Part 20 (2/2)

'Well?' Edith asked. 'Wasn't it a little like that? Kenny could never understand why Lawrence left like that, so suddenly. He still misses him. When the phone rings he thinks it could be his brother. He doesn't say anything, but I can tell what he's thinking.'

Taylor had a picture of Kenny Thomson standing in the mortuary, his relief when he discovered the body looked nothing like his brother.

'No,' Bella said. 'It wasn't like that at all.'

'So tell us,' Taylor said. 'What was it like?'

'I loved Lawrence. If he'd asked me to marry him, I'd have accepted. I had my wedding dress designed in my head, and the hymns for the service chosen. But he never asked me. We were great friends, but he wasn't the marrying kind. He wanted to see more of the world than Shetland and I wasn't going to leave. The islands were my inspiration, and besides, I had Roddy to think about. If Lawrence was crazy about me, as everyone says, why didn't he want to settle with me and make a family with me?'

She looked at them with a haunted desperation, which was only partly to do with the drink. Taylor thought how much energy she must have put in over the years, putting on a brave face. It suited her for people to think she'd been the one to reject Lawrence Thomson. At least that way she'd managed to maintain her pride.

'He never contacted you either?' Edith asked.

Bella shook her head. She'd started to cry. 'Kenny's not the only one who has a flicker of hope every time the phone rings.'

She wiped her eyes. Taylor found himself thinking that part of her was enjoying the drama. He wished he knew how much of it was real.

'Tell me about your relations.h.i.+p with Mr Wilding,' he said.

'I don't have a relations.h.i.+p with him.'

'He's your tenant?'

'Yes.'

'But that's w.i.l.l.y's house,' Edith said.

'It's w.i.l.l.y's house but I gave him the money when the council gave him the right to buy. He gave me the house when he moved into the sheltered housing. All legal and above board. I wanted to give him a bit of security. I didn't need his rent. I told him he was looking after my investment for me.'

'I didn't know.'

'There are lots of things about me folk don't know.' Bella dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. 'I gave him the money. He got into a state when the council gave him the right to buy, thought they might throw him out. He said he wanted to stay there until he died. Such a shame he couldn't manage on his own in the end. It was Roddy's idea to give him the money to buy the house. He loved w.i.l.l.y. The nearest he ever had to a grandfather, I suppose. You know how good he was with the children.'

'Yes,' Edith said. 'He was the same with Kenny and Lawrence and then with our two. Perhaps it was because he'd never quite grown up.'

'Why did you suggest Mr Wilding live there?'

'w.i.l.l.y had moved out and I didn't know what to do with it. I didn't want to sell. Not while w.i.l.l.y was alive. I always told him it would be there for him to move back when he felt more himself. And I suppose I hoped Roddy would want to settle in Shetland one day. It would be a good home for him to start with. Then I had the email from Peter Wilding asking if I knew anywhere he could rent for a short while. He'd not been well and he needed somewhere quiet to stay. I thought why not?' She paused. 'Besides, he was a fan. As you get older, it's good occasionally for the ego to have an admirer close at hand.'

'How did Roddy get on with him?'

'I don't think Roddy liked him particularly. Sometimes he took against people for no reason. Roddy said it always made him feel sad to think of that house without w.i.l.l.y in it, but that was hardly Peter's fault. Roddy loved the old man and visited there whenever he came home from tour. Take a bottle of whisky and stay up half the night talking about old times. He said he'd heard w.i.l.l.y's stories hundreds of times but he never tired of them. He still kept in contact even after w.i.l.l.y moved into the sheltered housing. That's a part of his life the press never picked up on.'

Suddenly she got to her feet, more sober than she'd seemed throughout the rest of the encounter. She carried the whisky bottle to a sideboard and put it away. 'I'm going to make coffee,' she said. 'Would anyone like one? Edith, you don't need to stay, you know. I'm quite used to being on my own.'

Chapter Thirty-two.

