Seven Eight Play It Straight (Grasshopper Lawns Book 4) Read online

  ‘That was fun, although I hated leaving you behind when I had to come back. Today has been the worst, having to keep a polite distance.’ He nuzzled her hair but she pushed him away, smiling but determined.

  ‘Brian, I simply am not going to neck in the back seat of a taxi with you, give it a break. It’s way too hot for that sort of stuff. Change the subject.’

  ‘Bossy bitch.’ He withdrew his arm without rancour, but captured the hand she’d put against his chest. ‘You can tell me about your stepchildren. You never even told me you had stepchildren,’ he added slightly reproachfully.

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t, not really. I had no part in raising them. Their mother took up with someone else, and James had always wanted to live in Africa, so he packed up and went. I met him a year or two later when I went out for Vivian’s daughter’s christening. He was also a godparent, Gordon and he were friends through Rotary. That was it, we just clicked, but I never thought of myself as a stepmother to his kids.’

  They reached George Street, appropriately Georgian in architecture, and he paid for the taxi while Edge, her offered five pounds rebuffed, went in search of some tables together. During the Festival the street was closed to traffic and every restaurant and pub had tables in the open. She picked a spot still bathed in mellow sunshine, so that Brian could have a cigar, but with an awning putting a couple of chairs in the shade. She ordered drinks from a harried-looking waiter, who returned in minutes and Edge gratefully over-tipped, sinking half her shandy in one thirsty swallow.

  Brian, usually restfully silent, seemed fascinated by her stepchildren.

  ‘So they never lived with you?’ he asked as she lifted her glass again and she lowered it to answer.

  ‘Their mother died when JJ—James Junior—was sixteen and Fiona nearly nineteen, so we returned to Scotland. Fiona was already off at Uni studying drama, and JJ was at school and only home for holidays, so it wasn’t as though they were around full time. They basically ignored me, which was fine with me. We kept it very polite, James insisted on that.’

  ‘It didn’t sound very polite. I thought Fiona was quite malicious.’

  ‘Oh, that was after.’ She met his eyes ruefully. ‘I had no idea that she was keen on Alistair. In his defence, he didn’t know either. They’d had one or two dates which she took a lot more seriously than he did. When she found out he had married her father’s wife. . . Well, put it this way, Sylvia was pretty gracious by comparison.’

  ‘Ouch.’ Brian was silent for a moment. She knew he had an unreasonable dislike of her second husband, possibly suspecting how much she had loved him and how deeply she had grieved after his death. ‘So is this the first time you’ve seen her since?’

  ‘Oh no, I see her and JJ every year, but we manage not to speak. Dear James, trying to keep his loved ones together, he set up a tontine with an annual dinner. It’s very soon actually, first week of September, the anniversary of his death. When I married Alistair, Fiona and JJ tried to get me excluded. Every reputable solicitor they went to told them it was unbreakable but they found a shyster who caused a huge amount of trouble and expense. The relationship was pretty poisoned after that, and we avoid each other at the dinners.’

  ‘Quite the age difference between your husbands. I hadn’t realized James was so much older than you, although I knew Alistair was younger. Am I—no, I can see you’re not comfortable talking about this. Forget it.’

  ‘Forgotten.’ She smiled at him gratefully over the rim of her glass. ‘You’ve never heard William speak before, you’re in for a treat. He’s really good. I find his books hard going but he’s a wonderful speaker. The talk is completely sold out.’

  ‘I have heard him, the day that girl was hanged at the Lawns. And yes, he’s not bad, I’m looking forward to it. Edge, do you mind? That I outed us, I mean.’ He tapped his cigar with great care on the ashtray, with a quick questioning glance from under his brows.

  She shrugged and looked away down the street. ‘What’s done is done, and I understand why you did. Sylvia can be really tiresome. I’m a little sorry that we move into the gossip spotlight but it isn’t as if anyone else will really care, after all.’

  ‘Well, I care. I’m glad we’re now publicly a couple. It wasn’t only Sylvia; it was being introduced to a relative of yours, and just being one of a crowd.’

  ‘And then Sylvia told you that you were anyway.’ Edge shook her head. ‘She’s a poisonous bitch.’

  ‘About that.’ He shifted uncomfortably and she gave him a slightly exasperated look.

  ‘Brian, are you serious?’

