Anne Douglas (17 page)

And while her father and her sister gazed at her without comment, she quickly changed the subject from Mr Allan to his chef.

‘I’m really enjoying doing a bit of cooking these days, since I managed to get an hour or two free once a week. Scott – he’s the chef – has been showing me all sorts of things. Know what I helped to make the other day? A bombe glacée!’

‘Fancy,’ said Monnie.

‘And what on earth is that?’ asked Frank.

‘An ice cream dessert made in layers in a special mould. Very tricky! But Scott’s very good. He trained at the North British Hotel, you know in Edinburgh. Concentrates on French and Scottish, but he can do anything.’

‘So, you’ll be changing jobs, will you?’ Frank laughed. ‘Or is it just this chef you’re interested in?’

‘I’m not particularly interested in anyone,’ Lynette retorted.

‘Unlike Monnie here,’ Frank said with a sigh. ‘Seeing Torquil again on Saturday, eh?’

‘Why not?’ asked Monnie.

No one replied.

‘Monnie’s seeing Torquil again this afternoon,’ Frank told Ishbel MacNicol in her shop on Saturday morning. ‘I suppose it’s all right, but I can’t help worrying.’

‘Because of what I told you?’ she asked quickly. ‘I feel rather bad about that, Frank. I shouldn’t have said anything about the MacLeod boys.’

‘No, you were right to let us know their reputation. After all, we’re strangers here. We couldn’t know past history.’

‘I still feel I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘Don’t worry about it. If you’d never said anything at all, I’d still feel uneasy. There’s just something I can’t put my finger on.’ He shook his head, looking down at his shopping list. ‘Och, I’m probably just prejudiced.’

‘Well, what can I get you, anyway? I’ve some lovely ham on the bone in this morning, and pork pies. What about sausages?’

One or two people came in as she was helping him with his list and they had no chance of further conversation until she was totalling up his bill.

‘These for the hostel account, these for me to pay for now, for myself,’ he told her, resting his eyes on her sweet face bent over the counter until she looked up and caught his look, at which he coloured a little. She only smiled and asked if he’d be going to the hotel ceilidh.

‘Is it true that the young folk at the hostel can go this year? Mr Allan must be having a change of heart, then. He has never wasted much love over your hostel, Frank.’

‘I know, but it’s true enough. Anybody who’s staying is invited this year. And yes, I’m certainly going myself. Hope you are, too.’

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world!’

‘So, you’ll promise me the eightsome? It’s the only one I know.’

‘Frank, by the time the evening’s over, you’ll know them all,’ she told him happily, and her other customers, turning round to see who Ishbel was laughing with, were not surprised to see that it was Mr Forester from the hostel. These days, it usually was.

Twenty-Eight

When Torquil came to collect her on Saturday afternoon, Monnie was waiting at the gates to the drive, in anorak and jeans again, for the skies were grey and rain was forecast. As soon as she saw him, it came to her that for what had seemed a lifetime she’d been suffering from withdrawal symptoms. Yes, he called with the fish, but those snatched moments were not enough. She really needed to be with him, just him alone, and to know that he felt the same about wanting to be with her. Of that, she couldn’t be sure, but wouldn’t let herself dwell on it. How could you ever be sure what someone else was thinking? All you could do was hope.

‘So lovely to see you,’ she whispered, sliding into the passenger street. ‘Have you missed me? I mean, being with me?’

‘Certainly have.’ He gave her a quick smile as they began to drive away. ‘Sorry about last week. But then you had your trip out with Mr Soutar.’

‘Yes, it was nice. But I’ve already told you about that, when you came with the fish.’

‘And he’s taking you to Kyle?’

‘Just to look at climbing boots.’

‘Well, you take care when you start running up hills round here. They’re not as easy as he might make out. I’ve done enough to know.’

‘I didn’t know you were a climber, Torquil.’

‘Sure, I am. We all grew up climbing and hill walking. If you live in the Highlands, you do.’

‘Why, then you could have taken me hill walking!’

He shrugged. ‘Mr Soutar’s the one with the time. You’re best off with him.’ His eyes slid to her and away. ‘For that.’

She smiled and settled herself into her seat. ‘Where are we going today, then?’

‘Thought we’d just walk a bit. There is woodland off the Glenelg road where we can be on our own.’

His words might have been an answer to her prayer and her heart lifted, as he drove fast away from Conair.

