The Prodigal Son Read online

  “We need a vision,” Justine had affirmed. “What do we want Achravie to be and how do we achieve that?”

  They’d completed the first-draft business plan, working out a rough cost to implement it, and how much revenue could be reasonably and realistically generated. They worked various scenarios, different outcomes, costed them, and projected income streams.

  Justine had phoned Sir Andrew Savage and told him that she wanted to leave and why. He was delighted for both his niece and her beau, who he privately looked on as a surrogate son. Just about to leave on a family holiday, he advised that her PA services would no longer be needed, and that he’d get a temp upon return.

  This meant that Justine could immediately concentrate on Achravie; she was delighted. Meanwhile, Rob had set up meetings with his solicitors and bank to finalise the transfer of Achravie shares from Angus’ name to his and the transfer of the agreed sum money to Angus. Further calls were made to Joe and to his mother to bring them up to date with the situation.

  Joe was thrilled with the outcome of his and Suzy’s little deception, and surprised by Rob’s intention to buy out Angus. Once he knew that Rob would still be committed to Harper MacLaine, he was relieved and supportive.

  Rob’s mother invited them for lunch on Sunday.

  By the end of that working week, Rob owned Achravie Estate and Justine had taken to her new role like a duck to water. An architect had been employed to work on plans to alter Hillcrest House and further plans were to be drawn up to form two separate sites: one to the north of the island and one to the east, for the installation of twelve luxury log cabins and ancillary buildings.

  Saturday was spent getting Justine’s flat ready for renting; both had decided that she should move into Rob’s river-view apartment for the short term, until they had time to make longer term plans. Justine wanted to keep her flat as it had been bequeathed to her by her grandmother and would provide a source of income.

  Sunday morning found them headed to his mother’s for lunch, an invitation she’d sent early that week and one he happily accepted. Joe Cocker playing in the background, he headed along Chelsea embankment and eventually on to the M3 with the roof down and the wind ruffling Justine’s long ponytail.

  “You look worried,” Rob commented as he drove at an infuriating 50 mph, per the temporary but long-term speed limit on the roadworks.

  “I’m worried that I won’t meet with your mother’s approval … or that she won’t like me. I feel as though I’m going to be on trial,” Justine replied with a frown.

  “That’s not why we are going. I want to bring her into the loop with the plans for Achravie … I want her on board, and the best way to do that is to make her feel as she’s a vital part of what we’re doing.” He glanced sideward and smiled reassuringly. “Yes, she wants to meet you, but I think she’s learned her lesson when it comes to being judgemental. And I do actually believe the two of you will get on. Mother and I were close when I was young; we agreed on most things. I suppose I was her baby, being the youngest.”

  Justine laughed. “Some baby, you’re over six foot for goodness sake.” Her eye on passing scenery, she asked about Rob’s childhood on Achravie and his relationship with his parents and his two brothers.

  After retelling the stories she’d already heard, he moved on to facts she didn’t know—that he’d attended primary school on Achravie and private school on Arran, where he boarded during the week, but came home weekends at his mother’s insistence. He took after her in physical appearance and temperament, tall and skinny as a boy, and placid in nature, unless riled; then, his bite was much worse than his bark. Both brothers were shorter and stockier, more like their father, and darker in complexion than Rob, who had his mother’s blond hair and vivid blue eyes.

  As they drove through the beautiful picturesque village of Crawley, Justine grew quiet, and finally they turned into the drive of the lovely thatched house belonging to Elizabeth and Richard Reynolds. Two golden Labradors, playing on the lawn as they drove up, bounded over to investigate the new arrivals.

  “Aren’t they gorgeous? You didn’t tell me your mother had these beauties,” gushed Justine, kneeling to pat them; they did their best to lick her to death, as only Labradors can.

  “I didn’t know she had them,” said Rob in his own defence and smiled ruefully.

  His mother opened the front door. “Boys, come away!”

  They ignored her.

  “I’m so sorry,” Elizabeth said to Justine with a contrite smile, and turned to the dogs. “Jock, Rory, do behave.”

