Chapter Twenty-seven

October brought with it an unseasonable early flurry of snow. To the west of Fort William, in the wilds of the Highlands, Drew McGraw was about to set out for a day’s shooting.

‘D’ya think it’s gonna snow again?’ he asked anxiously, peering out at the blue skies, his mane of hair barely visible under a startling sheepskin hat.

Although the hotel felt stuffy, it was freezing outside. The snow was lying a foot deep on the hills, but the sun was bright and the view was breathtaking. Away to the east, Scotland’s highest mountain hunched its white shoulder against the wind and tried to make itself look innocent, yet Marta had heard on the news that three men, caught unprepared for the change in the weather, had just died near the summit of Ben Nevis.

Across the road, in front of the hotel, Loch Eil sparkled in the low morning sun, its banks fringed with white satin ribbons studded with diamonds and pearls.

Drew’s party of seven, plus Marta, had arrived the previous night, too late to appreciate the stunning scenery.

‘No chance.’

It was Jaime Martinez who spoke. A thin, plain-looking woman, her husband Arno was one of the wealthy potential investors Drew was assiduously courting on this trip. She smiled excitedly, pulled her fur-lined waistcoat up round her ears and pressed her nose against the window.

‘I wish. It’d be just amazing to be snowed in here. So beautiful. And such a cute hotel.’

Cute? Thick tartan carpets, heavy tartan curtains and dark green and burgundy walls, matched with Landseer prints of deer and McTaggart seascapes was hardly what Marta would call cute. But the hotel was warm, clean, well serviced and designed to appeal to American taste: the ultimate in expensive tartanalia. Marta had chosen it largely for its position, close to where the shoot would leave, but it also had a reputation for good food and wine and the proprietors knew their market. The rooms were spacious and comfortable, the views exceptional.

‘The forecast is fine, Drew,’ Marta assured her client, comfortable in the knowledge they would be in the hands of an experienced ghillie. ‘You’ll get a great day on the hills.’

He grinned amiably, his face already aglow.

‘Then I guess I’ll brave the outside world. You gals take care now.’

Jaime laughed. ‘We’re going sightseeing, not mountain climbing.’

Drew opened the front door. The cold was pinching, but there was something exhilarating about it too. In the stuffiness that built up again as soon as the door was closed, Marta began to feel slightly nauseous. Then urgently so.

‘Excuse me.’

She ran to the nearest Ladies.

Either I haven’t got rid of this stupid bug yet, or this is due to last night’s supper, she thought, hanging over the porcelain wretchedly. Yet she had eaten the same as everyone else: venison, tender and pink; roast potatoes, crunchy and crisp; green kale, baked with sweet apples; cranachan – cream, toasted oatmeal, raspberries, a hint of whisky. Good, simple Scottish food.

After a minute, she felt better. She rinsed her mouth at the washbasin, scooping cold water up in cupped hands to her lips, tasting its sweetness after the bitterness of the bile.

‘You all right, Marta?’ a voice said, behind her.

She swung round. Jaime Martinez had followed her into the Ladies. How much had she seen? How undignified, hardly what was expected of a top-class tour guide. She blushed scarlet.

‘Yeah, thanks. Just a touch of nausea. Must’ve been something I ate last night, but I feel fine now.’

Jaime laughed. ‘Either that or you’re going to give your husband a very happy surprise.’

Pregnant? Marta stared at Jaime.

‘I had the same with all my three. It’s worth it, I promise you.’

Pregnant? It isn’t possible.

But it was possible. Six weeks. That’s how long it had been since she and Jake had last made love.

I’m pregnant.

As soon as Jaime said made the suggestion, Marta knew it was true.

Sweet Lord, what am I going to do?

‘The minibus is due,’ she said, keeping her voice steady, ‘we should go. Thanks for your understanding.’

In the lobby, one of the wives was peering out of the window. ‘Is that our bus? Gee, I sure hope it’s heated.’

‘Yes,’ Marta confirmed, sternly banishing all personal worries. Only the responsibilities of the day ahead mattered at this moment. ‘That’s ours. Now, have you got everything you need? We won’t be back till after dark and it’s very cold out there. Coats, scarves, gloves ...’

‘... credit cards.’

They went out into the bright snow amid much laughter.

Pregnant.

