Alex Gray - The Riverman

‘Don’t tell me. At least save the gory bits for when it’s all over.’ She stepped out of his grasp and laid down the spoon. ‘Ten minutes and it’s ready. Okay? Just let me re-heat this rice.’

Lorimer smiled and wandered through to their sitting room. There was the usual mess of books and folders, waiting for his wife’s red marking pen, beside her favourite armchair and several days’ worth of newspapers. The place had become a total shambles during Maggie’s absence until Lorimer had sought the services of a cleaning woman. Jean still came in twice a week and was a godsend as far as they were concerned. Lorimer sank into the chair opposite the television, stretching his long legs in front of him.

‘How was your day?’ he called through. ‘Any horror stories?’

‘Yep. This was our day to take the fourth years on a trip to the local youth theatre. All very cultured except when Jo-Anne Dury was sick on the bus home and Raymond Flannigan started dropping hints that she might be pregnant. What a shower! I tell you, these kids can be really nasty sometimes.’

‘Not like the angels back in Florida, then?’

‘Don’t start. “You know I’ve got certain misgivings about this exchange programme, but on the whole I really think it was a positive experience.”’ Maggie put on what Lorimer called her ‘please miss’ voice. She’d had to give several talks about her time in the US and had tried to be honest about her stay overseas, but admitting that she’d been terribly homesick was not what the exchange programme’s organizers had had in mind. Lorimer smiled to himself. Maggie had taken the decision to work in the US for an academic year after a period of restlessness. It had been caused in no small way by his own horrendous working hours and the resulting lack of a decent social life. He’d spent Christmas with her in Florida, and after the holiday, the parting had been even harder than when she had first left. But that, thank God, was behind them now.

‘Okay. That’s it ready. Come on through.’

Wiping his lips with a napkin, Lorimer gave a sigh. ‘That was great. Best ever.’

‘Glad you liked it. Listen, while I’ve got you in a good mood, any thoughts on a summer holiday?’

‘Actually I’ve put in for leave the first two weeks of July. Where do you fancy going? Portugal again?’

‘Oh, I’ve missed Scotland so much this last year. I can’t bear the thought of flying off anywhere else. Skye, maybe? Or Wester Ross?’

‘Wherever you want,’ Lorimer told her. ‘But don’t forget it’ll be midgie season!’

‘Hey, after all those months of mossies, our wee midges will be a doddle.’ His wife put on a mock-Highland accent that made him laugh. She was good at voices. He could imagine her pupils being enraptured whenever Mrs Lorimer read to them.

‘How about looking on the Net to see what I can find? A cottage somewhere, maybe. Or would madam prefer a posh hotel?’

‘A cottage. I’m not sharing you with anything but the midges, William Lorimer.’

After he had cleared the supper dishes away and his wife had disappeared into the study, Lorimer sank back in an armchair with a smile on his face. Maggie had that rare talent for making him see the world through different eyes. They’d have a wonderful break together, he was sure. Maybe he could plan things this time as a surprise for her, he told himself, a twinge of guilt reminding him of how it always fell to his wife to book the holidays. Suddenly the picture of Elizabeth Forbes swam unbidden into his mind. What holidays had she planned with her husband that would now be cancelled?

The warm satisfied feeling shrivelled up inside him as he remembered her stricken face and the way it had closed when he’d mentioned the female caller. Lorimer frowned. What if Duncan Forbes had been given GHB in his drink? Had someone set out to seduce him? Or had the intention been much more sinister than that? Thoughts of the Hebrides faded from his mind as he sat there in the darkness, the only light coming from a flickering television screen. Now he was trying to see through those last few days since George Parsonage had brought the man’s body ashore; if only he could make some kind of sense of them.

Maggie sat at her desk staring into space. Funny how a day could change things, she thought. One minute you’re up in the air, the next your wee bubble of self-satisfaction has burst. It had been the kids on the bus who had started it all. She’d overheard their whispering and strained to make out what was being said once the name ‘Mrs Lorimer’ was mentioned. Then she wished she hadn’t. It was only kids talking, surely? But was there any substance to their gossiping? ‘Bet he’s been having a bit on the side when she was away,’ one of them had sniggered.

‘Aye, just like what goes on in The Bill ,’ another had laughed, her voice just raised enough to ensure that Maggie had heard. It was just some nasty-minded wee lassies trying to get her back for something, she told herself. Nothing to lose sleep over, nothing at all.

‘The police will be paying us a visit later this week. It will probably be just a routine affair but I want us to be prepared.’ Alec Barr looked over his spectacles, his bushy eyebrows almost meeting in the middle. There was an edge to his tone that brooked no opposition. Catherine Devoy crossed then uncrossed her legs. She desperately wanted to catch the others’ eyes but, as Barr pinioned them with his glare, there was no hope of any silent communication going unnoticed. She thought she heard Malcolm give a sigh but maybe it was just the sound of traffic several floors below. Looking down she caught sight of their feet: Graham’s well-polished black Italian shoes next to Malcolm’s Oxford brogues. You could always tell something about a person from their choice of footwear, Catherine thought absently, suddenly realizing with a pang that she could not remember a single thing about what sort of shoes Duncan had worn.

‘We’ve had several meetings about our problem over the past two months, none of which have been minuted, naturally.’ Barr smiled sourly, staring into the eyes of each of his partners. This time Catherine did sense Malcolm shifting uneasily. Her eyes flicked to the man by her side. Malcolm Adams sat bolt upright, his arms crossed in front of him as if his body would fall apart should he let them go. His pale blond hair was cropped short to hide the receding widow’s peak, revealing a pulse throbbing visibly at his temple. Catherine took in the skin stretched tight over high cheekbones. He’d lost weight, she realized with a start. Why hadn’t she noticed that before now? What had been the cause of that? she asked herself. Something on his mind that he’d been unable to share with the others, perhaps?

‘I want us all to be quite clear about this matter.’ Barr was tapping his finger on the edge of his desk, drawing her attention back to the senior partner. ‘No one is to mention anything about the firm’s … difficulties.’ He smiled a crocodile smile that failed to reach his eyes and Catherine shuddered in spite of herself.

‘We’re all implicated by this. And we’ll simply have to stick together. For all our sakes,’ Barr added, giving Catherine a gimlet stare. She tried to return his smile but failed, recognizing the senior partner’s threat for what it was.

Their futures were supposed to be safe now, but she had never felt so vulnerable, nor so afraid.

‘What about the funeral?’ Janey asked. There was a pause before her brother’s voice came back, muted by the airport noises around him. ‘I’ll be home tomorrow, then we can make plans.’ There was another silence, then, ‘How’s Mum?’ Philip asked.