Faith (35 page)

It was only when he signed the restaurant bill to his room that she realized he was staying at the hotel. He suggested they went to his room for a brandy and coffee.

‘I’m not trying to lure you into anything,’ he said, kissing the tips of her fingers. ‘It’s just that I’ve got some magazines I’d like to show you, and we can’t stay here in the dining room all afternoon.’

It was bitterly cold outside, the sky like lead, and she had no wish to rush away from this warm, seductive place just yet. She had the night off too, so she didn’t even have to think of getting ready for the club either.

Robbie’s room was on the third floor, and was far more luxurious than any other hotel room she’d ever been in, with a vast bed with a dark red velvety quilt, a highly polished desk, two club armchairs before the window and soft, intimate lighting. The adjoining bathroom was a marble palace, the bath easily big enough for two, with gold taps and thick fluffy towels on the heated rail.

It was already dark outside, and the view of the flood-lit Castle from the window was pure enchantment. She forgot the cool, woman-of-the-world stance she’d tried to maintain throughout lunch and squealed with pure delight.

Robbie laughed. ‘It’s pretty good, isn’t it? I love hotels, the luxury, having someone else tidy up for you, the mini bar, the warm towels. You can be anyone you want to be, there’s no reminder of home to bring you back to reality.’

Laura couldn’t have put it better herself, though she might have added that they had the effect of an aphrodisiac on her. Back in the days when she and Jackie worked in promotions and were put up in hotels out of London, she’d often slept with someone she wouldn’t have looked at twice back home.

That was just how it was when Robbie caught hold of her and began kissing her. She knew she shouldn’t be doing it, that she should make her excuses and leave, but she’d had enough to drink to lose herself in his kisses, and before she knew it he had her on the bed.

He peeled her clothes off like a whirlwind, and that alone should have warned her that the whole act would be equally fast and unfulfilling. He barely touched her breasts, he pushed his fingers into her roughly, and that was clearly the extent of his foreplay, for he stripped off his trousers and pants, leaving his shirt and socks on, and entered her.

‘Slow down,’ she pleaded, trying to wriggle out from under him. But he was too heavy to move, and too intent on possessing her even to hear what she said. His face was buried in her neck, and his expensive after-shave didn’t quite mask the odour of sweat. As her hands went under his shirt to hold him, she found his back was hairy, which repelled her even more.

It was by no means the first time in her life that she’d found herself regretfully in bed with a man, and as on those other occasions she knew she had no one but herself to blame. But as he banged away at her, completely oblivious to the fact she wasn’t responding in any way, she could have cried because she felt cheap and sluttish.

Stuart was slender, light and lithe and he made love with exquisite sensuality and tenderness. She wondered how she was ever going to face him after this.

Robbie’s grunting became louder, his shirt was soaked with sweat and his bristly chin felt as though he was rubbing her neck with sandpaper. At the point when he grunted out that he was coming she felt anger that he could take her like an animal, yet also relief that it was all but over.

‘That was great,’ he gasped. ‘But then I knew it would be.’

It was on the tip of her tongue to say something sarcastic, perhaps to ask if he learned his technique in a farmyard. But she was too ashamed of herself for letting it happen to say anything.

His lack of sensitivity was astounding. He didn’t appear to notice she’d said nothing. He lit up a cigar and lay on the bed in his sweat-soaked shirt, positively glowing with smug satisfaction.

‘I’ll order us some tea from room service, babe,’ he called out as she disappeared into the bathroom with her clothes. ‘Shame you can’t stay the night. I’ve got plenty more where that came from.’

By the time she’d had a bath, dressed and repaired her makeup, the tea had arrived and Robbie was pouring it. He was wearing a towelling robe now, and he had his magazine spread out for her to look at.

As she had expected, the photographs were pin-ups,

‘You are lovelier than any of these girls,’ Robbie said. ‘You could make a hundred pounds a time easily. You could do the sessions while your son is at school.’

Laura glanced at the pictures. They were at least only scantily dressed poses, not pornography, but when she’d agreed to meet him today she was hoping for the offer of a proper job, not anything risqué.

‘I’ll give it some thought,’ she said, wanting to get home as quickly as possible. ‘I’m not sure if I’d feel comfortable doing that.’

