Northanger Abbey. Val McDermid
by the preferences of his father, Susie Allen swept through the double doors in an elaborate multi-layered confection of muslins. ‘Cat, darling, over here,’ she called, as if her entrance hadn’t already earned the attention of the whole room. She continued towards them in a cloud of floral perfume. ‘I thought I’d better come and get you. Andrew’s got us an invitation to a preview of Jack Vettriano’s latest show this evening, and it’s over the bridge in some little town in Fife, can you believe it? So he’s outside in the car.’ All the while she was speaking, her eyes were raking Henry from crown to toe, making a mental catalogue of his attributes. She gave him a sultry look that Cat feared was meant to be seductive. ‘And is this your dance partner, Cat? Aren’t you going to introduce us?’
Although she knew she ought not to grudge sharing Henry with Susie, who was the only reason Cat was there in the first place, still she felt a twinge of resentment. ‘Susie, this is Henry Tilney. Henry, this is my friend and neighbour Susie Allen, who has very kindly brought me to Edinburgh.’
Susie extended a hand as if to be kissed. Instead, Henry jumped to his feet and shook it delicately. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said, head cocked as if assessing her for the pot. ‘That’s a lovely frock, by the way. I love the way all the layers are cut on the bias so they cascade like a waterfall.’
Susie gave him a shrewd look. ‘Thank you. Are you in textiles yourself? A designer perhaps?’
He laughed delightedly. ‘God, no. I just have a sister, that’s all. Ellie likes to lecture me on the finer points of women’s fashions. She’s got her eye on a design course at the College of Art.’
Satisfied that he wasn’t a gay man in disguise, Susie tucked a hand under Cat’s arm. ‘Sounds like she’d be a perfect pal for you, Cat. I hate to drag you away when you two are just getting to know each other, but we’re on a tight schedule.’
Henry inclined his head politely. ‘It’s festival time. Everyone’s always running to catch up with themselves. No doubt I’ll see you around at the Book Festival. I usually grab a coffee there in the morning.’
‘’Kay,’ Cat said. She followed Susie to the car, completely oblivious to the ache in her feet and ankles.
Amazing. Awesome. Astonishing. Henry Tilney had seen her at her worst, red-faced, sweating and cursing. And still he seemed keen to see her again. That was some consolation for knowing she looked such a mess. Whatever their next encounter might be, she couldn’t look any worse.
Her complete failure to recall anything about Jack Vettriano’s latest collection of paintings was not something Cat was proud of. She’d always admired his work when she’d encountered it on cards and prints. It was the sort of art she could imagine practising herself one day. On any other occasion, she’d have been riveted to see the originals and she’d have snatched at the chance to talk to the artist himself. But Henry Tilney had driven all other thoughts from her mind. She’d even have been hard pressed to remember which town they’d been in, principally because she’d spent the entire journey on her phone researching Henry.
Her first port of call had been Facebook. Disappointingly, Henry didn’t share his information with people who weren’t his friends. And since they had no friends in common, there was nothing she could glean by a more circuitous route. Next she tried Google. There, she did find a Henry Tilney, but since this one was a much-decorated general who had made his name in the Falklands war before Cat had even been born, this obviously wasn’t her dance partner. Out of curiosity, she clicked on the ‘image’ button. Even allowing for the scale of the photo on the phone, the resemblance between General Tilney and her dance partner was so uncanny that the relationship between them was immediately obvious. Father and son, no question about it.
General Tilney had made his reputation on a night operation against the Argentinian ground forces. He’d been a lieutenant-colonel at the time, which Cat thought sounded pretty impressive. In spite of his rank, he’d led the sortie himself, single-handedly accounting for an improbable number of the enemy before finally effecting a single-handed rescue of one of his men who had been wounded and trapped behind enemy lines. ‘Almost superhuman,’ one newspaper cutting said. Clearly not a man you’d want to cross, which possibly explained Henry’s deference to his father’s wishes.
‘What have you found out about him?’ Susie asked from the front seat.
‘What? Who?’
Susie chuckled. ‘Your dance partner. No point in pretending, Cat. I know what you’re up to, tapping away on your phone. What have you found out about Henry Tilney?’
‘Nothing much. His dad’s a general.’
‘General Tilney?’ Mr Allen interrupted. ‘The Falklands hero?’
‘That’s what it says on Google.’
‘He owns Northanger Abbey,’ he said. ‘One of those medieval Borders abbeys. It got turned into a fortified house at some point. I remember a film company trying to rent it for some Gothic horror movie, but Tilney wouldn’t even take a meeting. I can’t imagine him being much of a dancer.’
‘Pay attention,’ his wife scolded. ‘It’s the son we’re interested in, not the General.’
Fortunately for Cat, who was mortified by Susie’s fascination with Henry as all teenagers are by adult interest in the objects of their attraction, they arrived at their destination.
On the return journey, Susie talked incessantly about the guest list, while Mr Allen managed to squeeze in a few comments on the paintings themselves. Left to herself, Cat hit on the brilliant notion of checking out Henry’s sister. What had he called her? Allie? No, Ellie, that was it. Back on Facebook, Cat searched for ‘Ellie Tilney’, but without success. She tried ‘Ellen’ but that didn’t help. She waited for her companions to pause for breath then asked, ‘Susie, what’s Ellie short for?’
‘I’m not sure. Eleanor?’
And so it was that Cat found herself face-to-face with Henry Tilney’s sister. Eleanor had the same thick blonde hair and brown eyes set in pale skin and a finer-boned version of the same features. Like her brother, not exactly beautiful, but striking. There were the usual photos of parties and dimly lit bars, Ellie mugging at the camera with an assortment of young men and women. Cat scrolled through the photos until she eventually came across one of Ellie and Henry leaning into each other at a sepulchral café table with espresso cups in front of them. Definitely the right Eleanor Tilney, then.
She clicked on the ‘about’ button and discovered Henry was indeed her brother. He was also a lawyer, an occupation that would have struck dread into the heart of most seventeen-year-old girls. Lawyer equalled boring, lawyer equalled know-all, lawyer equalled run for the hills. Except that Cat’s brother James had just been accepted as a trainee barrister in a set of chambers in Newcastle upon Tyne and she knew James equalled none of those things. So his profession did not quench her interest in Henry as it might have done with another girl.
Mining Eleanor’s Facebook page offered the information that she had another brother, Freddie, a captain in the army. But there were no other titbits about Henry. Still, at least now Cat knew he was respectable. And in spite of her longings for romance and adventure, deep in her heart she knew respectable was not something to despise. She gazed out at the gathering dusk, remembering the coolness of his hand against hers, the dancing laughter in his unusual eyes and the promised prospect of meeting at the Book Festival. Not to mention a Borders abbey. That was more than enough romance and adventure to be going on with.
The next morning found Cat suspiciously early at the breakfast table. She could barely contain her impatience while she waited for Susie to complete her morning preparations. Cat sat by the window, unable to concentrate on Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. She frowned at the clouds hanging low over the distant hills of Fife, wondering if she should read in them a portent of gloom