  Justine laughed. “I grew up with two beauties like these. I just love Labradors; they’re great soft lumps and so full of love. Which one’s which?”

  “Jock is the one with the misshapen ear,” she replied, pointing. “The poor dear had an accident when he was just a few weeks old.”

  Rory moved on to Rob, having decided he needed licking as well, while Jock lay on his back to have his belly rubbed. Justine giggled and complied.

  Rob’s mother strolled forward and stood before her. “So, you’re Justine?”

  She glanced at Rob and stood.

  The older woman kissed her lightly on both cheeks. “I’m very pleased to meet you. Rob speaks very highly of you, my dear. I hope he looks after you well. If not, you let me know,” she winked, turning her son. “This is becoming a habit, your visiting here—twice in sixteen years.”

  He chuckled and patted Rory, who wanted attention.

  “Come in to the house, my dears, if these dogs will let you.” She laughed daintily and shooed the dogs away. leading them indoors. She motioned to the steps and led the way. “Dickie’s in the kitchen, He’s stirring the gravy … and says he can’t stop stirring till it’s ready, or it will become lumpy. I wouldn’t know—I can’t cook and , won’t cook, that’s me. Dickie’s the family chef, much to my delight, I can tell you”.

  “I’m not the best of cooks, Mrs Reynolds,” admitted Justine. “As Rob will find out.”

  “Call me Lizzie. Mrs Reynolds sounds so very formal.”

  She smiled. “OK Lizzie, but my friends call me Tina.” Justine smiled

  “And what about you, young man? I believe everyone calls you Rob now, not Robbie?”

  “Nowadays, it’s mostly Rob. Having said that, I’ve been called a lot worse than Robbie,” he chuckled.

  Richard appeared in the doorway, wearing a chef apron on the bib with garnet-red lettering that read: I cook with wine, sometimes I even put some in the food. “I thought I heard voices.”

  “Dickie, meet Tina.” Rob’s mother eyed the apron critically. “Do you have to wear that embarrassingly awful apron dear?”

  He ignored his wife and stepped forward, hand extended. “I’m delighted to meet you … and, trust me, if didn’t wear this apron I’d hear, ‘you’ve got a stain on your shirt; why aren’t you wearing an apron’, or something to that effect.” With a chuckle, he kissed Justine lightly on the cheek and then shook Rob’s hand. “Good to see you again, my boy.”

  Richard turned to his wife. “Why don’t you pour the young ones a drink and get them seated? Lunch is pretty much ready.” He disappeared into the kitchen again.

  Elizabeth poured a gin and tonic for Justine and mineral water for Rob, and sat them at the large dining table. Richard carried in traditional Sunday roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, with all the trimmings.

  He happily served and the foursome started to get to know each other better. The Reynolds learned about Justine’s background and family, who Rob was still to meet, and Justine learned more about the Reynolds. As the meal progressed, Rob realised his mother and stepfather had rather taken to Justine, which both pleased and relieved him.

  Over coffee and home-baked ginger cookies, they moved to more comfortable chairs in a large, bright library.

  As they sipped and nibbled, Elizabeth broached the subject of the estate. “What finally made you decide to buy Angus out? When you left here last, you seemed undecided as
to what you wanted to do.”

  “I knew what I wanted to do, Mother, I just hadn’t decided how I’d do it … if it was feasible at all. I had no idea what costs were involved, and I knew I had a duty of loyalty to Harper MacLaine … to Joe Harper. You must meet him; he’s a great guy and been like a brother to me.”

  He took another cookie as Richard refilled his cup. “There was no one factor that made me decide it would work. I did a lot of thinking on Corfu, but had two major concerns. One, I didn’t know how much Angus would want for his share, assuming he was interested in selling. Two, could I devote enough time to Achravie to ensure that I was doing it justice, without it having a detrimental effect on Harper MacLaine? Harper MacLaine by the way, is close on a £20-million turnover company and needs a lot of work from both Joe and I.

