Raven Black (14 page)

'What happened?'

'She read widely outside the set texts. Contemporary fiction. It was very refreshing. For most of my students the object is to pass an examination. They're not interested in the books themselves! He paused, realizing he wasn't answering the question. 'I wanted to encourage her, build on her enthusiasm. I didn't get the impression that Euan did much of that, though of course he teaches English too. I suggested we go for a coffee after school one evening and I'd go through a list of recommended reading with her!

'What was her response?'

'She said that coffee wasn't conducive to literary debate. Why didn't we buy a bottle of wine and go back to my flat? I said that wasn't a good idea. She'd miss her bus and the chance of a lift home with her father. She usually got the bus to and from school. Euan is something of a workaholic. He's in early and works late!

Perez thought that Scott seemed to know a lot about Catherine's daily routine.

'She said it didn't matter. I could give her a lift home. It didn't matter how late she got in. Her father was used to it. Or if I didn't want to do that she could stay over with friends!

'And did you agree? To the wine and the intellectual conversation?'

'I didn't think there would be any harm in it'

Which of course was nonsense. He'd been tempted, .because she was pretty and bright and he hadn't wanted to appear stuffy like the other teachers. But he'd known he'd been playing with fire. That must have been part of the attraction, the thrill. But what had been the attraction for Catherine? Surely she wouldn't have fallen for this dry, pretentious young fogey. And Perez had an impression of her which didn't include kindness to foolish and naive teachers.

'Did she explain her plans to her father?'

'Certainly. She sent him a text message, saying she'd be late!

'Saying she was with you?'

He blushed. 'I don't know. I didn't see the text' 'Was it a successful evening?'

'No, I've already told you! His voice had become irritable. Perhaps he was regretting his impulse to speak to Perez. 'It was a mistake. I should never have agreed to it'

'Why?' Perez asked. 'There'd be nothing more satisfying, I'd have thought, than helping a responsive student!

'That was why I went into teaching! Scott broke off and looked up sharply, suspecting he was being mocked.

'But there are so few students who care, who really want to learn!

'Tell me about the evening!

'It was the last week of term. Everyone was in festive mood. At any other time I don't think I would even have considered her suggestion, but just before Christmas, that's when rules can be relaxed. It was already dark when we left the building of course and it was very foggy. Perhaps you remember those few days in the middle of December when the fog never lifted and it never seemed to get light. She'd waited for me outside the staff room. What I'm saying is that there was nothing furtive or secret about our movements. Anyone could have seen us!

Now that he'd started talking more freely, Scott seemed to find some relief in sharing the experience. It was as if he'd forgotten Perez was a policeman.

'She seemed in a very good mood. Elated even. I put that down to the end of term too. It's a frantic time -

preparation for the Beanfeasts, our Christmas dances - but everyone enjoys it. She was singing something under her breath as we walked. I didn't recognize the tune, but it stayed with me afterwards, haunted me. She offered to buy the wine. I said I had some at home, there was no need. Of course I didn't want her going into an off-licence and breaking the law and I hoped that when we got home she might forget about the idea, make do with a coffee. My flat's in the town, near the museum. The fog seemed even thicker there. Even with the street lights it would have been easy to lose our way.

'When we got to the flat she seemed completely at ease. She looked at my bookshelf, then chose a CD. She was an only child. Perhaps she was more used to adult company than her peers. She was nearly seventeen, but in our conversation I didn't feel that I was talking to someone younger than me. There was, after all, only eight years between us. If anything I was the one who was nervous. She talked a lot about film. She was raving about a director I'd never heard of. She made me feel unsophisticated and ignorant. It seemed quite natural then to open the wine and offer a glass to her. I was even worried, I remember, what she'd make of it. I suspected she'd be much more of an expert than me! He fell into a silence.

'Did you discuss books?' Perez asked at last, gently. He didn't want to break the mood. He wanted Scott still to imagine himself in that room, the curtains drawn against the fog outside, the beautiful girl and the wine.

'Oh yes. She'd just finished Sarah Waters's
Affinity.
She was hugely impressed by the writing, the Victorian voice. I was so pleased because I'd recommended it to her. It's such a compliment, isn't it, when another person becomes passionate about a book you love. It gives you a connection, a sort of intimacy!

'Is that what you said to her?'

Scott blushed. 'I'm not sure. Perhaps not in those words!

'Because it's the sort of idea which might be misinterpreted. That's why I ask. Perhaps Catherine got the wrong impression. . !

'Yes,' Scott said gratefully. 'Yes, I'm afraid she might have done!

'In what way?'

'It wasn't then. It was as she was leaving. We were in the middle of a conversation about crime fiction. We'd discovered that we shared an affection for the early English women writers, though I was championing Dorothy Sayers and her favourite was Allingham. She received a text message. She said she had to go. I thought the message must have been from her father and immediately I offered her a lift home. I'd been very careful about what I'd had to drink, so there would be no problem about my driving. You see, Inspector, I wasn't entirely irresponsible. But she said she wasn't going home. The message was from a friend. They'd meet up in Lerwick. I'll admit I was quite relieved. The weather was dreadful and I didn't like the idea of driving to Ravenswick.

'It was as she was at the door. I was helping her into her coat. I kissed her. It seemed the right thing to do. I was saying goodbye to a friend. There were no sexual connotations. Not really. She overreacted. As you say, perhaps she misinterpreted my intention&, She pushed me away, held me for a moment at arm's length, looking at me as if I disgusted her. Then she turned round and walked out before I could apologize. She didn't seem upset. I mean there were no tears, nothing like that. She just walked off. I was going to run after her, then thought it would be
better
to let her go. It was
better
not to make too much of it. I could talk to her in school the next day. But for the last two days of term she avoided me. She didn't come into class for registration. I was glad when the holidays arrived. I thought this term we'd have a new start. But of course, now that's not possible.'

