these mattress toppers to make it more comfortable. Surely M amp;S would have one? There was no time for grocery shopping so she’d have to place an order online to arrive late tomorrow night. What were Mum’s favourite foods? Were there any that were now on a banned list from the hospital dietician?
‘Mag…?’ Her mother looked up at her anxiously and Maggie realised that she was wearing her frowning face, as Alice was wont to call it.
‘It’s fine, everything’s fine. Sister Kilbryde reckons you could be home by Saturday if the doctor gives you the okay,’ she told her mother. A wide-mouthed smile from her daughter made Alice give a sigh and sink her head back into the pillows.
Maggie almost added If they think our house is fit for you to stay. But such little concerns would not be voiced. It was important that Mrs Finlay was not stressed about anything, the nurse had insisted. Quietness and rest in a familiar place would be as good as the medicines she was now receiving. Maggie could worry about the details once she was clear of the hospital. But for now, all she wanted to do was to give her mother something good to think about.
‘Chancer’ll be delighted to see you.’ She grinned. ‘Just wait till I tell him!’
‘Can you do it next week?’ Lorimer asked, listening to his young friend’s voice on the telephone. ‘Only it looks like Alice is coming home to us this weekend and we’d want her to have time to settle in.’ He smiled at the reply. ‘Aye I bet they’re noisy. And the amount of work needing done here will probably drive the neighbours mad. Best get it over and done with during the week when most of them are out at work. Okay. Thanks. See you soon.’
Maggie looked up from her pile of marking, a question in her eyes.
‘Flynn,’ Lorimer supplied. ‘He’s going to tackle the garden next week. Clear the old winter stuff and give the grass its first cut. Says he’s got a huge power mower that makes a racket.’
‘Good.’ Maggie nodded. ‘It’ll be company for Mum as well. She’s always had a soft spot for Flynn.’ She chewed her lip thoughtfully. ‘How’s he going to bring the gardening machinery all the way over here?’
‘A pal’s going to drop him off and pick him up later on.’
Maggie nodded again, turning her attention to a Prelim paper that was already covered in red pen marks. ‘That’ll please Mrs Ellis. No big white vans cluttering up the street.’
Lorimer grinned. Their neighbour was a fussy woman who found fault rather too easily with her neighbours. Still, if it hadn’t been for her watchful disposition, Flynn might have suffered badly at the hands of those men who had abducted him from Lorimer’s home. His smile slipped a little at the memory. It could all have gone so horribly wrong. The harrowing experiences he’d endured had made Joseph Alexander Flynn a stronger person. And, despite them all, one thing he had never lost was his infectious sense of humour. Yes, he thought, his mother-in- law would enjoy the banter with him next Monday.
There were still three days until Saturday and Maggie Lorimer was now counting them in hours. There was so much still to be done, so many little things to remember. Her kitchen calendar was disfigured with scribbles and post-it notes and she had resorted to adding items on to the magnetic shopping list that her friend, Sandie, had given her for Christmas. Once Mum was home and ensconced in their (now much tidier) dining room, it would be a lot easier. Wouldn’t it? The downstairs loo was sparkling clean and decked with newly laundered fluffy towels as well as Alice’s favourite Roget et Gallet rose perfumed soap, another of Maggie’s Christmas gifts from one of her Sixth Year pupils. Their own sitting room was upstairs across the landing from the bedrooms. Originally used as a bedroom-cum-playroom by the previous owners, the Lorimers had opted to make this their main public room. The long dining room downstairs incorporated what was really Maggie’s study, handy for a stroll through to the kitchen for the endless cups of coffee she required to sustain her through the hours of marking.
They would have to try to spend some time with Mum in the evenings, though it would be nice to have their own space upstairs at the end of a day. The TV would have to be kept low, so as not to disturb her. And maybe she could find a wee hand bell to let her Mum ring should she need either of them in a hurry. But it should all work out fine, Maggie’s sensible self told her firmly. So why was she experiencing these little pangs of guilt? Or were they feelings of inadequacy? After all, nothing prepared you for the daunting task of caring for your own parent, did it?
