Does Your Mother Know? (36 page)
That was all I had time for. I stepped quickly over to Wilson, who had taken up his position in front of the cottage entrance.
“I’m a police officer from Canada. I’ll show you ID later. Those two men at the gate are planning to do something. One of them is a known agitator. His name is Black John.”
He didn’t wait for a further explanation. He was an experienced officer and he observed the same thing I did. He started to walk forward to intercept Colin and his pals and spoke into his lapel. I went with him.
“They’re planning to embarrass the prince. I think they’ve got urine in those buckets and they intend to throw it on him.”
“Shit!” said Wilson, appropriately.
Colin had put down his bucket so he could unfasten the gate. The other man waited behind him. We were there now, and Wilson grabbed hold of the top bar.
“Excuse me, Sir, I can’t let you through at the moment.”
Over my shoulder, I could see the royal party was almost at the door of the black house. A little smattering of applause from the watching attendants and backpackers. William smiled and waved to them. Black John suddenly pushed on the gate, taking Wilson by surprise.
Colin seized his chance, grabbed his bucket, and was almost through the gap. I was hovering on the right of the secret service, and I shoved Colin back with my shoulder. He lost his balance and sat down, the bucket fell over and the lid came off, spilling stinking yellow urine all over his own pants. Black John tried to get past, but Wilson was too fast for him and pulled his hand through the bars so that he was jammed against the gate. Two of the uniformed officers saw what was happening and came running over.
“MacLeod, what the hell are you doing?”
Colin was too busy trying to wipe off his pants on the grass to answer, but Black John shouted out.
“Give us back our land. We won’t tolerate cock-boys any longer.”
Wilson spoke into his coat again. Immediately, one of the prince’s bodyguards came out of the black house and ran over to us. The spectators watched curiously. An adventure indeed on a grey, ordinary day.
“What’s happening?” asked the bodyguard. He was thirtyish and formidable.
“These two toerags were about to douse the prince with piss.” Wilson had temporarily lost his cool.
He was still holding Black John jammed against the gate and had twisted his arm up painfully through the bar. He’d break the wrist if necessary.
“We’ll ask you to come with us.” The bodyguard never lost his polite, quiet voice, but I’d hardly ever heard a tone so chilling and powerful. In the meantime, I picked up the second bucket, which was now on our side of the gate, and carried it to the grass. To be safe, I emptied out the contents. Colin finally
acknowledged me, but he didn’t look embarrassed or ashamed. Just arrogant.
“We have a right to make a public protest. This is a democracy, isn’t it?”
He was getting to his feet, but the uniformed officer, whom I realized was Constable Fraser, bent over him. He said something in Gaelic and Colin sat down again. A translation wasn’t necessary.
“Everything under control?” asked the prince’s bodyguard. A nod from Wilson and he hurried back to the black house.
I kept my eyes on Colin and his pal, as did Wilson and the constable. I heard more applause and gathered that the royal party had emerged. A quick glance over my shoulder and I saw the long-striding prince was walking back to his car. The girl was beside him. The second bodyguard gave a quick wave to Wilson. In a minute, they were all in the car and one of the black sedans drove out of the parking lot.
“Are you going to let us go?” demanded Colin. “If you’re not, I want to know why we’re being held.”
“How about vandalism?” said Fraser. “You’ve spilled piss all over a public walkway, and that’s an offence.”
Joan had remained at the door of the black house, and she now came over to us. “What’s going on?”
I stepped away from the gate. “Mr. MacLeod here was trying to perpetrate some public mischief.”
She stared at him. “Colin MacLeod! You’re Mairi MacKenzie’s husband. Why aren’t you home with your wee babe? Shame on you.”
Hey Joan, way to tell it like it is!
Two more beefy constables arrived and they hustled the two men unceremoniously into their police van. Black John tried to shout out slogans to the spectators who were hanging around the cottage, but to my delight the onlookers, all of them ordinary middle-aged people and a few attendants from the shop, yelled back. ‘Shame! Shame on you!”
Finally, the official cars left, except for Agent Wilson who stayed to thank me and to get my name and address in case of later charges against the protesters.
Joan and I started our walk back to Duncan’s house.
If you were to ask me what had been the most unusual day I’d ever spent in my life to date, I’d say this was it.
EPILOGUE
I was relieved that Duncan was in the barn when we got back to the house.
“I might as well tell him now and get it over with,” said Joan.
“Are you sure you want to? I’ve waited all this time. I can wait a few more hours.”
She saw through that one and smiled at me. “I’m sure. This is going to be a happy occasion anyway, not like the other things.”
I hoped she was right about that.
“Go and make a pot of tea,” said Joan. “And you’d better take out the whisky. It’s in the cupboard to the right of the sink.”
She headed off to the barn, and I went inside. I was so nervous. And I didn’t even like the guy. And I was sure he didn’t like me.
Nic was in the kitchen, and she greeted me like an old stickthrowing friend should be greeted and immediately ran off and rummaged for a ball that was in a toy box by the door. She dropped it at my feet and stared at it.
I kicked it away for her. I didn’t think Duncan and I resembled each other at all. Was Joan telling the truth? But I knew she was. My father wasn’t Elvis or a randy Paul McCartney. He was a domineering shepherd, who was currently out there in the barn hearing the news that this rude woman from Canada was his very own daughter.
The kettle boiled and, as I went to make the tea, I saw a piece of notepaper on the counter.
