Goodmans of Glassford Street (22 page)

She was able, as a result, to testify to his good and trustworthy character in the court case against the South Castle-on-Sea woman who had been tormenting him. The woman had escaped a jail sentence, helped perhaps by her tearful apologies and pleas for mercy. She had been given community service and served with a restraining order preventing her going near Mr Webster again.

He hadn’t been down in South Castle-on-Sea since and she hoped the woman had learned her lesson by now. Needless to say, Mr Webster was hoping the same thing.

‘Let’s hope, Mr Webster,’ Abi tried to sound positive, ‘that her stay in a police cell and the threat of a jail sentence if she comes near you again will make her see sense.’

He made the effort but failed to appear a hundred per cent confident. ‘Yes, and there’s her business to consider. She can’t continue neglecting that or she’ll go broke.’

‘And now people are starting to think about summer holidays, she’s bound to be getting bookings.’

‘Yes, people have to book early these days, especially in South Castle-on-Sea. It’s a very popular place for holidays.’

‘So just put the whole business out of your head and stop worrying.’

She was a fine one to talk. She worried continuously.

At least Mr Webster was happily settled in a flat. After a bit of haggling, his offer had been accepted and he had bought furniture and all the household goods and some clothes that he and the family urgently needed, all at very reduced prices from Goodmans. She had insisted on that, despite Benson’s bitter comments that if she went on as she was doing, she would end up being the ruination of the store. He always added, ‘It’s high time you gave up and retired.’

Mr Webster’s daughters were back at university and Mrs Webster had a part-time job in Books and Stationery.

‘Just until you get back on your feet,’ Abi had told her when Mrs Webster had protested.

‘You’ve done too much for us already, Mrs Goodman. I don’t want to take advantage.’

‘You’re not taking advantage. We need an extra hand in Books and Stationery just now. At least for a couple of afternoons a week. Somebody to tidy and replenish the bookshelves and the stationery counter. You’ll earn your pay.’

‘When do you want me to come over to help clear the Huntershill house?’ Mr Webster repeated. ‘You obviously can’t take everything with you to your new place.’

‘Well …’ She didn’t want to say because, ridiculous though it sounded, she still didn’t believe it was happening. Leaving Tom’s home and all the memories it held. No, surely not.

‘How about right now? You weren’t planning on going back to the shop again today, were you? There’s no urgent business you’ve to attend to that can’t be put off until tomorrow, is there?’

‘Well, no …’

‘Right then. My car’s parked round the corner. Let’s go.’ Abi could have wept. She knew it was totally unfair, but just at the moment, she hated Mr Webster. She was silent all during the drive to Huntershill. She was conscious of Mr Webster glancing round at her several times. But she did not respond and he made no attempt to force conversation.

Once at the house, however, he couldn’t contain himself. ‘Mrs Goodman, I don’t know how you’ve managed to stick it out here for so long on your own. It’s really spooky.’

She unlocked the door and he followed her inside. Once in the drawing room, he said, ‘This is a lovely room, right enough. All that artistic cornicing. But you’re lucky. The Italian Centre flats are listed and they have the same features. Is that a picture of your late husband’s father?’

‘Yes. Tom Senior who founded Goodmans.’

‘A fine looking gentleman.’

‘Yes, he was.’

And so was my Tom, she thought. Tall and slim, with a quirky smile that was reflected in his eyes. He had a way of leaning forward and listening with genuine and sympathetic interest to whoever was speaking to him – even if it was the most junior employee. It didn’t matter if it was a manager or a cleaner. He had that same gentle concentration. Just like Horatio.

‘I wonder if that settee and those easy chairs will fit into the sitting room in the flat?’ Mr Webster was walking around staring at everything. ‘They’re very attractive and comfortable-looking. But extremely large, aren’t they? Have you got a measuring tape anywhere, Mrs Goodman?’

‘Yes, I’ve one in the sewing box over there beside that chair.’ Mr Webster went over to where she had indicated. After retrieving the tape, he began taking measurements of the chairs and other pieces of furniture and writing everything down in his notebook.

