Page 1 of The Moon Sister
1
‘I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when I heard my father had died.’
‘I remember where I was too, when it happened to me.’
Charlie Kinnaird’s penetrating blue gaze fell upon me.
‘So, where were you?’
‘At Margaret’s wildlife sanctuary, shovelling up deer poo. I really wish it had been a better setting, but it wasn’t. It’s okay, really. Although . . .’ I swallowed hard, wondering how on earth this conversation – or, more accurately,interview– had veered on to Pa Salt’s death. I was currently sitting in a stuffy hospital canteen opposite Dr Charlie Kinnaird. Even as he’d entered, I’d noticed how his presence commanded attention. It wasn’t just that he was strikingly handsome, with his slim, elegant physique clad in a well-tailored grey suit, and a head of wavy dark-auburn hair; he was simply someone who possessed a natural air of authority. Several of the hospital staff seated nearby had paused over their coffees to glance up and nod respectfully at him as he’d passed. When he’d reached me and held out his hand in greeting, a tiny electric shock had shot through my body. Now, as he sat opposite me, I watched those long fingers playing incessantly with the pager that lay between them, revealing an underlying level of nervous energy.
‘“Although” what, Miss D’Aplièse?’ Charlie prompted, his voice exhibiting a soft Scottish burr. I realised he was obviously not prepared to let me off the hook I was currently hanging myself on.
‘Umm . . . I’m just not sure Pa’s dead. I mean, of course heis, because he’s gone and he’d never fake his death or anything – he’d know how much pain it would cause all his girls – but I just feel him around me all the time.’
‘If it’s any comfort, I think that reaction is perfectly normal,’ Charlie responded. ‘A lot of the bereaved relatives I speak to say they feel the presence of their loved ones around them after they’ve died.’
‘Of course,’ I said, feeling slightly patronised, although I had to remember it was a doctor I was talking to – someone who dealt with death and the loved ones it left behind every day.
‘Funny, really,’ he sighed as he picked up the pager from the melamine tabletop and began to turn it over and over in his hands. ‘As I just mentioned, my own father died recently, and I’m plagued by what I can only describe as nightmare visions of him actuallyrisingfrom the grave!’
‘You weren’t close then?’
‘No. He may have been my biological father, but that’s where our relationship began and ended. We had nothing else in common. You obviously did with yours.’
‘Yes, although ironically my sisters and I were all adopted by him as babies, so there’s no biological connection at all. But I couldn’t have loved him more. Really, he was amazing.’
Charlie smiled at this. ‘Well then, surely that just goes to prove that biology doesn’t play a major part in whether we get on with our parents. It’s a lottery, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t think it is actually,’ I said, deciding there was only one ‘me’ I could ever be, even in a job interview. ‘I think we’re given to each other for a reason, whether we’re blood relatives or not.’
‘You mean it’s all predestined?’ He raised a cynical eyebrow.
‘Yes, but I know most people wouldn’t agree.’
‘Me included, I’m afraid. In my role as a cardiac surgeon, I have to deal on a daily basis with the heart, which we all equate with emotions and the soul. Sadly, I’ve been forced to view it as a lump of muscle – and an often malfunctioning one at that. I’ve been trained to see the world in a purely scientific way.’
‘I think there’s room for spirituality in science,’ I countered. ‘I had a rigorous scientific training too, but there are so many things that science hasn’t yet explained.’
‘You’re right, but . . .’ Charlie checked his watch. ‘We seem to have wandered completely off track and I’m due in clinic in fifteen minutes. So, excuse me for getting back to business, but how much has Margaret told you about the Kinnaird estate?’
‘That it’s over forty thousand acres of wilderness, and you’re looking for someone who knows about the indigenous animals who could inhabit it, wildcats in particular.’
‘Yes. Due to my father’s death, the Kinnaird estate will pass to me. Dad used it as his personal playground for years; hunting, shooting, fishing and drinking the local distilleries dry with not a thought for the estate’s ecology. To be fair, it’s not entirely his fault – his father and numerous male relatives before him were happy to take money from the loggers for shipbuilding in the last century. They stood back and watched as vast tracts of Caledonian pine forests were stripped bare. They didn’t know any better in those days, but in these enlightened times,wedo. I’m aware that it will be impossible to turn back the clock completely, certainly in my lifetime, but I’m keen to make a start. I’ve got the best estate manager in the Highlands to lead the way with the reforestation project. We’ve also spruced up the hunting lodge where Dad lived, so we can let it to paying guests who want a breath of fresh Highland air and some organised shoots.’
‘Right,’ I said, trying to suppress a shudder.
‘You obviously don’t approve of culling?’
‘I can’t approve of any innocent animal being killed, no. But I do understand why it has to happen,’ I added hurriedly. After all, I told myself, I was applying for a job on a Highland estate, where the culling of deer was not only standard practice, but the law.
‘With your background, I’m sure you know how the whole balance of nature in Scotland has been destroyed by mankind. There are no natural predators, such as wolves and bears, left to keep the deer population under control. Nowadays, that task is down to us. At least we can perform it as humanely as possible.’
‘I know, although I have to be totally honest and tell you that I’d never be able to help out at a shoot. I’m used to protecting animals, not murdering them.’
‘I understand your sentiments. I’ve had a look at your CV and it’s very impressive. As well as gaining a first-class degree in zoology, you specialised in conservation?’
‘Yes, the technical side of my degree – anatomy, biology, genetics, indigenous animals’ behavioural patterns and so on – was invaluable. I worked in the research department at Servion Zoo for a while, but I soon realised I was more interested in doing something hands-on to help animals, rather than just studying them from a distance and analysing their DNA in a Petri dish. I . . . just have a natural empathy with them in the flesh, and although I have no veterinary training, I seem to have a knack for healing them when they’re sick.’ I shrugged lamely, embarrassed to be blowing my own trumpet.
