Rachel's Coming Home (2 page)

‘Are you part of this establishment?' said the man, frowning and giving her hand a cursory shake. ‘I've been waiting here a good five minutes. I was told I could arrive any time this morning. It's really not very convenient to have to hang around like this.'

‘I'm sorry,' said Rachel. ‘I'm sure my mother is about. It's most unlike her not to answer the door at once. But as I'm here now, perhaps I can help?'

She squinted up at the man. He was very large and vaguely familiar.

‘Perhaps you can.' He was still frowning, seeming unsure as to whether to continue with his complaint. Then the whining of dogs in the back of his smart car decided him. He strode over and opened the door to let them out. ‘I've booked Bill and Ben into the kennels here.' He stooped to place a hand on the head of each dog and his expression softened, making him suddenly rather attractive.

Rachel smiled and bent to greet the dogs herself. The two collies were beauties, with thick, glossy coats and bright eyes. Maybe, now she was here, she would be able to have a dog of her own. What a wonderful thought.

‘My mother said she was expecting you,' said Rachel, glad that she knew this much. ‘Why don't you come through and I can show you the set up? Bring any blankets or toys you want to leave with the dogs, it helps if they have something familiar.'

Rachel turned the handle of the front door and was glad to find it open. She was more than a little worried at the non-appearance of her mother.

She led the stranger along the short, stone-flagged passageway into the kitchen at the back of the house. From here you could see the courtyard around which the new kennels had been built. To her relief, she spotted her mother coming slowly out of the end building, carrying a bucket in one hand whilst the other held her walking stick.

Forgetting the stranger for a moment she opened the back door and stepped out. ‘Mum, what are you doing? You know you shouldn't be carrying anything heavy …'

‘It's all right, dear,' said her mother, but her voice was breathless. ‘It's not heavy.' She put down the bucket which was, in fact, empty. Rachel guessed that it had been rather heavier before her mother began the round of feeding.

She sighed. ‘Where's Anthony?'

Her mother frowned meaningfully at her and then turned to smile at the newcomer. ‘Mr Milligan? How nice to meet you. Have you just arrived? How fortunate that Rachel was here to let you in.'

‘Indeed,' said the man. Rachel was relieved that he didn't launch into a tirade about having been kept standing on the front doorstep. She waited whilst he introduced the two dogs to her mother, who in turn explained how the kennels were run. Her mother still looked a little pale and when she offered to show Mr Milligan around Rachel suggested she took her mother's place. ‘Why don't you put the kettle on and sort out the paperwork?' she said brightly. ‘I'll enjoy showing Mr Milligan around and seeing what little visitors we have in at the moment.'

The man followed her across the yard, the dogs prancing at his heels. New dogs were always excited by the smells and noise of the kennels and she was secretly impressed that they stayed so close to their master. She found the man rather arrogant but he clearly had a knack with dogs.

As she commenced the brief tour of the kennels, Rachel began to relax. It was a lovely place, still spotless despite her parents' problems, beautifully laid out in a modern design, with every dog having its own small enclosure and a private run. Animals that came from the same family were given a slightly larger ‘apartment' and Rachel immediately spotted which one was meant for Bill and Ben and indicated this to their owner. She hoped he was impressed.

‘I'm sure they'll be very happy here,' she said encouragingly. ‘We make sure they get plenty of exercise and are well fed and cared for. In accordance with the owner's instructions, of course.' She patted the head of a little West Highland terrier as she passed. ‘Hello Jinty, how are you, sweetheart? We find the dogs are very happy with us and their owners often bring them back again and again.'

‘Not quite Holiday Inn standards,' said the man. Rachel wasn't sure if he was being complimentary so she merely smiled. She wished she could remember why the man seemed so familiar. He was good-looking in a rugged kind of way and he certainly had the self-assurance that made her think he was
someone
. Hopefully her mother would be able to explain.

