Capital Offence

Chapter 28

Thursday 13th June

 13 days left

 

Jamie’s voice sounded strained on the phone. “We’ve got to meet.”

“About time.”

“You don’t realise the pressures I’m under.”

“How could I?”

“I’ve got a meeting in St Andrews. I’m hosting a dinner for Scottish academics. You said you live in Fife.”

“Yes...”

“Well perhaps I could stop off briefly to see you.”

Vaila let this sink in. She’d been making plans for their next face to face meeting, but this would be more than ideal. Her pulse quickened just a little. “When’s the dinner?”

“Well it starts at seven, but there might be one or two problems stopping off on the way there. Look, I know this sounds like a hell of an imposition, but it’ll finish around midnight. On the way home I’ll be driven by my bodyguard, and we can fix it so there’s just the two of us.”

“You’re saying you might drop in at one o’clock in the morning?”

“Only if it was suitable.”

“You always were a fucking chancer.”

“Look, I’m not going to piss around here. I’m already taking a risk by phoning you like this, and I’m taking an even bigger risk by coming to see you. Don’t tell me already you’ve forgotten what’s at stake!”

“No. I’m sorry. We’re talking about tonight?”

“Yes”

“I’ll get out the best tea-set.”

“You’re really starting to annoy me...”

*      *      *

The cottage was in the middle of nowhere. It stood up a lane which led from a minor road. The usual traffic was tractors and the occasional BMW. The area was now commuting distance to both St Andrews to the north and Kirkcaldy to the south, so a bash in the local village hall would produce a mixture of farmers, University lecturers, software developers and PR people. Plus the occasional craft worker like Vaila.

Donald led the way up the garden path and knocked. There should have been an official retinue for the PM of at least one unmarked police car with armed protection, but Jamie had unofficially given them the rest of the night off. This was a low risk visit and they knew the score. Made up for the nights they had to sit around doing bugger all.

Vaila opened the door, said Hi, and looked past Donald for Jamie. Donald excused himself, stepped inside, and had a quick look round. The door opened straight into the main downstairs room of the cottage. It was warm and inviting. The walls were painted a deep red. Over this was a layer of black very lightly dragged to show up the texture of the old plaster. The walls had then been varnished with several coats of glaze. The overall effect was rich and lustrous. The flickering light of dozens of candles reflected from deep down in the layers of colour. In a corner, the light from a table lamp was muted by a silk scarf draped over it. A log fire banked up with peat glowed in the rough stone hearth.

Shelves had been squeezed into every available nook, between the irregular shapes of old windows cut through the thick cottage walls. They supported hundreds of books. Iain Banks, Irvine Welsh of course, but also Flaubert, Guy de Maupassant, Camus. Intriguing ceramics were used as book ends. A garishly coloured Malaysian devil mask glared from one corner - beside it some polished black fossils of ammonites. On the sheepskin rug between two plump old durry-covered couches stood a Japanese Go table. It was about two foot square, only nine inches or so off the floor - a massive thick block of maple wood supported on four spherical wooden legs. On its surface was inscribed a square nineteen by nineteen grid of fine lines (Donald didn’t have to count - he already knew) and on the intersections stood dozens of small flattened stones, some black, some white. The solidity of the table would help to prevent these playing pieces from being knocked from their positions.