But the tone trilled on, until she came fully to her senses and realised that she was alone. She glanced at the time; it was eight-fifteen. Since Trish was not answering, she guessed that she was either in the shower, or busy changing Seonaid. Grumbling silently, she threw herself across the bed and grabbed the handset.
"Hi there," came a silvery morning voice. "Don't tell me your household was still asleep. With three kids, how do you do that?"
Sarah often thought that when Babs Walker was called to the Master her husband served, it would be because of a terminal case of cheerfulness.
"Easy," she answered, stifling a half yawn. "I don't waken the poor little things at seven o'clock on a Sunday morning. It might be a working day for you, but it's rest time for most of us."
"The Devil finds work, Sarah," Babs chirped. "Got to keep those hands busy. Speaking of which, where were you when I called you yesterday?
Your nanny was rather vague on the subject. Wherever it was, you were behaving yourself, I hope."
"You hope no such thing, and you damn well know it."
"Hey, come on, of course I do; I'm a minister's wife, after all. It just so happens that Alice Bierhoff saw you and a certain large and rugged pro foot baller getting out of a car in his mom's driveway yesterday afternoon, and standing, shall we say, rather close together. I just hope we didn't break any commandments, that all."
She felt her lips purse. Babs, in spite of herself, was her closest girlfriend, and they had been sharing most of their secrets since they were twelve. But not this one, Sarah thought, or it might go straight to Bob at the first opportunity.
"Alice Bierhoff is cross-eyed and can't see much further than the hood of her Cadillac," she retorted. "It was probably Ron's mother that she saw."
"Alice wears contacts now. And what was Ron's mother doing putting on her bra in Ron's bedroom, with the shades up, when she drove past again a couple of hours later?"
If her friend had been with her, she would have seen Sarah's face redden. "Barbara," she said, 'it's too late to tell you to mind your
Goddamned business, but please, just for once, will you go against your nature and keep your mouth shut about this. And tell dear Alice that if she doesn't want to have an emergency appendectomy, without anaesthetic, she'd better do the same."
Babs laughed. "I can deliver on the first of those, and I will, but I'm not so sure about the second."
"Make yourself sure. Now what can I do for you? Surely you didn't call me at this hour just to quiz me about my sex life? For all you know you might have been interrupting it."
Her friend chuckled. "That would have been fun, but no, I didn't. I was wondering whether we'll be seeing you in church today?"
"Why, are the Lutherans starting a confessional?"
A peal of laughter rang down the line. "Maybe we should, maybe we should. No, I was wondering whether you and the children might like to join us for lunch afterwards. It would give your girl Irish some time off."
"She's having today off anyway; I was planning to take the kids to the lake this afternoon."
"Were you now? Does Ron still have his boat there?"
"I have no idea. He wasn't included on the trip."
"Well, whatever; what do you say?"
"Have you invited anyone else?" Sarah asked.
"I could do, if you'd like."
"I wouldn't like, and with that understood, yes thanks, we'll be there. We'll be at Ian's service too; Seonaid's old enough to behave herself now, and James Andrew needs a little discipline in his life. Besides, I might see Alice Bierhoff. If I do, don't be surprised if I punch her contacts right out of her head."
Twenty-One
"I'd have come to you, you know," Christina McGuire assured her daughter-in-law, as she opened the door of the Northumberland Street flat which she was soon to leave behind her, along with the rest of her Edinburgh life.
"Not at all," said Maggie, 'you've got enough on your plate, packing up for the move to Italy. No second thoughts about giving up the recruitment business?"
Christina laughed. She was a tall, imposing woman; she looked to be in her early fifties, although she was in truth a few years older. "My son wouldn't allow it, even if I did show any signs of changing my mind. I shocked him at first when I told him what I was planning, but now he's really taken to the idea of me living in Tuscany.
"He came to see me earlier on," she said, leading the way into a big rectangular drawing room. "He just happened to drop in around lunch-time, with Rufus, and with a damn great pizza. I don't know why he's so keen on the things. They were never on my table when he was a child."
She frowned for a second. "He told me what's happened about the wee boy. I'm really sorry, Maggie."
"Thanks, but it's for the best. He'll be very well looked after, and he'll be among other children too. I'm reconciled to it; in fact, Mario's taking it worse than I am."
"Is it for the best, though? What about you two? Will you be all right?"
"We'll be fine. When you leave everything else aside, Mario and I are the best of friends. There's no one I'd rather live with, and I know he feels the same way." She was not sure that her mother-in-law understood completely what she meant; if she did, Christina gave no sign.
"That's good," she murmured. "As you know I've never been an interferer, but I'll leave happier for hearing you say that."
Suddenly her expression became businesslike. "Now," she exclaimed.
"What, or who, do you have for me?"
Maggie sat down on a big soft couch in the middle of the room, took a file from her document case, which she dropped on the floor at her feet. Her mother-in-law sat beside her as she opened the brown folder.
"Not too much," she said. "There are only five faces on the video we're stuck with. I've had them transferred to photo-files and printed out."
Christina reached out and drew a heavy coffee table across the carpet towards them. "Spread them out there and I'll have a look."
Maggie did as she was told. The faces of three women and two men looked up from the table. One was smiling, but the others looked as if they had been taken off guard… as indeed they had, for none had been aware that they were being filmed. One of the men looked particularly fierce. Christina picked up the A4 likeness, peered at it, and then laughed. "That is undoubtedly the worst photograph I have ever seen," she said, 'but maybe he looks like that on the Bench. That's Henry Corrigan QC; Lord Corrigan, the Court of Session judge."
"Is it?" Maggie exclaimed, taking the sheet and peering at it. "God, you're right. I've given evidence in his court, too, but I'd never have known him from that. Mind you," she added, 'he was in his robes in the mug-shot the Scotsman gave us. I've never seen him without his wig. He's an ugly bugger, isn't he?"
"In every way. Not a nice man." Christina picked up another photograph, one of the three women. "This is his unfortunate wife, Madeline, or Maidie, Lady Corrigan."
She laid it aside and picked up the other man's likeness. "Now this is …" She stopped, thinking. "James Woodstein," she exclaimed with satisfaction. "He's a marketing consultant, with a smallish client list. As I remember it includes David Candela's firm. We did a headhunting job for him once. We found him two excellent candidates, but he turned them both down, saying they were too expensive, and then he refused to pay us. Twerp."
She picked up the photo on the left of the five. "Sadie Grierson," she announced. "She's a relatively rare bird, a female corporate accountant. She was with one of the big players in London, until she was moved to Edinburgh to head up their Scottish office. She's so new in town that she's obviously not in the Scotsman photo library yet, but she's a client of my firm. I met her at a reception they had to announce her appointment."