'Why did you come to Shetland to teach?'

The sudden change in tone seemed to bring Scott back to the present. He smiled wanly. 'I suppose: he said, 'I wanted an adventure. I thought there'd be so much scope. . . It would be ground-breaking work.'

Ah, you thought you were bringing culture to us ignorant natives.

'And I wasn't sure that I'd be able to hack it in a city school.'

'If Catherine hadn't been your student, how would things have been different between you?' Perez threw out the question as Scott was preparing to leave.

The teacher stood for a moment, considering. 'I'd have been honest with her and told her how I really felt. That I was devoted to her and I was prepared to wait.' He gathered up his bag and left the room.

Perez knew the answer was a piece of self-dramatic nonsense, but he couldn't help being moved. There'd been a dignity in Scott's words. He told himself it was the emotional incontinence at work again. Really, there was no reason for him to feel sympathy.

Another knock on the office door broke into his thoughts. It opened and a slender boy with an anorak bundled under one arm came in. Another English voice. 'Excuse me Sir. They said you wanted to see me. I gave Catherine a lift back to Ravenswick on New Year's Eve. My name's Jonathan Gale.'

As he took the chair, Perez saw how upset he was. His eyes were red. Another man who had fallen for Catherine. It seemed she had made fools of them all.

Fran waited until mid-afternoon before going to fetch Cassie from Duncan's house. When she woke up the

, police were still in the field where the body had been. Men in waterproofs were walking across the moor behind her house in a straggling line. She didn't want her daughter asking questions about what they were doing. She wasn't ready yet to explain. She phoned Margaret Henry to tell her that Cassie wouldn't be at school.

She stayed at her father's last night. I thought it would be best. . !

'Of course,' Margaret said. 'It must be a worry for you living so close to Hillhead. We'll all be glad when it's over, when the man's behind bars! As if there was no question about the identity of the culprit.

Duncan was the nearest thing there was to a crown prince of Shetland, Fran thought. She hadn't realized that when she married him, hadn't realized it would be like a commoner marrying into royalty. His family had lived in the islands for generations. They owned land and boats and farms. He lived in a big stone house which was almost a castle. A ruined castle until the oil had come and the family had leased access land for the pipelines to the oil companies at prices which meant that Duncan would never have to work again. He
did
work, though Fran had never been sure exactly what at. He called himself a consultant.

Never mind the oil, he'd said soon after they met. The islands' future would depend on tourism, ecotourism. He set himself up to represent Shetland all over the world, advising local businesses, encouraging indigenous arts and crafts. He had an office in Lerwick and he went out to meetings with important people in Glasgow, London and Aberdeen. He seemed to have power and that was part of the attraction. There was a sexual charge in the speed of his driving and the international calls on the mobile phone. She'd been seduced by all that.

She'd met him when she'd been sent to Shetland to take photographs for an article on a young designer from Yell who was selling her exciting knitwear to exclusive shops in New York and Tokyo. Not to London. London wouldn't take them, though soon after the article appeared the designer started to receive begging letters from a number of British fashion houses too.

Duncan had pitched the original idea of the story in his role as consultant, Fran presumed - and had been there to meet her at the airport. She'd been charmed by him. It had been mid-summer. He'd bought her a meal in town then driven her west. They'd walked along the cliffs and seen the Foula lighthouse in the distance. They'd made love in a 10ft bed in a converted boathouse in Scalloway, the windows open to let in the sound of the water and the perpetual light. She had thought that he lived there, hadn't realized then it was only one of the buildings he owned and let out to tourists, only part of his empire. .

She'd thought that was it, had never believed she'd see him again. She'd flown home the next morning exhausted and a bit ashamed. It had been her first one-night stand. Then he'd turned up at her office in London with champagne and one of the beautiful sweaters made by the young designer, which she knew would have cost her almost a month's salary.
You1l need something warm
to
wear when you come
to
live with me. But that doesn't mean
you can't be glamorous.
. .

And eventually she had gone back to live with him, because she'd been as much a sucker for the grand gesture as the next woman, and anyway she'd loved the islands even on that first visit. Had it been Duncan she'd fallen for, or the place? Would champagne and a jumper have persuaded her to move to Birmingham?

They hadn't married until Cassie was on the way. Cassie hadn't been planned exactly and Fran had been surprised by Duncan's ambivalent attitude. She'd expected him to be as thrilled as she was. Pregnancy was a drama, wasn't it, and he did so like dramas. 'I suppose we should marry then,' he'd said tentatively, almost as if he was hoping she'd suggest another option. 'Why?' she'd cried. She was an independent woman after all. 'We don't
have
to get married. We can stay as we are. Only there'll be a child! 'No,' he'd said. 'If there's a child then we should marry!

It was a proposal of sorts. She had dreamed of his proposing to her but had imagined something wonderful.

Paris, at least.

Then, when Cassie was six months old, Fran had caught him in bed with another woman, an older woman, another Shetland aristocrat who could trace her family back to Norwegian rule. She too was married. It seemed the relationship had being going on for years, certainly before Fran had arrived to take her photographs. Most of their friends had known about it, taken it for granted. Fran had known the woman, Celia, well, had considered her a friend. Celia was the sort of woman Fran would have liked as a mother strong, independent, unconventional. She had a style which was unusual among the island women - she wore a lot of black and bright red lipstick, long earrings made of silver or seashells or amber. She'd married against her family's wishes.

Fran had collected together the baby's things and taken the first flight south. She refused to listen to Duncan's explanations. She thought he was pathetic. What was it with the Oedipus complex? She could see that he would never give up Celia. Fran would make her own life again in London. She told herself she was more hurt by the betrayal of a woman whom she'd admired than by her husband.