Robbie got dressed and insisted on coming downstairs with her to get her a taxi. As they walked to the lift, Laura saw a tool box by one of the other rooms further up the corridor, but she didn’t think anything of it.

‘Have you had a good time?’ Robbie asked, putting his arm around her waist as they walked.

‘It was lovely, Robbie,’ she lied, reminding herself that he was after all her boss and she couldn’t offend him. ‘Thank you for the lunch and I’ll speak to you later about the modelling.’

Suddenly a head shot out of the door where the tool box lay, the long brown hair only too familiar.

Laura froze in horror. Clearly Stuart had been called in to replace a lock or something, and he’d recognized her voice coming along the passage.

‘What is it, hen?’ Robbie asked.

She couldn’t speak. Her bowels had turned to water, an icy chill running down her spine. Stuart was just staring at them, his eyes as cold as a February morning.

‘Fancy you being here too, Stuart,’ she said, trying to cover her shock with a quickly thought-up explanation. ‘This is Mr Fielding, my boss at the casino. We’ve been discussing a new job he’s got for me.’

‘Good to meet you at last, Stuart.’ Robbie’s hand shot out to shake Stuart’s.

Stuart’s lips curled back in a snarl and he looked scornfully at Robbie’s hand. ‘Fuck off, arsehole,’ he said, then stepped back into the room he was working in and slammed the door behind him.

Laura stood outside the door for a moment, not knowing whether to plead with him or just go. Robbie took her arm and led her away.

‘Just stick to what you said when he gets home,’ he told her. ‘He can’t prove anything.’

‘He doesn’t need to,’ she said sadly, remembering the look in Stuart’s eyes. ‘That he saw me here when I was supposed to be with a girlfriend is enough.’

Robbie put her into a taxi, thrust a £20 note in her hand and said he’d come to the club the following night to see her. Laura felt sick with fear. She would stick to her story and explain that she ran into Robbie while she was in the Old Town and he asked her to come back to his hotel to talk to her. But she knew Stuart would ask why she went to his room rather than stay downstairs in the lounge. What possible reason could she give for that?

She picked Barney up and held his little hand tightly as they walked back to Caledonian Crescent. She was aware he was talking to her, but she was too immersed in her own anxiety to listen.

‘You aren’t listening to me, Mummy!’ he said indignantly, pulling on her hand. ‘I said Gregor had a hamster called Will, and I asked if I could have one too.’

‘Maybe, darling.’ she said. ‘We’ll see tomorrow.’

Six o’clock came, then seven, and still Stuart hadn’t come home. She bathed Barney and put him to bed.

‘Will Stuie read me a story when he comes home?’ Barney asked, his big, dark eyes looking anxious because he’d picked up that she was worried.

‘He won’t be in till late, so I’ll read to you,’ she said, and sitting down beside him she read two of his favourite Mr Men books.

Stuart didn’t come home at all. Laura realized by one in the morning that he must have gone to his parents.

Later, as Laura returned from taking Barney to school, she found Stuart’s father waiting in his car outside the house. She ran to him, assuming he had a message for her.

‘I’ve come to collect my lad’s things,’ he said as he got out of the car. His face was craggy and cold. ‘He’s nae coming back.’

She tried to explain to Mr Macgregor once they were inside that Stuart had misunderstood what was going on the previous day, but he just shook his head. ‘My lad is nae numbskull,’ he said. ‘Just put his things together and I’ll be away.’

Laura felt as if her heart had cracked wide open as Mr Macgregor picked up the heavy holdall with Stuart’s clothes, then moved across the living room to pick up his guitar. Somehow the guitar was everything of Stuart, and once that was gone he was really gone too.

The sound of the key turning in the cell door told Laura it was time to get up, and she wiped the tears from her face with the edge of the duvet cover. She had only wanted to remember the happy times with Stuart, not bring back all that guilt and sadness.

She saw in the New Year of 1975 huddled up in her bed crying. She heard a few days later from a neighbour that Stuart had gone to London and her heart shattered.

10

Laura waved as Stuart and David Stoyle came into the prison visiting room. She noticed that all the other women suddenly looked more animated and that they glanced at her in envy, but then one handsome male visitor at Cornton Vale was remarkable, two was astounding.

