Middle Hebrides

IV - Now, Thursday

'Come here,' Angus moves the chair towards the girl and laid his hand on her shoulder. He had absolutely no idea on how to comfort Catherine but to let her cry out. He took out a pack of tissues from his pocket and handed it over, then sat on the sofa under the wall.

Whatever that was, she must have kept it for a while. Or she was simply overreacting. The latter didn't seem right, however - mother conscripted an army of beautiful girls that were only permitted to smile and moan. And that moaning could only have one reason. Maybe it was just the trauma that accumulated through all these years. Best he could do was to wait until she can speak.

Finally, silence fell in the room. Uncomfortable, Angus coughed. Catherine raised her head, face covered in the grey smudges of what was once intricate makeup.

'You might need to clean your face before you go back there,' he sighed. A nod. 'What happened?'

'It's Mrs Mackinnon... I can't believe she's dead...' she muttered.

'I think no one can,' he replied as softly as he could.

'It's just... she was always so full of life...' Catherine swallowed tears. 'And then this suicide... she couldn't have done it.'

The more distressed she was, the more impossible to understand her accent became. Angus sighed again and tapped his knee.

'Listen, why don't you take the rest of the day off?' The girl raised her eyes in disbelief. 'Yes, I mean it.'

She said a quick thank you, then stood up and walked out, still shaking. One thing he had to appreciate was some common sense his mother managed to pour in their heads - she clearly saw there was nothing else he could do for her.

Angus sat at the desk and took a sip of tea. He preferred coffee but whatever - by no means he planned on staying much longer at work. The papers needed reviewing, to ensure whether there wasn't anything left - but he could finish doing it at home. After a moment, however, he closed the folder and looked at its brown cover. It was... awkward. To see a mere sex slave - at least that's how he perceived her - so moved by the death of his mother. Somewhere in the back of Angus' head, a strange thought started to form; that maybe, maybe there was some truth to the words she once said - that she gave meaning to these poor, unfortunate souls. Before he could even shake off this ridiculous idea, the door opened again.

Was this some sort of a joke? A parody of what happened when the heir finally takes a seat on the throne? People showing up to pay respects and... whatever? Without even raising head, Angus muttered 'I'm busy,' then opened the folder again just to keep up appearances.

'I won't take much of your time,' the man's low baritone and accent, clear, reminding of a private school, without any regionalisms, forced the heir to look at him.

Jovial. That was the best description. Everything about that man was jovial and full of class. Much to Angus' surprise, he couldn't help but stare at the owner of brown derby, grey woollen trousers and a mahogany trench coat hiding a pine-green jumper. Tanned, the man had a neatly trimmed black beard and smiling blue eyes.

'If you're looking for a country club, I believe the nearest equivalent would be on Princes Street,' Angus gritted through his teeth. Jovial or not, the man's presence felt like a personal assault on his private space - which, at the moment, expanded to the Snow White's premises.

'Oh no, no,' he laughed. 'May I?' without waiting for response, the intruder approached the desk, sat at it and poured himself tea after taking off delicate, calf-like skin gloves.

'Mmm, exquisite,' he took a sip, then glanced his model-white teeth. 'I prefer white but...'

'Of course you do...' Angus muttered from above the papers.

'Excuse me?'

'Nothing. What can I do for you to leave?'

'But why so... offended?' the man theatrically put the cup on the table. 'I only stopped by hearing you arrived. On behalf of me and my friends, I'd like to offer my condolences for your loss, sir. If anything's needed, please let me know and we'll do our best to assist you.'

'And you are...'

'I believe I announced myself? I called Mr Lockhurst to let him know I'd pay you a visit...' blue eyes blinked in surprise.

'Well, Mr Lockhurst had no opportunity to speak with me yet,' Angus cursed himself in thoughts for kicking those two out the moment he walked in.

'Peter Dunn from the city council,' the guest stood up and extended his hand for a shake. Angus followed him, then collapsed back in the chair. Amazing. He watched the guest sit back and grab the cup again. 'It must be difficult for you. We were all shocked to hear your dear mother passed away. She was a gem, a pillar of the community.'

This made him feel sick. Either Dunn had no idea what was happening behind the closed door of the club or he was so deprived, all his words were a crude, distasteful joke if not a display of a firm belief in what he just said. Which one of these three was the worst, Mackinnon didn't even want to consider.

'This said, it must also be a complete change of pace for you, Angus. Can I call you Angus?' without waiting, the man carried on. 'If you need anything, please let me know. We're here to support you.'

'Thank you, I'm fine.'

'From what I've heard, your mother's house has already been re-registered in your name. I hope you and your family will settle in without problems. It's a lovely area, Morningside,' Angus watcher the pot pouring more tea in the cup, the steam briefly obscuring Peter's perfect teeth. He hated these teeth.

'It's only me, thank you,' he had to oppose somehow.

'Oh... oh! Your mother said you had a fiancée. Sorry to hear this didn't work out...' the councilman seemed genuinely disappointed.

'All good,' Angus replied coldly. 'I'm sorry but can we continue this conversation some time later? I've got lots of things to do.'

'But of course,' Dunn stood up and started buttoning up. 'Thank you for the tea and I believe, if you need anything, Mr Lockhurst has my number.'

Mackinnon decided against gracing him with any response. Instead, he nodded and pointed at the door. If the councilman was so genuine in his concern, he'd understand lack of patience or courtesies on Angus' side. The moment the door closed behind the man, an uneasy thought emerged. Why the accountant and not the manager, Fox? Was the council so deep in his mother's pockets? Or otherwise?

Angus took a pack of Marlboro and lit a cigarette. A bit unfortunate time to get back to smoking but the turmoil of the last 24 hours made him feel excused. After all, it would be this pack only. Period. After a thoughtful while, he jotted 'Peter Dunn - why Lockhurst?' on one of the papers inside the folded, then took out a phone and ordered an Uber. Seeing the car being on its way, he threw the cigarette in the pot due to the lack of an ashtray and stood up only to see the door slam against the wall when Catherine opened it. Without a word, she bolted through the room, screaming in panic.

What happened next, seemed like a scene from a Hollywood movie. And as in such movies, despite not slowed down, Angus felt like he was given enough time to see every detail - and not enough of it to prevent Catherine from crashing against the window and falling through it on the street. The glass shattered and, launched in the air, glimmered in thousand colours, surrounding her like morning mist.

Panting, Mackinnon backed under the wall, trying to not to scream himself. As if swimming through a thick, dense mist, he took out his phone and dialed 112.

He barely noticed other employees swarming in the room, shock on their faces, talking one through another. It was too surreal, on the verge of absurdity. Looking at the girls' faces, all in various stages of strong makeup, part of his mind started to wonder who would be next. And how to prevent this from happening again.

And how to make Catherine live again.