Cold in the Earth (16 page)

Laura unpacked, her mind on the woman who had just left. People’s lives always intrigued her and there was a lot of harsh experience written on Lisa Thomson’s face. It had a look that reminded her of the women she had known in New York: what sort of man was the husband, when talking about him made Lisa so nervous?

Still, she would have plenty of time to find out and, it struck her, Lisa and her husband were just the sort of people she needed to talk to for her research. Even if they had three rooms let tonight, she doubted if that was the norm, and it must be a real struggle to keep an enterprise like this afloat. There would be bar trade too, of course, and that would be a good way for her to meet the locals. Feelings must be running high just now; she suspected that it must be hard for a government whose major concern was all too obviously their urban power-base to convince a rural population that it wasn’t either cavalier or incompetent.

How long, she wondered suddenly, had the Thomsons been running this place? It was the nearest pub to Chapelton and it was hard to imagine that Dizzy wouldn’t have been a regular. Certainly, it was a long time ago and Dizzy had been there for a very short time, but she had the sort of personality that made people remember her. It was exciting to think that here might be another source of information. She might even have made friends, kept in touch . . .

It was unlikely, sure. But Laura went to have her shower in a mood of defiant optimism.

The meal was surprisingly good, the ambience distinctly less so. The orange tablecloths with their cream napkins were a brave attempt but clearly the money had run out when it came to the cost of curtaining the extensive windows round three sides of the room. There were orange pelmets across the top but the strips of matching fabric down the sides of the windows were only for show. It let such heat as there was escape and it was somehow unnerving the way the darkness outside seemed to encroach on the room, making it feel bleak and unwelcoming.

Its only other occupant was a large, florid woman at a table next to the only radiator. She was unwisely arrayed in a series of layers and scarves which only added to her bulk and she had cold, pale green eyes; she nodded stiffly and unsmilingly in response to Laura’s ‘Good evening’ as she passed on the way to her table.

Fortunately Laura had thought of putting on a few layers herself – a thick black mohair tunic over a white silky polo-neck – but she wished she’d brought a book. It was disconcerting, eating in a chilly silence broken only by the clink of cutlery on plates and a short fit of coughing by her companion, except when that lady was complaining to Lisa Thomson about aspects of her meal which weren’t perfect and the service which was undeniably slow – although considering that Lisa was obviously cooking as well, it was unsurprising. Laura found herself childishly raising her voice as she handed back her plate with thanks, so that her praise for what had incurred the other’s condemnation should be clearly and, she hoped, irritatingly heard.

The bar, when she had looked through the glass doors earlier, had been empty. Summoning Mr Thomson to perform his barman’s duties might get her off on the wrong foot, she thought, and anyway there might possibly be more people to talk to in here later. When she left the dining-room, having received only the stoniest of stares in response to ‘Good night’, she went back to the bar.

It still wasn’t busy. In fact, there was only one customer, a weather-beaten old boy with a growth of grey stubble and rheumy blue eyes, sitting at the bar with an almost empty pint mug and an empty shot glass in front of him. Laura smiled at him as she took her seat on one of the bar stools; he greeted her with, ‘Aye, aye,’ said with a nod and a wink. At least the natives were friendly.

She wasn’t so sure about the man behind the bar. He was of middle height, harsh-featured, with a shock of red hair and an expression which would make Gordon Brown in one of his more professionally dour moments seem positively vivacious. In his mid-thirties, Laura guessed, but beginning to run to seed with a sagging jawline and an incipient beer-gut. One arm seemed to sag awkwardly and he didn’t use it to prepare the vodka and tonic she ordered.

‘Could you put it on my bill, please? Oh, and one for yourself?’

‘Thanks.’ That was very nearly a smile. He put a glass to the whisky optic and uninvited poured himself a double; Laura looked at him sharply. His eyes were dull, the whites muddy, and she realised this was certainly not the first drink of the day. That explained poor Lisa’s anxiety, at least partially.

The sound of a glass being set down in a marked manner called her attention to her neighbour. The faded eyes had a hopeful expression and his ingratiating smile was so broad that she could, in the unlikely event that she should wish to, have counted the yellowed stumps in his gum, like memorial stones marking a battle lost to age and decay.

