The Prodigal Son Page 12

  “Speaking of my father, I need to tell him about Bruce. I’m not looking forward to meeting him again, but it needs to be done.”

  Rob started to rise but Fraser’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

  “Did you not know?” He scanned Rob’s face. “Your father’s dead”

  24

  Robbie walked to the carpark in a daze and Joe had to give a quick blast of the car horn to get his attention. Slowly, he ambled to the big black Defender and climbed into the driver’s seat, and stared through the windscreen.

  “You okay, mate?” Joe placed a hand on Rob’s shoulder.

  “My father’s dead, Joe. Fraser said he died of a heart attack over three years ago. He said Bruce told everybody he’d tried to get me to come to the funeral, but I said no, that my father had died long ago as far as I was concerned. He said he begged me to come but I refused … and wouldn’t answer to him again.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “What must people here think of me, that I wouldn’t even come to my father’s funeral? My mother came and my brother even flew over from New Zealand. He said Bruce was raging afterwards because my father’s solicitor said at the reading of the will that I should be there, as a beneficiary. Apparently, he had a fight to have the will read, but when he did, it was announced that the whole estate was to be divided equally between his three sons. Bruce went ballistic, tried to get me excluded, but old man Hogg, his solicitor, refused to change it …said he couldn’t change my father’s wishes.”

  “So, you own a third of Achravie estate?”

  “Funny isn’t it? I’m not sure what will happen to it now, what with Bruce gone.”

  “I’m not sure ‘funny’ is a word I’d use,” Joe muttered.

  “You should try to get a few hours of sleep; you look shattered,” said Joe.

  “I want to talk to Justine and Lorna before I do anything, so let’s head down to the Red Lion,” Rob said quietly, turning the key in the ignition.

  “They’re not there Rob.” Joe cautioned.

  “Where are they?”

  “Justine took my car and left, and Lorna went home.”

  “Justine left to go where?”

  “London. She’s heading to Machrie, and Andy Savage is having her picked up there.”

  “London?” Rob asked in disbelief.

  “I think she just wanted … away.”

  “From me?”

  “Partly. But there’s a bit more to it, I think. Lorna might be able to tell you more, because they talked for ages. Give her a call in the morning. It’s late … or should I say early?”

  “I hadn’t realised.” Rob sounded lost.

  “I’ve got keys for two of the cabins at the Red Lion. Let’s go and get our heads down for a bit while we can.”

  “Okay,” was all Rob said and he put the Defender into gear.

  Rob didn’t think he’d sleep, but he undressed and pulled the duvet up as he lay staring at the ceiling, his mind filled with a multitude of thoughts: what had happened, things he’d been told, plans for the next day, and what he needed to do before he left Achravie. Sleep did finally interrupt those thoughts and Rob woke to soft knocking at the cabin door.

  “Yes, who is it?” he called sleepily.

  “Me,” Joe announced. “You okay in there?”

  “Just waking up, didn’t think I’d sleep but I did,” he advised loudly, climbing out of bed and opening the door. “What time is it?”

  “Time you were up and about. We got a lot to do today. I’ve had breakfast, but Lorna hasn’t and she’s waiting for you in the dining room.”

  “Give me time to grab a quick shower and I’ll be right there.”

  He showered and dressed in a blue denim shirt and beige jeans, and inspected the damage to his face before heading to the dining room and to Lorna. What would he say to her?

  The dining room was empty when he entered and he was about to locate Hamish or Lizzie when Lorna and Lizzie walked in, deep in conversation. They stopped when they saw Rob.

  “Let me go and get some coffee for you,” said Lizzie, looking embarrassed as she left Rob and Lorna on their own.

  “God, you look worse than me,” Rob said with a half-smile and look of concern.

  “Thanks. You always did know how to make a girl feel good about herself”, Lorna replied with a half-smile of her own and look that suggested she wasn’t sure what to say next.

  “How are you?” Rob ventured, pulling out a chair for her.

  She sat. “Probably about as good as I look. You?”

