A Coffin For Two (Oz Blackstone Mystery) Read online

  For a moment the territory felt distinctly uncomfortable. ‘Sorry,’ I murmured. ‘I thought that was what I just said we decided to do.’

  She laughed, and at once I was comfortable again. I looked at her as she attacked her crab, and I remembered Saturday evenings, more than a decade in the past, and the seafood stall in Crail harbour; other generations of crustaceans, still steaming from the boiling pot. Jan and I as sixteen-year-olds, country kids with ruddy faces, and tight-muscled thighs from our beach and coastal walks, tearing into them, bare-handed, as later we tore heartily into each other. I snapped myself back to the present and turned my attention to my own meal, quickly.

  ‘It’s funny to think of a man like Gavin Scott being conned,’ said Jan, finished at last.

  ‘Not really,’ I countered. ‘Scott’s a gambler by nature, I’d say. Look at his track record in business. He staked the lot on buying Soutar’s and it’s paid off. Once a punter always a punter. On top of that he’s an art enthusiast; he’d call himself an expert. A painter and a punter combined: some combination.

  ‘You have to understand, love, that there’s a whole Dali industry out there. If you spend any time in Catalunya you can’t avoid it. It’s all around you. You’ll find Dali prints in all the souvenir shops, and you’ll find special prints of signed work in the more up-market places. There’s a Dalí museum in Figueras, and it has hundreds of thousands of visitors each year.

  ‘The great man is buried there, you know. In the cellar. I’ve seen his tomb. The museum itself is spectacular. It’s a work of art in its own right; by Dalí, about Dali. Paintings, displays, objects: the whole experience draws you into it, makes you part of it.’

  ‘Christ, Oz,’ Jan chuckled. ‘You sound like a disciple.’

  ‘I suppose I am, in a way. You visit the place and you can’t help it. The man was just crazy, but wonderfully crazy, larger than life. How can I put it? If you visit the place and you’re in tune with it, you can sense that in death he’s become part of it.

  ‘I’m no expert, and that’s how the place took me. So imagine someone like Scott, caught up in the spirit of it. He told us he’d been there, but I knew that even before I asked him. So imagine him, given the opportunity to have a piece of Dali as his own, and not just any old piece, but an undiscovered, signed work which he’s told is genuine, and from the look of it, could be the real deal.

  ‘Gavin Scott doesn’t see himself as having been conned.

  He sees himself as having taken a gamble, with a limited downside and one which might still pay off, if you, Prim and I can come up trumps for him.’

  Jan raised her right eyebrow, a gesture I had known since childhood. ‘If we do, maybe we should ask for a cut of the winnings.’

  ‘Absolutely not. Been there, done that, got the scars. We set decent fee levels, we bill by the hour, and we do not, repeat not, become personally involved with our clients. This may be a three-way equal partnership, but this is the one area in which Oz is laying down the law.’

  She looked at me and smiled. ‘Christ,’ she said. ‘First you play big brother for your big sister. Now you’re getting assertive with me. After a lifetime of pretending to be Tonto, you’ve turned into the Lone Ranger.’

  I stared back at her, conspiratorially, from under hooded eyebrows. ‘It’s the Spanish influence at work. Incidentally after the Black and White Minstrels, The Lone Ranger is the most politically incorrect TV programme ever made. In Spanish, Tonto, as in His Faithful Indian Companion, means stupid. But I’ll stop short of turning into the masked man, if you don’t mind. Kemo Sabay, phoneticised, translates roughly as smartarse ... and ...’

  ‘... nobody loves a Smartarse,’ we said, in unison.

  16

  Jan was still grinning as we left the Old Inn and headed up to town. She settled comfortably into the passenger seat as I drove through the night.

  The yellow lights of Edinburgh bore down on us quickly as we listened to a Tom Waits tape which she had plugged into the cassette player. ‘You sure Noosh doesn’t have a problem about me staying?’ I asked once more as I turned off London Road and headed into Holyrood Park.

  ‘None at all. Hey Oz,’ said Jan suddenly, as we passed St Margaret’s Loch, and its geese, curled up asleep on its grassy banks. ‘How come you never ask me about your loft, and about your tenant? Never once have you asked me who I’ve put in there, or for references. Why is that?’

