Return to Butterfly Island (8 page)

“That must have been confusing, love,” said Mrs. Baxter, holding China’s hand.

“I suppose it was. It all seems so long ago now, it was just stuff that happened. But another thing I’ve already learned from Aunt Bea’s journal—there was no argument there, not on her side at least.”

“That’s right, love. All the time you were away, Beatrice never gave up hoping that the two of you might appear on a boat one day, returning home. She must have spent a small fortune down the years with McGregor trying to find out where you’d vanished to.”

“I wish, after mum died, I wish I’d had the gumption to come in search of the truth. Meet Bea again whilst she was still alive. I’ve enough little stories about her from the wake to write a book, but I missed
speaking
to her.” She sighed and tried not to get upset again, but Mrs. Baxter’s gentle hands and Irene putting one arm around her shoulder started them all off crying.

It was a strange sight that met solicitor Douglas McGregor’s eyes as he wandered down the track, nets and butterfly equipment in hand. Three women laughing and crying all at the same time.

“Place has gone mad,” he muttered to himself, his mustache bristling. “Have you lot just kept drinking right through from yesterday, or is this a more general outbreak of hysteria?”

“Oh, get in the pub, you insensitive man, and I’ll make you something to eat!” shouted Biddy, marching the baffled solicitor through the Inn door.

“What did I say?” he cried, much to China and Irene’s amusement.

James McKriven was right, the two women were becoming firm friends, but not in the way he intended. Irene had already decided she was not telling him a thing of their conversations, unless China wanted her to.

The friends of China Stuart were beginning to close ranks. Drawing strength from her leadership and guidance, she would be sure that McKriven was not going to have things all his own way as he had been used to for so long.

Chapter 11

The next few days on Butterfly Island passed without any new revelations. Work on the Grange roof continued apace, with China making several more cash withdrawals from the general store’s snazzy red ATM to pay for materials. Internal work, such as replacing the fallen ceilings, would have to wait until later, as the four men worked tirelessly to make the slate roof weatherproof once again.

On Monday morning, with a lump in her throat and some of the island’s butterflies in her stomach, China finally made a very important call to her boss back in Manchester. That done, she could concentrate on her plans for the future, contacting several sport and outdoor adventure companies to see what interest she could garner. But of her aunt’s new will, there was still no sign.

“Should you not sign James McKriven’s business deal and Beatrice’s new will never surfaces, that leaves us with her original wishes, to donate the Stuart lands to the island,” explained McGregor as all parties concerned gathered for a council of war on Monday evening in one corner of The Cuckoo Inn’s snug by the crackling log fire.

“That sounds better than it should. When my predecessor made that first will for Beatrice it was a bit of a sloppy affair. He made no account of several of the listed beneficiaries dying before Beatrice and not leaving wills of their own. Nor that people would sell up or just move away. It’s a sad fact that if this first will applies, McKriven will own over 50% of the disputed land, as he’s picked up the pieces of the jigsaw down the last ten years for buttons. It’s a case of heads, he wins, tails, we lose, without that missing new will.”

There was a murmur of annoyance and disapproval from amongst the gathered friends.

“We’ve got no one but ourselves to blame. For years we’ve just let that devious swine play Monopoly with our island. This is our last chance to save it and ourselves. Thanks to China for giving us a bit of spirit and organization, plus having the faith to put her own money into rescuing the Grange,” said Donald.

There followed a brief round of applause, much to China’s embarrassment. It took one single
woof
from Morgan to shut them all up.

“Thank you for gathering here today, loyal subjects and new friends.” China lightened the mood as she stood up in the centre of the people, never one to shy away from a product presentation. “The problem; James McKriven. His plan; something big and nasty that will wreck the environment, destroy the local community, and possibly turn this little island into something akin to McKrivenWorld. What can we do?”

“Get on with it!” heckled Handy Andy, only for Mrs. Baxter to catch him a clout around the back of the head with a rolled up newspaper.

“My first decision has been not to sign the deal he nearly charmed Aunt Bea into taking. I’ve got to be honest, no matter what we all think of the man, he has put together a tempting portfolio. There are some genuinely good ideas to breath new life into Butterfly Island. Just because of where they have come from shouldn’t make us reject them out of hand.”

