Anne Douglas (27 page)

‘He hadn’t told you what he was doing. In the circumstances, you were right to wonder what the hell was going on.’ Paul reached over and took her hand. ‘I don’t blame you at all for reacting the way you did. And when he came back to you, I’m not surprised you wanted to finish with him.’

‘But I haven’t finished with him,’ she said in a small voice. ‘Paul, I can’t.’

He took his hand from hers and looked away from her, back to the views. ‘You’re in love,’ he said at last. ‘That’s what being in love means, I suppose. You accept, you forgive. If you can say goodbye, maybe you’re not in love after all.’

‘I did try, to say goodbye, because I thought Torquil didn’t care for me. But then he came to the hostel – and there was nothing I could do.’

‘He cares for you, after all?’

‘He seemed to want to see me again, and I couldn’t say no. That’s the way it is, when I’m with him.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t see myself saying goodbye to him again.’

‘Monnie, what are you saying?’ Paul suddenly leaped to his feet and pulled her up with him. ‘He has a hold over you? You can’t think for yourself when you’re with him? That’s not just being in love – that’s obsession. And is Torquil right for you, anyway? He’s handsome, he has surface charm, but what’s underneath?’

Just for a moment, Paul held her close. ‘I’m worried about you, feeling for him as you do,’ he whispered, letting her go. ‘Forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn, but has he ever said he wants marriage?’

‘No, but I’m sure it’s in both our minds. Something to think about for the future. There’s no need to be worried, anyway. Honestly, there isn’t.’ She put her hand to his cheek. ‘I think maybe I’ve given the wrong impression. Torquil told me himself, he’s not like Tony, and I’m not going to end up like Tony’s girlfriend who had to leave the village.’

‘You’re under his spell, Monnie. You said yourself, you can’t think straight when you’re with him.’

She pulled off her hat and ran her hands through her dark hair. ‘I’m all right, Paul. I can’t say more. Shall we go back now?’

‘Yes, we’ll go back,’ he said heavily. ‘Better make sure we’ve left no litter. Chocolate paper, and such.’

‘All in the rucksack.’ She slung it on to her back and replaced her sun hat. ‘Sorry if I spoiled things, talking about myself. You did say you would listen.’

‘I always listen.’ He swung up his own rucksack and took a deep breath. ‘But if I got a bit carried away, let’s forget about it, OK? We mustn’t spoil things between us, because we’ve a lot of hill walks ahead of us. You’re a natural, you know. The way you’ve kept up today, I couldn’t be more impressed.’

‘It was more by good luck than good management, I’m sure.’

‘Not at all. You’ve got the right build, the right strength and fitness. With training, I see you becoming a very accomplished Munro bagger.’

Oh, what a relief it was, to be talking of hill walking and not her love life, thought Monnie. Yet, she had brought it up and wasn’t sorry. It was good Paul knew about her feelings for Torquil, even if he had, as he put it, got carried away. Best that he knew how things were for her, for though he’d never told her and probably never would, she knew very well how things were for him. With all her heart, she wished they could have been different, but she had no magic wand. The three of them – herself, Torquil and Paul – must all do what they could with what had come to them. And if Torquil came out best, it was only to be expected, because he cared the least.

Forty-Five

Before she left Fionola in charge after lunch on Sunday, Lynette asked her to do her a favour.

‘Yes, if I can. What is it?’

‘Well, if you should see Scott, could you not tell him I’ve asked Ronan over to the hostel today?’

‘He’d care?’

‘It’s just that we’re good friends and he might wonder, you know, why I haven’t invited him.’

‘Surely there’s a special reason for inviting Mr Allan?’

‘Yes, but I think I’d just as soon not have Scott know about it.’

‘Lynette, he must know by now that you and Ronan are . . . well, as good as engaged.’

‘That’s not true, as a matter of fact.’

Fionola smiled. ‘We’re all expecting an announcement any day.’

‘Same might be said about you and Mr Warner.’

‘Mr Warner?’ Fionola’s smile became a laugh. ‘Come on, he isn’t even here. He’s gone home.’

‘Bet he did propose, didn’t he?’

‘He did, in a roundabout way. And I refused, in a roundabout way. Didn’t want to hurt his feelings, poor old chap.’

Fionola hesitated for a moment, then took a small jeweller’s box from her bag beneath the desk and opened it. ‘Look, he insisted on giving me this. Drove all the way to Inverness for it.’

