‘That’s just life. You can’t guard against everything.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ He stared broodingly into his glass. I had the feeling he was about to broach the real reason he’d asked me to stay. ‘This assault…do you think Grace’ll be all right? I don’t mean physically. Do you think there’ll be any…I don’t know. Psychological scars?’
I chose my words carefully. ‘I’m not a psychologist. But I’d say she’s handling it pretty well so far. And she strikes me as being pretty resilient.’
He still seemed troubled. ‘I hope you’re right. It’s just that…Well, a few years ago Grace had a breakdown. She’d been pregnant, and she miscarried. There were complications. The doctors told her she couldn’t have any children. It hit her hard.’
‘I’m sorry.’ I thought of the wistfulness I’d seen on his wife’s face when she’d talked about children the other day. And the way she loved working at the school. Poor Grace. And poor Strachan, I thought. I’d envied them their relationship, forgetting that tragedy was no respecter of wealth or glamour. ‘Did you ever consider adopting?’
Strachan gave a quick shake of his head and took another drink of whisky. ‘It wouldn’t be right for us. It’s fine, though, really. She’s OK. But that’s why we left South Africa and did so much travelling. We wanted a fresh start. That’s why we settled here. Runa seemed like a sort of…of sanctuary. Somewhere we could pull up the drawbridge and feel safe. And now this happens.’
‘It’s a small island. Whoever did it won’t get away.’
‘Perhaps not. But Runa won’t feel the same. And I worry what it’ll do to Grace.’
He was slurring his words slightly, fatigue and reaction compounding the effect of the alcohol. He drained his glass and reached for the bottle. ‘Another?’
‘No thanks.’
I was starting to think that I should be going. He needed to be with his wife, not down here getting drunk and maudlin with me. And driving one-handed would be hard enough without two whiskies inside me.
I was saved from having to say anything by the sound of someone hammering on the front door. Strachan frowned and put the bottle of whisky back down.
‘Who the hell’s that? If it’s bloody Bruce Cameron again…’ He stood up, swaying. ‘Now I remember why I don’t drink.’
‘Shall I see who it is?’ I offered.
‘No, I’ll go.’
Still, he didn’t object when I went with him into the hallway. The events of the last few hours had rattled everyone. I hung back as he opened the door, and it was only when I recognised Maggie Cassidy’s red coat and relaxed that I realized how keyed up I was myself.
But Strachan wasn’t pleased to see her. ‘What do you want?’ he asked without inviting her in.
The rain blustered through the open doorway as Maggie stood framed in it. Her elfin face looked tiny inside the hood of her outsized coat. She gave me a glance that was almost furtive, then addressed Strachan.
‘Sorry to disturb you, but I heard about what happened. I just wanted to see how your wife was.’
‘We’ve nothing to say, if that’s why you’re here.’
She shook her head earnestly. ‘No, I…I brought this.’ She held up a cloth-covered basin. ‘It’s chicken soup. My gran’s speciality.’
That obviously wasn’t what Strachan expected. ‘Oh. Well…thank you.’
Maggie gave an embarrassed smile as she held out the soup. It reminded me of the way she’d smiled at Duncan just before she’d tricked him by dropping her shoulder bag, and I suddenly knew what was about to happen. I opened my mouth to warn him, but as Strachan started to take it from her the basin slipped between their hands. Soup and broken crockery went everywhere as it shattered on the floor.
‘Oh, God, I’m sorry…’ Maggie stammered. She avoided looking at me as she fumbled in her pocket for a tissue. Pale splashes of soup dotted the bright red of her coat as well as Strachan’s clothes.
‘Leave it, it doesn’t matter,’ he said, irritably.
‘No, please, let me clean it up…’
Her face had gone almost the same colour as her coat, but I wasn’t sure if that was because of what had happened, or because she was conscious of me watching her. Strachan crossly took hold of her wrists as she began dabbing ineffectively at the front of his shirt.
‘Michael? I heard something breaking.’
Grace was coming downstairs, wrapped in a thick white towelling bathrobe. Her hair was piled loosely on top of her head, the ends of it still damp.
Deliberately pushing Maggie’s hands away, Strachan stepped back from her. ‘It’s all right, darling.’ He gestured ironically at the mess. ‘Miss Cassidy here just brought you some soup.’
Grace gave a wry smile. ‘So I see. Well, don’t keep her standing outside.’
‘Actually, she was just leaving.’
‘Don’t be silly, not when she’s come all this way.’
Reluctantly, Strachan moved aside to let Maggie in. As he closed the door behind her, she finally acknowledged me.
‘Hello, Dr Hunter,’ she said, with a look of studied innocence, before quickly turning back to Grace. ‘I’m really sorry, Mrs Strachan. I didn’t mean to bother you.’
‘It’s no bother. Come on through into the kitchen while I get a cloth for the mess. Michael, darling, why don’t you see to Maggie’s coat? There’s a sponge you can use in the utility room.’
‘At least let me clean the floor…’ Maggie protested. She was convincing, I’d give her that.
‘Nonsense, Michael can see to that as well. He won’t mind, will you, Michael?’
‘No,’ Strachan said stonily.
Maggie shrugged out of her coat and gave it to him. Without its bulk she looked even tinier than before, yet she still seemed to fill the room with an energy that belied her size.
She didn’t look at me as we went into the kitchen. Grace started to fill the kettle.
‘I feel really bad about this,’ Maggie said to her. ‘Especially at a time like this. Being attacked like that…it must have been awful for you.’
It was time I intervened. ‘Grace, you really should be taking it easy. Maggie and I will be fine by ourselves for a few minutes. Won’t we, Maggie?’
Maggie gave me a look of daggers. ‘Well…’
‘Actually, I do feel a little washed out,’ Grace said. And it was true she was looking pale. She gave a wan smile. ‘If you’re sure you don’t mind keeping Maggie company, David, I’ll see how Michael’s doing, and then I think I’ll go to bed.’
I told her I didn’t mind at all. Maggie watched her go, then her shoulders slumped. She turned to me, angrily.
‘Happy now? I was only being sociable.’
Instead of answering I went to the sink and pulled a sheet of kitchen paper from a roll. ‘You’ve got soup on your jeans,’ I said, handing it to her. I watched as she angrily started to wipe it off. ‘Your gran’s name isn’t Campbell, by any chance?’
‘Campbell? No, she’s a Cassidy, same as…’
Her face fell as she realized.
‘I practically lived on the stuff when I was a student,’ I told her. ‘Cream of chicken was my favourite. It’s the sort of smell you never forget.’
‘All right, so my gran didn’t make it. So what? It’s the thought that counts.’
Her defiance was wafer-thin, but before either of us could say anything else we heard Grace scream. I ran out into the hallway to find her staring towards the open front door, anxiously hugging herself.
A few seconds later Strachan came back inside.
‘It’s all right, David. False alarm,’ he said, closing the door.
Grace wiped her eyes and gave a tremulous smile. ‘Sorry. I’m jumping at my own shadow.’
‘Can I do anything?’ I asked.
Strachan had gone to put his arms round his wife. ‘No. I’ll be with you in a minute.’
‘Actually, we were just leaving,’ I said. ‘Maggie’s offered to drive me back to the hotel. Haven’t you, Maggie?’