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‘It is. Grenville also said you’d be interested, and you should talk to him about it.’ Liz shrugged. ‘I guess that’s just because she worked here, it’s part of your family history. And because of the Old Maids launch, of course.’
‘Hmm. Is there something good in there, then?’
‘Yeah. Evelyn was seeing some guy, a temporary worker that came to work at the distillery in 1921. I guess she was in her late twenties at the time. She was working with her dad as Master Distiller then, but he was off with ill health a lot. So, it was mostly Evelyn running the show.’
‘Okay.’ Ben sat down in the black leather chair on the opposite side of Liz’s desk. ‘Who was this guy?’
‘Sandy Crowley. He wooed her with poetry, by the sounds of things.’ Liz looked back at the diary. ‘The reason I shouted was because he got her pregnant, and then refused to acknowledge her or the child. That’s where I’m up to.’
‘Oh my goodness. Read on.’ Ben leaned forward, his head on his hands. ‘What happened?’
‘Hang on. Let me go back to the page.’ She flicked the pages of the book. ‘Here it is.
D is angry with me. He says I am a common hussy for seeing Sandy and deserve everything I get.
‘That’s it. The entries end here. She goes back to work notes for pages and pages.’
‘D? Who’s D?’ Ben frowned, looking at his phone, which had lit up.
‘Do you need to get that?’ Liz asked, but he shook his head and turned it to mute, then turned it face down on the table.
‘No, it’s fine. Carry on. You were saying. Had she mentioned “D” before?’
‘No. This whole thing was mostly a work notebook, I think, and for whatever reason, she decided to start writing in more personal entries for a brief time. But, look.’ Liz flicked slowly through the pages of Evelyn’s meticulous, copperplate handwriting. ‘All tasting notes, ordinary stuff. I mean, it’s still amazing to have – and we can use all that stuff for the product launch. But it kind of leaves us on tenterhooks as to what happened to Evelyn and her baby.’
‘No kidding. But if she was buried as an Old Maid, what does that mean? That she didn’t have it? Or that she did, but she never married?’
‘I don’t know. But I want to find out.’ Liz put the diary down on her desk. ‘Maybe D is for Dad? Her father disapproved?’
‘Maybe. But she’d be more likely to call him Father, wouldn’t she? And why just the initial if she was talking about her dad? That would be innocent enough.’
‘Hmm. I don’t know.’
‘It’s a mystery, all right. Maybe Grenville knows. You should ask him,’ Ben suggested.
‘I will.’ Liz looked up at Ben, taking him in, now that she wasn’t as preoccupied with the diary. Today, he wore smart black trousers and a light blue shirt, open at the neck. He was clean shaven, but he was that kind of classic Celtic black-haired guy who had a shadow of a beard by mid-afternoon, even if he’d shaved in the morning. His black wavy hair looked like he had raked it back in haste with his fingers: a slight curl had escaped at the front and gave him a boyish look. She always liked looking at him. Liked his presence, which was warm and safe and exciting at the same time. But he was also a man that she couldn’t trust; she had to remind herself of that. He was her boss, nothing more. ‘He’s doing really great with the tours, by the way. I saw him in action earlier.’
‘I bet. It was an inspired idea to ask him to do them.’ Ben nodded. ‘I’m going to go along to the next one. I’ll probably learn a lot.’
‘You probably will.’ Liz smiled neutrally. Ben held her gaze for a moment and, despite her wanting to keep things neutral, a pleasant frisson of energy passed between them. She looked away, knowing that she didn’t want to encourage that.You are not the man I want to do that with,she thought, firmly.Men like you don’t deserve my attention.
‘I’ve sorted our accommodation for the conference, by the way. We’re on the same floor, but not next door to each other, or anything,’ he said, looking down at the office carpet. Was that a bashful look on his face, or was Liz imagining it?
She didn’t care if they had rooms next to each other; she’d done that with work colleagues for years and never thought twice about it. It was just what you did when you had presentations to practice, or if you wanted to hang out and have a drink at the end of a long day but couldn’t face networking at the hotel bar. But, perhaps the idea of them sleeping near to each other – even if separated by a wall – was too much for Ben.
‘Great. I’m almost done with my presentation, by the way. I’d appreciate your eyes on it soon, so we can tweak it with your suggestions,’ she replied, smoothly.
‘I’m sure it doesn’t need any tweaks, but of course.’ Ben flashed her a sudden, warm smile. ‘I’m around, if you need me.’ He stood up and gave her a little wave, then immediately looked mortified. ‘Sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I’ll be next door. And let me know what you find out about Evelyn’s baby.’
‘I will.’ Liz watched him go, wondering how this Ben Douglas – the one who embarrassed himself by giving her childlike goodbye waves when he was just leaving the room – could be the same Ben Douglas as the one who heartlessly abandoned his pregnant wife. It seemed odd, but, if life had taught her anything, it was that you couldn’t trust people. They could seem to be one thing, and actually be something else.
And, now, there was Evelyn. Another woman who was abandoned while pregnant by the father of her child.
Liz felt the weight of sadness in her heart for this woman who had been dead for many years already, but had had to endure that most terrible of betrayals. How had she coped? What had happened to her in Loch Cameron? Had she been ostracised by the rest of the villagers, like she herself had feared?
Evelyn had worked as Master Distiller for those three years while her father was at war and into the 50s when she’d handed over to Simon’s dad. So, if she’d had the baby, people would have known – and if she hadn’t, what had she done?
Liz felt a cold sense of dread in her heart, knowing that Evelyn’s story probably wasn’t a happy one. Typically, women who had babies “out of wedlock” in the early part of the twentieth century – and perhaps especially in small, remote locations like Loch Cameron – had little support from the community, who would be far more likely to demonise them than sympathise for their impossible situation. Yes, Evelyn had been tempted by Sandy, and contraception hadn’t been readily available to unmarried women in the 1920s. But she was a flesh and blood woman, and she had spent her life working and looking after her family.