‘Oh, my!’ At the sight of the small brooch glittering inside the box in a very expensive way, Lynette’s eyes opened wide. ‘Fionola, that’s beautiful.’

‘You think it’s valuable?’

‘Looks it. Not that I know anything about jewellery.’

‘If it is worth a lot, I’ll send it back to him. I really don’t want to take anything of that sort from him.’

‘Then you’d hurt his feelings.’

Fionola shrugged. ‘Maybe I’ll think about it, then. Oh, look out, here comes Mr Allan.’

‘All set?’ called Ronan, fast approaching, his eyes on Lynette.

‘All set!’ she cried, noting that in his off duty clothes of pale blue shirt and light trousers, he was looking unlike himself, and though still handsome, rather strained.

‘You’ll be all right?’ she asked Fionola. ‘It’s usually pretty quiet on a Sunday afternoon, eh?’

‘I’ll be fine.’ Fionola was deftly slipping the jeweller’s box back into her bag, out of Ronan’s sight. ‘Have a nice time off, won’t you?’

‘I’ll be back by six,’ Ronan told her. ‘Miss Atkinson will be in charge until then, and she has a contact number, in case I’m needed.’

‘Ronan,’ sighed Lynette, ‘can we go?

In the car, driving the short distance to Conair, she could tell that he was very much on edge, as though he were facing some terrible ordeal. But then, of course, returning to his old home did represent an ordeal to him, as was proved by the fact that he’d never once been back, though he lived so close. Hope he’s not going to be really upset, Lynette thought, suddenly recalling that making folk do what was good for them sometimes backfired.

‘It’ll be all right, Ronan,’ she whispered, as they reached the gates to the hostel. ‘But if you’re really not happy, we can always give this a miss.’

‘No, I said I’d come and I meant it.’ He gave her a quick glance. ‘And now we’ve got this far, I’m really quite curious.’

‘That’s good. Let’s leave the car here and walk up, shall we? Aren’t we lucky, it’s another lovely day?’

He did not answer, his attention being only on the old house before them; that Scottish Baronial house Lynette had come to know so well she scarcely noticed its turrets and cupolas and generally ‘over the top’ appearance any more. But now she saw it through Ronan’s eyes and knew he must be thinking of the pride he’d had in his home, of its grandness and distinction, and of how its exterior, at least here, had not changed.

But when they met a few young people just leaving the house, he seemed taken aback, as though these strangers were too much for him, and it was Lynette who spoke to them.

‘You’ve just booked in?’ she asked crisply. ‘Fine, I expect the warden told you, everyone else is out for the day, but if you like to go exploring, they’ll all be back about five.’

‘That’s right, he did tell us,’ they said cheerfully. ‘We said we’d be back by five.’

‘Enjoy your afternoon,’ she called, and when Ronan belatedly called out a goodbye, she sighed and smiled.

‘No need to look so worried, Ronan. If you come to a hostel, you’ll see hostellers, you know. But, come on, let’s go inside. Ready?

‘Ready,’ said Ronan.

Forty-Six

They stood together at the handsome, studded front door, with its heavy locks and clasps.

‘You’ll remember this, I expect?’ Lynette asked. ‘I believe it’s the original.’

‘Oh, yes, I remember it. This was our door.’

Touching it briefly, he moved through into the entrance hall, then halted, brought up short by the sight of the stags’ antlers high on the walls.

‘Good God, they’ve still got those up there,’ he whispered. ‘I never dreamed to see them again. My old friends.’

‘You didn’t shoot them, did you?’ asked Lynette.

‘No, no. The family shot them. We weren’t “family”, you know. Just people who bought the house.’ In a low voice, he added, ‘And lost it.’

‘Dad’s office is just here,’ Lynette said hastily. ‘That’s new, of course. Just been stuck on as an extra.’ She called through the open door, ‘Dad, are you there? Ronan’s here.’

Out came Frank, followed, to Lynette’s surprise, by Ishbel who was looking very attractive in a sleeveless summer dress.

Didn’t look her age, did she? But Lynette was wondering when her father had invited her. He’d never said a word to her. Seemed these days he was meeting Ishbel more and more.

‘How nice to see you, Mr Allan!’ Ishbel cried, and Frank, shaking Ronan’s hand, said how pleased he was to see him in his old home at last.

‘Hope you don’t think it’s been hacked about too much, Ronan. Some changes had to be made, of course.’

