Anne Douglas (22 page)

Turning her fine grey gaze on Paul’s face, Monnie found herself sighing, at which he cheerfully took her arm.

‘Hey, no sighing! What you need is tea and cakes, and there they are, right in front of us. I’ve been steering us towards this tea shop all along – it’s my favourite.’

‘You’re right!’ she cried jauntily. ‘As soon as I’ve had my fix of tea and fancies, I’ll be as cheerful as you. Or, almost.’

‘I was really sorry I missed the hotel ceilidh, you know,’ he told her seriously, as she poured the tea in the charming little café he’d found for them. ‘You might say, in fact, that I was devastated, but there was no way of getting out of going to Edinburgh. I had a meeting of the backers for my school – couldn’t afford to miss it.’

‘More important, I’m sure, than dancing all those reels with the local lovelies.’

‘What local lovelies?’ He laughed, as he passed her a plate of small cakes.

‘Well, there’s Lynette’s assistant for one,’ Monnie suggested, rather despising herself for having to bring Fionola into the conversation, as though she had to dwell on the girl’s beauty. In spite of her rapturous kissing and caressing with Torquil after the ceilidh the other night, and in spite of the promised boat trip, she knew she was still afraid that she had rivals. Nina, for instance, who had danced with him. And Fionola, he’d described as ‘lovely’.

‘A very good-looking girl,’ Paul was remarking now. ‘Same as your sister and both fine dancers, I expect. But if I’d been at the ceilidh, I’d have been hoping for a dance with you.’

‘And I’d have been delighted,’ she told him. ‘Of course I would.’

Paul studied his pastry for a moment, before raising his eyes to her. ‘But I would have had to fight off Torquil, I suppose? That goes without saying.’

‘I did dance mainly with Torquil,’ she admitted.

‘As I said, goes without saying. He’s your admirer.’

‘Admirer? Paul, that sounds so old-fashioned!’

‘Does it? Suppose I’m an old-fashioned guy, then, because I’m an admirer, too.’

At that, she looked down at her iced chocolate cake and he immediately reached forward to grasp her hand.

‘Sorry, Monnie, sorry! I’m not trying to embarrass you, not trying to spoil things. I do admire you, but as a friend.’ His gaze was appealing, his hand, holding hers, very firm. ‘OK, then?’

She looked up, smiling with relief. ‘OK, Paul. Absolutely OK.’

He sat back, relaxing, loosening her hand from his.

‘Glad that’s settled, then. Like another cake?’

‘No thanks, I haven’t finished this one yet. Besides, I don’t want to put on weight.’

‘Monnie, you’ll never put on weight, especially after you’ve been up a few Munros. We must plan where we’ll start.’

‘I do want to do that, see how I get on.’

Paul hesitated. ‘And it’s all right, is it? With Torquil, I mean?’

‘Torquil?’

‘He won’t mind, if you go hill walking with me?’

‘Oh, no. No, he’s quite happy about it.’

‘I see.’ Paul finished his tea and set down the cup, his face expressionless, but Monnie’s antennae picked up the signals.

Oh, no, she groaned inwardly, he’s guessed Torquil sees him as no threat, and he minds. But why should he mind, if he was only a friend? She put the thought aside. Perhaps no man would like to be disregarded in that way? No woman, either, come to that.

Putting on a cheerful smile again, Paul signalled for the bill and they both rose to go.

‘It’s been so nice, Paul, thank you,’ Monnie said. ‘For driving me in and helping me choose my boots, this lovely tea, and everything.’

‘My pleasure. It’s been nice for me, too.’

Driving back to the hostel, Paul said he’d be looking at his maps, picking out the right place to take Monnie on her first outing.

‘I’m not sure that Beinn Sgritheall is the best one for you to try as a beginner – you remember, that’s the “hill of scree” near Arnisdale I showed you? It’s got a few difficult bits, and we might find something easier.’

‘Hey, I like a challenge!’

He grinned. ‘I daresay, but safety is all in hill walking. That’s my cardinal rule, so we’ll do some practice runs before we tackle that particular Munro.’

‘I’m in your hands, Paul.’

‘Sounds good.’ He laughed. ‘But here’s the hostel, already. Monnie, I’ll ring you, shall I?’

At the hostel gate, they stood for a moment, gazing in companionable manner at each other. Should she kiss his cheek? Monnie was wondering. Better not. She touched his hand, made her thanks again, and waved as he climbed back into the car and drove away, with one last smile.