‘I'll take you back to the house now,' she said. ‘Do you want to keep the dogs with you? They're brothers, aren't they? Such lovely animals. They're very welcome in the house. We have different dogs in at different times, so it's quite a home from home for them.' This was one thing her parents had insisted on when they started the kennels and Rachel knew it was popular with the owners. The man merely nodded and put a hand down to touch each dog again. He hadn't praised the facilities and she felt slighted on her parents' behalf. People were normally quite effusive, as they should be.

The man took his leave soon after, declining the offer of tea. ‘I'm in rather a hurry,' he said, glancing at Rachel, but fortunately not mentioning his wait at the door. She felt annoyed with him, but when she saw him kneel to hug each dog in turn she decided to put his abruptness down to parting with the beautiful collies, who he clearly loved. His affection for the dogs was the only good thing about him, but she didn't say that to her mother.

‘He's new to the area, isn't he?' she said as soon as the 4x4 had drawn away. ‘Certainly not one of your normal clients.'

‘He seems a very nice man,' said her mother. Rachel smiled. She should have known her mother would say that. She never could see the bad side of anyone.

‘As long as he pays, I suppose that's the main thing,' she said. ‘Now, tell me how Dad is. And
where
Anthony is. What a good job I arrived when I did, you look worn out.' Rachel took over the pouring of the tea and collected the biscuit tin from the pantry. She would start the way she intended to continue.

‘Your dad is doing very well and looking forward to seeing you later on. As to Anthony … Well, I'm not sure where Anthony is. He didn't come home last night.'

Chapter Two

Anthony was walking slowly along Buchanan Street, shivering despite the sunshine. He was sure he had had a fleece with him yesterday, but it seemed to have been mislaid. Now his head was pounding and the bright sunshine hurt his eyes and he had no idea how he was going to get home from Glasgow. Staying out so late last night had seemed like a fun thing to do at the time, but now he wasn't so sure.

He pulled his mobile out of the pocket of his jeans and looked at it hopefully. The battery was still completely flat. It might actually have been better if the thief had taken this and left his wallet behind. There hadn't been much money in the wallet after paying his ticket to the concert, and then a few beers afterwards, but there must have been something.

He fingered the change in his pocket. Eighty-three pence. Either he could try and find a very cheap coffee or he could use it to phone home. He knew his mother would be worrying, she always made a fuss about every little thing, she was sure to panic about his being missing for a whole twelve hours. That thought decided him. He wasn't a child any longer, was he?

He headed for the station where he knew he would find one of those awful vending machines. He used seventy-five pence for a watery but warm chocolate drink. Now he had eight pence left.

He sat down on one of the hard plastic chairs and closed his eyes. He was completely knackered. By the time they'd got back to James' room in the halls of residence there hadn't been much of the night left. And sleeping on the floor hadn't been exactly comfortable.. He wished he'd thought to ask James for a loan but at the time he had been too intent on showing he wasn't worried about a thing.

He'd just sit here for a while and see if any bright ideas occurred to him.

When Philip Milligan bought Courockglen House he had known he had found a gem. He had finally moved in on April 1
^st
, but it had been no April Fool. This was the place he was going to settle, to review the one or two successes he'd had recently, and to work on a book to follow on from his last television series. He had been determined to brook no interruptions to this schedule so he really didn't know how it was he found himself on a visit to his sister.

His sister! Philip and Alison had never got along. She was twelve years his elder and had always seemed more like a second extra-fussy mother than a sibling. Or perhaps it had been that she had been the perfect child in every way whereas he, until he had broken into television, had never seemed to do anything right.

He almost groaned as he pulled his Freelander into the beautifully-paved driveway of his sister's house. It was on one of those exclusive little housing estates that had sprung up around Manchester: perfect, expensive, five-bedroomed detached houses with the tiniest of gardens. Everything was manicured and tidy and looked like something out of a magazine. For Philip, a professional historian, the fake Corinthian pillars and the pseudo-leaded windows were painful to behold.

Alison appeared at the door before he had even climbed out of the car. Her brown, bobbed hair was as neat as ever and her slacks and shirt were pristine. The carefully applied make-up did not, however, hide the fact that her face was pale and pinched.

