The Lake Louise Sharland (each kindness read aloud txt) 📖

bright, triangular building notable for its glass and steel facade. The afternoon is blazing, and the chapel doors are wide open and inviting, but I resist crossing the threshold into what I suspect is a cool marble and polished-teak interior. I can’t bear the endless memorials that I know will be pinned to those shiny stone walls. Passchendaele, Normandy, Gallipoli, Ypres, Korea, Northern Ireland, The Falklands, Afghanistan. Would there even be any space remaining? Instead I gravitate further west to a stunning Cubist structure accented with a large vertical water wall.

The Arkady Ishutin Centre, reads the brushed silver plaque. I settle myself on a bench and let my hand drift in and out of the cascading stream of water before gently pressing it against my blazing forehead.

I look up to see Malcolm approaching. ‘There you are.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I was just rather hot, and Becky’s induction was—’

‘Making you lose the will to live?’ he replies. ‘She takes her Student Ambassador role very seriously.’ His face creases into a roguish grin. ‘This summer we’ve already had an art residential school, three faith groups, and a team of IT consultants for an away day, and they all needed tours and information sessions from the rather long-winded Becky.’

‘Oh, you poor thing,’ I laugh, echoing Julia’s sentiment. Realising that my words may sound more critical than light-hearted, I add, ‘Are you two together?’

‘God no!’ exclaims Malcolm, and reaching out, he helps me to my feet. ‘She and Turner have been a thing since the start of term, poor chap.’

‘Well, I’m sure everyone appreciates her diligence.’

‘The income from our summer schools contributes significantly to our scholarship fund,’ he says, his tone softening.

The words scholarship fund bring me tumbling back to reality; to the photograph of Michael, Lisa, and Susan. Not for the first time do I wonder what I’m doing here. Maybe I should just go to the local police and tell them everything I know.

But what do I know? Michael’s diary could easily be construed as adolescent fantasy, the texts and emails just the same. I can’t go to the police on a gut instinct. The information that Lisa gave to me is unsubstantiated, inconsistent, and to some eyes would appear as nothing more than fabrication and fancy. I still berate myself for forgetting to turn on the voice recorder on my phone during our conversation.

I think back to my discussion with Doris, how instead of dismissing my concerns as an overly emotional response to unresolved loss and grief, she had suggested instead that my journey here might be an opportunity for truth, and even some form of resolution.

What you’re going to need, Katie, is good, solid evidence.

‘And that’s what I’ll get.’

‘Pardon me?’ says Malcolm.

‘I said I’d better get back. Before Becky gets cross with me.’

‘Believe me,’ he replies, with a knowing look, ‘you won’t be wanting that.’

The small group are just emerging from the chapel when I rejoin them.

‘Are you okay?’ whispers Marie-Claire.

I nod and discreetly slip back into line.

‘So, as you can see, Lennoxton spreads out in a series of teaching and living spaces behind the main building. First the boarding houses, then the chapel, and finally the Ishutin Building from which Mrs Hardy has just returned.’ Next to me Julia gives a huff of amusement. ‘Your induction lecture will be held there after lunch so there is no need to visit at this time. If you’ll follow me, we’ll continue along the Cobbles.’

‘Why does everything in this place have to have a boujie nickname?’ Julia whispers.

The group follow Becky along the cobbled path that runs behind the chapel and boarding houses.

‘Finally, we have the leisure area – or Free, as we call it – which includes the sports and outdoor activity centre. As you may know, alongside its outstanding academic curriculum, Lennoxton has a vibrant sports programme including golf, rugby, and equestrianism. If you glance just to your left, you’ll see the sports centre, and just beyond that Loch Haugh where most of our water sports take place.’

The relentless self-promotion is giving me a headache. All I want is to get to my room, have a shower and take a nap.

‘My, hasn’t the time flown,’ says Malcolm, and, making a show of looking at his watch, he adds, ‘I believe chef was very clear about lunch being served at one, and as it’s nearly twelve, I wonder if it’s best we get on with settling our guests into their rooms?’

I’m not certain, but I think I hear a collective sigh of relief from the group.

Becky’s cheeks redden.

‘Yes, Malcolm, I’m aware of that – but there are a few more points I need to cover.’ And without breaking stride, she carries on. ‘There are no boarders on campus during your residential stay; however, there are still a number of admin staff on site, as well as Student Ambassadors including myself, Malcolm, Turner and Nikki, who have all remained here over the summer months.’

Turner approaches carrying a fibreglass canoe above his head. ‘Nice to see you all again,’ he says, in a clipped Home Counties accent. ‘I’m just setting up for tomorrow’s canoeing lesson – so if you’ll excuse me.’ He gives Becky a wink and carries on towards the loch. The self-assured young American suddenly seems flustered.

I turn to Julia and Marie-Claire. ‘Canoeing lesson?’

‘Oh la-la,’ grins Marie-Claire. ‘You haven’t read the programme, have you?’

‘Thank you, Becky,’ says Malcolm, stepping forward, ‘for what I’m sure our guests have found to be a fascinating and most comprehensive tour.’ He gives me a cheeky sideways glance. ‘I’ve just received a text from Mrs Roe saying that the guests’ bags have been delivered to their rooms. I suggest we break up so that they can unpack and get settled. Lunch will be served at one precisely.’

‘But I—’

‘Cook doesn’t like to be kept waiting,’ Malcolm scolds, his Highland burr tinged with a dash of bold humour.

27

My room is fit for purpose and comfortable, and best of all it has a wonderful view of the