She said gravely, ‘Could I offer you a drink?’

‘Aye, could you!’ The ancient cackled with pleasure. ‘Nip ’n’ a chaser, Scott.’

A pint of beer and another whisky – a single this time – was set in front of him; the whisky vanished in one gulp, chased by a deep swallow of beer and followed by a satisfied smacking of the lips.

Laura prepared to capitalise on her investment. ‘Do you live near here?’

The good news was that he was more than willing to chat to her and he had plenty to say. The bad news was that she could barely understand a word of it. She listened with a glazed expression, nodding sagely in what she hoped were the right places, while behind the bar Thomson watched with sardonic amusement.

Her elderly friend was making short work of his pint. Laura was just considering how to disengage herself before she became responsible for a refill when she heard someone open the door to the bar. She had her back to it; not wanting to turn and stare, she didn’t realise who it was until a familiar voice spoke.

‘Good God, Laura!’ Max Mason said blankly. ‘What in the hell are you doing here?’

She spun round, feeling her cheeks turn crimson in embarrassment. What a fool she was! The nearest pub to Chapelton – she’d thought about that in connection with Dizzy but not Max. Now he’d think she was pursuing him and she’d been caught on the back foot again. She could only say feebly, ‘Goodness, Max!’

Under the interested eyes of the other two men he pecked her on both cheeks. She could almost see him preening.

‘Hey, hey! This is some surprise! I always knew I was a babe magnet but this sort of pulling power is awesome!’

‘Don’t get the wrong idea,’ she said tartly. ‘I’m researching an article on the effects of foot-and-mouth and up here I thought I could kill two birds with one stone and do a bit of digging about my sister as well.’

‘Sure, sure.’ His tone was mocking. From the jauntiness of his body-language and the brightness of his eyes it was clear he was on some sort of high. ‘But come on, it’s good to see you. Let’s hack into a bottle of something.’ He leaned his elbows on the bar. ‘Got up to speed with wine yet, Scott? Or are you still more comfortable with cattle cake?’

Laura had thought Thomson’s expression dour before; now it was so black that she was afraid he might turn violent. He said nothing, though, merely producing a couple of glasses and a bottle of red wine and opening it when Max had approved it with a careless nod.

‘He was our stockman at the farm when I left,’ Max said, taking the bottle and glasses over to a table in the farthest corner of the bar. ‘Had some sort of accident a couple of years ago, his wife said.’

Laura followed him, making a note of the information. If Thomson had been at Chapelton when Max left he must have been there with Dizzy, though she’d better put in some practice at getting blood out of stones before she progressed to pumping him for information.

‘There’s foot-and-mouth at the farm, did you know?’ Max was pouring out the wine, hardly expecting an answer; not wanting to admit to her reconnaissance, Laura said non-committally, ‘I’m so sorry – that’s awful.’

She couldn’t read his expression. ‘They’re killing them now. They’ve been at it most of the day – I’m expecting a call from them any time now to say they’re finished.’ He fished out a mobile phone from his pocket and set it between them.

‘Are you alone at the farm?’ she asked.

He looked puzzled. ‘Alone – oh no, I’m not at the farm at all. If I’d set foot in the place they weren’t going to let me leave until it was declared free of infection, and God knows when they’ll get round to that. No, I’m staying here.’

As Laura’s heart sank he went on, ‘And you are too, obviously. Brilliant! You can hold my hand when my wicked cousin comes in breathing fire. My aunt’s summoned him. She’s staying here too and when I drifted in this afternoon I thought we’d have to book another hospital bed beside the Minotaur.’

‘That must have been the lady I saw in the dining-room this evening.’ For once Laura felt some sympathy for Max. ‘How is your father? Have you been to see him?’

‘Not good, but still hanging on. No, I haven’t visited. Have to give the old bastard a sporting chance and the sight of me would probably carry him off.’

He changed the subject. ‘Still, I’m in the driving-seat at Chapelton. I went in this afternoon to check it out with the lawyer. Stuffy old sod – he wouldn’t tell me a thing about the will but since he agreed I should take over day-to-day admin I think I can take it I haven’t been bumped off the beneficiary list.