  ‘Simple. I don’t want to know. I loved my loft. Still do. If I have a mental picture of the person living there, I’m afraid that I’ll start to feel jealous. Then I might get nostalgic for it, and even out in Spain, I might feel homesick. Does that make sense to you?’

  She nodded. ‘Perfect sense. You don’t want anything to disturb the Spanish idyll.’

  ‘No,’ I protested. ‘That’s not it.’

  ‘Oh no. So you’re still the same old softie at heart, then.’ For a while, there was silence in the dark. ‘Let’s drive past it anyway,’ said Jan, finally.

  I swung out of the park, made the turn at the foot of the Royal Mile, then turned again. Less than a minute later, I could see the old building, with its belvedere, a familiar part of the Old Town nightscape.

  ‘Stop there,’ said Jan, quietly, as we reached it. ‘Just pull into your parking space. There’s nobody in.’

  I did as I was told, without thinking. Something about Jan’s voice had my complete attention. She stepped out of the car as soon as it came to a halt, taking her jacket from its hook by the hand grip and reaching into the pocket.

  I followed her. ‘Jan, what is this?’ I asked at last.

  She gazed at me, across the red roof of the Fiesta. Her face had an odd look, and even at that distance, I could see that she was trembling. ‘Anoushka and I have split up, Oz.’ She kept her voice steady with an effort. ‘I’m your tenant.’

  I felt my jaw drop for an instant, and snapped it shut. ‘But ... When ...’

  ‘About a week after you left for Spain.’

  ‘Why?’

  She turned towards the door, beckoning me to follow. ‘Come on. I don’t want to talk out here.’

  I followed her into the building and up the twisting stair which led to my old home. She unlocked the door, then stepped straight into the toilet, off the tiny hall. I was in the kitchen opposite, watching the kettle and waiting for it to boil, when she emerged. Her face and eyes were clear of make-up.

  Standing in the doorway, she smiled at me awkwardly. I pulled her to me and hugged her. ‘Jan, love. Why didn’t you tell me before?’ She wrapped her arms around me and put her head on my shoulder, pressing her eyes hard against the wool and cashmere blazer that I had picked up from my dad’s.

  ‘I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to tell you.’

  ‘Who else knows about it? Christ, I can’t believe that we went through last night and I never picked up a hint.’

  She gave me a quick hug, released me and stepped across to the work-surface, reaching out for the coffee jar. ‘Only Ellie knows so far, and she promised not to tell a soul, not even you. I’m still working out what to say to Mum. All that grief I put her through, making her realise that she had a gay daughter. Now ...’

  I took her face in both my hands and turned it up towards me. ‘My old girl, just tell her. She’s your mum, and she loves you. End of story.’

  On the counter, the kettle hissed steam, until the thermostat cut out. I took the jar from her and made coffee for us both, reaching into the fridge for the milk without even looking.

  ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Upstairs and tell me all about it.’

  She led the way up to the living area, turning the dimmer switch to raise the wall lighting, an array which I had planned myself. Everything was as I had left it, almost. The furniture was still there, but slightly rearranged. The sofa-bed was on the other side of the room from where I had liked it. The desk faced away from the window. The curtains were tied back with neat bows. But up on the raised sleeping area, the bed was st
ill in the same place, with, above it, the ladder which led up to the belvedere, where Wallace and I used to sit in serenity, my dinosaur sunning himself while I read the Sunday papers.

  I took the occasional chair, facing Jan as she slumped into the sofa.

  ‘Honest to god, love,’ I said. ‘I hadn’t a clue. I mean, your telephone number’s the same ...’

  ‘It’s my business number, remember. I had it transferred the day I moved in.’

  I sipped my coffee. It was still piping hot. ‘So what happened? Did Anoushka find someone else? I thought she doted on you.’

  Jan shook her head, and turned her gaze away from me, looking at the glazed French doors which led out to the tiny balcony. ‘Noosh didn’t find anyone else, Oz. I did.’

  I gulped. To my complete surprise, my old friend the hamster began to run around in my stomach. ‘Eh?’

  ‘I found me again, Oz. I found Jan.’

  I stood up and walked to the doorway, almost forcing her to look at me. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked her, gently.