“You’re not thinking of signing, are you?” Donald butted in.

“Pass me that newspaper, Biddy,” sighed China. “You’re not listening, are you?, you great huggable man you.
I will not sign this deal
. But pulled apart and cherry-picked for the most beneficial schemes to the islanders rather than McKriven’s empire, there are a few damn good ideas hidden in there.”

“So where to next?” Irene asked, snuggling against her Jackie.

“Douglas here is going to bring the full power of the law to stop McKriven hassling me to sign. Also, we’ll tie the first will up in probate to give us a bit of breathing space. I propose we set up a holding company,
Butterfly Island Enterprises
, to buy out any farmers in financial trouble before they are bullied into selling to the enemy. To bail out people who were already conned into his financial help schemes—”

“Like me.” Irene held up one reticent finger.

“Like our gullible schoolteacher here, and buy up their debt to stop McKriven piling on the interest. In short, we counter the enemy at every turn and claim this island back for its rightful owners; the islanders!”

As she got another rousing cheer, her mobile went off, making everyone jump. Holding up one hand for silence, China took the call.

“Shush! This will be our exclusive agent in Manchester. How’s the hair, Anthony?” She let her best friend waffle on for a while until the pub crowd began to get restless. “Anthony. Pause for breath. Did we get the loan?” There was a moment’s complete silence as she listened to the answer, hoping the reception wouldn’t pack in like it usually did.

Her fist suddenly shot into the air. “We have got the initial loan from my old firm!
Butterfly Island Enterprises
is officially a go!”

There were ecstatic hugs all round as China tried to say goodbye to her Manchester friend. “You have just got to get yourself up here, Anthony . . . Well, wear a hat if you’re afraid the salt air will wreck your follicles! Think of all these hunky fishermen waiting to meet you!”

When the chaos died down and the meeting broke up for a round of drinks, China perched herself on Donald’s knee and gave him a hug. “Small steps,” she said, grinning from ear-to-ear.

“What do you think is best to tackle first? Continuing the work on the Grange?” he asked.

“No. I’ve got separate plans to fund that. And the new boathouses, and the refurbishment of The Cuckoo.”

“Slow down, woman. You’re on fire!” Donald laughed.

“No, we’re going to build a second pier out past the marshes. It will be the start of a sports centre and marina. The land is useless for farming out there and I’m told the scuba diving is best along those cliffs and the coves. A pier with a real road linked to this jetty. With the proper infrastructure in place we will attract several business ventures that I’ve been courting for the last few days.”

Donald looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. “You really are serious about all this, aren’t you? You used the words, ‘my old firm’ just then. Am I to take it that you’re staying?”

She smiled at his worried frown and kissed away the wrinkles on his forehead. “That is a resounding yes, Donald. I have handed in my official notice taking holidays owed in lieu of notice. My flat is up for sale and I’ve burnt my bridges from my old life. I am staying. Your wee China Stuart has come home.”

As he lifted her in the air and spun her around, she was trying not to think of what might happen to spoil this moment. What angles she may have missed that McKriven might drive a wedge through to wreck their plans.

“Put me down, you big Scottish nut case!” She laughed.

Donald obeyed, all that old aggression noticeable by its absence. He was beginning to rediscover that he had a sense of humour.

“Answer me this. I remember walking hand-in-hand down onto that stone jetty with my mum on that last day. Stupid here thought we were going on our hols. Then you gave me a kiss and asked me something . . . or told me something. I can’t quite remember. It all comes back to me in my dreams, but the words are just out of reach.”

Donald shook his head, determined not to spoil the moment by pushing his luck and telling her what he said. “I can’t really remember. It was probably something juvenile like ’Send me a postcard’, or the like.”

“No it wasn’t. This was really important. Think, damn your sexy grey eyes. Delve back into that seaweed-clogged brain of yours.”

So complete was the crowd’s bubble of happiness that they failed to notice the snake in the grass. Finishing his half a lager, Martin Japes McKriven’s sidekick scuttled out of the pub, hurrying back to the jetty where his master’s boat was moored. The consequences of that oversight would begin to be felt the very next morning.