  “When Angus told me that he only wanted £2 million for his share, I knew I could manage it financially—with a bit of juggling. That left the workload aspect, which was the real major stumbling block.” He glanced at Justine and smiled self-consciously. “Tina and I had a little bit of a wobble in our relationship, for reasons which aren’t important, because we’re currently very much an item.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

  “While we were searching for solutions, my young lady announced she had a first in Business Management and a Masters in Strategic Marketing, and, that she wasn’t interested in pursuing her present job. That was a job application, if ever there was one.”

  Rob and Justine chuckled and the Reynolds smiled amiably.

  “The upshot of it all that is that Tina solved the workload problem. Last week, she took on project management of the Achravie Estate rejuvenation project. I’ll get involved when she tells me to.” He squeezed her hand again. “I can still do justice to Harper MacLaine, although I may need extra support from Joe, or an extra resource if necessary. Once the project is completed, the workload will lessen, and Tina and I will both oversee the management of the place.” He regarded the Reynolds closely, hopefully. “Does that sound like a decent plan to you?”

  “You don’t hang about, do you?” his mother asked with a soft chuckle. “I hope you’re not bullying your girlfriend into something.”

  “That’s not at all the case, Lizzie,” Justine assured her. “I’ve been through a lot in my life, but I’ve come out a stronger person, certainly one who’d never be bullied. I’m doing this because I want to. Rob knows how I feel about him and he’s made it quite clear how he feels about me.” She clasped his hand. “We want to share our lives and if rejuvenating Achravie Estate is part of Rob’s plan for the future, then I’d want to be part of it.”

  “You don’t strike me as being anybody’s fool, Tina, and believe you will add something to the Estate. Please keep me in the picture as to what you’re planning?”

  “If you’ll help me, yes,” Justine replied.

  “How can I help?”

  “You know the island better than Rob and I put together. Your advice would be invaluable, Lizzie.”

  “I’d love that. Rob’s father and I had issues, but I loved Achravie, and still do if I’m truthful.”

  Rob thought he could see a tear in her eye, and she dabbed it away quickly. He rose. “We moved Tina into my flat last night. As she said, we want to be with each other and we want to be seen to be making a commitment.”

  “I’m so pleased for you. Dickie and I have done a bit of checking up on you since we found you again,” she confessed as she strolled over to give him a hug. “Dickie was in the Regiment, you know. He knows what you you’ve been up to these last few years, but won’t tell me all of it … but I can guess. He tells me that in some of the places you went to, you—to use his phrase—didn’t leave footprints. By the sounds of things, you need a good strong feisty woman to keep you out of trouble.” She turned to Tina. “And by the sounds of things, that’s exactly what you are.” She embraced a surprised-looking Tina. “You show him who’s boss, my dear, and keep him out of dark places.”

  They said their goodbyes, and Rob and Tina headed back to their riverside apartment.

  “That went well. Mother was very impressed with our plans for Achravie … and you seem to be a hit.”

  Justine’s smile was fleeting. “What did she mean about not leaving footprints and keeping you out of dark places?”

  “When I was in the Regiment, the SAS to you, I got involved in covert undercover operations—black ops as we refer to them—in places where British forces weren’t supposed to be. It’d be very embarrassing for government if it became common knowledge; hence, the ‘not leaving footprints’. As for dark places, I don’t do that kind of work anymore. Someone was a bit naughty giving that kind of information to Richard; he must have some pretty high-up contacts,” Rob replied wryly and glanced sideward with a quick smile. “Thank you for including my mother in the Achravie planning by the way. I think she was quite touched.”

  “It just makes sense. She knows the island better than you or me, and you know what they say about local knowledge. That wasn’t me simply being nice … though she’s a lovely lady and I really took to her. So is Richard. They suit each other, don’t they?”

  He concurred.

  “I’d like to take the architect up to Achravie this week, if he’s available. What do you think?”

  “It’s your project, your decision. You know what needs to be done better than I do, so do what you need to. Andy’s on holiday, but why don’t you email him and ask how much he’d take to rent you the Agusta for a couple of days, to take you up and down. That’d save a lot of time. And there are a couple of Land Cruisers on the estate you could use to get about.”