He did the same in the other rooms, including the five bedrooms. She left her own bedroom till last. She felt it a terrible intrusion to show anyone into such a private place. It had been the room where she had shared so many loving and passionate nights with Tom.

‘Of course, with only three bedrooms in the flat, you’ll have to get rid of a couple of the bedroom suites you have here. I’d keep the brass beds. They’ve become fashionable again. But forgive me, Mrs Goodman. There’s a dreadful amount of clutter that you’ll have to get rid of. I know it’s all very attractive and no doubt worth a lot of money …’

Oh, more than money, she thought. Oh, so much more.

‘And I’ve no doubt much of it is also of great sentimental value, but it’s a matter of the space available in your flat compared to here. This is a very big house.’

‘Yes, I quite understand,’ she agreed politely. But she didn’t understand at all. It was a nightmare scenario. She wanted it to stop. Not happen. Cancel everything. But there were already people booked to view the house. She dreaded doing the viewings but Mr Webster had promised to be with her.

The first people who came were a young couple who said they were into selling. Something to do with the internet. Abi couldn’t make head nor tail of what they were talking about. No doubt Benson would have known. He knew all about the internet and God knew all what else that could be done with computers. She hated the things and, if anything needed to be typed, she had her secretary do it.

For anything that wasn’t related to business, like personal letters and, of course, the silly book of poems and songs, she wrote longhand. Though she’d probably have to get the poems and songs typed up before sending them off to a publisher. John said that email was used for that nowadays. He was certainly nagging her about the project, as he called it. Every time he saw her, he asked her how she was getting on with it.

It had been an agony showing the couple round the house. They were obviously going to change the whole atmosphere of the place. They said things to each other like, ‘This room could be your office. And this one could be mine …’

It wasn’t going to be like a home at all.

Abi felt quite ill after the experience and told Mr Webster she didn’t want to show anyone else around. He said not to worry, there was no need. He would see to that side of it, and the solicitor would no doubt advise her to accept the highest offer.

And so it was done. There was no turning back. The house was sold.

Robert Louis Stevenson had once said, ‘There are no stars so lovely as Edinburgh street lamps.’ Right enough, Edinburgh was a lovely city. Abi had stayed with John the night before and had seen for herself how beautiful the city could be at night, as well as during the day. A bit frightening too, in the Old Town at least, with its dark, narrow alleyways and half-hidden closes or wynds. John had taken her out for dinner, but had previously warned her not to wander about on her own after dark. The police still hadn’t caught Julie’s killer and had come to the conclusion that they had a serial killer on their hands. Three women had now been killed around the Royal Mile area.

‘There might be more hope of finding him now with their knowledge of DNA,’ John had said. ‘They even took a sample from me.’

‘For goodness’ sake!’ Abi shook her head. ‘I thought they’d realised by now that you had nothing whatever to do with poor Julie’s death.’

She had come through to Edinburgh on Mr Webster’s advice. The removers were coming first thing in the morning and he said it would be better if she wasn’t there when they came. It might be a little upsetting for her.

A little? She couldn’t even bear to think about it. By now, it would have happened. By the time she returned to Glasgow, it would have to be to the flat in the Italian Centre. It had been bad enough picking out what to keep and what to discard or sell or abandon among the furniture and furnishings and personal belongings. Mr Webster advised her to stay in Edinburgh for another couple of nights to give him time to have the carpets laid and the curtains hung and so on. The only areas to be carpeted, though, were the bedrooms. The rest of the flat had shiny parquet flooring with only a few rugs dotted here and there.

John had agreed that, although it was a wrench, even for him, to see the old house go, it was the most sensible thing to do. It was best for her sake. She had definitely been getting depressed and he had been worried about her.

‘It’s very good that you’ve had Mr Webster helping so much. He’s very efficient, isn’t he?’

‘Yes. I couldn’t have done it without him. I didn’t dare tell Douglas Benson. He would have created such a fuss about me moving nearer to the store.’

‘I’m sorry that I couldn’t be more help, Mum. I feel guilty about that.’

‘No, no. There’s no need to feel guilty, son. You haven’t as much time as Mr Webster and you’ve done what you could. I employ Mr Webster to help me.’