  ‘I suppose it was you leaving that made me look at myself. While you were here, I think you helped me cling on to my own self. The fact that you and I went back so far, and that I could still count on you, helped me to hold on to my own personality, and assert myself every so often.’

  She must have caught a flicker at the corner of my mouth. ‘Oh, I don’t mean that you were here to give me a good shag if Noosh and I had a fight and I felt like really getting even with her.’ She laughed softly; Jan has a lascivious chuckle which for some reason always makes me think of brown sugar. ‘Yes, boy,’ she said, ‘I admit it, I used you like an old pair of gardening gloves.’ She paused, and her expression became earnest again.

  ‘But don’t you get the idea that I had turned to Noosh on the rebound, after you started to push me away. She seduced me, Oz, like I told you way back, and I loved it. The sex was great at first, ten out of ten. After a while it settled into a consistent eight, but that’s higher than most straight couples score. Satisfying and without risk. Nothing wrong with that, and I’m not being defensive in the slightest.’

  I nodded. ‘Understood. So what happened, after I left?’

  ‘It started even before then,’ she said, ‘when I saw you and Prim together for the first time, and realised how it was going to turn out. It wasn’t like that when you had other girlfriends. I knew they wouldn’t last. This time, I began to feel alone, and I began to look at my relationship with Ms Turkel.’

  She took a deep breath, and when she spoke again there was a momentary, and uncharacteristic tremor in her voice. ‘As soon as I did, I realised what I had become. She was the dominant partner. I was the subordinate. It may have been two names beside the doorbell, but Noosh saw us, in straight terms, like she was the husband and I was the wife. We split the overhead down the middle, but I was the housekeeper. From the start that went without saying. I had been able to live with it because I was earning good money, and contributing, able to tell myself that we were equals; but that wasn’t how Noosh saw it and that wasn’t what she wanted.’

  Jan put her coffee cup on the floor. (I couldn’t help it; I glanced down fleetingly to make sure that it wasn’t going to topple over and stain my carpet. Happily she didn’t notice.) She stood up and took a step or two across to stand beside me, to link her arm through mine.

  ‘Oz my darlin’,’ she said. ‘I’d never before been dominated by anyone in my life. That was why you and I were so great as youngsters. Neither of us ever dreamed of possessing the other. I never thought of you as my boyfriend or of me as your girlfriend. I was always Jan, her own woman. You were Oz, your own man, and I loved you.’

  She squeezed my arm. ‘So with you, my pit prop, taken away, I looked at Noosh and me and I realised what I was. In that instant, it all fell apart. I waited until you and Prim were gone ... I had Ellie and the kids to distract me until then ... and I told Noosh how it was. She didn’t like it, and we had a row. I said I realised that she couldn’t change, so that was it.

  ‘I moved out and into the loft. Originally I just meant it to be for a couple of weeks, while I found somewhere else, but I like it here. How about selling it to me, once Noosh gives me my share of our flat? I don’t imagine that Prim will fancy me being your tenant on a long-term basis.’

  I laughed. ‘There’s the shorter term question of how she’d feel about me sleeping on the sofa-bed tonight. But hold on, I’m still getting my head round this.’ I turned her towards me and slipped my arms around her waist. Her body, held gently against mine, was oh, so familiar. ‘You’ve no regrets? You’ve had no second thoughts?’

  ‘None. I’m Jan again. Like I said, my big problem now is what to tell my mum, how to tell her.’

  I smiled at her. We were almost eye to eye, since Jan still had her shoes on. ‘No problem. Just tell her exactly what you’ve told me.’

  ‘Apart from the bit about you giving me a good shag every so often?’ she murmured.

  ‘That’s up to you.You’re your own woman again, remember. Here’s a thought, though. Dad and Auntie Mary are a team now. You should tell them together. I can promise you, based on long experience, that there’s no better listener than my old man.’

  She thought about it and nodded. ‘You’re right. I’ll do it. Even the bit about you know what, if slightly watered down. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to the airport, and then I’ll head straight back up to Fife.

  ‘Thanks, darlin’,’ she said, ‘for being there yet again. Tell you this, if Mac’s a great listener, then the skill’s hereditary.’ She kissed me, like she had the evening before, at the airport. Without even thinking about it, I kissed her right back.