  “Not sure yet. Still having difficulty taking it all in. My father’s dead, did you know that?”

  “Yeah, everyone does.”

  “I didn’t,” Rob shrugged.

  “Bruce said he told you … said you argued and refused to come to the funeral. That’s why I didn’t say anything. I thought you knew! The bastard, he didn’t tell you?”

  “I found out last night from Fraser; he thought I knew, too.” Rob felt tears form as he spoke.

  “Scrambled eggs for you, Lorna.” Lizzie placed a tray on the corner of the table. “And a full Scottish for you, Robbie. I thought you’d be hungry.” Lizzie offered a casual smile. “I’ll thought I’d leave the coffeepot. You look like you could both use a couple cups.” She scanned Rob’s face. “You okay? Damn, I can’t believe I just asked that.” A tear streamed down her cheek.

  Rob reached over and took both her hands in his. “It’s fine, Lizzie. As long as there are people like you in this world, it’s a place worth being. Any chance of some HP sauce?”

  “Aye, no bother.” She was back a few seconds later. “Here. I’ll leave you two to talk, and if you need anything else, just holler.”

  Rob and Lorna sat before the breakfasts and although Rob had not come to the dining room with a notion of food, the delicious smells made him realise he’d not eaten since the previous morning. He ate quickly, with gusto, and even devoured three slices of toast with marmalade, which he washed down with two cups of coffee. Lorna ate her scrambled eggs with less enthusiasm.

  As Rob sipped his third coffee, he asked, “What are you thinking?”

  “Up until a wee while ago, I couldn’t think, period. Yesterday seems like a dream—a nightmare, more like. I still can’t get my head round Stella, what she did. She used me, Robbie. And I loved her. We all knew Bruce was a bad one, but even at that, nobody could have imagined he was capable of what he did yesterday. He’d have killed you, his own brother, without a second thought. I shudder to think what he’d have done to Justine and I. You didn’t hear what he said to us, what he was going to do … then pass us on to those goons he employed. It was filthy and twisted. Who shot that guy, by the way?”

  “Big Mac. He was up in the forest with a laser-sighted sniper rifle”

  “Is that what the red dot was?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Big Mac is the guy from the training centre in Machrie, right?”

  “I served with him in the regiment, one of the finest shots I ever came across,” Rob replied and scanned her face, hesitant to ask what Justine said when she left. He took a deep breath and asked.

  Lorna hesitated. “Justine had a very violent partner a few years ago. She suffered a lot because of him. He’s in prison for what he did to her one night and she hasn’t had a serious relationship since. She finds it difficult to trust men because of that, but for some reason she felt she could trust you. I think she genuinely cares for you and saw a chance to build a life with you. She never saw you as being violent till last night … and it freaked her out.”

  “Have I lost her, Lorna?”

  “I don’t honestly know.”

  “But you know me. I’d never harm anyone I care about. Life’s taught me to be fiercely loyal to people that I care about, and if anything or anyone hurts or threatens them, then I’ll react accordingly to protect them. The only thing I cared about last night was stopping Bruce and his cronies from hurting you and Justine. Th
ey would have killed all three of us and I reacted the only way I know how … but I’d never hurt Justine or you.”

  “I know that, but you need to convince Justine, not me,” said Lorna with a sad smile. “What will happen to Stella?” Tears began to collect in her eyes.

  “I can ask Chris Hall. She’ll be in hospital for a while I should think; that hip looked to be in pretty bad shape. She’ll be charged in connection with the trafficking and with Bruce’s murder. When she’s fit, she’ll go to court and then there’ll be a lengthy prison sentence, I’m afraid. Do you want to see her?” Rob asked quietly, passing a clean napkin.

  “I never want to see her again, ever,” Lorna replied sharply, brushing aside the napkin. “She used me. I feel so stupid.”

  “I think she genuinely loved you and wasn’t using you per se. Even the hardest criminals sometimes have wives or husbands, and children, and they love them like everyday people love their families. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  She sighed. “What’s to become of us, eh?”

