Private Sins Read online

  ‘Why don’t you buy them elsewhere?’

  They had climbed the far bank of the creek to stop outside a cabin. Sophie sniffed. ‘I told you: I don’t own the ranch, I lease it from him. Charlie owns everything, Melinda. This is Clyde’s home but it’s his father’s property.’

  The cabin was in better shape than Val’s, the bargeboards of the gable end roughly carved, reminiscent of a cottage in Eastern Europe. There were the usual corrals and a small barn. A pick-up stood beside the house.

  Miss Pink reverted to the point at issue. ‘Are you suggesting that Charlie would cancel your lease if you bought horses from someone else?’ She was incredulous.

  Sophie shrugged. ‘He has the best horseflesh in the county — except for Ali. I do not like that stallion; he has a vicious streak. No way would I buy one of his foals.’

  They rode for a while in silence until Miss Pink said, ‘You’d think he’d at least do up his daughter’s home. He lives in a mansion and she’s pigging it in a shack.’

  ‘They don’t hit it off.’

  ‘Why doesn’t she — I’m sorry, it’s not my business.’

  ‘It must seem weird to someone on the outside but there’s the background...’

  ‘You mean Val’s daughter?’

  ‘Actually, the bad feeling between Val and her father goes way back. Charlie’s an autocrat, you’ll see when you meet him. Edna’s a doormat, Clyde’s frightened of his father, but Val: she always stood up to him. There were fearful rows when she was growing up —’ She stopped.

  Miss Pink suppressed a sigh and looked to the view for consolation. Now through the small sounds of their progress and the background of birdsong there was an undertone: heavy and sonorous like a big plane flying low, but this sound seemed to come from under their feet.

  They came to a crest and stopped. Below, the Thunder river poured round a bend. Downstream it was a sepia flood winding through the foothills towards a confluence with its main feeder from the west. Upstream was the start of the Black Canyon, the torrent a mass of foam where it broke through the cliffs of the gorge.

  The trail dipped sharply to the river and a swinging suspension bridge. On the far side the path climbed through conifers to join a trail from Ballard, the main route into the back country. This was the way that Val and her brother would return in two days’ time. They had headed into the mountains on this side of the river, Sophie explained, would traverse a pass which they hoped would be free of snow and cross the river upstream of Glenaffric’s hunting cabin to come down through the Black Canyon, completing a grand scenic loop. ‘We’ll ride the canyon ourselves,’ she promised. ‘The meadows round the cabin are stunning in the spring. How about that?’

  Miss Pink, looking askance at the white water upstream, said that would be enchanting. They resumed their ride, staying this side of the river, ambling over ground that resembled rolling parkland, and after a while they came on a group of mares and foals. They were deep in a discussion of breeding points when there was a wild neigh from behind them and a horseman came pushing through the sage. ‘Charlie,’ Sophie murmured, and Miss Pink had her first sight of the local man of property.

  Charlie Gunn didn’t look seventy years old; he was tall and thin, and sat his horse well, if a trifle stiffly. The animal was a stallion and obviously excited. Miss Pink felt the tension in her mare and she kept Sophie’s gelding between them as she was introduced.

  The man’s face was as angular as his bony frame; it was a face that would tighten in a flash at the wrong word — or was that being subjective, given what she’d heard? The sun struck points of light from the silver conchos on his bridle, from the spurs, from his horse’s sorrel coat where it wasn’t black with sweat. He smiled, aware of Miss Pink’s scrutiny, and she saw where Clyde got his good looks. When the smile reached his eyes this man was seductive. She was charmed against her will. He asked her how her flight had been, told her she’d brought good weather, implied she was an expert by asking what kind of horse she kept at home.

  Sophie’s grey fidgeted. She said without warmth, ‘We were looking at the new crop of foals. You’re doing well, Charlie.’

  ‘Ali here done well.’ He patted the damp neck. ‘Give credit where it’s due.’

  Sophie frowned. She’d be thinking of genes; the stallion had a mean eye.

  Their ride was over. Charlie wouldn’t hear of their continuing; they were to have come to Glenaffric later so they should come now. They started up the slope, Miss Pink giving the stallion a wide berth.

  At close quarters Glenaffric was as impressive as it had appeared from a distance, although the effect was achieved as much by its sprawling size as by its architecture. There had been no attempt at an aesthetic whole; a central section was flanked by wings, themselves with extensions at odd angles. There were french windows, bay windows, ill-proportioned dormers, enormous bare stone chimney breasts, blatantly pointed. The walls were dazzling white, the jumble of roofs bright red. The trim — mostly ornamental shutters — was an unfortunate shade of turquoise.