“
Lisa rang to see how Christine is doing. Please phone when you can.
”
A stab of pleasure at that. Wow, I had a grown half-sister. I liked Lisa and Mairi, not to mention my little niece, Anna. Too bad I also had a brother-in-law who was a lout, but I’d have to deal with that. And I wasn’t going to let on that Lisa had tried to turn him in, either, which I was almost positive she’d done, that she was the anonymous letter writer and caller. I guess I’d find out later what sort of involvement she’d had with the White Dog group.
I made the tea, dropping in an extra spoonful of leaves for Joan. I found the whisky bottle and poured myself a shot, but then put it aside. I didn’t need a crutch. I’d been fantasizing about this meeting for years. I wanted to be completely sober. Yeah right! I picked up the shot glass and swallowed a gulp of whisky. It went down smooth as cream, then hit my stomach like hot chilli.
Nic got to chase her ball three more times before I looked out of the window and saw Joan and Duncan crossing the yard. She had her arm around his waist, and he was walking with his head bent. He didn’t look too happy. Funny thing was, from this angle I could see that we did resemble each other. I’d inherited his frame. Rather wide shoulders, straight torso, and long legs. We also walked the same way. I know that probably doesn’t sound genetically valid, but it was true. He had a long stride and slightly pronated with his right leg, just the way I do.
I stepped away from the window so they wouldn’t see me watching. The door opened. Joan came in first and Duncan behind her. He was as nervous as I was. Damn it, we were all nervous, except the dog, who went over to say hello as if she hadn’t seen him for hours.
“So... ” I started, and he spoke at the same time.
“Shona says... ”
That made us laugh and eased the tension — a fraction.
“You could give each other a kiss and a hug,” said Joan.
My dismay was reflected in his face.
“All in good time, Pet. We’ve got to get used to each other for a wee while.”
“I suppose we could shake hands,” I said. “Father, I presume.” He didn’t get the joke and looked puzzled, but took me literally and held out his hand. I stepped forward, and we shook hands. His palm was rough and callused. Suddenly, he grabbed my hand in both of his, then pulled me to him and hugged me hard.
“My goodness, my goodness. What on earth am I going to say to the girls?”
I extricated myself, not wanting to admit to myself how much I’d liked that hug.
“You’d better call them right away,” said Joan. “Mairi is going to need you. Ask her if she wants to come and stay with us for now.... I told him about the idiot, Colin,” she added.
“Tea first. I’ve got to sit down and have a cuppa before my knees give way.”
I was happy that he was so affected. We all sat down at the kitchen table, and Joan poured the tea. I could see she was intensely relieved that we were getting along.
“We’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” said Duncan.
Suddenly, Nic erupted into loud barks as we heard a knock at the door. Duncan got up to answer it, and Gill came in.
“Allo to Duncan, allo to Joan. Chris, I was hoping you’d still be here. I’ve got something for you.” He handed me an envelope.
There was an embossed initial in the corner that looked familiar, but I didn’t immediately twig. I opened it. Inside was a seven-by-five photograph of a handsome young man with blond-red hair. The picture was signed,
William Wales. Thank you for your timely help.
I shrieked like a smitten teenager.
“One of his aides told him what you’d done. He had them stop off at the local station with the picture. He’s got good manners, that young lad has.”
Suddenly and absurdly, I was choking on tears. I just couldn’t help it, and believe me, I never cry.
“I don’t understand,” said Duncan. “What did he say?”
“Shh, it’s not that, silly,” said Joan in a most uncharacteristically motherly way. “She’s had quite a day.”
I was sitting between Joan and Duncan at the table, and they both leaned over and patted me. Duncan stroked my arm, rather as if I were one of the dogs.
I looked at him, through all the blubbering. “I’m not going to call you Dad, you know. So you can forget that.”
Duncan grinned at me. “Here we often say Pappy.”
“Maybe that.”
Gillies, bless his heart, decided to await clarification and stayed where he was.
“I am going to refer to you as my daughter, no matter what you say,” said Duncan.
“And so you should,” chipped in Joan.
For some reason, that made me want to cry all over again, so I stood up instead.
“Hey, Pappy,” I said over my shoulder. “Do you want a spot of
uisge beatha?”
“Listen to her. She’s got the Gaelic already.”
I poured out shots for all of us, except Joan, who had some more tea.
“
Failte
,” said Duncan, and he lifted his glass. “Welcome.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
As always, I am grateful to the many people who generously shared their time and expertise with me. Detective-Sergeant Jim Smyth and Detective-Sergeant Ed Chafe answered my questions patiently and thoroughly about what it is like to be a forensic behavioural analyst in Ontario. Both Dr. Sharon Baltman and Dr. Albert Lyons gave me a quick course in pulmonary hypertension. The people I met on the Isle of Lewis completely lived up to their legendary reputation for hospitality. Our hostess, Christine Murray, was the best one could hope for. I can only describe Reverend Iain Campbell as a Renaissance man in a clerical collar. He was truly inspiring. Constable Philip MacRae spent time to initiate me into the workings of the Northern Constabulary, and Mike Ferris of MacDonald Real Estate did the same with the real-estate structures in the Hebrides. Thanks to Duncan Matheson and Dorinda and Calum MacKenzie and the dogs, who were our neighbours on the Isle of Lewis for all too brief a time.
Back in Toronto, Tony and Rena Cunningham made sure my Gaelic was on track.
Tapadh leibh.
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