Anne Douglas (3 page)

‘We are.’

‘And I am, too.’ Frank stood up, stretching. ‘So, what happens next is, that after I’ve said goodbye to my boys –’ the sisters rolled their eyes. His boys. So keen to see all his geese as swans, wasn’t he? Still, those laddies appreciated him and would miss him. Had to admit that – ‘I’ll have to spend some time at the headquarters on a course, learning my duties,’ Frank was continuing. ‘But then, with everything settled, it’ll be a case of Conair, here we come! Don’t forget, we move in at the beginning of March. Just pray it isn’t snowing.’

‘Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!’ sang Lynette, waltzing round the kitchen. ‘Come on, Monnie, let’s make a cup of tea!’

Four

There was no doubt that their father’s decision to keep on the Edinburgh flat made a great difference to his daughters’ feelings over leaving it. At least, for a time.

As Monnie put it to Lynette, it was like having a mattress in the background. To break their fall, if things went wrong, as Dad had suggested.

‘Of course, he doesn’t really think things will go wrong,’ Monnie added. ‘But it’s as well to be prepared.’

‘I agree,’ Lynette declared. ‘What’s in my mind is that if we really can’t stick it—’

‘Oh, I’m not thinking that will happen, Lynette!’

‘No, but it might. You’ve just said we should be prepared, and if we find we absolutely hate it, we might just have to tell Dad and come back home.’ Lynette gave one of her brilliant smiles. ‘And here home will be!’

‘Might have to ask the tenant to move out, if it’s the winter.’

‘So, he can move out.’

‘Yes, well, let’s hope it won’t come to that. I’d hate to disappoint Dad.’ Monnie’s grey eyes were darkly serious. ‘And he does need us, Lynette.’

‘Oh, I know. I’m not saying it will happen, anyway. It’ll be like having insurance, eh? When you take out insurance, you hope you won’t need it.’

‘Aye, that’s the way to think of it,’ Monnie agreed with some relief. ‘And in any case, it’s grand to be keeping all the stuff, eh?’

‘Oh, we couldn’t have let it go. I feel so happy we don’t have to part with any of it. And we can take the best bits with us.’

All the same, as the days of February melted away and the time arrived to pack up the flat, some of the girls’ euphoria began to fade. For now, in the strange bareness of their home, they could no longer escape the truth of the matter. Departing for a new life meant giving up the old. Keeping on their home as some sort of insurance in the background was good, was helpful, but it didn’t alter the fact that for now they were leaving it. For very good reasons, and as their own decision, but leaving it, all the same.

‘Talk about feeling apprehensive!’ Lynette said, shaking her head. ‘I don’t mind admitting, I’ve got cold feet!’

‘After all we said,’ Monnie murmured, laughing shakily. ‘But . . . me too!’

‘And I haven’t even handed in my notice yet.’

‘And I haven’t.’

‘I can’t think what Old Mr Couper will say to me.’

‘Or what Mr Bryce will say to me.’

‘Well, everyone can be done without,’ Lynette remarked cheerfully.

‘I sometimes wonder if that’s true,’ Monnie answered worriedly. ‘I’m sure Mr Bryce won’t know what to do, if I’m not there to tell him.’

And Mr Bryce, a thin, grey figure of indeterminate age, was certain, too, that he wouldn’t know what to do if Monnie left him. Who would do the accounts, the ordering, the packing and unpacking, the reminding of which customer wanted what, and where everything was?

‘Oh, Monnie, are you really leaving me?’ he’d groaned when she had given him her news. ‘Going up to the Highlands? I can’t believe it. What am I going to do?’

‘You’ll soon find someone else to do what I do,’ she told him as confidently as possible. ‘You’re the one that matters, being the bookman.’

‘Yes, Monnie, my dear, but I can’t even tie up a parcel. Still, if you must go, you must, and I’ll have to grin and bear it. Where did you say you were going, again?’

‘Conair, a little place near Glenelg opposite Skye. My dad’s going to be warden of a youth hostel up there, and I might be his deputy. I’ve got an interview, anyway.’

As Monnie reflected on her pleasure at being given an interview for the deputy warden’s post, Mr Bryce looked interested. But not about her possible job.

‘Glenelg? Now didn’t Dr Johnson and Boswell stay there on their travels round Scotland? A fascinating account. Could you just put your hand on that copy of Boswell’s
Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides
, do you think? Maybe I’ll read it again.’

‘Right away, Mr Bryce,’ sighed Monnie, wondering if she should draft out an advertisement for her replacement that very day.

