'Ah, it's you!' she said, the instant she saw me. She turned to one of the other old ladies and shouted, 'See, you silly old woman? Told you she was real! A dream, indeed!' Then she looked back to me and put up one finger, as though raising some point of order. 'Thought about it. Made up my mind. Decided to come for a holiday. Bags are packed,' she said, and smiled widely. Mrs Johnson sighed deeply.
'A lion-tamer? Goodness gracious me!' said Great-aunt Zhobelia from the back of Sophi's car as we headed cross-country towards Stirling.
'I'm not really a lion-tamer, Mrs Whit,' Sophi said, slapping me on the thigh with her left hand, then laughing. 'Isis just tells people that because she thinks it sounds good. I'm an assistant animal handler; an estate worker and zoo-keeper, really.'
'What, no lions, then?' Great-aunt Zhobelia asked. She was sitting sideways across the car's back seat, her arm on the back of my seat. Her bags took up the rear footwells as well as the car's boot.
'Oh yes,' Sophi said. 'There are lions. But we don't tame them or anything.'
'You don't tame them!' Zhobelia said. 'My. That sounds worse! You must be very brave.'
'Nonsense,' Sophi snorted.
'Yes, she is, Great-aunt,' I told her. 'And dashing, too.'
'Oh, stop it,' Sophi said, grinning.
'Do you have tigers at this safari park?'
'Yes,' Sophi said. 'Indian tigers: a breeding pair and two cubs.'
'There used to be tigers in Khalmakistan,' Zhobelia told us. 'Not that I was there ever, but we were told. Yes.'
'Aren't there any there any more?' I asked.
'Oh no!' Zhobelia said. 'I think we caught and killed them all long ago and sold their bits to the Chinese. They believe tiger bones and such are magic. Silly people.'
'That's a shame,' I said.
'A shame? I don't think so. It's their own fault. They don't have to be silly. Good merchants, though. Canny. Yes. Give them that. Things are worth what people will pay for them, no more, no less; say what you like. Found that out all right.'
'I meant for the tigers.'
Zhobelia hmphed. 'Generous with your sympathy. They used to eat us, you know. Yes. Eat people.' She reached over and tapped Sophi on the shoulder. 'Hoy. Miss Sophi; these tigers, in this safari park next door to the farm, they aren't going to escape, are they?'
'We've never had an escape,' Sophi said in her most reassuring voice. 'We're not next door to the farm, anyway; a couple of miles away. But no, they aren't going to escape.'
'Ah well,' Zhobelia said, settling back in her seat. 'I suppose I should not worry. I'm as tough as old boots, I am. A tiger is not going to eat a shrivelled-up old lady like me, is it? Not when there's young ones about, tender young things like you and Isis, eh?' she said, thumping me on the shoulder and laughing loudly in my ear. 'Nice and juicy young things like you, eh? Nice and tasty, eh? Eh?'
I turned and looked round at her. She winked and said, 'Eh?' again, and took out a handkerchief from somewhere in her sari, to dab at her eyes.
Sophi looked across at me, grinning and raising her eyebrows. I smiled, content.
We met Morag and Ricky in the foyer of the same Stirling hotel Grandmother Yolanda had stayed at. I had called Morag at her hotel in Perth the night before, after I'd rung Sophi. Morag and Ricky had checked in here for the night.
'Hey, Is,' Morag said, glancing at Ricky, who looked away, embarrassed. 'We've decided if you can get this all sorted out, we would like to get married at the Festival; we'll come back after we've done all the Scottish flumes. Sound cool?'
I laughed and took her hands in mine. 'It sounds wonderful,' I said. 'Congratulations.' I kissed her cheek and Ricky's. He turned red and mumbled. Sophi and Zhobelia offered their congratulations as well; a bottle of champagne was ordered and a toast drunk.
There was still time to kill; the Full Moon Service would not take place until the evening. Ricky went off to check out the flumes at Stirling swimming pool. We four took tea. Great-aunt Zhobelia reminisced, rambling through her memories like a gracious lady through a flourishing but overgrown and unkempt garden. Morag sat poised in jeans and a silk top, twisting a gold chain on her wrist. Sophi chatted. I dissembled, nervous. Zhobelia said nothing to the others of the secrets she had revealed to me at the nursing home, though whether this was because she was being discreet or just absent-minded it was hard to say; either seemed plausible.
Ricky reappeared. We had a late lunch in the restaurant. Great-aunt Zhobelia yawned and Morag offered her the use of her and Ricky's room for a lie-down, which she accepted.
Morag and Ricky went off to the flumes. Sophi and I strolled through the town, doing a bit of window-shopping and just taking the air, walking round the base of the castle and through the strange old cemetery nearby under breezy blue skies and a damp wind. Looking west across the broad flood-plain of the Forth, we could make out the trees surrounding the bend in the river where the Woodbeans' house and the Community lay. I tried not to feel too sick with nervousness.
We thought we'd lost Great-aunt Zhobelia for a few minutes, arriving back at the hotel to find Morag and Ricky on the brink of telephoning the police because Zhobelia was not in their room, and nowhere else to be seen, either. Then she appeared from the hotel kitchens, accompanied by the chef, chatting.
We took more tea. I kept asking Sophi the time. The afternoon wore on. Zhobelia went back up to the room to watch a soap opera, but returned a few minutes later, saying it wasn't the same watching it without the old dears there. And then it was time to go, and we went; Great-aunt Zhobelia and I in Sophi's car, Morag and Ricky in the white convertible Ford Escort.
It took less than ten minutes to arrive at the entrance to the High Easter Offerance estate.
CHAPTER TWENTY - EIGHT
We left the cars at the gates and walked down the shady drive. My stomach felt huge and hollow, resounding to the beat of my thudding heart.
'Want me to come along?' Sophi asked, just before we got to her house.
'Please,' I said.
'Okay, then,' she said, winking at me.
We helped Great-aunt Zhobelia over the bridge across the Forth. She chuckled to see how dilapidated the bridge had become. 'Oh yes. I think we're safe from tigers here!' she laughed.
We walked slowly up the curving track to the buildings. Zhobelia nodded approvingly at the re-pointed orchard wall, but tutted over the state of the grass on the lawn in front of the greenhouses and verbally scolded the two goats concerned, which lay on the grass, chewing the cud and looking at us with insolent unconcern.
The gate had been drawn across the arched gateway that led into the courtyard. This was not uncommon when there was a big Service taking place. It occurred to me we might be better going round the long way anyway, so we opened the door to the greenhouse and walked through.
Zhobelia sniffed a few blooms on the way through and prodded the earth in the flower pots. I got the impression she was looking for faults. I rubbed my sweaty hands on my trousers.
A terrible thought occurred to me. I let the others walk on a little way while I stopped with Zhobelia, who was looking at a complicated arrangement of hydroponic pipe work.
'Great-aunt,' I said quietly.
'Yes, dear?'
'I just thought; did you ever mention that little book and the money and so on… to anybody else?'
She looked puzzled for a moment, then shook her head. 'Oh no; never.' She brought her head closer to mine and lowered her voice. 'Glad I mentioned it to you though, oh yes. Been a burden off my back, I'll tell you. Best forgotten now, if you ask me.'