want to take over the company. That was a big one. I didn’t have a son then. And I’ve never had a problem with women in business. I saw no reason why she shouldn’t take over MGE once she’d learned how it all works. She said she’d rather stick needles in her eyes.’
‘She didn’t approve of MGE?’ Bel asked.
‘No, it wasn’t anything to do with the company or its policies. What she wanted was to be an artist in glass. Sculpting, blowing, casting - anything you could do with glass, she wanted to be the best. And that didn’t leave any room for building roads or houses.’
‘That must have been a disappointment.’
‘Broke my heart.’ Grant cleared his throat. ‘I did everything I could to talk her out of it. But she wouldn’t be talked out of it. She went behind my back, applied for a place at Goldsmiths in London. And she got it.’ He shook his head. ‘I was all for cutting her adrift without a penny, but Mary - my wife, Cat’s mother - she shamed me into agreeing to support her. She pointed out that, for somebody who hated being in the public eye, I’d be throwing a hell of a bone to the tabloids. So I let myself be talked into it.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Almost reconciled myself to it too. And then I found out what was really going on.’
Wednesday 13th December 1978; Rotheswell Castle
Brodie Grant swung the Land Rover into a gravel-scattering turn and ground to a halt yards from the kitchen door of Rotheswell Castle. He stamped into the house, a chocolate Lab at his heels. He strode through the kitchen, leaving a swirl of freezing air in his wake, barking at the dog to stay. He moved through the house with the speed and certainty of a man who knows precisely where he is going.
At last he burst into the prettily decorated room where his wife indulged her passion for quilting. ‘Did you know about this?’ he said. Mary looked up, startled. She could hear the rush of his breathing from across the room.
‘About what, Brodie?’ she said. She’d been married to a force of nature long enough not to be ruffled by a grand entrance.
‘You talked me into this.’ He threw himself into a low armchair, struggling to untangle his legs. ‘“It’s what she wants, Brodie. She’ll never forgive you if you stand in her way, Brodie. You followed your dreams, Brodie. Let her follow hers.” That’s what you said. So I did. Against my better judgement, I said I would back her up. Finance her bloody degree. Keep my mouth shut about what a bloody waste of time it is. Stop reminding her how few artists ever make any kind of a living from their self-indulgent bloody carry-on. Not till they’re dead, anyway.’ He banged his fist on the arm of the chair.
Mary continued piecing her fabric and smiled. ‘You did, Brodie. And I’m very proud of you for it.’
‘And now look where it’s got us. Look what’s really going on.’
‘Brodie, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. Do you think you could explain? And with due consideration for your blood pressure?’ She’d always had the gift of gently teasing him out of his extreme positions. But today, it wasn’t working well. Brodie’s dander was up, and it was going to take more than an application of sweet reason to restore him to his normal humour.
‘I’ve been out with Sinclair. Checking the drives for the shoot on Friday.’
‘And how were the drives?’
‘Perfectly fine. They’re always fine. He’s a good keeper. But that’s not the point, Mary.’ His voice rose again, incongruous in the cosy room with its stacked riot of fabrics on the shelves.
‘No, Brodie. I realize that. What is the point, exactly?’
‘Fergus bloody Sinclair, that’s what. I told Sinclair. Back in the summer, when his bloody son was sniffing round Cat. I told him to keep the boy away from my daughter, and I thought he’d listened to me. But now this.’ He waved his hands as if he was throwing a pile of hay in the air.
Mary finally put down her work. ‘What’s the matter, Brodie? What’s happened?’
‘It’s what’s going to happen. You know how we breathed a sigh of relief when he signed up for his bloody estate management degree at Edinburgh? Well, it turns out that wasn’t the only iron in his bloody fire. He’s only gone and accepted a place at London University. He’s going to be in the same bloody city as our daughter. He’ll be all over her like a rash. Bloody gold-digging peasant.’ He scowled and smacked his fist down on the chair again. ‘I’m going to settle his hash, you see if I don’t.’
To his astonishment, Mary was laughing, rocking back and forward at her piecing table, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. ‘Oh, Brodie,’ she gasped. ‘I can’t tell you how funny this is.’
‘Funny?’ he howled. ‘That bloody boy’s going to ruin Cat and you think it’s funny?’
Mary jumped to her feet and crossed the room to her husband. Ignoring his protests, she sat on his lap and ran her fingers through his thick hair. ‘It’s all right, Brodie. Everything’s going to be fine.’
‘I don’t see how.’ He jerked away from her hand.
‘Me and Cat, we’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you for the past week.’
‘Tell me what, woman?’
‘She’s not going to London, Brodie.’
He straightened up, almost toppling Mary on to the floor. ‘What do you mean, not going to London? Is she giving up this daftness? Is she coming to work with me?’
Mary sighed. ‘Don’t be silly. You know in your heart she’s doing what she should be doing. No, she’s been offered a scholarship. It’s a combination of academic study and working in a designer glass factory. Brodie, it’s absolutely the best training in the world. And they want our Catriona.’
For a long moment, he allowed himself to be torn between pride and fear. ‘Where about?’ he said at last.
‘It’s not so far, Brodie.’ Mary ran the back of her hand down his cheek. ‘It’s only Sweden.’
‘Sweden? Bloody Sweden? Jesus Christ, Mary. Sweden?’
‘You make it sound like the ends of the earth. You can fly there from Edinburgh, you know. It takes less than two hours. Honestly, Brodie. Listen to yourself. This is wonderful. It’s the best possible start for her. And you won’t have to worry about Fergus being in the same place. He’s not likely to turn up in a small town between Stockholm and Upsala, is he?’
Grant put his arms round his wife and rested his chin on her head. ‘Trust you to find the silver lining.’ His mouth curled in a cruel smile. ‘It’s certainly going to put Fergus bloody Sinclair’s gas at a peep.’
Thursday 28th June 2007; Rotheswell Castle
‘So you argued with Cat about boyfriends as well?’ Bel said.
‘Was it all of them, or just Fergus Sinclair in particular?’
‘She didn’t have that many boyfriends. She was too focused on her work. She went out for a few months with one of the sculptors at the glass factory. I met him a couple of times. Swedish, but a sensible enough lad all the same. I could see she wasn’t serious, though,