Meanwhile, old Mr Couper was expressing his regret at Miss Forester’s departure from his law firm, Messrs Couper, Couper and Anderson, of Queen Street, Edinburgh. Just as young Mr Couper would have also liked to express his regret, only with young Mrs Couper to remember, it was better he didn’t look too downcast over the departure of the prettiest member of the clerical staff.

‘So efficient,’ old Mr Couper sighed. ‘So reliable. Our loss will be someone else’s gain, wouldn’t you say, Miss Millwood?’

But Miss Millwood, stern-faced senior secretary, preferred not to say too much about Miss Forester, only remarking that she might find it difficult to find a post in the Highlands.

‘If anyone can find a post, Miss Forester will,’ old Mr Couper declared, at which Miss Millwood only shrugged.

Not that Lynette minded. Who cared what Miss Millwood thought? It was well known that she believed Lynette to be far too full of herself – which was probably true, Lynette herself admitted – but that only made it more likely she would find a job. Confidence was what was needed, eh? And it rather pleased Lynette that old Mr Couper had such confidence in her. Young Mr Couper, too, though he never put anything into words. As for Mr Anderson, he was just a name on the letter headings, having been dead for years.

How typical of a law firm that they should keep the name alive of someone dead, Lynette often commented. Maybe, now she had to look elsewhere, she might find somewhere more exciting to work? The thought helped a little – just a little – in making the move less apprehensive, to use Monnie’s word.

‘When we get there,’ she told her sister, ‘you’ll see, we’ll be OK.’

‘Think so?’ Monnie asked. ‘Just got to get there, then.’

‘Now that we’re definitely going, I can’t wait to leave, can you?’

‘It’s true, I wish we were on our way.’

Some days later, after they’d done all that had to be done, they were – on their way. The flat had been cleaned and polished, and Mrs Logan had agreed to keep an eye on it. The packing cases had been sent off. Frank had completed his course. All farewells, to friends, neighbours, colleagues, and the ‘delinquent’ boys, had been made.

There they were, then, locking the door, trying not to cry, climbing into the taxi they’d recklessly booked to take them to Waverley Station – well, they did have their big cases to carry – and hurrying out on to the platform to wait for the Inverness train. Oh, how cold it was in the draughty station! Enough to freeze the tears the girls were brushing away.

‘Here it comes!’ Frank cried, as their train steamed in. ‘Got your bags, then?’

‘Got the kitchen stove, it feels like,’ Lynette answered. ‘Monnie, did you put our sandwiches in?’

‘Sure I did. I’m going to have mine soon as we set off.’

‘Comfort food, eh?’

‘Could do with a bit of comfort.’

Monnie was already hurrying down the platform after her father, looking for their compartment. ‘Found our seats, Dad?’

‘Aye, this is us. Give me your cases, then.’

Settling into their seats, watching the platform slide past after the guard had waved his flag, the Foresters were catching their breath.

‘Goodbye, Edinburgh!’ Frank suddenly called out.

But the girls seemed unable to speak.

Five

Leaving the train at Inverness, they were thankful they were booked in for bed and breakfast and needn’t travel on. Already the evening was growing dark and cold. Very cold.

‘Why so arctic?’ Lynette asked, as Frank led the way grandly to the taxi queue.

‘And are we really splashing out on another taxi?’ asked Monnie.

‘Questions, questions,’ Frank laughed. ‘Why so arctic? Well, some do think that Inverness has the coldest winters of any city in the UK, couldn’t say if it’s true. And are we taking a taxi? Yes, we are. This guest house I’ve booked is a fair step and we’ve cases to carry. No need to look so worried, Monnie, we’re not running out of cash yet.’

‘If you say so,’ she murmured, as a taxi drew up and they settled into its shelter from the chill of the wind. ‘But I’m just so glad you thought of doing this, Dad. Couldn’t have faced trying to get to the hostel tonight, could we?’

‘No, and we’d have been pretty late, meeting the outgoing warden. The other good thing is that this way we get to travel by daylight on the Kyle of Lochalsh line – and that’s got some of the best scenery in Scotland. Wait till you see it.’

After booking into Mrs Danby’s comfortable little guest house, they went out for a fish supper and afterwards to the pictures. Monnie’s idea, though she admitted before the start of Hitchcock’s
Vertigo
that she’d never dreamed her father would come too.

‘Thought sure you’d want to go to bed early to be ready for tomorrow,’ she told him. ‘I mean, it’s all any of us can think about, eh?’