‘That was what nearly finished Auntie off – she was sure her dear little Conrad was right in there. He’s a policeman now, apparently, of all bizarre things. So I’m scared he’s going to have me arrested on some trumped-up charge when he comes roaring in tonight. You will come and vouch for my good character, won’t you, if I’m hauled off to the Tolbooth in Kirkluce?’

He had glanced at his watch and now he was drumming his fingers on the table; he was, she realised, genuinely nervous about the confrontation ahead. The last thing she needed was to get herself involved in a family fracas. She stood up.

‘I will, I promise. But I’m sorry, I’m going to abandon you now. I’ve driven eight hours today and I’m bushed.’

‘Laura, you can’t—’ As he spoke, the phone on the table rang and he reached for it, saying hastily, ‘Wait just a minute, I want to say something – hello? Max Mason speaking.’

She could, of course, leave anyway but it would be gratuitously rude. She hovered, in the awkward position of trying not to eavesdrop while being unable to avoid hearing every word.

They had finished the slaughter, it appeared. They were moving out tonight and tomorrow the disposal of the carcasses would start.

Max seemed surprised, if pleased. ‘I was told this afternoon that it was likely to take some time?’

There was some lengthy conversation, then he gave a tight-lipped smile. ‘Nice to have friends in high places, then. I’m glad my cousin’s useful for something.’

He listened again, then said, ‘I don’t see why it shouldn’t be there. We won’t be needing the ground for cattle for quite a bit. If ever. Go ahead, dig your pit.’

He rang off. ‘Sorry. Well, at least they’re getting on with it. They’ve decided pyres are too risky now – wouldn’t you think they could have worked that out before they contaminated half the farms in the country? So tomorrow they’re digging a pit in Satan’s field—’

Laura had been conscious of a door slamming a moment earlier; as Max started speaking the door to the bar had been flung open and a man strode in, tall, broad and good-looking in a brutalist kind of way.

‘
What?
’ he bellowed. ‘What did you just say?’

Max looked up with elaborate unconcern though Laura noticed that his defensive body-language – rigid shoulders hunched, fists clenched before him on the table – betrayed his anxiety. ‘Well, well, well! If it isn’t my cousin Conrad!’

‘You can’t dig up Satan’s field!’

‘Wanted to keep it as some sort of shrine, did you? You and my father were always besotted with the animal – nasty-tempered brute, as I remember.’

‘Don’t – don’t be ridiculous.’ Conrad spat out the words; the hatred between the cousins was almost tangible. ‘It’s some of the best pasture we have – we’ll need it when we restock.’

‘
If
we restock.’ Ignoring his cousin’s stunned expression, Max got up. ‘Come on, Conrad, I know we can’t expect civilised behaviour from the Filth, but you might at least say hello to a lady.’

Conrad half-turned, then at the sight of Laura, gaped. ‘
Di?
’ he stammered, then, ‘No, no, of course it isn’t.’

Max’s smile was malicious. ‘This is Laura Harvey, her half-sister. It’s a remarkable likeness, isn’t it – like a ghost of time past, coming back to haunt us?’

It took only a moment for the man to regain his poise. He smiled, very charmingly, and held out his hand. ‘Do forgive me. I didn’t mean to insult you – you must be years younger! How is she, by the way?’

‘I’m – I’m afraid we’ve lost touch.’ Laura, too, had been thrown by the introduction. It was what Max liked to do, his standard power-play, but she wasn’t about to accept his direction. ‘You two obviously have a lot to discuss,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m off to bed.’

She ignored Max’s protest and walked out, aware that Conrad’s eyes were following her. But she was more disconcerted when, as she closed the glass door, she realised that Scott Thomson, too, was staring after her, with an expression on his face that she could not read.

It was, perhaps, unsurprising that Laura slept badly. She woke fully at around three o’clock, that time of the morning when, viewed through the prism of tiredness, the world seems a cruel and hopeless prison. Her grief for the loss of her mother, suppressed by activity during the day, welled up now and she turned her face into her pillow to stifle her sobs.

At last she got up and went through to the little shower-room to splash her face. She could hear the moaning of the wind; she switched off the light and pulled back the curtain to look at the weather.