  They rode round to the back and left Charlie attending to the horses. Sophie had said that Edna Gunn had been the pretty sister but that now she was a doormat. An image had formed in Miss Pink’s mind of a wasted, washed-out woman, perhaps a hypochondriac — pampered? No, not pampered, not Charlie Gunn’s wife.

  They entered the kitchen where a little dumpling of a woman was on her knees scrubbing the linoleum. A radio played country and western.

  The cleaner stood up, red and flustered. She wore crimplene slacks under a hessian apron and an oversize T-shirt with the ghosts of stains down the front. Really, Miss Pink thought, couldn’t they dress their servants better?

  ‘I didn’t hear the horses,’ the woman gasped, rushing to turn off the radio. ‘You caught me before I was dressed. So you’re the famous authoress we’ve heard so much about. Please sit down, I’ll make coffee…’

  Sophie introduced her sister. Miss Pink subsided on a hard chair and looked around, trying to disguise her confusion by an interest in her surroundings. A massive cooking stove shone with blacklead and white enamel. A splashback behind the double sink was tiled, each tile bearing a coat of arms. ‘Take a closer look,’ Sophie said, seeing her interest.

  Miss Pink did so. The arms were those of Scottish clans. ‘The Gunns are there,’ Sophie said, but without feeling.

  ‘My husband’s clan,’ Edna put in, smiling.

  ‘Fascinating.’ Miss Pink turned back to the scrubbed table, trying to withhold judgement. Crofters were part of the clan too.

  Charlie came in from the horses and sat down without removing his hat. ‘So did Val get away all right?’ he asked carelessly.

  ‘Around eleven,’ Sophie told him. ‘A bit late but they’ll make the first stop-over if there isn’t too much timber to clear.’

  ‘Right. I sent Erik down to help out.’

  ‘You sent him? You know Val would never consent to have him along. He had his rifle — and the guy’s a punk.’

  Edna shot a quick glance at her husband. ‘A punk?’ he repeated, his lip curling.

  ‘He’s got no manners,’ Sophie protested. ‘Val’s choosy about the company she keeps and I’m right behind her there. It’s my business, after all. Erik galloped through the yard; he could have killed someone.’

  ‘Maybe a fly bit his horse.’

  Sophie’s jaw dropped. She turned to her friend but Miss Pink had seen Edna’s eyes widen. In fear? ‘Horseflies are a nuisance,’ she said vaguely, biting into a biscuit. ‘These cookies are delicious’ — gushing to Edna, anything for a diversion. Edna nodded distractedly, her attention on her husband.

  ‘What’s Byer’s story?’ Sophie asked coldly.

  ‘I haven’t spoken to him.’ Charlie was non-committal. ‘I saw him up to the West Forty mending fence but I didn’t go up, ask him why he wasn’t on the ride. Val won’t have him along, that’s her funeral.’

  ‘Clyde’s with her,’ Edna said. ‘Between
them they —’

  ‘Clyde’s never the man that Val is.’ He leered and Miss Pink saw the other side of the charm.

  When the others went out to look at the horses Edna suggested her guest might like to see over the house. Miss Pink was delighted and, asking to visit the bathroom first, wondered, when she opened the door, if she wasn’t being presented with the major glory in advance. Mirrors abounded, the frames wreathed with curlicues; the walls were tiled with images from Egyptian tombs and all the taps were gilded swans.

  Despite the vulgarity there were treasures in the house, and Miss Pink was sincere in her admiration even as she suppressed a smile at a Meissen tureen rubbing shoulders with the bronze replica of a cowboy boot, at painted decoy ducks on a Chippendale table. ‘Who dusts all these?’ she asked in wonder.

  ‘The maids come from Ballard.’ Edna ran her finger along a duck’s back. ‘They’re not very efficient. I’d like to have immigrants, Vietnamese maybe, but Charlie won’t have live-in help. He gave the women the day off today; that’s how you found me scrubbing the floor.’ She shrugged. ‘I often do that anyway; the maids leave smears.’

  Miss Pink shook her head, appalled. All this money… ‘Who collected these objects?’ she asked, pausing at a Delft tankard.

  ‘Charlie’s people. They had agents in Europe and they shipped stuff back from all over. Things were cheap after the wars, apparently, and the Gunns have an eye for a bargain.’

