Great in theory, and almost in practice. By the time they arrived, a very acceptable five minutes past the appointed hour, I had put together a Catalan salad (dead easy; cold meats and various sausages), made a chicken curry, which was simmering quietly, with the rice under way in my Japanese steamer, and I’d chopped a couple of pineapples into cubes, mixed up with raspberries and blueberries. I’d also had a burst of femininity, which involved showering, a full hair and make-up job and a very sexy low-cut red dress that I hadn’t worn for a while, and which I’d decided needed an airing. I knew that La Gash would come in all her finery, and for once I was prepared to rival her.
All that was lacking, to make my preparations complete, were my son and my nephew. Jonny had arrived just before six, as I was cooking, and had headed out at once, in swim gear. I’d assumed, rashly as it transpired, that they’d come back while I was in my bedroom, but when I called them, all was silence. ‘Buggers,’ I muttered. I sorted my guests out drinks, then headed out to fetch them.
I could have gone out through the garage, but that would have involved three flights of stairs, so I left by the front door, and walked round in front of the church. The evening was warm and there were a few diners in the cafes, but the Friday rush hadn’t really begun, so I passed no one as I headed for the slope that leads down to the beach.
I saw the boys as soon as I reached the start of the descent. The church bells had just rung three times to signal the three-quarter hour. I suspected that Tom had interpreted it correctly as a signal that they were in the shit, for they were starting to head homewards; he was carrying his sail and Jonny had the board slung on his shoulder. I stopped, and was waving to them to get a move on, when I heard a noise, on my right.
There’s a little open area there in front of an old stone garage. It doesn’t belong to anyone that I know of, and it offers an excellent view of the beach. Someone was in there leaning back into the corner by the garage, in the way that people do when they’re foolish enough to think they can make themselves invisible. This one couldn’t; her red jeans and yellow shirt were way too loud for that. I turned off the path and walked towards her, out of sight of the square, out of sight of anyone close by, and as I did she tried to stuff the object she had been holding into her enormous bag: it was a camera, with a long telephoto lens.
‘How the hell did you get here?’ I snapped.
‘It’s not a crime,’ she retorted.
‘How did you find out where I live?’ I demanded.
‘I’m a reporter,’ she sneered, defiantly. ‘I have skills.’
I took a guess at what they were. ‘You followed me, you cow, didn’t you? You watched me in the car park and you followed me up the road.’ A further possibility occurred. ‘Did you knife my tyre?’ Her face flushed, her eyes shifted and I knew I was on the mark. ‘And now,’ I continued, ‘you’re here and. .’ The camera; her vantage point; the beach. ‘You’ve been photographing my son!’
‘And what if I have?’ she challenged. ‘He’s Oz Blackstone’s son too; there’s money in these pictures, and you won’t be buying them.’
‘That’s true,’ I said, quietly.
I’d never punched a woman before. In fact I’d never punched anyone, apart from Oz a couple of times, when I was really angry with him. Until then nearly all my punching had been done in the gym and had been aimed at bags. I’d picked up the skill, though. I hit Christine McGuigan with a right-hander that her namesake Barry would have been proud to call his own. It caught her on the temple and knocked her on her red-trousered backside. I snatched up her bag, and pulled out the camera. It was a Nikon, like mine, and so I was able to find and extract the memory card in a couple of seconds. (As an added bonus, and proof of my theory if I’d needed it, I also found my missing aerial in there.)
‘I’ll call the. .’ she began, as she scrambled to her feet, but I didn’t let her finish.
‘No, honey, you won’t,’ I hissed. I went back in time. A version of Primavera that I’d thought I’d left way behind me showed all her claws. ‘This is what you’ll do. You’ll get back into whatever brought you here and you’ll fuck off. You’ll put as many miles as you can between yourself and my boy.’ I glared at her and saw her fear as clearly as I could see the lump rising on her head and the mark left by my heavy dress ring. ‘If I ever find you anywhere near him again, I’ll kill you. I’m not being figurative here, you understand; if I see you as a threat to his happy existence. .’
‘Auntie Primavera.’ My nephew’s calm voice came from behind me. ‘Is everything all right?’
I looked over my shoulder; he was alone. ‘It is now,’ I told him. I nodded towards McGuigan. ‘Jonny, if you ever see this woman again, anywhere near any of us, I want you to tell me. She thought she could make a couple of quid by selling pictures of Tom to the press. I’ve just been telling her that she can’t.’
He took a few steps forward and stood beside me. He was still wet from the sea, and his muscles were hard and glistening in the last of the evening sun. He stared at the woman, unblinking. ‘I’m sure she gets the message, Auntie,’ he murmured. Then he took me by the elbow. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘You have guests waiting, don’t you?’
I allowed myself to be led away, concentrating on calming myself down and becoming the nice Primavera once again, not the other woman. I’d frightened McGuigan, sure, but I’d frightened myself as well.
‘Where’s Tom?’ I asked him, as we reached the house, although I could guess the answer.
‘He’s gone in through the garage to stow his board and sail,’ he replied, pausing at the gate.
‘He sent me up here to take the flak.’ He laughed. ‘He’s a really good surfer, Auntie P.’
‘So they tell me. You didn’t try it, did you?’
He shook his head. ‘No. Too big a risk. He’d have embarrassed me anyway. He’s in a different league from me. Are they all beach boys around here?’
‘Pretty much.’
He smiled. His back was to the sun as it went down behind the roof of the building behind him, and I had to shade my eyes to look at him. What I saw was a depth I hadn’t appreciated before; I knew that there was more to Jonathan Sinclair than he allowed to show. At some time or another he’d been places that had left a mark on him, made him older than his years, and possibly a little wiser too.
‘This is a great thing you’re doing for him, you know,’ he murmured.
‘What thing?’ I asked.
‘Choosing to bring Tom up here, in this place. You’re well off; you could live anywhere you wanted in the world, in any city: London, Edinburgh, Paris, New York. .’
‘I’m not sure the Americans would let me into the last of those, given my previous.’
‘Don’t kid me; you could fix it. I mean it, the world’s your. .’
‘Mussel?’ I suggested. ‘There aren’t any oysters around here.’
‘Any shellfish you like,’ he chuckled. ‘But this is the one you’ve chosen, and it’s fantastic for Tom. I thought I was lucky being brought up in St Andrews, but this, this is way beyond that. But. . what’s it doing for you?’
‘Everything. It’s my home; it’s where I belong.’
‘Because of Tom, yes; but one day soon, before you know it, it’ll be time for him to go. . and you’ll want him to. I had that discussion with my mum and grandpa, four years ago. I’d have gone to Stirling University, happily, but the Arizona offer was there and they insisted that I take up the place. It’ll be much the same with him, and then you won’t be able to ignore the truth.’