  ‘No, no, of course not. She was lashing out. God’s sake.’ His eyes crinkled, ‘I’ve been watching you long enough!’

  ‘My secret stalker,’ she agreed with a smile. He put down his cigar and leaned over to cup her face in his hands.

  ‘Not so secret any more,’ he said huskily and kissed her. Edge, who had a horror of public display, tried to draw back, convinced they were attracting attention. They were—when he finally freed her mouth and took away his hands, Donald, Vivian and Olga were standing watching with matching thunderstruck expressions.

  ‘Well, after that,’ Donald, the first to recover, said deadpan, ‘you and I, Brian, need to get some drinks. I think there’s about to be some girl talk.’

  Brian reddened, laughed and got to his feet. ‘You don’t look surprised.’

  ‘Me, no. Not so much. You’re a persistent man.’

  ‘Edge!’ Vivian sat abruptly in Brian’s vacated seat. ‘What on earth?’

  ‘Are ve to congratulate you?’ Olga took the chair on her other side, looking amused. ‘I vasn’t sure before but I think Donald is right, this is not just today, da?’

  ‘Not just today.’ Edge fanned her hot cheeks with her hand. ‘Your timing was horrendous.’

  ‘For goodness sake, why didn’t you say anything? Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?’ Vivian was definitely slightly offended, and Edge reached over to squeeze her hand.

  ‘Don’t be cross. I didn’t know how to tell you, because, to be honest, I didn’t know what there was to tell, or how we got here. It was all a bit unexpected, and then once we had started—and that was a bottle of wine that should never have been opened!—I kept thinking it would fizzle out naturally and then I wouldn’t want to have said anything. Except that it hasn’t, and today he outed us to Sylvia and Matilda, and now in front of you—it’s too bad!’

  ‘Oh, sweetie. But is it really so bad? He’s a very nice man. William still doesn’t like him much, but he’s coming round.’

  ‘He is a nice man, that’s what makes it difficult.’ Edge cast a slightly hunted glance at the doorway for any sign of the men returning, and dropped her voice. ‘He’s also very like James; you have to have noticed he sounds like him, and smokes the same cigars. Not only that, he’s the same age James was when he died, which in a tiny way gives me the creeps. There are times when it’s like being in a time warp. I’m young Edge, enjoying being looked after and cosseted and told what to do, and also old—well, not-so-young—Edge, who doesn’t need looking after and quite enjoys being independent.’

  ‘Oh, my.’ Vivian sat back and tried not to laugh. ‘You’re going to have to work it out quite quickly, poppet. And if it’s any consolation, I don’t think he’s so like James. It’s mainly the yummy voice, and of course that same lovely expensive cigar smell.’

  ‘The things that matter most in the dark,’ Olga said mischievously, and gave a very Russian giggle at Edge’s rueful nod. ‘That holiday you vent on, did he go too? He vas gone around the same time.’

  ‘He joined me in Florida for about ten days, yes. I thought we’d fizzle out while I was away, but he appeared out of the blue, said he couldn’t stand the silence without me. Got on well with Anne and Trevor, too, but to be honest it was a bit of a relief when he left again, and that can’t be a good sign, can it?’

  ‘That is entirely natural.’ Olga dismissed her comment with a graceful wave
of her hand. ‘But you have to tell me, vot did Sylvia do? How did she react? I vish he had done it before ve left!’

  The two men reappeared with trays of drinks and Donald’s lean face took on a sardonic expression as he glanced down the street. ‘There’s William with Miss P. Quick, Brian, how are you planning to break it to them—another passionate kiss, or will you just put your hand down Edge’s blouse?’

  Both Brian and Edge coloured, which was quite enough for William’s sharp eyes. He pulled across a large wooden chair sturdy enough to support his impressive bulk, and sat next to Vivian. Olga gave her chair up to Miss P who sank tiredly down next to Edge, oblivious.

  ‘Ay am absolutely exhausted. Has Gerald arrived yet, do Ay have time for a drink?’