  “If I could see into the future, I could make a fortune” Rob smiled. “You’ve got kids to teach and I’ve got a company to run. We start with that and see where life takes us. I found out last night that I own one-third of Achravie Estate, courtesy of my father’s will. He left a third to Angus, Bruce and me. Not sure what happens to Bruce’s third now, but I guess that means I’ll be coming back to Achravie pretty regularly from now on, so we’ll see each other often. I need to get in touch with Angus and tell him what’s been going on here, and I suppose I better find my mother and tell her that her son is dead. I need to talk to Justine as well. I guess we both need to start rebuilding our lives.”

  Rob looked up as Joe strolled into the dining room. “Time to go?” he asked.

  “Yes, we should make tracks. There’s a ferry in about half an hour and Big Mac’s going to meet us at the other end to swap cars.”

  Rob offered thanks and goodbyes to Lizzie and Hamish, and a promise to come back soon. As he and Joe stood in the carpark beside Big Mac’s black Land Rover, Lorna hugged Rob with tears once again in her eyes.

  “At least this time I get to say goodbye. I should be grateful for that at least,” she said, a slight quiver in her voice.

  Rob hugged her back and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll need to come back shortly to sort out the Estate. Angus and I will have to decide how we’re going to run the place. Angus being in New Zealand isn’t ideal, so I’ll probably need to take a lead on that. If you ever fancy a city break, I know a pretty good boutique B&B on the Thames embankment. Take care. If you need anything, you’ve got the numbers, so give me a ring. If I’m not around, talk to this man,” Rob said, jerking a thumb toward Joe. “See you soon!” He waved as he and Joe climbed into the vehicle and drove off to catch the ferry.

  They met Big Mac in Joe Audi RS4 Estate at Blackwaterfoot and swapped vehicles, thanked him for all his help, and said their goodbyes. Rob and Joe set off to catch another ferry to take them to the mainland, and from there travel by motorway to London.

  The Audi ate up the miles with Joe driving and Rob staring out the dark-tinted windows and saying very little. Joe left him to his own thoughts, knowing that Rob had much to think about and a few good answers to find. Rob tried to call Justine’s mobile, but it always went to voicemail. He tried the SGS office, but was told that Justine wasn’t in the office and Sir Andrew was out for the day. Eventually, he got the message: Justine didn’t want to talk to him.

  When they reached London that evening, Joe offered to take Rob to his house and have his wife cook supper for them, but Rob said that he just wanted to get home and have an early night. Joe dropped Rob off at the front door of his apartment block and he took the lift to the penthouse apartment. Dropping his bag in the hallway, he entered the open-plan living area, opened a bottle of Malbec Reserva and poured a large glass.

  With a loud sigh, he stepped onto the terrace and stared over the river, recalling the last time he’d been out here. He remembered holding Justine as she enthused over the views. Then, they’d gone inside and made love, passionately at first, then slowly, savouring each other and falling asleep in each other’s arms. Then, his phone had rung.

  25

  Rob heard a phone ring somewhere in the distance, not Van Morrison this time, but Springsteen’s “Darlington County”. That was good, his normal ringtone, although it didn’t tell him who was calling.

  “Hello?” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep.

  “Hello yourself, sleeping beauty.”

  Joe’s voice seemed far too bright and cheerful for this time of morning, Rob thought as he stretched for the clock. Shit! Twenty past ten. He couldn’t believe that he’d overslept, but then he vaguely remembered the shrill alarm clock in the dim and distant early morning, and silencing it with a slap. Oh God, he’d gone back to sleep. “I must have …”

  “I don’t need to know, we’re consenting adults after all,” Joe chuckled.

  Rob squinted over at the wine glass and bottle, both empty at his bedside. “Ha, ha, very funny. The only thing I came to bed with last night was a bottle of Malbec, which is half my problem this morning. The other half is that I was knackered last night.”

  “There’s no rush at this end; everything is pretty much on track and you don’t have any appointments today, or for the rest of the week for that matter.” Joe hesitated, “Am I carrying you here, MacLaine?”

