Blue Lightning

murder and you’re a witness. You’ve corrupted a crime scene!’

‘Always the detective, aren’t you, Jimmy? Can’t you leave the police out of this for once?’

They stood for a moment, staring at each other, the hostility sparking between them.

‘All right then,’ Perez said eventually. ‘Let’s leave the investigation out of it. For a while at least. Let’s keep it personal. All my life you’ve given me the morality lecture, the guilt trip. Tell me how you justify sleeping with another woman. How can you live with yourself after that?’

‘With my head I knew it was a shameful, stupid thing, but it was that woman.’

‘So you’re blaming her? She forced you to have sex with her, did she?’ Perez felt the anger returning. He couldn’t bear to see his father so cowed, so pathetic. The least he could do was take responsibility for what had happened.

‘It was after a do at the North Light,’ James said. ‘About this time last year after all the visitors had left. A bit of a party, music. Jane put on a magnificent spread – a real sit-down supper. It was to thank the island for its support over the season. Angela claimed it was her idea, but I think Jane and Maurice hatched it up between them.’

‘Go on.’

‘There were a few drams before the meal and wine with it. I’m not really used to wine.’

Perez said nothing. Let his father make his excuses.

‘She took me into the bird room, made a big show of locking the door behind her. I…’

‘Mother was still in the building!’ Perez interrupted because he couldn’t face hearing the details of his father and Angela Moore having sex. That was more information than he needed. But still he imagined it. The smell of wood and birds, the hard desk, the excitement and the urgency, the need to have it over before they were missed.

‘And that was the only time?’ Perez asked. He supposed his father was right. One hurried encounter hardly counted as an affair. Fran and her London friends would probably dismiss it as a trivial mistake.

‘I dreamed about it happening again,’ James said. ‘I wanted it to. But it never did.’

‘You tried to persuade her?’

‘I made a fool of myself. I see that now.’ He looked at Perez. ‘We’d chatted at parties before it happened, flirted a bit. I hadn’t thought she would do that with me if she didn’t care for me.’

Perez saw for the first time that his father was an unworldly man. Throughout his childhood he’d thought of James as having great knowledge and experience. But of course his father had never lived away from the Isle. He’d been too young for National Service, had never been to university. Angela would have found him an easy target.

Perez found his anger was already starting to fade, replaced by the inevitable understanding. He didn’t want to understand – that was for social workers, for weak indecisive people who made excuses for criminal behaviour. But he could never quite find it in him to condemn. Perez saw that as a failure, a kind of cowardice. Now he began to see how his father had been tempted. A long marriage. A life of routine – the rhythm of the croft, the boat, the kirk. And along had come a young woman, sexy and famous, appearing to find his father attractive. Of course he’d deluded himself.

James continued: ‘She was all games. This was a boring place for her. She needed more excitement in her life. I told her I loved her, bought her presents. I suppose it was a kind of amusement for her. Maybe she was flattered by it.’

‘Did she ever talk about her other men?’

Silence.

‘You must have known there were others.’

‘It seems that I knew nothing about her.’ James paused, turned to Perez again, his face scarlet. ‘I told her I’d leave my wife for her.’

Just like Maurice, Perez thought. He’d said all those things too. Had he come to his senses finally? Had he decided he could no longer live with a woman who made a fool of him?

‘And what did my mother make of all this?’ Perez asked, keeping his voice cold and hard, because Mary had been tempted in the past too but had never betrayed his father.

‘She forgave me,’ James said. ‘She said it might even have brought us closer together. We’ll get over it in the end.’

Perez wondered how his mother could do that. James had made a fool of her. Surely no woman could forgive that. She’ll live with you and even be happy with you. But she’ll never forget what you did.

Chapter Thirty

Driving north with the Fowlers after the church service, Fran found herself intrigued by the middle-aged couple. John was full of questions, about her family and Perez and why she’d decided to make her life on Shetland. And about her art. She was flattered that he’d seen her work and could talk about it with such knowledge and enthusiasm, but found it odd to be the object of his attention.

‘Why all the questions?’ she asked at last, laughing. ‘Are you planning to write a book?’

‘You never know. Perhaps one day I will. I’m interested in the nature of celebrity.’

Despite herself she felt a thrill that he considered her famous.

It was only when she was on her way home after dropping them off at the lighthouse that Fran realized Fowler’s wife had hardly spoken at all. Fran had female friends who were much the same age as Sarah, but she could have belonged to a different generation. Fran’s middle-aged London friends dressed flamboyantly, held strong opinions, laughed a lot. There was something almost Victorian about Sarah Fowler’s dependence on her husband, in her anxiety and her timidity.

After lunch Fran and Perez went out for a walk. An island Sunday ritual, it seemed, because on their way north they met other families promenading in the sunshine. A middle-aged couple, arm in arm. Then a child with a bicycle, wobbling, the stabilizers off for the first time, and a girl pushing a doll’s pram, followed by their parents, all still dressed for church.

Fran could tell that something had happened between Perez and James, but Perez wouldn’t talk about it. Fran’s parents were liberal, generous, easygoing. There’d been times as a teenager when she’d wished there’d been more rules – boundaries to batter against when she wanted to rebel and to hold her up when she was floundering. She thought Perez’s childhood had all been about rules – James’s rules – and wondered what had happened now to shift the balance of power. Over lunch James had seemed subdued, almost penitent.

Earlier she’d had a long telephone conversation with Cassie: ‘Not long now, sweetie. Only two more days till I’m back.’ Fran had decided she’d go out on Tuesday’s boat as planned whether the investigation was over or not. ‘I do miss you.’ She worried occasionally about whether she’d got the balance right in bringing up Cassie. Too many rules or too few? Duncan let her get away with murder.

The walk ended up back at the North Light, as Fran had known it would. Perez would want to talk to Sandy; he couldn’t take a whole day away from the investigation. The place was quiet, the common room empty. In the kitchen they found Sarah Fowler, scrubbing away at a roasting tin too grubby and too big for the dishwasher. She stood at the big sink, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, again wearing one of Jane’s aprons. There were soapsuds on one cheek. When she heard them behind her she turned round, anxious for a moment.

What is it with that woman? Fran thought. Does she enjoy playing the martyr? The pathetic little wifey? Then she thought: Of course they’ll all be jumpy. If I were staying here, I’d be just the same.

Sarah gave a little smile. ‘Your colleague’s in the bird room.’

Perez nodded but stayed where he was. ‘How’s everything going?’

‘Fine.’ Satisfied at last that the roasting tin was clean, she set it upside down on the draining board. ‘Actually, it’s a dreadful thing to say, but it seems more relaxed here without Angela and Poppy.’ She frowned. ‘I miss Jane though.’

‘Did you get a chance to talk to her much?’ Perez leaned against the workbench. Inviting confidence.