‘Of course, I quite understand,’ Ronan replied, drawing on his social skills, for of course he didn’t understand, thought Lynette, and never had. To him, as a boy, it must have seemed the least easy thing to understand in the world, that his home should be changed. As a man, he’d shown he felt the same.

‘I’m afraid the staircase has taken a bit of a beating,’ she murmured apologetically. ‘The floors too, of course. Need a lot of work.’

‘I believe they were always hard work,’ Ronan replied. ‘I seem to remember seeing the maids polishing and so on.’

‘Did you know that Brigid’s mother was parlour maid here in the old days?’ Lynette asked him, as they moved a little away from Frank and Ishbel.

He stared and flushed scarlet. ‘Brigid’s mother? Oh, Lord, I should have known that, shouldn’t I? Why did nobody tell me?’

‘Everyone knows you don’t like to be reminded of your home,’ Lynette said quietly.

‘You’ve reminded me.’

‘I thought it would be good for you.’

‘Thank you, Nanny Forester,’ he said, relaxing and laughing. ‘Where to now?’

‘The common room. I believe it used to be the drawing room.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Ronan agreed, his laughter dying. ‘This was the drawing room.’

As he stood, looking around, Lynette pointed out the newly painted walls and woodwork, all done by Monnie and Paul, and explained that new bookcases were on their way, as well as a snooker table.

‘And as you see there’s a record player, for folk to play the Elvis Presleys and so on, and a piano for the sing-songs.’

‘Sing-songs?’

‘Oh, yes, there’s always a get-together before bed. No telly, of course – can’t get the reception.’

‘I can see your father works hard for the young people. Monnie, too. She’s not here today?’

‘Out with Torquil.’ Lynette was studying Ronan’s expressionless face. ‘I know you’re finding it changed,’ she murmured, ‘but it’s a nice room still, isn’t it? And hasn’t lost the plasterwork ceiling.’

‘I noticed that,’ he agreed.

They moved on, past the long dining room, now partitioned into a dormitory, and climbed the stairs to look in at the dormitories created from the old bedrooms, which Lynette was glad to see had been specially tidied by Monnie.

‘All changed again,’ she said brightly. ‘Partitions everywhere. But new bathrooms, you’ll notice.’

‘An improvement on my day,’ Ronan admitted, and stood for some time looking about him. ‘Somewhere or other, there should be my old room. I suppose it’s been swallowed up into a dormitory.’

‘There is a small room at the end of the landing. I think it was difficult to fit it in, so it’s used for storage. Want to see it?’

‘Oh, Lynette,’ he said huskily, stepping into the little room that had become a store room, ‘this is it, this was my room. I can’t believe it’s still here. My bed was in this corner – and then I think there was a wardrobe . . . and the window – see the window? Looks out to Skye.’

He turned to Lynette, his eyes alight. ‘The hours I must have spent here, eh? Often at this window, gazing out at the hills. It was one of the happiest times of my life.’

‘Was it?’ she asked softly, and came to stand next to him, slipping her arm into his, sharing with him the view that had meant so much. ‘You don‘t mind, seeing it again?’

‘No, I’m glad. I’m glad to have seen it. I was wrong, to try to shut everything out, because I’d lost it.’ He bent to kiss her gently. ‘Thank you, for bringing me back.’

‘Oh, Ronan, what a relief! I could tell you were getting more and more depressed . . .’

‘No. No, I wasn’t. I knew there would be changes, but when I finally saw them, I realized they’d been done as well as possible and – I don’t know – I didn’t mind them as much as I thought I would. I seemed to be able to look beyond, remembering what we’d had, but not with so much hurt.’ He held Lynette close. ‘You’re a wonder, though, aren’t you? How did you guess it would happen?’

‘I thought you might have moved on. The way people do.’ She put her face to his. ‘I’m just glad if I was right.’

After a long kiss, they pulled apart and Lynette said they’d better go down for tea.

‘In Dad’s flat which is new to you, so no need to worry,’ she told him, at which he kissed her again and said he wasn’t worrying.

‘There’s just something I’d like to say before we go.’ She gave him a long serious look. ‘It’s wonderful that you’re feeling happier about the hostel, anyway, but the other thing to remember – and I’m always saying this – is that your old home’s been such a godsend to the folk who come here. I mean, it’s opened up the hills and the countryside for them in a way they could never have afforded if they’d to pay elsewhere.’