  Enter Gerald Fraser

  As though she had summoned him, a taxi drew up at the corner and disgorged Gerald Fraser. He was a newcomer to Grasshopper Lawns, in his mid-seventies, tall and thin and stooped, and an old friend and admirer of Miss P’s. His face was lugubrious, with heavily-scored cheeks, and eyes that were deep-set and hypnotic–when he smiled, the effect was almost clownish. He was a writer of children’s stories, with most of his books re-released and doing well in the post-Harry Potter interest in magic and witchcraft, who shared a Wiccan past with Miss P; but where it was hard to believe she was an erstwhile witch, Edge for one had no difficulty accepting him as one, and thought he might have been quite alarming in his day. He limped slightly arthritically towards them, bared his teeth in his odd upside-down smile at them all, and borrowed a chair from another table to sit next to Miss P.

  ‘Pinks! You look shattered. Did that William walk your legs to stumps?’

  That William, who had just guffawed at something Vivian had told him, swivelled his big head. ‘Nonsense, an easy drift through fine art. She merely needs a drink to restore her lovely bloom. So do I, for that matter. Is there waiter service?’

  ‘During the Festival? Talk about legs being worn to stumps,’ Donald commented wryly, and put a beer in front of him. ‘I bought for you. And lime with soda for Miss P. Gerald, I got you orange juice, I wasn’t sure?’

  ‘Quite right, we never touch alcohol, do we, Pinks?’ He patted her hand, missing the slight flicker of regret in her eyes, and Edge, who knew her neighbour to be a woman never at a loss when faced with a drink in the days before his arrival, smothered a smile.

  ‘Pinks?’ she said instead, and Miss P went appropriately pink.

  ‘It was my name at school. Ay wouldn’t answer to Pinky and Ay absolutely loathe the name Titania. Queen of the fairies, honestly Edge, look at me. My parents must have been tipsy.’

  ‘I completely sympathise, my real name’s Beulah. The only other Beulah I ever met was my gruesome aunt. Edge was my school name, too, and it stuck. So which do you prefer, Pinks or Miss P?’

  ‘Ay’m so used to Miss P, in my head it runs together, like sweetpea. Ay don’t mind either name.’ She took a sip of her drink, gasped and looked up at Donald, who returned her look blandly. ‘Talk about tipsy.’ She lowered her voice so only Edge could hear, and gave a breathy giggle. ‘That naughty Donald, there’s vodka in this.’

  ‘He obviously thought you needed it.’ Edge smiled at her neighbour, who was reviving magically with every sip. ‘What’s with Gerald and the drinking thing?’

  ‘He’s not an alcoholic or anything, but he’s a bit intense, and he realized a while back that alcohol makes him even more so. Better for us all if he stays off the hard stuff.’

  Edge blinked and eyed Gerald with respectful alarm. He’d established himself from his arrival as a man of strong views and a willingness to lecture on them at monotonous length, and the thought that he could be worse when alcohol-fuelled was a sobering one. She restored herself with a sip of her own drink and made a determined effort not to look in William’s direction, well aware from the corner of her eye that he was grinning knowingly at her. Vivian had obviously brought him up to date, as she saw the grin broaden as Brian, too polite to ask Vivian to move from his chair next to Edge, sat glumly opposite. Olga was still standing, and Vivian smiled up at her.

  ‘Are you all packed and ready? What time’s your flight?’

  ‘At any time.’ Olga perched gracefully on the arm of Vivian’s chair. ‘It is a private jet, just for us. But ve will probably leave about ten o’clock tonight, then ve can sleep most of the vay.’

  ‘You’re going away?’ Brian looked surprised. ‘Anywhere nice?’

  ‘Very nice. I go every year, to Seychelles, for three veeks, I am very much looking forward to it.’

  ‘Oh, right, I’ve been—lovely place. Where do you stay?’

  Olga’s beautiful face was bland. ‘My friend has an island there with a villa, totally private. And a yacht. Ve spend some time at the villa, go sailing if ve get bored. I must get a taxi, I suppose, get myself back to the Lawns to get ready.’

  ‘Kirsty and Drew will be here any minute,’ Edge twisted her wrist to look at her watch. ‘You can grab their taxi, saves you phoning for one.’

  Olga nodded, and turned her head to respond to something Donald was saying to her. Gerald started a lecture about the history of the Festival and Edge eyed him indignantly, then tuned him out after a sentence or two to murmur to Vivian, ‘What does Buster think of Gerald?’

  Vivian smothered a chuckle. ‘Pretty much the same as me. He watches him carefully, and gets up to leave when Gerald gets that relentless note in his voice.’