John smiled. ‘Moving house for you is not supposed to be on his list of duties though, Mum.’

‘I know, but he offered and said I’d helped him more than I needed to. He lost his home …’

‘God, I know. I read about it. That woman must be really crazy. Has he got anywhere else yet?’

‘Yes, quite a nice red sandstone flat in the High Street. He took me to see it. His wife gave me afternoon tea. A very nice woman.’

A strong and courageous woman, she thought. After all, not only had her husband been unfaithful to her but she had also lost her home. She had lost everything she’d built up over the years.

Abi wished she had not promised Mr Webster that she would stay an extra couple of nights in Edinburgh. John would be late getting home tonight because he had a previous engagement he couldn’t get out of. She didn’t like being in his flat on her own. She had assured him that she would be perfectly all right, of course, and she didn’t mind a bit. What a liar she had become.

It was all right during the day. She enjoyed a walk around the city admiring the views. Edinburgh was like Rome in one way. It was built on seven hills. Three of these hills reared up in the centre of the city – Castle Rock, Arthur’s Seat and Calton Hill. The other four – Corstorphine Hill (where the zoo was situated), Blackford Hill (site of the Royal Observatory), Braid Hill and Wester Craiglockhart – were only a few minutes by bus run from the centre.

The highest hill was Arthur’s Seat. It was, like Calton Hill, an ancient volcanic plug. From any of these hills, the views were interesting and picturesque. Each part of the city was linked to the next by hundreds of steps and spectacular bridges.

At different times, John had taken her for walks around the city. He’d also shown her fascinating views from places like the Outlook Tower and the Camera Obscura. No wonder so many tourists flooded into Edinburgh every year. Not only tourists, of course. Many English people and people from other countries had come to study here, or work in the medical, legal and other professions.

The time John liked best was during the Festival and he got tickets for the Military Tattoo at the Castle every year. Abi enjoyed the spectacle, which was rich in colour, tradition, music and excitement under the floodlights of the Castle Esplanade.

John also took her to various Fringe events. He was very fond of jazz, but she could not share his pleasure and excitement in that. The energy of the music seemed to tune in perfectly to his own enthusiastic and energetic nature. It hadn’t been Tom’s favourite kind of music either. She supposed Tom was more ‘cool’ and ‘laid back’, to use a couple of popular expressions she’d heard. Yes, he was cool and laid back. Like Horatio.

Thinking of Tom made her remember her home at Huntershill again. Her heart immediately contracted with pain. It wasn’t her home any more. She struggled to return her thoughts and attention to her immediate surroundings.

The day had become wet and windy and, although it wasn’t late, the sky was darkening. Abi shivered. It always seemed colder in Edinburgh. Probably it was just because of the east wind.

The tall, ancient buildings rising up all around her suddenly had a claustrophobic effect. Not only did the buildings crowd in on her, but their history too. She felt all the characters of ancient and often barbaric times come to life and hustle for attention. Each one had a story to tell – from the poorest servants and soldiers, to the highest clergy and royalty in the land.

She had been viewing the buildings and reading about them and their history too much. She had been speaking with John about them too much. Or rather, John had been speaking to her about them too much. He certainly knew his Scotland and particularly its capital very well indeed. It was all a part of his ardent Scottish Nationalism.

She admired how he could convey his enthusiasm in the chamber, and even come out with the most provocative, to some even outrageous, statements – without losing his temper. He was obviously able to keep himself strictly under control and suppress any anger while he was in the debating chamber. But oh, he could never suppress or contain his enthusiasm.

She remembered him as a little boy when Santa brought him a gift that he had longed for. Oh, the way he had danced up and down! The way he had screeched with delight and clapped his hands, his happiness spilling over as he hugged everyone and showered them with kisses.

Minna, who was older than John, used to cringe with embarrassment. Minna’s quiet common sense had not saved her, however, from marrying a selfish bully who wouldn’t even allow her to have a normal social life with her own mother. She looked anything but happy. John, on the other hand, had always looked very happy indeed. He had been sad at what happened to his secretary, of course, and worried too about the attitude of the police. But he was even getting over that and he had another secretary now.