Jake would be thrilled. She thought of her husband, of his once-bright pride in her, of the love she had taken for granted. No, she corrected herself, she could no longer assume that he would welcome this news. The truth was, she had no idea how he would take it.

Professionalism took over as the group embarked on a mini tour of the Highlands.

‘Gee, will we see the monster?’ Jaime Martinez ran down to the shore at Loch Ness enthusiastically.

It was nonsense, but it thrilled them, and Marta found herself smiling at their childlike pleasure.

‘Is that a genuine ruin?’ another woman asked as she stared at Urquhart Castle.

Thirteenth-century stonework was highlighted against the brilliant blue of the loch and the snow-covered landscape. Marta gazed at it through the American’s eyes and found something steadying in the immutability of the scene.

A third was horrified as they absorbed the story of the battlefield at Culloden.

‘You mean they slaughtered the poor soldiers as they lay there?’

In the scale of things, she considered, answering their questions patiently, her own problems paled. It was a good lesson.

Only when the history of the land had been wallowed in and its magnificent scenery photographed ‘for the folks back home’ did she suggest a shopping break. In Inverness, when the group scattered to explore, she was at last able to escape. In a quiet chemist’s she bought two pregnancy tests and when they at last arrived back in the hotel and she was finally alone in the oversized, tartan-carpeted bathroom that belonged to her oversized, tartan-carpeted bedroom, she tried both.

She should have been watching the results with Jake. As first one line turned blue, then the other, Marta’s heart was sore.

She was going to have a baby. Their baby. The child they had longed for.

Surely he would come back to her now? This made everything different.

‘Jane’s in hospital.’

Carrie’s voice sounded distant. Marta strode to the window to catch the best signal on her mobile.

‘Say again? I can hardly hear you.’

‘Where are you?’

‘In the wilds. West of Fort William. Did you say Jane was in hospital?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘She tried to commit suicide.’

‘What?’

‘’Fraid so.’

‘How? Why? I mean, what happened for heaven’s sake?’

‘She cut her wrist.’

Marta was struck dumb. Jane’s stutter, her crazy accusations about Emily, her erratic behaviour, all stacked up as signs of her increasing vulnerability. But suicide?

‘Marta? Are you still there?’

‘I’m here. Her wrist? You said she cut her wrist?’

‘Yes.’

‘What was she thinking of?’

‘I don’t know, Marta. I’ve thought about nothing else since Neal called. Either it was an act of desperation or it was intended as a powerful message. Either way, if Neal hadn’t happened to go home she would have died.’

‘Oh, Carrie. Dear God in heaven. Tell me what happened.’

‘Neal had nipped home for some file he’d forgotten. He says it was as if he was drawn home for some reason. She can’t have long done it. She was lying on the floor in the kitchen with Benji going mad. If he’d just been a few minutes later—’

‘Don’t. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘There was blood everywhere and she was deeply unconscious.’

‘Oh God!’

‘He managed to put on a tourniquet. The ambulance was there very fast.’

‘Christ, Carrie, the kids ...’

‘Yeah.’ Carrie went quiet. ‘There’s another thing. Her Forster was smashed.’

‘Her cello? I don’t understand.’

‘She’d been playing it.’

‘Really? But she never played it. She’s avoided playing it ever since she left the orchestra.’

‘I know. Neal wants us to go see her. Whatever is troubling Jane, he thinks it’s deep and longstanding. He believes there’s something she’s not telling anyone.’

‘And he thinks she’ll tell us?’

‘I think he sees us as his last hope. She’s not opening up to him. He’s tried.’

‘Is she still in hospital?’

‘They gave her some blood and stitched her up. They’re going to send her home later today. ’

‘Just like that?’

‘Hospital’s no place to linger.’

‘True. Listen, I’ll be back in a couple of days. We’ll go round when everyone’s out, shall we?’

‘I think her mother’s staying.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

Carrie was about to ring off when Marta said, ‘I need to talk too.’

‘Anything in particular?’

‘Oh ... you know.’

‘You know is permissible. You know is good. We’ll talk about you know by all means. Take good care of Mr McGraw.’

‘That’s easy.’

‘Yeah. Bye.’

‘Bye Carrie. Hugs.’

‘Hugs to you too.’

Marta sat thinking for a long time. One way or another, her world was turning upside down.