o’clock.
During her first visit, she had told Glen that she wasn’t interested in old buildings, but there actually was one in a tourist brochure that had appealed to her. Her idea was that she could wander around in a large, quiet building and use the opportunity to collect her thoughts. At the same time, she would be able to learn about some interesting cultural history.
She felt she was being brave when she decided to take the subway, the London Underground. The only subway she had ever taken before was in Stockholm. She found it surprisingly easy to orient herself using the electronic signs, and after several minutes the train she was waiting for came. She got off at the St. Paul’s stop without any problem and walked up into the daylight to visit the cathedral.
St. Paul’s Cathedral had been described in her brochure from the hotel as “impressive.” She had to agree. She soon realized, though, that she could forget about devoting herself to tranquil contemplation. People swarmed everywhere. The magnificent domes, arching shockingly high over her head, made her feel like an insignificant miniature.
She dared to sneak into a group that had an English-speaking guide. He recounted the cathedral’s history. The first building had been constructed as early as 604 a.d. by King Ethelbert, the first English king to allow himself to be baptized. A cathedral was added, but in 961 the Vikings burned it down. Irene had guilt feelings on her forefathers’ behalf. The buildings were affected by several later fires through the centuries; and during the Great Fire of 1666, St. Paul’s was consumed by the flames. That gave Christopher Wren the chance to perform his life’s work: the new St. Paul’s Cathedral.
Irene walked around for several hours admiring wall and ceiling paintings, statues, and carvings. She admitted that she was both overwhelmed and fascinated. She bought a stack of cards from a souvenir seller whose booth sign stated that profits from sales went to the upkeep of the church.
It was time to head back to the hotel. She wanted to freshen up before she met Glen and Donna. This time she wouldn’t fall asleep in the bathtub.
DONNA WELCOMED Irene as warmly as the first time. She was magnificent in a bright turquoise tunic with a low neckline, worn over an ankle-length black skirt. A beautiful necklace of turquoise and silver glimmered against her dark skin. Her steel-gray hair was swept up in a fluffy pouffe on her head. And dangling earrings matching the necklace hung in her ears. Donna was a very feminine woman.
“And what have you done about my tall, stylish policeman?” she asked and winked at Irene.
“The only one I know who’s going to retire soon is my boss. He isn’t particularly tall or stylish,” Irene apologized.
“But is he somewhat healthy?” Donna said, and her voice sounded sincerely interested.
“Not really. . ”
“Send him here anyway. At my age, you can’t be too picky,” Donna laughed.
A distinguished man at the bar turned around and looked at Donna. The look told Irene that Donna could still afford to be
Glen arrived a few minutes later. They ordered before beginning to talk, vodka martinis as a starter drink, and then both chose crayfish soup and grilled lamb kebabs with salsa and potato wedges. Irene asked for a half carafe of red wine, Glen, a large beer.
“Naturally, my boss went crazy when I told him that Andrew St. Clair had popped up in the investigation. Bosses get cold feet as soon as big fish are involved. But he understood that it has to be followed up, so he called St. Clair. Or rather his secretary. St. Clair is busy with foreign businessmen all morning tomorrow, but he could meet with us after lunch. My boss gave his secretary my cell number, but neither she nor St. Clair has gotten in touch with me yet. You and I are booked on the morning plane to Edinburgh. We’ll have to head back to Heathrow at five in the afternoon. Then you’ll make the evening flight back to Goteborg.”
Something clicked when she thought about what he had just said.
“Have you checked if St. Clair flew from Edinburgh to London?”
“Yes. He wasn’t booked on any flights. He may have traveled by car.”
Chapter 18
THEY LANDED AT EDINBURGH International Airport, west of the city. Because they had a few hours left before they were going to meet St. Clair, they stopped to grab a bite to eat there. Warm croissants and coffee tasted heavenly after the Spartan airplane breakfast.
They had barely been seated when Glen’s telephone started ringing. The conversation was short but very polite. When he had hung up, he said, “That was St. Clair’s secretary. We’re very welcome for lunch at one o’clock.”
“Where?”
“At his home, Rosslyn Castle.”
“He lives in a castle?”
“Of course.”
He smiled. With a pompous air, he took a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and cleared his throat as if he were about to make a speech.
“Kate has helped me do some research. We have several books at home about Scotland’s history and the Scottish clans. She wrote down the relevant information, but I’ve only had time to glance at the paper. I didn’t want to read it on the plane in case we might be spied on. We’re to use the greatest possible discretion, the boss said several times yesterday.”
He took a big bite out of his croissant and washed it down with coffee, squinting at the paper as he read it. After a while, he said, “The St. Clair family can trace its ancestors back to the fourteen hundreds. They are descended from the great Earl of Orkney and Sir William St. Clair. The earl built the castle and Sir William built a famous church. The family still owns large areas of land in the Pentland Hills. Andrew’s father, George, had a head for business and invested in the Scottish oil industry from its incipience. Earlier, they made their fortunes from the wool and tweed trades.”
“Have they been weaving their own plaids since the fourteen hundreds?” Irene asked.
“This tradition, that each clan has a special tartan, is said to be genuine. But actually it was a weaver from Lancashire who popularized the idea in the eighteen hundreds. Distinguished ladies sat in their drawing rooms and chose a pattern, which they named after their family. Probably they had to place a large order to obtain exclusivity. The whole world has gone along with it!”
Irene smiled but felt disappointed. Like most, she had thought the Scots had fought for freedom wearing their clan plaids like in the movie
“Was your father from Edinburgh?” she asked.
“No. He was from Ayr, on the west coast. But we rarely came up here to visit. His relatives didn’t like the fact that he had married a black woman. Even less that they had children.”
Irene understood that it was a sensitive topic.
“Andrew St. Clair’s half-sister is married to a Spanish nobleman and is incredibly wealthy. Of course, she also inherited money after her father died. Otherwise, Andrew is the only heir and runs the whole empire. He’s probably getting married this summer in order to secure the lineage.”
“Probably.”
They wandered over to the Avis counter. Glen had reserved a Rover. They were assigned a red one, a change from his usual black.
“Do you want to take a spin around Edinburgh?” he asked.
“Absolutely.”