  You can say that again, Miss Pink thought crudely, eyeing shelves of books in leather bindings, wondering if any had been read by a Gunn.

  ‘We don’t use most of the rooms,’ Edna went on. ‘Charlie spends all his time in the den.’ She led the way to an astounding room lined with wood except for a fireplace of stone blocks pointed with yellow cement. There were animal heads on the walls and stuffed beasts in the corners: two wild goats, a bighorn sheep, a mountain lion. A television set stood in front of the lion and, a few yards away, was what had to be Charlie’s chair, constructed of logs. Silver effigies of horses crowded the mantel-shelf and the pictures were Remingtons: cowboys, Indians, stampeding herds.

  ‘Do you ride?’ Miss Pink asked weakly.

  ‘Not at my age, dear.’ Edna regarded her guest without embarrassment, most unlike the flustered little body whom they’d surprised washing the kitchen floor, and yet the appearance hadn’t changed — she was still wearing the grubby T-shirt. ‘You’ve kept your youthful spirit,’ she pointed out. ‘I — put on weight.’ It wasn’t what she’d intended to say.

  ‘So what do you do in this splendid mansion?’ Miss Pink tried to make a joke of it.

  ‘I supervise the help.’ There was a long pause. ‘And there’s my son, and Val. When you have family there’s always something. Do you have family?’

  Miss Pink said no, there was no one left, only cousins, and obliged with information concerning her antecedents as they strolled towards the kitchen. Her eye fell on a pair of porcelain perfume bottles in an alcove, decorated with flowers and peacocks. ‘These are exquisite.’

  ‘Ah, yes, they’re Clyde’s favourites.’

  ‘Clyde!’

  ‘My son. Didn’t you meet him yet?’

  ‘Yes. I’m just surprised a man should go for something so delicate. I’d have thought the trophies in the den were more —’ Miss Pink trailed off but Edna seemed not to have noticed anything sexist in the words. ‘Clyde has an eye for beauty,’ she said serenely.

  Back in the kitchen Miss Pink kept the conversation on family matters, deploring the fact that as an only child and a spinster she had no nephews or nieces. She envied Sophie in this respect — and then of course, there were grandchildren; did Edna see much of her granddaughter?

  Edna plucked at her lips. ‘I guess you’ll be wanting to see the horses now,’ she murmured. Miss Pink thought she hadn’t caught the question, but then, ‘Jen’s away. A lovely girl. Looks more like her Uncle Clyde.’ She started to gabble. ‘Of course, Val would be a looker if only she wasn’t so thin. I keep telling Sophie: you should make her eat when she comes to visit with you, I tell her, cook those rich dishes of yours; that girl needs cream and butter and stuff… You know my sister’s a gourmet cook? She can do as well as — better than — Pat Kramer’s chef.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘But I guess she eats in the restaurant for the company. There’s no pleasure to eating alone. You’ll have to excuse me now, I have to start the supper…’

  Dismissed, Miss Pink went to look for Sophie. She shouldn’t have mentioned the granddaughter but wasn’t it natural — when you knew that one existed and were not expected to be privy to this family skeleton — to ask after the child? Woman, she corrected, Jen was seventeen when she went missing; she’d be twenty-seven now. But if the explanation for her absence was that she’d had an affair with her stepfather, she should not have asked after her. So why had she?

  She stood beside her mare, teasing away at a burr in the mane, frowning, realising that she didn’t believe that story about the stepfather. It wasn’t enough. Not enough to keep the girl away for ten years, with never a word —

  ‘Hi!’ Sophie came striding over from the corrals. ‘We have two horses to take back with us. Think you can manage? They’re very quiet. Ask me’ — as Charlie came up — ‘those two were quiet when they were foals.’

  ‘What you gave me for ‘em I coulda gotten more if they’d gone for canning,’ he said without heat.

  ‘Because they were all I could afford — and then not till you met me on the price. I’m shocked at you asking such a sum from family for a pair of old dude horses.’

  Miss Pink thought that there were barbs under the banter. Charlie said, ‘You’re giving our guest the impression we’re a coupla Mexicans driving a hard bargain. I’ll tell you the truth, ma’am: she’s got two steady animals there and cheap. A quiet horse is what you need on a pack-trip in this kinda country. Did you go through the Black Canyon yet?’