‘Have you heard about the ceilidh at the Talisman?’ she asked after a pause. ‘You’ll be going, won’t you?’

‘Always do.’

‘It’s a regular thing?’

‘Sure. We look forward to it.’

‘Who – who do you dance with?’

‘Everybody!’ He laughed. ‘That’s what you do at that sort of dance. Do not need just one partner.’

‘I see.’ How quickly her spirits could fall . . . She must pull herself together, not droop like a flower out of water the minute Torquil indicated she was not the only person in his life . . .

‘As a matter of fact, I do know about ceilidhs,’ she said quietly. ‘We have them in Edinburgh, as well as ordinary dances.’

‘And you will have been in demand, then. Just as you will be at the hotel. Promise you will dance with me some time?’

‘If you dance with everybody, I’m sure to be included.’

He whistled and shook his blond head. ‘Oh, Monnie, you are sharp today. Am I in disgrace again?’

She shrugged. ‘Where’s this wood you were talking about?’

‘Coming up. We turn here for the road we took to the brochs, then turn again. It’s just what you might call a copse, but pretty in the spring.’

Oh, yes, it was pretty! So many trees in new leaf – birch mainly, but ash and oak, some old, some saplings, with a faint sun coming through their branches as the rain clouds moved on. Best of all, there were no people. When Torquil had parked the van and they walked together, hand in hand, there was no sound but the leaves rustling in the breeze and their footsteps moving through the grass.

‘This is wonderful,’ Monnie said softly. ‘Thank you for bringing me here.’

‘Tis difficult to be alone, even in the Highlands. Just when you think you are the only people in the universe, suddenly, someone appears.’

‘I hope no one appears now.’

‘So do I.’

Slowly, he took her into his arms, and they kissed, at first gently, gradually more fiercely, until their mouths meeting seemed to be all that mattered and they clung together under the trees as though they would never part. They had to part, of course, and stood staring into each other’s faces, murmuring each other’s names, taking breath before they kissed again. And then Torquil was unzipping Monnie’s anorak and she was unfastening his shirt, as they sank to the grass, caressing and fondling, never letting go. Until Torquil suddenly sprang away, leaving Monnie bereft.

‘Oh, God, this grass is wet, sweetheart – can’t let you catch pneumonia. Up you come, up you come . . .’

‘Oh, Torquil, Torquil . . .’

He was helping her back into her anorak, shrugging himself into his own jacket, glancing at his old watch.

‘Hell, we’d better go!’

‘Go where? Torquil, go where?’

‘Back to Conair. I said I’d take you to my mother’s. She wants to see you.’

‘Your mother’s?’

A great cloud was descending over Monnie, blanketing her rapture, blotting out the sunlight coming through the trees.

‘I don’t understand, Torquil, why does your mother want to see me? It’s not as though—’

She stopped, but he swiftly took her meaning.

‘Not as though we were engaged? No, we are not, but we are going out together and she just wants to be friendly. You are not from the village, so she’d like to get to know you.’

‘To see if I’m suitable?’

‘Suitable? Are you joking? A lovely girl from Edinburgh? You are suitable, all right.’ Torquil took Monnie’s arm and they began to retrace their steps to his van, Monnie glad to have his support, for she felt dazed, as though she were struggling up from some dream. ‘And then Tony’s coming over this afternoon. I thought you’d like to meet him.’

‘Tony? Your brother? Yes, yes, I would.’

But back in the passenger seat of the van, Monnie smoothed her hands over her face, and ran a comb though her hair, frantically trying to make herself look as though she hadn’t just been passionately kissing Agnes MacLeod’s son in the local woods.

‘I wish you’d told me about this before,’ she murmured. ‘I could have worn something smarter.’

‘Come on, you know my mother’s not one to care about smart clothes. You look beautiful, anyway.’

The words tripped easily from his lips and glancing at him it seemed to her that their first real kisses had not had the effect on him they’d had on her. Perhaps they didn’t mean as much? Don’t, don’t, she told herself, don’t go down that road. He cares, he does. And he was taking her to see his mother . . . She would soon find out what that meant, if anything.

‘Here we are!’ he announced jauntily. ‘The home of the MacLeod’s, Lords of the Isles, ha, ha! Our cottage, at least, and there’s Tony’s old jalopy at the door. Not to mention my mother, all ready and waiting. Come meet my folks, Monnie.’