He air-kissed her cheek and said brightly, ‘You're looking well.'

‘Thank you for coming. I was expecting you half an hour ago but I expect the traffic was bad …?'

Philip immediately felt defensive. He could have phoned her on his mobile, but it hadn't occurred to him. He didn't
think
they had agreed on an exact time. He bit back an apology and followed her into the shiny white kitchen.

‘I'll call Amelia down to say hello in a moment,' she said, reminding Philip of the existence of his niece. She was such a quiet little thing, it was easy to forget her. ‘But I thought we should have a little chat first.'

It was then that the first real feeling of foreboding touched Philip.

‘You have done this kitchen nicely,' he said at random. He had only visited this house a couple of times before but he was fairly sure she had redecorated. He remembered that Alison liked to redecorate.

‘It works well, doesn't it?' she agreed with a small, pleased smile. ‘I wanted somewhere calm and I think the different shades of white are just what I needed.'

‘Ah. Yes. And how is Colin? Is he home at the moment?' Colin was Alison's husband, whose work in the oil-rich countries of the Middle East funded this comfortable lifestyle.

‘He came home briefly last week but he's away again now. He was lucky to get leave at short notice.'

Alison placed a white porcelain teapot on the breakfast bar along with two delicate white cups and saucers. Philip would have preferred coffee, and something to eat, but didn't say so.

‘And how are you?' he said, perching uncomfortably on one of the shiny stools. He knew he would have to ask sometime. ‘What was it you wanted to talk to me about?'

Alison stirred her tea and didn't look at him. Normally she was alert for his every word and expression, ready to advise or criticise. Her reticence only increased his unease.

She said to the floor, ‘I've not been well. How shall I put it? Women's problems, you know.' She gave a little laugh. ‘Colin came home last week so he could be with me when I saw the specialist.' Philip jerked his head in surprise and she said quickly. ‘It's not serious, don't worry. I mean, it's not life-threatening. But they've decided they do need to operate. It's quite a major procedure. I'll be going into hospital on Monday.'

This was the last thing Philip had expected. Alison was not only always organised, she was also always annoyingly healthy. ‘I'm sorry …'

‘Originally they were going to operate the following week so I thought I had more time to arrange things. But now they've brought it forward. I suppose I should be pleased. I've been in some pain and, well, you don't want to talk about that. I'll be in hospital for up to two weeks and then there'll be quite a lengthy period of convalescence. Colin's plan is that I should go out to Dubai to rest and recover.'

‘I suppose that makes sense,' said Philip doubtfully.

‘The only difficulty is, of course, what we should do about Amelia. There is no one to look after her here whilst I'm in hospital, and it won't be ideal for her in Dubai whilst I convalesce.' She gave him a quick glance. She really looked exhausted and Philip felt the stirrings of sympathy.

Then she continued, ‘It was Colin who thought of you. Colin's parents are dead, and with his sister living in Australia, there's no one here we can send her to. I was at my wit's end. But Colin remembered you weren't gallivanting all over the country any more. He thought that, now you'd settled down, this might be an ideal opportunity for you to get to know your niece better.'

Philip felt as though someone had struck him. To get to know his niece better meant … what? ‘I'm sure Amelia is a lovely girl,' he said faintly, trying to deflect what he knew was coming.

‘She is. She's a good girl. She'll be no trouble. And you're the only family she has left in England. It makes sense that she goes to you.'

‘Scotland,' said Philip, shaking his head. ‘I live in Scotland.'

‘Exactly. And you've got that lovely big house, you won't have any difficulty accommodating her.'

‘But Alison,' said Philip, trying to marshal his thoughts and put up a convincing argument, ‘what about … about, er, school? And I'm very busy on this book I'm writing. And how will a little girl feel about being whisked off to the back of beyond? Alison, isn't there someone else?'

Alison shook her head very slowly, as if even that was too much effort. ‘No, there's no one else. It's the summer holidays just now, so we don't need to worry about school. And at seven it wouldn't really matter if she missed a few weeks. What matters is that she has someone to look after her.'