‘How’s your mother-in-law, Sir?’
Lorimer tried to keep his expression neutral but knew from DI Martin’s face that he had singularly failed to hide his surprise. ‘How did you know?’
‘Oh, your friend, Dr Fergusson, told me about her,’ Rhoda replied, her head to one side as if she were considering her superior’s situation.
‘She’s much better, actually,’ Lorimer told her. ‘Coming home at the weekend.’
‘To stay with you?’
‘Yes. My wife and I are having her until she’s well enough to return to her own home.’
‘Nice of you to do that, Sir.’ Rhoda nodded approvingly. ‘Thousands wouldn’t bother.’ And, giving him a condescending sort of smile, she walked away, leaving Lorimer feeling that she had somehow wrong-footed him.
He hadn’t wanted this to be public knowledge, but then it was no use blaming Rosie since he hadn’t exactly hidden his private life away. But it made him simmer inside to think that DI Rhoda Martin would now be making comparisons between his own situation and that of Colin Ray. He had to crack this case now, or be made to look totally incompetent.
It had been an idea gnawing away at him based on a case from way back where a man facing financial ruin had taken his own life and those of his family. The fire and the reason behind it: both had provoked this notion. Had it been the murder of two people, after all? A call to the local doctor had given Lorimer enough reason to drive back up the country road to Kilmacolm. It was a fresh day, a brisk westerly wind blowing away the last vestiges of rain clouds over the river towards Dunoon and the Cowal Hills. Inland there were signs of spring; wild primroses appearing in sheltered banks by the roadside, a lark rising from its thicket of nest to soar into the blue. Lorimer longed to pull over and watch its flight, but there were too many matters ahead of him today.
The doctors’ surgery was on the main road running through the village from Port Glasgow to Bridge of Weir. Lorimer found a space in the car park and walked round the corner to the grey stone building.
‘Superintendent Lorimer to see Doctor Hamilton,’ he informed the receptionist in a tone that he hoped was quiet enough not to attract the attention of the other patients who were waiting behind their magazines.
‘Please go right through. Doctor Hamilton is expecting you,’ the woman told him, indicating the door to her left.
A quick knock was all it took, then Lorimer was in the consulting room. A pretty woman in her mid-thirties stood up immediately, came around her desk and shook his hand.
‘Take a seat, Superintendent. And thanks for coming,’ she added. ‘I wasn’t sure what to do after Sir Ian’s death. It wasn’t something I was prepared for, I suppose.’
‘Doctor Hamilton, I told you on the telephone that I am investigating the deaths of Sir Ian and Lady Pauline.’ Lorimer hesitated, then looked straight at the woman, his blue eyes holding her as he spoke again. ‘Do you have any reason to think that this fire might have been started by Sir Ian himself?’
‘Oh, dear.’ Dr Hamilton dropped her gaze and clasped her hands together tightly. ‘I should have said something at the time, shouldn’t I? It was just that…’
‘Sir Ian wanted you to keep it from his family?’ Lorimer supplied.
‘You guessed, then?’
‘It was something to support a theory I’ve had,’ Lorimer said.
‘He had a form of prostate cancer that isn’t easily treated,’ the doctor told him. ‘It would have killed him eventually. He knew that. But he didn’t want anyone to make a fuss. No therapies, nothing. If he was going to die, then it had to be on his own terms. He was that sort of man, Superintendent,’ Dr Hamilton said, shaking her head as if in despair at the vagaries of human nature. ‘But do you really think he would have let his wife die in the fire? Surely that was an accident? And that beautiful house?’ She shook her head again sadly.
‘It’s hard to surmise what was on his mind at the time, doctor. And that was one reason why I wanted to see you. As his GP you were better placed than most to know that sort of thing.’
