Damn. Goddamn it to hell!
The other path ran through the woods parallel to Jerry’s, but to the east. It was only about a quarter of a mile away.
Jerry grabbed his rifle and ran across the path and down into the stream. He clambered up the bank on the other side and plunged into the trees.
It was hard work, but in a few minutes he came across a well-made footpath.
There were two pairs of footprints heading downhill.
Damn!
Jerry ran, jumped and skipped down the slippery path. He fell twice. They couldn’t be that far ahead!
He turned a corner and the trees opened out with a view of the road. A black station wagon was pulled over, and a dark-haired woman in a light-blue jacket was helping an old man into the back seat.
Jerry swung the rifle off his shoulder, and aimed.
He was breathing too heavily to keep the sights still.
In the couple of seconds it took to settle the sights, the car was already pulling out into the road.
Jerry had a blind shot at the car’s rear window. He almost pulled the trigger anyway, but decided not to.
He would get another chance.
He would make damn sure that somehow he would give himself another chance.
The car was deliciously warm.
It turned out that the red-haired man was a vet named Matt, who had been up half the night delivering a calf. He lived just outside Dingwall and his wife did bed and breakfast. He offered them breakfast and the use of a bed to recover. Clémence explained that they had been walking from Loch Glass, got lost in the snow and their car was abandoned on the Wyvis Estate on the other side of the mountain.
The vet pulled out a phone and called his wife to have breakfast ready for them when they arrived. After twenty minutes or so, they turned off the main road into Dingwall along a short track to a small farm wedged between the road and a railway line. As they walked into the farmhouse, they could smell bacon, and the vet’s wife Agnes, a small, thin woman with spiky hair and a quick, friendly smile, greeted them with a massive breakfast and hot coffee.
‘Where are you staying?’ she asked.
Clémence thought quickly. ‘Nowhere. We were planning to find a hotel in Dingwall after our walk, but then we got lost. Matt said you had a room here? I wonder if we could stay here tonight?’
‘Aye, of course you can. You’ll have to share a room, mind you. What about your car?’
‘We can get a taxi back to Loch Glass to pick it up later on,’ said Clémence. She wasn’t at all sure whether they would actually do that, but she needed to sound credible.
After breakfast, the vet went off to his practice in town and Agnes showed them a small cosy bedroom, with two single beds and an en suite bathroom.
‘You don’t happen to have a charger I can borrow?’ said Clémence, showing Agnes her phone.
Agnes did, and it fitted. Clémence plugged her phone in. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Agnes said.
‘Are you going to call the police now?’ said the old man, when she had left the bedroom. ‘We are not in danger. Jerry has no way of knowing where we are.’
It was true. Clémence felt safe and warm. Yet she also knew they should ring the police.
‘I will, but not yet. You have a bath. I’ll try and dry my socks. And you might need a nap.’
The old man bathed first, and then it was Clémence’s turn. It felt glorious, and she wallowed for twenty minutes. As she was getting dressed, she heard her mobile phone go off in the bedroom. She pulled up her jeans and rushed to answer it.
She recognized the number.
‘Hi, Callum!’ she said, so happy to speak to him.
‘Clemmie, are you all right?’ He sounded worried.
‘Yes,’ said Clémence, uncertainly.
‘Where are you? I’m with Terry the gamekeeper in his Land Rover looking for you.’
‘Are you?’ said Clémence, confused. ‘What are you doing with him?’
‘I got the train to Dingwall yesterday and cycled up to Loch Glass. I wanted to surprise you, but you were out when I got to Culzie. It was snowing and I waited for you, but you never showed up. I thought perhaps you had gone out somewhere for dinner. Then when you didn’t come back I thought maybe you couldn’t make it back to Wyvis, because of the snow or something. I fell asleep in the lounge. This morning, when you still weren’t here, I went to the Stalker’s Lodge and spoke to Terry, and he said the old man’s car is at his place, so you must have gone out on foot somewhere. We’ve been looking for you. Terry was just about to call the police and Mountain Rescue.’
Clémence thought quickly. She wasn’t sure that she wanted Terry to know what had happened, at least not quite yet.
‘Is Terry there with you now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, tell him Alastair and I are fine. We got stuck up Ben Wyvis last night and came down the other side. We are at a hotel now. We’re OK.’
‘You spent the night on the mountain? Why on earth did you decide to climb it when there was a storm coming?’
‘I know, I know, it was stupid,’ said Clémence. ‘Look, the important thing is that you and Terry know we’re OK. But I’d really like to talk to you properly. So as soon as you are alone, give me a call, right?’
Clémence heard Callum talking to Terry, and Terry’s Highland rumble in the background.
‘Terry says someone tried to break into your car last night. Do you want him to report it to the police?’
‘Oh, no. Tell him not to worry. I’ll do that myself when I get back there.’
‘Are you sure you’re OK, Clemmie?’
‘Quite sure. I’ll tell you all about it when you call me back.’
The old man was sitting on his bed, watching her intently. ‘Is that your boyfriend?’
‘Yes. He spent the night at Culzie; he wanted to surprise me. He’s with Terry now. He’s going to ring me back in a minute.’
‘You didn’t tell him what really happened?’
‘No,’ said Clémence. ‘But I will. When he’s alone.’
‘I see,’ said the old man. ‘You know, you could ask him to bring the handwritten manuscript to us. And the published novel. Then we could compare them.’
Clémence knew what the old man was up to. He was playing for time before she called the police. But she did want to know whether her theory was correct: that there was a difference between the two versions of the story. She really wanted to know. And she felt safe at the farm; there was no way that Jerry could know where they were.
‘I could,’ she said carefully.
The old man smiled.
‘All right,’ Clémence said. ‘But after we’ve done that, then we call the police.’
The old man didn’t answer, but for the first time in a while, he looked happy.
Clémence’s phone rang again.
It was Callum, and he was back in Culzie, alone. Clémence told him what had happened. He was shocked and concerned for Clémence’s safety. But when she asked him to bring the manuscript and the novel he was happy to comply. She told him to watch out for Jerry and to ride past the vet’s farm a couple of times to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He reckoned it might take him two hours to get there. Although it was downhill, there was still snow on the road around the loch and the road from Loch Glass down to Evanton would be tricky.
You could rely on Callum. You could always rely on Callum.
‘What do we do about Aunt Madeleine?’ said Clémence.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, Jerry doesn’t know where we are. But he might know where Aunt Madeleine is staying. Or he might find out. She’s eighty-five. We can’t put her in danger.’