  And then I kissed her again. All of a sudden I wasn’t thinking about anything, except Jan, that seafood stall in Crail once more, those harbour walls in Anstruther, coastal walks, and later times in the loft, when I’d be alone in the evening and the entry phone would ring.

  We looked at each other, our eyes inches apart, the air between us smoking with memories. My heart was in charge now. I flicked an eyebrow as if nodding back in time. ‘Just now,’ I whispered, ‘about you and me. You said, “loved”.You used the past tense.’

  ‘Did I?’ she answered my unspoken question. ‘Then I meant “love”. How could I not? I’m Jan, and I haven’t changed.’

  17

  ‘So where does this take Jan and Oz?’

  I lay face down on the bed, my chin buried in my knotted fists, my eyes focused on a scratch in the headboard. Euphoria was dissipating as practicality took hold, and as I contemplated the scattered pieces of my so-certain future.

  ‘Not one step forward,’ she answered. ‘Not one step back. But, by God, it was good, wasn’t it.’ She lay beside me, her shiny brown hair tousled and fallen over one eye, the way it always seemed to after we had made love. ‘I like being a strong and independent woman again.’

  Of course, the inevitable had happened.

  I’ll never believe for one second that Jan had planned it that way. Still, we had kissed again, and it had taken on a momentum of its own, until the neat bows tying back the curtains had been slipped, and we were easing each other out of our clothing, as we had done on countless occasions over the last fourteen years.

  Yet this was unlike any of those innumerable matings in the past. There was a maturity to it, a gentleness, a patience, on my part and on Jan’s, of which I had never been aware before, and maybe for my part never capable. It was long and slow and smiling and joyful, two old friends meeting again after believing they never would, until at last we climaxed together, as never before, Jan bucking and heaving beneath me and crying out, wide-eyed, in absolute triumph. Eventually, we had fallen asleep in each other’s arms, awakening hours later, still entwined.

  I rolled on to my back and Jan slid on top of me, her long legs covering mine, propped up on her elbows with her hair falling towards my face.

  I let my eyes roam. ‘Nice tits,’ I said, by way of mornin
g conversation.

  ‘Nice love handles,’ she replied, taking a grip of my extended waist with her right hand and squeezing. ‘They’re new. I think I like them.’

  ‘Don’t,’ I murmured. ‘They’re going.’Her face fell, just for a moment, before she slammed her smile firmly back into place. ‘No,’ I said, hurriedly. ‘I meant I’ve started exercising again.’

  ‘Sure,’ she whispered, ‘but they are going, aren’t they? Back to Spain, to find out whether Gavin Scott’s Dali’s a fake or not.’

  ‘Aye, and to sort out a few other matters too. But let’s not talk about that.’

  ‘No,’ she said, lowering her lips to mine. ‘I’ve got other things in mind.’

  Afterwards, as the gleam of orgasmic triumph in Jan’s eye began to soften once more, we lay in silence for a while, gazing up at the slivers of Monday morning sky which showed through the glass of the belvedere. The rain had gone, and the autumn sunshine was back.

  I broke the quiet, reaching across and rubbing her nipple with the flat of my thumb. ‘You remember I had a long talk with Ellie, on Saturday night?’ I asked her.

  ‘Mhm.’

  ‘She told me that I should cut you out of my life, for your sake.’

  ‘Funny, that,’ said Jan. ‘She told me that I should cut you out of mine, for my sake. What did you say to her?’

  ‘I told her that you’d have to wield the knife for both of us. What did you say?’

  ‘I said ...’ She paused, and looked up at the sky once more. ‘I said that you can’t cut your heart out and expect to go on living.’

  I didn’t have a funny line to follow that. So I said, ‘Ellie cares about you and me, but she doesn’t really know us; like not really.’

  She wrapped her arms around me again. ‘No. No one really knows you and me, except for you and me.’

  ‘Only,’ I cautioned her, ‘all of a sudden I’m not sure that I know me any more.’

  Jan propped herself up on an elbow and looked down at me. On occasion she may fart quietly in her sleep, but I’ve never known anyone who looks, invariably, as beautiful as she does when she’s newly wakened in the morning.