‘Och, it’ll do us good to relax,’ he answered easily. ‘And this sounds like a good film.’

‘The last we’ll see for a long time,’ Lynette remarked, sighing. ‘I bet there’s no cinema where we’re going.’

‘There’s a mobile cinema of some sort. Comes round in the summer.’

‘Oh, well then!’ Lynette laughed, then sighed again. ‘Makes you wonder what there’ll be to do, though. For entertainment.’

‘There’ll be dances, I expect,’ Monnie said. ‘Ceilidhs and such. Kilts flying, eightsome reels, that sort of thing.’

‘Can’t wait!’ Lynette leaped up, rattling coins in her hand. ‘There’s the ice-cream girl. Who wants one?’

They all had one, and as the lights dimmed and the film began, settled down to enjoy scraping out their tubs with their miniature wooden spoons, while watching the first shots of Jimmy Stewart looking worried in
Vertigo
, their new life for the moment very far away.

Next morning, it was porridge for breakfast, followed by kippers and buttered toast, all eaten in the church-like atmosphere of the guests’ dining room, where the only sounds came from the scrape of cutlery and the stout waitress’s murmur, ‘Coffee or tea?’

‘Any chance of us nipping out to see Loch Ness before we go?’ Lynette asked, risking a whisper. As her father stared, she smiled and shook her head. ‘Only joking. I know we’ve got to get that early train.’

‘You’re right,’ Frank said, rising. ‘Let’s get going. I’ll pay the bill.’

But in the hallway, out of hearing of the nosey, middle-aged landlady standing ready at her desk, Lynette touched his arm.

‘Dad, you don’t need to pay for us, you know. We’ve got some money.’

‘Aye, we’re grown up now,’ Monnie told him. ‘Earning money and all.’

‘
Were
earning money,’ he said seriously. ‘Look, it’s upsetting to me that you lassies have given up your jobs. I’m not short, I can manage till I get paid, so you hang on to any cash you’ve got till you’re settled.’

The sisters exchanged glances.

‘Knew you’d never agree,’ Lynette murmured. ‘But we both brought some savings, so we could help out.’

‘And very thoughtful you were, but let’s leave it for now, eh?’ He smiled. ‘Tell you what, you could pay for the taxi to the station if you like. Hurry up and pack and I’ll get Mrs Danby to ring for one.’

Upstairs, in the twin bedroom they’d shared, the sisters rapidly packed their overnight bags, before putting on coats and boots and doing a last check round.

‘No snow out there, but it looks bitter,’ Lynette remarked from the window. ‘Wish I could’ve worn my red suit, but it’s far too cold.’

‘Who on earth is going to see you in your red suit?’ Monnie asked. ‘There’ll only be the warden who’s leaving and maybe some young folk at the hostel.’

‘Why, you never know who you might meet, Monnie. And first impressions count, you know. I always like to cut a dash. Knock ’em dead, as they say.’

‘You’re best off in that coat you’ve got on. I’ll bet you any money, this Kyle train won’t be heated.’

‘And I’ll not take you on. Folk up here, they’ll think it’s only softie Lowlanders like us who expect heating.’ Lynette pulled on a dark blue woollen hat to match her winter coat and gathered up her cases. ‘Still, Dad said the scenery’s lovely, so come on, let’s see it.’

It turned out that Monnie was right about the heating on the Kyle of Lochalsh train, but then Frank was right, too, about the scenery. Yes, the train was cold, so cold that the passengers never attempted to remove coats or even gloves on the two-hour journey, and if the carriages were clean enough, they were somewhat spartan where comfort was concerned. But directly the train had left Inverness and begun its journey towards the Black Isle, which was really a peninsula, rather than an island, the scenery was casting its spell.

‘You said it’d be lovely, Dad,’ Lynette murmured, as they left Dingwall, their first stop, and branched away west. ‘And you were right.’

‘I was,’ Frank agreed, looking towards a distant line of snowy mountains beneath a wide bowl of clear, chill sky. ‘And, hey, do you see the deer?’

‘Where?’ Monnie cried, and smiled as she saw the deer hurrying from the noise of their train. ‘Ah, they’re so close, eh? Why, there’s everything here. Hills and water and wildlife.’

Wildlife to match the wildness of the landscape was the thought that came to mind, as the girls continued to gaze, fascinated, at the country that was so new to them, yet looked as though it had existed for ever. Long, long before Edinburgh had even been thought of, all this would have been here. These hills, these stretches of silent water, this countryside so empty it seemed as if only the deer and the wheeling birds could know it. Beautiful, solitary land.