  “Naff off, as certain other royals would say.”

  Joe laughed. “Listen, why don’t you get your shit together in your own time and we’ll see you when we see you. I really just wanted to make sure you were okay. Yeah?”

  “Cheers mate. I do have a few things to clear up from the last few days, including finding my mother and letting her know what happened up there before she hears courtesy of the BBC or ITN.”

  “Maybe I can ease that burden for you. I’ll email you an address I found for her via a few phone calls to a few friends,” Joe teased.

  “You found her?”

  “She wasn’t lost, Rob. You just didn’t know where she was, but others did.”

  “Is she in Hampshire right enough?”

  “Yep, Crawley. Not the naff one near Gatwick. Crawley, Hampshire. Apparently, it’s all thatched cottages and duck ponds, very picturesque by all accounts. I’m just pinging you her address now. She remarried as you know, so she is now Mrs Elizabeth Reynolds.” Joe typed a quick email.

  “You told me you didn’t have any friends … said I was the only friend you had,” chided Rob.

  “I said you were me best friend, not my only friend. I’m not a total saddo, I don’t need to take a bottle of wine to bed for company. Anyway, go and see your mother. Have a shower and smarten yourself up first. Remember, she hasn’t seen you for sixteen years.”

  “God, you nag like a woman, Joe.”

  Rob’s phone pinged and he saw the email from Joe. “I’m off. I’ll let you know how I get on.”

  “Do you want me to tag along? All joking aside, it has been sixteen years, for both of you.”

  “No, but thanks anyway. I appreciate the offer. I can’t believe you’ve got other friends, I really—”

  “Sod off to Hampshire.” Joe laughed and ended the call.

  26

  Rob liked Hampshire and had at one time thought of buying a house there when he left the military. He’d spent a number of training stints at RAF Odiham in Hampshire, where the RAF Heavy Lift Chinook helicopters were based. One of the variants of these had been adapted for Special Forces needs and Rob had been involved with them.

  It was a beautiful, warm sunny day as Rob drove out of the underground car park in his pride and joy, a royal-blue Maserati Grancabrio MC. Powered by a 460bhp 4.7ltr V8, the Maserati could hit 60 mph in less than five seconds, and boasted a top speed of around 180 mph. It growled like an alpha male lion in heat. He paused long enough at the car park entrance to power down the top and listen as that growl reso
nated around the car park. With a grin, he turned left towards the Chelsea Embankment and the Hampshire countryside.

  Being a weekday rather than weekend, and late morning rather than rush hour, meant the roads leading to the M25 and M3 heading south were relatively quiet. Rob made good progress till he hit a 50-mph speed restriction on the M3. The extensive roadworks were covered by average-speed cameras and a few times Rob became aware that his speed was creeping up beyond the legal limit. Simple answer: engage the cruise control.

  Rob kept the Maserati between the lane lines and soon found his mind wandering to the events of the past few days. During that time, he’d seen his brother killed, been told of his father’s passing, and lost Justine—a woman he’d just found and had fallen in love with, in a very short time. That was out of character for him. Normally, he was slow to trust or like people; as a result, he had few friends, but this never bothered him. People let you down, hurt you when you least expected it. So he’d built walls to stop people from getting too close. One or two, like Joe Harper, had managed to get past the walls and become really close. Justine had sailed straight past them, as if they didn’t exist. But once again, someone he’d loved had hurt him; Justine was gone, didn’t want to speak to him, never mind live with him, and what hurt most was that he didn’t know why.

  “In 500 yards, take the exit, Junction 8,” the woman in Rob’s satnav said, bringing him back to the moment. He manoeuvred off the motorway and onto the A303 heading for Salisbury and Andover. He followed the satnav instructions until he reached the outskirts of Crawley. The village was as picturesque as Joe had said. There were thatched cottages in abundance and straight ahead, a large duck pond.

  Rob pulled out his smartphone, took a photograph and WhatsApped it to Joe with a message: Hey, you really must have friends.