Cauldstane by Linda Gillard Page A

suppose, but it suits me. It’s so different from how I used to live. All I ever wanted to do was just write, but I became a literary commodity. It all got too big and when things get big you lose control. I mean, in London, before my breakdown, I was completely preoccupied with time. And timetables. Taking taxis, catching planes, living in hotels, giving interviews. I once gave eighteen in one day, starting with breakfast TV and ending with The Late Late Show . When I was on tour promoting a new book, the only time I spent alone was when I went to the loo – and more than one female journalist attempted to follow me there. I was parcelled up for consumption on radio, in women’s magazines, on chat shows. I wasn’t a person any more, I was “product”. I felt as if I was running a race with time and time always seemed to win. I suppose it’s not surprising I went under.’
    ‘A nd are you happy here? Happy in your work?’
    ‘Oh, yes. I seem to have much more time here. And an acute awareness of history. It must be Cauldstane, I suppose.’
    He nodded slowly. ‘Aye, it has that effect on some folk. The sense of history is… seductive. Though I’d have thought the eccentricities of our plumbing might have dampened your enthusiasm.’
    ‘No, that’s all part of the charm. I like sad, old, broken-down things.’
    ‘Like Sholto you mean?’
    ‘No, of course not!’ Alec watched me and I knew he was waiting for me to catch up. Or be honest. ‘Well, maybe that’s partly why I feel so drawn to him. Why I wanted to tell his story.’ Alec still said nothing and I was aware that his silence – or rather the way he listened – was encouraging me to talk. ‘I always buy damaged things in junk shops. Things with cracks and chips, that look like they’ve really been used. And loved . I don’t know why I’m fond of things like that. I suppose it’s a form of salvage. I like rescuing things other people have cast aside and forgotten about.’
    ‘It’s still sounding like Sholto to me. He’s certainly had a few rough edges knocked off over the years. ’
    ‘He’s in pain, isn’t he? A lot of the time.’
    ‘He’ll never complain, so you’ll never know what he goes through. It’s not just physical pain. I think he finds the mental stuff harder to bear. He was an adrenalin junkie in his youth and fit as a butcher’s dog. Now he limps from room to room or just sits in a chair, staring out the window. He should be in a wheelchair or on one of those wee electric carts, but he won’t even consider it. On a good day he walks with a stick. On a bad day he walks with two.’
    ‘Is it arthritis?’
    ‘Aye. He’s broken so many bones and punished his body for so many years, he pays for it now. Can you imagine how hard it is to dress yourself with arthritic hands? And he lost one whole finger to frostbite, plus the tips of a couple of others. I’ve offered to help him in the mornings – that’s his worst time – but he won’t hear of it.’ Alec scowled and I noticed the resemblance between father and son. ‘If there’s a prouder, more thrawn old man in the whole of Scotland – well, I wouldn’t like to meet him.’
    ‘Sholto could still travel, couldn’t he?’
    ‘Oh, aye, he’s able, but he won’t spend the money. When you’re feeling strong, get Fergus to talk you through the Cauldstane finances. I doubt Sholto will want all that included in the book, but if you want to understand Sholto and how things are here, you need to know the trouble we’re in. But even if Sholto had a holiday – somewhere in the south where the sun would warm his aching bones – it wouldn’t provide the thrills he needs, has always needed. I have a wee theory that despite his reputation as a Highland Casanova, he wasn’t really that bothered about women. It was all about the chase . And the risk. Whether his wives would find out. Whether the husbands of the women he was bedding would find out. I think philandering was