  They moved indoors and he served them drinks in a room furnished as a very superior bar, its walls hung with priceless Indian robes and head-dresses of bald eagle feathers. Bald eagles were protected and it was a crime to own as much as a feather.

  Charlie was drinking beer from the bottle. ‘You’ll enjoy the Black Canyon,’ he told Miss Pink.

  Sophie said, ‘I’d like to go in there as Val is coming out. I need new photos for next season’s brochure.’

  Miss Pink was delighted. ‘I’ll take some slides. I give little talks back home,’ she added shyly, ‘and that canyon must make a sensational backdrop. Exposure, you know?’ They looked puzzled. ‘As in a long drop?’ she ventured. ‘In climbing jargon a precipice is exposed.’

  ‘It’s all of that.’ Charlie was with her now. ‘We use a quick-release mechanism when we’re leading pack animals so if one goes down it don’t take you with it.’ He grinned. ‘And if your mount goes down you got to jump off quick.’ He turned to Sophie. ‘I have to go in there. Erik says a bear’s been at the cabin; it hasn’t gotten inside but it’s ripped a corner off the roof. I’ll go tomorrow, melt some of the fat off that stud.’

  ‘You’re never taking the stallion on that trail — not Ali!’ Sophie was appalled.

  ‘You suggesting this old man can’t ride, lady?’ He addressed Miss Pink: ‘The meanest animal will go quiet on dangerous ground. He knows if he puts a foot wrong he’s gonna roll, and that stud, he’s mortal scared of water. I have to whip him through a creek. He’ll be terrified of the river a long ways below. No way is he gonna act up on that trail.’

  ‘It’s a sixteen-mile round trip to the hunting cabin,’ Sophie said. ‘You telling me he’s going to walk quietly for sixteen miles?’

  His eyes slitted. ‘He’ll walk quiet.’

  Miss Pink felt a twinge of sympathy for the stallion.

  *

  They ate in the dining-room, clustered at one end of an immense table. They ate overcooked steak served on Spode bone china and with it they drank a sumptuous claret from glasses with rainbow rims
. There was scarcely any conversation. Miss Pink did ask who cooked at other times and Edna, surprised, said she did the cooking. ‘She knows how I like my food,’ Charlie explained.

  By the time the ice-cream was finished Miss Pink was deeply relieved when Sophie announced that they must leave now in order to be home by dark. ‘Are they always as quiet at meal-times?’ she asked as they rode back, leading the new horses.

  ‘On a ranch, food is fuel.’

  ‘That’s not a typical ranch and I’ve eaten on working ranches where people talked nineteen to the dozen.’

  ‘Charlie didn’t talk, so Edna wouldn’t. Anything for the sake of peace. If I’d tried to make conversation with you, she’d have felt she should contribute and he’d have slapped her down. He says she prattles. He can be mean. You only saw the charming side.’

  ‘I had glimpses of the other. And why did he send Erik Byer down to Val’s place? Didn’t he know she wouldn’t have him on the ride? She refused him yesterday too.’

  ‘It’s Charlie’s way of showing her who’s boss.’

  ‘But she’s turned fifty. He can’t rule grown members of his family like that.’ Miss Pink hesitated. ‘Or is it because she’s living on his property?’

  ‘No, it’s my lease —’ Sophie looked flushed but it could have been the wine, or maybe the light. The sun had set and the sky was on fire, flaming in the west, dying to embers in the darkening east. ‘She defied him,’ she went on. ‘Sam was one of Charlie’s hands and they fell in love, Sam and Val. They would have kept it secret but Charlie found out — and you can guess who told him; Sam and Erik Byer shared the bunk-house. So Charlie fired Sam and forbade Val to see him again. Of course, she took no notice, went on meeting him, came back late one night and Charlie was in the kitchen waiting up. Edna heard them shouting. Seems he was about to take his belt to her — and that girl was turned twenty! Imagine. And she told him if he touched her he’d never dare turn his back on her again. Edna heard this from outside the door and she told me the way Val spoke made her blood run cold, although she’d always thought the girl had it in her to be as violent as her daddy. But that last was too much for Edna — and the guns were kept too close to the kitchen. She went in there and told Charlie he was driving his daughter at Sam and if she went to him the whole county would be laughing at him: his daughter running off with one of his hands. And while Edna was ranting at him, Val slipped away and she did leave. She had a horse, Sam had a pick-up, they married and set up house over in the Madison Valley, managing a spread for a guy who had no time for Charlie. No one from around here would have dared employ them.’