  “Good idea.” Justine hesitated. “How would your mother feel about coming up with me, Rob?”

  He laughed, “Do you know what, I’m sure she’d jump at the chance. Give her a call once you set things up and ask. I can see it now-- Achravie and a helicopter. , I reckon she’ll bite your hand off.” he chuckled.

  Rob grew thoughtful and frowned. “If I’d known I was going to end up owning the estate, I might not have been so quick in blowing up that other Land Cruiser that night.”

  Justine looked horrified. “You blew up that Land Cruiser?”

  “Who did you think did that?” he asked dryly.

  “I really hadn’t thought about it.” Justine stared, dumbfounded.

  “When I say I blew it up, it was actually Big Mac. He hit it with a rocket-propelled grenade when I told him to. Wish I hadn’t now,” he said regretfully.

  “You simply … blew up a Land Cruiser?” Justine shook her head.

  “I’ve done it a good few times. I knew exactly what I was doing,” Rob said in his defence.

  “A good few times,” Justine repeated disdainfully. “That makes it all right? You know what they say about being in a hole? I think you need to stop digging, now!”

  They drove in silence across the M25 to the M4. Eventually Justine looked at Rob and shook her head. “It’s like you’re two different people. You’re so gentle and thoughtful one minute and the next, you’re talking about blowing up a Land Cruiser with a rocket-propelled grenade as if it were an everyday event.‘I went to get a sandwich for lunch and, while I was out, I blew up another Land Cruiser’. Life with you is never going to be dull, is it?”

  “Actually, I hope it will be. Covert operations means getting behind enemy lines, living undercover, sometimes killing nasty people before they torture and kill you. The one driver in those situations is ‘survival’—at all costs, because sometimes many other lives depend on that survival.” His expression, like his tone, was solemn. “I might have killed someone in Afghanistan, who if he’d lived, could have been instrumental in killing you or your parents, or anyone who happened to be in the vicinity of his bomb attack. That was me as a professional soldier … and it was the professional soldier in me that blew up that Land Cruiser on Achravie. I hope you never see that guy again. But be aware, Tina, he still exists.”

  Justine stare
d into the distance as she considered it. “I’ve never thought of it that way. I’m sorry.” She eyed his profile. “What finally made you decide to come out of the army?”

  “I’d had enough. I never baulked at killing someone who was a threat, but I didn’t enjoy it. I believed that the end justified the means. End a life or two to potentially save a few hundred innocent ones.” He shrugged and forced images from his thoughts. “I’d survived scrapes from knives, bullets, and explosions … but you can’t do that forever. I thought I’d quit while still in one piece. You’ve seen those guys on telly who came back from warzones minus arms or legs, traumatised and generally messed up. I operated beside guys who ended up like that … and I didn’t want to be one of them.”

  “I’m glad you came out of it safe,” Justine said softly and lay a hand on Rob’s thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  “Have we just had our first argument?” Rob asked.

  “If and when we have an argument, MacLaine, you won’t need to ask that question. You’ll know we’ve had an argument.” She punched his upper arm.

  “Ouch.”

  As they approached the Chelsea Embankment, Justine asked, “So, who’s this Big Mac?”

  Rob chuckled. “You didn’t actually meet Big Mac that night, did you? Well, he’s just over six-foot-seven tall and built like the proverbial brick-shithouse wall. Mac—his full name is Iain MacDonald—is a big pussycat. I served with him in Iraq and Afghanistan, and he now runs an outdoor centre on Arran. It was his Land Rover I was driving on Achravie.”

  “Was it him who shot that big guy at the cottage?”

  “It was.”

  “Some pussycat,” Justine said sarcastically.

  “He’s an ex-soldier who’s very good at what he does … which in his case involves shooting things from a long way away. He was about a quarter of a mile from the cottage when he took that shot. He saved our lives that night.”

  “In that case, I’d like to meet the big pussycat.”

  “Let me know your schedule on Achravie once you’re organised and I’ll get him to meet up with you.”