And she was being welcomed in.

Twenty-Nine

‘Come in, my dear, come in!’

Agnes MacLeod, her yellow hair drawn up with combs and her good-looking face filled with excited curiosity, was drawing Monnie over the threshold of the cottage with all the delight of an angler catching a prize fish. Not only that, was enclosing her, too, in a warm, soft hug that sent a great burst of lavender over her hair and made Monnie move guiltily aside to free herself.

‘It’s really nice to meet you again, Mrs MacLeod,’ she said politely, as she tried not to be too obvious in looking round Torquil’s home.

The low-ceilinged room was small, with one tiny window and an old fashioned kitchen range, roaring away. A table laid for tea stood against the back wall and a settle, piled with cushions, papers, knitting and pieces of sewing, took up most of the floor space. Staring at her with suspicious eyes from a basket by the range was a large ginger cat, who eventually slid away and disappeared through a door to what looked like a scullery.

‘Yes, off you go, Toffee!’ Agnes cried merrily, and moving some knitting from the settle invited Monnie to sit down.

‘Oh, ’tis lovely to meet you properly at last, Miss Forester, or may I call you Monnie?’ Agnes’s clear eyes were busily going over Monnie’s flushed face as she sat beside her. ‘I first saw you on the bus, with your family – do you remember? How you all looked so worried! And then I’ve seen you around the village, but not really to speak to, so I am looking forward to a nice talk. Give me your coat, dear, and we’ll hang it up. There are pegs behind the door.’

‘Mother, Monnie hasn’t met Tony yet,’ Torquil murmured, as he hung up Monnie’s anorak, along with what looked like all the coats of the household, on the back of the front door. ‘Tony, come and meet Monnie Forester. She’s assistant warden at the hostel.’

A tall blond young man rose from a chair by the kitchen range and shook Monnie’s hand, murmuring it was nice to meet her.

At first, she’d thought she was seeing a second Torquil and her heart had jumped a little, but she soon recognized the differences. Yes, there was the same colouring – yellow hair and blue eyes, and also the same look of Agnes – but there was a certain foxiness about this man’s manner that was missing from Torquil’s, and he seemed to make it plain that he was not out to charm. Still, he was handsome. Monnie could imagine him attracting the girls, especially if they liked a spice of danger.

‘How’d you like it here, then?’ he asked politely.

‘Oh, I love it, thanks. We all do. The Highlands suit us very well.’

‘Now, isn’t that nice?’ asked Agnes. ‘And you’ve got your own things in the warden’s flat, have you? That always makes a difference.’

‘Yes, they’ve arrived and we’ve made a very nice home of it.’

‘I’m so glad. Well, now we’re all here, we’ll have our tea.’ Agnes waved to her boys to pull up chairs. ‘I will put on my kettle and find a plate for my girdle scones. They’re just a touch caught on, but not burnt.’

As Tony and Torquil exchanged glances, Monnie asked if she could do anything to help.

‘Oh, no, dear, it’s all in hand. I’ve just the tea to make and Ishbel’s coffee cake to cut.’

‘Ishbel MacNicol, are you meaning?’ Tony asked curtly. ‘Why you patronize that woman is beyond me. She is nothing but a gossip and a troublemaker.’

‘Now, Tony . . .’ Agnes began, casting a hasty look towards Monnie. ‘I don’t like to hear you talking like that. Ishbel can be very sweet.’

‘Sweet at spreading rumours, I’d say.’

‘We are not meeting to speak ill of people, Tony, and Monnie’s father gives Ishbel a lot of custom, from the hostel, you know. They get on very well, don’t they, my dear?’

‘Do they?’ Monnie raised surprised eyes. ‘Dad just does his shopping at Mrs MacNicol’s. It is the only shop, after all.’

‘Of course it is, which is why I don’t want to open up old wounds, something Tony does not have to worry about. I mean, where else would I shop?’

‘All right, Mother, you’ve made your point.’ Tony’s face had settled into sulky lines. ‘Let us have this tea you said was ready.’

They moved to sit at the table which was covered with a linen cloth that made the MacLeod boys stare – clearly it had been brought out specially – and thick white china. Agnes seemed to be in her element, passing round her ‘caught on’ scones, all thickly buttered, and cups of strong, sweet tea, before handing out Ishbel’s coffee cake, which Tony, everyone noticed, did not refuse.