When Stuart had asked in his last letter if his lawyer friend could come with him to visit, she had imagined him to be like other lawyers she’d met, small, pale-faced and with thick glasses. But David looked like a sportsman, not a lawyer – tall, muscular, with glowing tanned skin. In a faded denim shirt and chinos, he was certain to spawn a few fantasies tonight with some of the women in the visiting room.

Stuart greeted her with a hug. ‘Let me introduce you to David. As I said in my letter, I persuaded him to help us.’

Laura shook David’s hand. ‘It’s good to meet you, David, I just hope Stuart didn’t twist your arm too hard.’

‘He has a silver tongue when he wants something,’ David replied, and his smile was attractively shy. ‘He did tell you I’m not a criminal lawyer, didn’t he? I can’t promise I’ll be any real use to you.’

Laura privately thought he’d already been of great use to her – it would be the talk of the block tonight that she’d had two hunks visiting. David might be rather upper-crust, but he had the whiff of the great outdoors about him, as Stuart did. A real man, she thought; he looked tough, adaptable and strong-willed.

‘You have already proved you’re not just a pretty face, David,’ Stuart grinned. ‘You knew all the right buttons to push with Patrick Goldsmith.’

‘You’ve already been to see my solicitor?’ Laura asked in surprise as they sat down opposite her at the table.

‘That was our first stop when I got here,’ David said. ‘But he’s not a man with fire in his belly, is he?’

Laura sniggered. Patrick Goldsmith was the duty solicitor who came to the police station when she was first arrested. She had been told many times since that she should have got a solicitor of her own choice. But as she didn’t know any other criminal lawyers, and he seemed genuinely to believe in her innocence, she saw no reason to ask for someone else.

But his anaemic appearance and manner should have been enough to set alarm bells jangling. He had a limp handshake, pale skin, thin lips and thick glasses. There was no colour in him, and certainly no fire.

‘You’ve got him taped,’ she said. ‘And what was his reaction to you two poking your noses into his case?’

‘Surprised you had two such formidable friends,’ Stuart said with a touch of pomposity. ‘He’s apathetic of course, doesn’t believe we can find any new evidence to qualify for an appeal, but we’re banking that his guilt at not putting together a strong defence for you will make him go the extra mile this time.’

‘Have you dug up anything positive yet?’ Laura asked.

‘Lena is prepared to make a statement that she knew Jackie had several men friends, which if nothing else would prove you weren’t making that up,’ Stuart said.

‘How was she? Laura asked eagerly.

‘Bright as a button, and I can guess what you really want to know: no, she doesn’t believe you are guilty.’

‘Really?’ Laura’s face blushed pink with pleasure. ‘Of all the people involved, she’s the one whose opinion matters most to me.’

‘I thought as much,’ Stuart nodded. ‘Oh, and I told Goldsmith about that lane by the farm. The real murderer could have got in and out that way unseen by the neighbour.’

Laura thanked him for going to see Meggie and told him that she’d had a letter from her. She had hundreds of questions she wanted to ask about her sisters and Lena, but time was short and she knew Stuart had questions too.

‘Have you remembered any names of men friends Jackie might have mentioned?’

‘She wasn’t one for using real names,’ Laura said glumly. ‘You probably remember she always gave nicknames to people who were transient in her life.’

Stuart smiled. ‘She used to call me “Chisel”. There was a plasterer she used she nicknamed “Bucket Head”. I never knew what his real name was.’

‘There was someone she called “Growler”,’ Laura remembered. ‘She was very cagey about him, she only made the odd remark that he’d been round the night before or something. That made me think he was married. I would think she called him that because he had a deep voice. I know he drank whisky too – she mentioned having to go out to get some more for him once. But there must be millions of Scotsmen with a deep voice and a love of whisky, so that’s no help.’

‘He could have been a policeman,’ Stuart said. ‘You know, PC Growler! The very nature of a cop’s job makes it a lot easier for them to have affairs than other men. And keep it hushed up.’

‘How could you track him down?’ Laura asked.

‘I could try going back to see Gloria, the barmaid in Cellardyke,’ Stuart said. ‘I think she knew more about Jackie than she was prepared to tell me. A second visit and a few drinks might make her open up.’