‘Had a good time?’ asked Frank, as she looked in at his office. ‘Get your boots?’

‘Oh, yes, I’m all set now. Scottish mountains, here I come!’

‘Wonderful. Er – Monnie – you’ll be on duty this evening, right?’

‘Right. Do you want me to do something?’

‘Just to be here. Ishbel’s asked me for supper.’

‘Oh?’ Monnie slightly raised her eyebrows. ‘Very nice, eh? Bet you’ll have a lovely meal.’

‘It’s OK, then?’

‘Sure it is. I’ll just go and see what I can rustle up for Lynette and me – she’s home early this evening.’

And wait till she hears about Dad going to Ishbel’s, Monnie was thinking. Was it surprising, or not? After the way those two had danced together at the ceilidh, maybe not. On the other hand, as she took two chops from the fridge, Monnie decided she was, after all, just a little surprised. Surprised, and not altogether pleased. Dancing in public was one thing, but having a meal together in Ishbel’s home, maybe that meant something else? What would Lynette make of it?

Seemed Lynette didn’t know what to make of it. When she arrived home, she looked as wonderfully happy as she’d looked ever since the night of the ceilidh, but when she saw her father leaving, all spruced up for his date with Ishbel, her face changed.

‘Supper with Ishbel, just the two of them?’ Her gaze on Monnie was thoughtful. ‘What do you think it means?’

‘You tell me.’

‘I can’t. Don’t know what to say. I mean – at their age – it’s odd, eh?’

‘What is?’

‘Well – being so attracted, and such.’

‘They’re not as old as all that.’

‘Come on, they’re behaving like—’

‘Like us?’

‘Like folk much younger, anyway. And then there’s our mother, isn’t there? She meant everything to Dad, didn’t she? He couldn’t . . . just forget her?’

Monnie bit her lip. ‘That’s what I’ve been wondering.’

The sisters exchanged long troubled looks, until Monnie said she’d things to do, they’d better get on cooking those chops, and Lynette sighed with exasperation.

‘Oh, it’s too bad, eh? Just when things are working out for us, up comes another worry!’

‘Everything all right, then, between you and Ronan?’

‘Couldn’t be better.’ The smile returned to Lynette’s face. ‘We’re going to go over to a country hotel he knows beyond Glenelg on Saturday evening. Mrs A is going to cover for him and Fionola for me till we close down, though they don’t know we’re going out together. But I’m so happy, Monnie. Never thought I’d be so happy!’

‘So am I,’ Monnie declared quickly. For it was true, wasn’t it? Forget all those thoughts about rivals. In a couple of days, Torquil would be calling and they’d be fixing up the boat trip. She’d every reason to be happy.

‘If only Dad doesn’t go and do something silly,’ said Lynette. ‘We’ll have to keep an eye on him.’

‘And Ishbel,’ said Monnie.

Thirty-Six

Sweet though Lynette’s life had now become at the Talisman, there was just one thing that hurt, and it was Scott’s attitude. Ever since the ceilidh, he’d made a point of treating her like a stranger, an unwelcome one at that, with no more friendly coffees being offered if she put her nose into the kitchen, no more chats or smiles, and certainly no more cookery lessons. In fact, she didn’t even dare to mention them, and soon learned to keep out of his way, taking her morning break alone in the grounds of the hotel, with coffee from the staff room and yesterday’s newspaper to read.

She was on her usual bench one morning, deep in the fashion page, when a hand touched her shoulder and she looked up to see Scott’s unsmiling face.

‘Scott! What are you doing here?’

He sat down next to her and took out his cigarettes.

‘Come to see you.’

‘To see me?’ She watched him light a cigarette, shaking her head when he offered the packet to her. ‘This is a change, isn’t it? You haven’t wanted to give me the time of day just lately.’

‘I know, and I feel bad about it. I’ve been behaving like a little kid throwing a tantrum.’ An uncertain smile crossed his freckled features. ‘Will you forgive me?’

‘Oh, come on, Scott! Let’s not talk like that. All I want is for us to be friends again.’

‘Aye, friends.’ He blew smoke. ‘I want that, too.’

‘Well, then.’

‘Thing is, it was hard for me, Lynette. Seeing you at the ceilidh with Mr Allan. I thought you didn’t even like him and there you were, dancing with him and having supper with him, looking at him all starry-eyed, like he was Santa Claus and Elvis Presley rolled into one. I couldn’t take it in.’

