white marble forms that Rhona stroked
as a child. Early spring sunshine filtered through the stained
glass windows, rainbows over the dark polished wood.
A group from a
primary school was weaving towards the dinosaur room. Rhona
wandered after them and watched them gaze up in awe at the
reconstructed skeletons. A wee blonde boy was standing apart from
the others, squinting through a microscope at the fossilised
remains of a mosquito, that had been trapped for eternity in tree
sap turned into amber. Jurassic Park comes to Glasgow, she thought.
And what did that matter, if it made the child think and ask
questions?
Rhona’s father
often brought her here and as they’d wandered together through the
endless rooms she’d asked him hundreds of questions. Her Dad
answered every one of them. He’d made most of it up, she knew that
now, but it didn’t matter because his interest and sense of wonder
had been real, and he’d passed that on to her.
She’d left
Chrissy at the lab sitting at the bench with a black cloud hovering
above her head. Whatever the ‘domestic’ had been, Rhona knew better
than to ask. If she had, she would have got her head in her hands
to play with. When she told Chrissy where she was going, Chrissy
said nothing, just gave her a look borrowed from the black
cloud.
Edward, Rhona
knew, would be on time and so she had arrived early to compose
herself. When she was with him she always had the feeling he was
trying to manipulate her, get her to do what he wanted. Even now
after all these years, he could still make her feel inadequate. In
court it was different. There, she was discussing facts. She could
weigh them objectively, make rational decisions. Edward could not
unnerve her there.
She left the
wee boy squatting below the genetic pattern of the dinosaur,
writing in big pencil letters in his jotter, and headed for the
café. She wanted to be sitting with her coffee when Edward
arrived.
Edward Stewart
turned into the car park, cutting abruptly across the path of a
battered red mini. He regretted it almost immediately when a quick
glance showed the driver to be an attractive young woman. He slowed
down and gave her a friendly apologetic wave, hoping to give the
impression his mind had been elsewhere (which it had), and was
rewarded with a dazzling smile.
There were very
few cars in the car park but he knew that didn’t mean the Gallery
was empty. He could only hope there wouldn’t be a horde of noisy
school kids in the café when he met Rhona. Perhaps this wasn’t the
ideal venue for what he had to say.
He pulled up
and waited for a moment before he switched off, taking pleasure in
the easy purr of the big engine, then he glanced in the rear view
mirror. He admired his tan, the result of a fortnight in Paxos with
Fiona. He smoothed back his hair, adjusted the knot on the new
Italian silk tie he’d awarded himself for the Guiliano case, and
gave himself a confident smile. Think positive, he told himself.
That’s what gets results.
He climbed out,
pointed the remote at the car and waited for the satisfying click.
He had already decided that he would tell Rhona just enough and no
more; he would rely on her need for privacy and her integrity.
Both, he knew from experience, were reliable.
The main hall
confirmed his worse fears. The place was swarming with primary kids
studying the exhibits. He glanced at his watch. Ten twenty-five.
Thirty-five minutes before this lot would descend on the café for
crisps and coca cola.
Edward spotted
Rhona as soon as he entered the café and was momentarily
nonplussed. It would have been a point of advantage for him to have
been there first. To be able to look up on her arrival, smile,
stand up. Rhona was normally late. He had assumed that.
She was looking
the other way and he paused, both to take her in and to settle his
thoughts. Rhona always had that effect on him. Like setting foot on
an enticing path to who knows where? He had started down that path
once