The appointment Perez couldn't miss was the final performance on The Motley Crew. He'd invited Fran and Ca.s.sie before Roddy's body had been discovered. Fran would understand if he cried off but he'd decided, suddenly, sitting listening to Dawn, that he should be there. If he pulled out this time it would set a precedent for other occasions, other times when there were pressing things to do at work. He wanted to be part of a family again.

He collected them from Ravenswick. Ca.s.sie was wearing a new pink cardigan and Fran had put on make-up and the earrings he'd given her for her birthday. I should have made more of an effort, he thought. It seemed as if he'd been wearing the same clothes for days. The show took place in the saloon below deck, so the audience were crammed into seats very close together. As Lucy Wells had said, it was packed. Mostly families, mostly visitors. It still smelled of a boat, wood with a hint of tar. And they could feel the movement of the water under them.

The show was an environmental piece aimed mostly at the children. There were songs about the rainforest and melting ice floes, but enough of a pacy story to keep Ca.s.sie enthralled. Lucy played a green fairy, dressed mostly in emerald Lycra with a couple of wispy wings. Perez found his eyes drawn towards her, became lost for a moment in a s.e.xy fantasy, thought of the possibilities that would be closed to him if he was committed to Fran.

After the show the actors jumped down from the low stage and mixed with the audience, following up some of the issues raised in the piece. Lucy came up to Perez.

'You made it,' she said. 'I didn't think you would.' She seemed extraordinarily pleased to see him. Perhaps that's what actors do, he thought, disconcerted. They exaggerate without meaning to. She was playing with some green gla.s.s beads she wore round her neck and he saw that her hands were plump and soft.

'Did you enjoy it?'

'Very much.' He paused and saw that a compliment was in order. 'You were very good.'

'It's not a role that requires much characterization,' she said, smiling. 'Fun, though.'

He was flattered by her attention. There were all these people to speak with and she'd chosen him. Beyond her, he could see Ca.s.sie and Fran chatting to friends.

'When do you leave?' he asked.

'Tomorrow afternoon.' Something in her reply made him think that if he suggested they might spend the evening together she would agree. That she'd be delighted. He was horrified that the thought had even crossed his mind.

'Good luck,' he said to Lucy. 'I hope everything goes well for you. When you're famous, I'll be able to tell folk I met you.'

He moved away from her and put his arm around Fran's shoulder, asked her in a whisper if she was ready to leave. Later, he wondered if it was a good thing he'd done, walking away from a lonely young woman who wanted his company, or if he was just a coward.

That night he stayed at Fran's place again. While she prepared supper he sat on Ca.s.sie's bed and read her a story. She was asleep by the time it was finished and he stayed for a moment, thinking how it must be for her, having a new man in her mother's life. And how it would work for him, sharing her with Duncan Hunter, her father, a man he didn't much care for, though once they had been best friends.

Back in the kitchen Fran was draining rice. Her face was flushed. She'd taken off her jacket and was wearing a sleeveless white T-s.h.i.+rt. He could see the lacy pattern of her bra in relief through the fabric. Distracted, he returned to the subject of her ex-husband.

'What will Duncan make of us seeing so much of each other?'

She tipped the rice into a brown earthenware bowl.

'I like everything I've seen of you. If you're talking literally . . .'

'I'm being serious.'

'You're way too serious. It's my mission to get you to lighten up. Anyway, who cares what Duncan thinks? It's none of his business.'

'Ca.s.sie's his business.'

'I'd never stop him seeing Ca.s.sie and neither would you.'

He could tell she thought he was making difficulties where none existed. In London she'd been surrounded by unconventional families. She'd told him about close lesbian friends who'd fostered a son; many of her colleagues were divorced and remarried, and for them weekends had been a time of shared parenting, the entertainment of visiting stepchildren. He was used to more traditional ways, but didn't want to question her judgement. He didn't want her to think him narrow-minded.

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