Lynette lowered her eyes, drank some cold coffee in an effort to do something, while thinking of what she might say.

‘Things have changed,’ she said at last, while Scott sat looking at her with hurt in his eyes and his cigarette smoke curling around him.

‘I can tell that. You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you? And anybody can see, he’s fallen for you, which is no surprise. But Lynette, for God’s sake, how did you come to change?’

With two spots of red burning in her cheeks, Lynette stood up. ‘I’ve got to go, Scott. I’m sorry . . .’

‘No.’ He stubbed out his cigarette and stood up with her. ‘I’m the one who’s sorry. I promised myself, I wouldn’t go on, wouldn’t say a word, but you see how I am, it’s all come out just the same.’

‘Never mind, I understand.’

He shook his head. ‘You’d have to be me to understand.’

‘I do, all the same.’

Their eyes met, and Scott put his hand on hers.

‘Maybe you do,’ he said quietly. ‘Look, can we no’ be as we used to be? You coming in to see us, doing a bit of cooking? Having a coffee?’

‘It was you who stopped that, Scott.’

‘I know, I know. But I was playing the fool. I’ve grown up since then. Now I’ll settle for what I can have.’

‘Oh, Scott!’ She reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘Welcome back!’

He managed a grin and gave a quick look round.

‘Hope there are no guests lurking in the shrubbery, eh?’

Or, a hotel manager, thought Lynette.

As she returned to Reception to relieve Fionola, she felt happier. Losing Scott as a friend, as had seemed to be the case, had upset her more than she could have thought possible. It was terrific, rapturous, to have a relationship with Ronan, something she wouldn’t change for anything, but Scott had become very dear to her, she couldn’t deny it. True, at one time she’d thought him very easy-going and now she’d found out he was not, but even so, it was good to have him back. Oh, heavens, yes, because she’d missed so much what they’d had together, and wanted it again.

‘Mr Allan was looking for you,’ Fionola told her, her lovely mouth curving into an impish smile. ‘Think he’d like to see you in his office.’

‘Oh, yes? Well, I can’t go till you’ve had your break, so you’d better scoot.’

‘I don’t mind waiting if it’s anything important.’

‘No, no, that won’t be necessary.’

Left alone, Lynette, in spite of her mind half being elsewhere, dealt competently with all she had to do, which was plenty, now that the better weather was bringing in more guests. Just the way she liked things, of course, except that the mention of Ronan’s name had set her pulses racing and she couldn’t help glancing at the clock and longing for Fionola’s return so that she might make her escape. And then Ronan himself appeared, lifting his dark brows at the sight of her, putting on a formal smile for the benefit of any guests at the desk, murmuring, ‘Miss Forester, could I see you for a moment?’

‘As soon as Miss MacLewis comes back,’ she answered coolly. ‘Oh, and here she is!’

As Fionola sauntered up, still with her knowing smile, Lynette gathered up a handful of papers and followed Ronan towards his office.

‘Won’t be long,’ she called. ‘Just have one or two things to discuss.’

‘That’s all right,’ Fionola called back, and as she moved to busy herself with a new arrival’s signing of the register, Ronan opened his office door for Lynette, who slid around it, closed it, and went into his arms.

Only for a moment, before both pulled away, desperate still to be together, yet not at ease to be in Ronan’s office, the manager’s office, the last place they could display their feelings.

‘Crazy,’ Ronan whispered. ‘That was crazy of me, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to see you so much, wanted to be with you . . .’

‘You think I don’t feel like that?’ She stroked his cheek. ‘Out there at Reception – so near, so far – trying not to mind Fionola’s smile.’

‘I suppose she’ll have guessed why I asked you in?’

‘Anybody would’ve guessed.’

‘After the ceilidh, most people will know there’s something between us.’ Ronan straightened his shoulders. ‘But we’ll have to be more careful – I will, I mean. Wait till we’re really alone.’ He drew her to him once again and held her close. ‘But, oh, God, it’s hard, Lynette, it’s just too hard.’

‘Let’s think about Saturday.’ She straightened her hair, trying to look businesslike; the perfect receptionist who had only been with her boss to discuss work. ‘It’s not far away.’

‘A lifetime.’

‘A lifetime,’ she agreed, giving him one last swift kiss. ‘Do I look all right now, to face Fionola?’