to her friends, but Kelso didn’t mind; he was watching a little drama unfolding at the farther end of the room.
At the centre of it was a young woman, early twenties probably, who looked as if she’d had quite a lot to drink already. She had a pierced eyebrow and was wearing a tight purple minidress over black leggings, a style that didn’t flatter her well-padded frame; her arms were folded across her chest, displaying a butterfly tattoo in blues and reds just above the wrist. There were two men standing beside her, one a red-haired lad in heavy jeans with a lumberjack shirt and hiking boots, the other, fair-haired, blue-eyed, in chinos with a white T-shirt and a casual jacket.
Again, the body language said it all. There was aggression there and some of the group who looked quite a bit younger had started drawing away awkwardly, as if they hadn’t really noticed anything, but in case there was something they wanted to make sure they weren’t involved.
Kelso’s instinct kicked in – go over, talk them down, defuse the situation before the trouble started. He fought it down. He’d do it if the need arose, but he was on holiday, dammit.
To his relief, before that moment came Kasper was striding across and the men drew apart. ‘You two again!’ he was saying. ‘One more problem, you are banned.’ Then he turned to the girl. ‘And I know who makes this happen. You are as bad. You be careful.’
The men, Kelso noticed with interest, looked abashed. The woman didn’t. She was wearing the dumb insolence expression familiar to every police officer as she said, ‘Yeah, sure.’
With a final warning glare, Kasper walked back to the bar, shaking his head. The one wearing smart casuals said something to the girl and then left.
‘Sorry, sorry, sorry!’ Hattie arrived at the table in a fluster of apologies and sat down opposite him. ‘You know how it is – they started talking about a charity coffee morning for repairs to the community hall that we’re arranging and it was hard to get away.’
‘Don’t apologise,’ Kelso said. ‘I’ve been enjoying the cabaret. Who is the truculent young woman with the pierced eyebrow?’
Hattie turned her head to look. ‘Who? Oh, Danni Maitland. Of course. As they say, that one would cause trouble in an empty house. She’s in here most nights, I think, and her favourite hobby is playing the men off against each other. The two she’s with at the moment are permanent workers on the estate – Joe Dundas is a local, but the sharp-looking guy is a sort of factor or accountant, I think. Don’t know his name. The others are all Sean’s young eco-warriors – come for a week or two, looks good on their CV. But since Danni came they have a party every night, which I suppose is good for business. But the locals are starting to get fed up with it so it’s making Kasper and Zofia a bit stressed.’
‘Where did she come from?’
‘Not sure. She inherited the croft Ranald was talking about, the one Sean will be trying for as well, if she decides to sell.’
‘Right. Have to say, it looks as if she’s settled in all right, anyway. How’s your drink?’ He picked up the glasses and went to order. The man Hattie had spoken to before – Angus, was it? – was locked in conversation with Sean Reynolds – a conversation, Kelso was casually interested to note, that had a distinct edge to it.
Angus’s face was flushed; though he wasn’t showing other signs of being the worse for wear, Kelso judged it was only because he was a hardened drinker. He’d probably been at it since early evening and now he was getting belligerent.