“Something’s wrong.” China put her mobile down on the bar next to her half-finished breakfast as Mrs. Baxter came out of the kitchen. “That was the Wildlife Conservation Society. They understand we are planning to look into putting a permanent track through the marshlands and would like to kindly point out, before we waste any money or time, that there are at least a dozen protected species of newts and insects that must not be disturbed by law.”

“But, you only told us that idea last evening? How . . .?

“We might have a mole in our midst. Someone has run straight to McKriven with our ideas. Which means he knows about
Butterfly Island Enterprises
.” Her phone went again, and, biting her bottom lip, China thumbed it on.

“Calm down, Anthony! Deep breaths, that’s it. Now begin at the beginning.”

Five minutes later, China’s already pale complexion went two shades whiter.

“Oooo, he’s good, I’ll give him that. Someone registered the name
Butterfly Island Enterprises
first thing this morning at Companies House before Anthony could get his act together. Plus, the bank has come back to my old boss to say there is a problem with my credit rating. It seems I owe money on lots of goods I’ve never seen or heard of, so naturally they are a little concerned about lending me any money.”

“James McKriven. I should have tanned that little brat’s backside all those years ago . . .” Mrs. Baxter tailed off as the pub door swung open.

In his expensive, spotless green coat, the very devil stood framed in the doorway enjoying the dramatic entrance.

“James. You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” China smiled grimly, running her fingers through her curly hair. From out of nowhere, Morgan appeared and sat next to his mistress, leaning against her for physical support.

“Seen off any wannabe opposition? Too right I have, wee China Stuart. I’ve more people in more pockets than you could ever imagine.” He sat on the bar stool next to China and smiled at the livid Mrs. Baxter. “And I could always outpace you when I was a bairn, Biddy. You were never built for running.”

“Why you cheeky—” Mrs. Baxter began, but China’s raised hand stopped her in mid-flow.

“Could you make us a coffee please, Biddy? Seems like it’s time for a serious business talk.”

With Mrs. Baxter reluctantly out of earshot, China finished off her last piece of sausage, drained her coffee cup with a fresh one imminent, and stared James McKriven out.

“It was all going so swimmingly before you returned from the dead, or at least the invisible. Do you know how much I’ve spent over the years keeping your identity a secret? All those screwed-up tax bills? The misdirected mail? Your name erased from as many databases as I could hack into? And you never had a clue why.”

“I’m the last of the Stuart line. If I hadn’t existed, you’d have been home and free. Either the original will or your business proposal, it didn’t matter. Butterfly Island was nearly yours.”

“Then that stupid old woman had second thoughts and went and died.”

“After making a new will.”

“Which doesn’t exist.”

“Oh, yes, it does.”

“Prove it.”

They sat in silence as Mrs. Baxter brought in the coffees, pausing only long enough to give James a really hard stare and went back into the kitchen.

“I was going to look into the protected species angle before we put in any plans for the marsh track. How . . .?”

James slipped a thin document across the table for her to see. A report about the indigenous wildlife of the island, independently commissioned of course.

“There before you again. I was just going to make the road, say ‘oops’ when another few useless insect sub-species went extinct, and pay the fine. So much more cheaper. And what is it with this insanity about protecting newts? Horrible slimy little things!”

“It starts with newts, James, then it ends with islanders. But you don’t differentiate between the two, do you? They’re all in the way of James McKriven’s progress.”

He smiled and nodded gently. “You so ‘get me’, don’t you? What a fabulous mind you’ve got inside that delightful little body. Both are wasted on that dullard, Donald. If you ever fancy coming over to the Dark Side, think of the team we would make.”

“Not a chance.”

The man drank his coffee, as Morgan decided it was time for him to go. The dog’s hackles raised in a line down his back and that familiar low growl beginning to sound from the back of his throat.

“I’ll be off then, to throw more penniless crofters out of their hovels. That offer of a partnership won’t be open forever. Until you say yes, or you limp back to Manchester with your tail between your legs, I’ll be on your back every step of the way.”

China watched McGriven leave, with Morgan two steps behind him. Part of her wished the dog would give him a little nip, just the one. But then James would have taken great pleasure in reporting a savage dog attack and demanding that the beast was put down. He was taking no prisoners in this game. The man obviously had a fortune riding of whatever shady deals he had planned for this wonderful island.

She would just have to stop him, that was all.