  ‘He’s a very wise dog. By the way, you might warn your William I will smack him if he smirks at me much longer.’

  That made Vivian laugh out loud, and Gerald glanced at her reprovingly and addressed his next few comments to her. Edge covered a yawn and turned her face up to the sun as it dropped below the awning. To hell with freckles, and this late in the afternoon the sun had lost most of its bite anyway. Where were Kirsty and Drew? Maybe their arrival would finally deflect Gerald . . . They arrived at that point and in the farewells to Olga, and the flurry of introductions, he did subside into a slightly sulky silence.

  Re-enter Antagonist

  Grasshopper Lawns

  The Grasshopper Lawns retirement village is the home of most of the characters, an attractive development in farming countryside off the M9, between Onderness and Linlithgow, some twenty miles from Edinburgh

  Three days later, shortly after Brian and his beagle had turned up for what he called a sundowner, albeit some hours before the August sun would sink out of sight, Edge’s stepdaughter phoned her at the Lawns, sounding bleak.

  ‘Edge? Believe me, you’re the last person I want to ask, but is there any chance you can put me up?’

  ‘Not really, Fiona, but why, what’s happened? Where are you?’

  ‘I’m at Morningside police station. There’s been a fucking murder at the house. The police aren’t holding me, but they’re not letting me go back either, not that I want to, and Jamey’s vanished altogether. Trying to find alternate accommodation here during the Festival is a fucking joke. They won’t even put me up in a cell. I offered to bite the desk sergeant if that would get me charged, but he backed out of range.’ She laughed humourlessly but tears didn’t sound far away.

  ‘Let me think—you can’t stay with me, this is a bachelor apartment, but we have guest facilities across the road at a campsite. Overnight I’ll—hang on a minute.’ She covered the phone with her hand as Brian was signalling urgently at her. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Stay with me. She can stay here.’

  ‘No.’ She uncovered the phone. ‘Fiona, I’ll call Kirsty, she has a spare room. Do you want me to collect you? No, no trouble, I’ll be there in half an hour. Actually, Festival traffic, make it an hour, tops. Tell me the postcode, for the satnav.’

  She wrote it down, rang off and dialled Kirsty’s number. Brian was looking slightly hurt.

  ‘Why don’t you stay at mine? That’s far the easiest.’

  ‘Because Fiona is hostile to me, okay? I don’t want her in m
y place, flipping through my stuff and poisoning it with her presence.’ She held up her hand to shush him as the phone was answered.

  ‘Kirsty? Darling, could you give Fiona a bed for the night? I’ll try to organize a place across the road from tomorrow, but this late there’s no chance for tonight. . . that’s lovely. Some time before eight, I hope. See you then, and thanks.’

  Brian was looking mutinous. ‘She can have my place and I’ll stay here with you, if Katryn says they’re fully booked. You don’t find my presence poisonous, I hope?’

  ‘Oh, Brian! You know I don’t. But it would be impossibly cramped. These places are lovely for one but out of the question for two people. You’ll have to let yourself out, I’ve got to throw some things together. She probably hasn’t been allowed to take anything from the apartment.’

  ‘I’m coming with you. The roads aren’t safe for a woman alone during the Festival, not at this time of night.’

  She turned, exasperated, at the entrance to her sleeping alcove. ‘Brian, I drive a two-seater. Are you proposing we strap Fiona to the roof for the trip back?’

  ‘I have a car too,’ he reminded her mildly. ‘Four big seats. You’re not on your own any more, darling. I’ll be back in five minutes.’

  He kissed her forehead and left and she shook her head as she went through to her box room to find an overnight bag.

  Morningside police station

  Fiona, stripped of her stage makeup and with her hair wilder than usual, looked pale and forlorn when Edge hurried into the police station and found her huddled in the waiting area, shredding a paper handkerchief with nervous fingers. She was wearing a vivid purple fleece, despite the heat, with faded jeans tucked into business-like boots. She jumped up immediately, straightening her slumped shoulders hastily.

  ‘Thanks for coming. This is just a fucking nightmare. Tim’s been stabbed, and Jamey’s missing, and they’re talking about him as though he would have done it. Asking me questions like “does he have a quick temper” and “were they on good terms”, stupid stupid questions. Edge, we’ll have to stop at an all-night supermarket, I’ve got nothing but my handbag and an umbrella with me.’