Anne Douglas (8 page)

At first, she couldn’t believe it, and stared at the kindly man and woman who’d conducted the interview as though they must have made a mistake.

‘I-I thought you’d be writing to me,’ she stammered. ‘I mean, when you’d studied all the candidates.’

‘We have studied all the candidates,’ they told her. ‘And you were the most suitable.’

‘I was?’

‘Yes, that’s what we decided. You had a positive approach that we liked, and you’ve had experience in handling money and general business which will be useful. We did not take into account that there was a family relationship involved, but we believe you’ll be a great help to the warden, father or not.’

After Monnie had recovered from her surprise and accepted the post, there’d been smiles and discussion of formalities, the promise of an official letter to come, and, finally, a shaking of hands and good wishes all round. Only then had she been able to leave the office and smile, in a rather embarrassed fashion, at the unsuccessful candidates still in the waiting room, and make her way to the café where she’d arranged to meet Lynette.

‘Well?’ Lynette asked at the door of the café as Monnie came bounding up, scarlet in the face and smiling. ‘Why does something tell me that you got the job? Could it be that Cheshire cat’s grin you’re wearing?’

‘It’s amazing, Lynette, but I did get it and I still don’t know why, but d’you know what they said?’

‘No, what?’

‘They said I had a positive approach. Me!’ Monnie flicked back her dark hair and shook her head. ‘I did just what you told me to – said everything as clearly as possible, with no ums and ahs, and all that – and it worked!’

‘That and all the rest you could offer. You just made it plain you could do the job. Oh, well done, Monnie!’

The sisters hugged each other, smiling, until Lynette led the way from the chill of the outside air to a table.

‘You see any other candidates?’ she asked.

‘Some. Apparently, quite a few were interviewed this morning, but there were several women with me this afternoon.’ Monnie sighed. ‘They’ll be feeling disappointed, eh? There’s so little going in the job line. I reckon I’ve been lucky.’

‘Not lucky,’ Lynette said firmly. ‘You were the best. Come on, let’s order tea and cakes before the bus goes. Dad’ll be dying to hear how you got on.’

‘Your turn next, Lynette. You were right about me, you’ll be right about yourself.’

Lynette, selecting a pastry from the cake stand the waitress brought, dabbed sugar from her fingers. ‘Hope so. I want to earn some money and as quickly as possible. The last thing I want is to be a drain on Dad.’

‘My feelings, too. He’s so happy here, eh?’

‘Early days, though.’

‘But we can be happy, too, can’t we? I feel better about it, now that I know what it’s like.’

‘And now, of course, you’ve got your job.’

‘As I said, your turn next.’

Lynette poured more tea and raised her cup. ‘And I’ll drink to that.’

‘Here’s to us,’ Monnie said happily and as the girls chinked teacups, they collapsed into laughter, before paying the bill and once again running for the bus.

Thirteen

Friday was a lovely day.

There was Frank bustling around, like a dog with two tails, as he put it, because Monnie had been successful and would be working with him. There was Lynette, deciding what to wear with her red suit for her interview – the cream shirt, or the black? The black one was very striking and would go with her bag and shoes, but then might not hit the right note with the manager, he, of course, being an unknown quantity. So, why not just wear her plain white blouse and look smart, but demure?

And then there was Monnie, booking in new arrivals, making it clear what they could and couldn’t do, handing out bus timetables and leaflets about the local area, while appearing every inch the assistant warden, though she wasn’t due to start work for a fortnight. All the time simmering inside, of course, with that strange excitement which no one knew about, but would be with her, she knew, until the evening. When the fisherman called.

Early in the afternoon, Jeannie Duthie, the cleaning lady, arrived for another battle with all that needed doing at the hostel, and, oh, yes, Monnie could see what Lynette had meant about her. ‘Not the size of a sixpence, but fizzing with energy like a bottle of pop.’ Yes, that was Mrs Duthie, flying round the house with her mop and dusters, clicking her tongue over the way the young hostellers had left their dormitories, flinging open windows, pushing furniture around, and sweeping down the staircase like a minor hurricane. Until Monnie called up that there was a cup of tea ready in the warden’s kitchen.

‘Well I will not be saying no,’ Mrs Duthie remarked, washing her hands at the sink and drying them as though her life depended on it. ‘Tis nice to take a break, then.’

Sitting at the table, her raw little hands grasping her cup, she was only partly at rest for her dark brown eyes were busy, moving from Lynette who was now pressing the skirt of her red suit, to Monnie, who was taking shortbread from a tin.

‘Sisters, eh?’ she said, after her scrutiny. ‘One fair, one dark, but still alike. And come up to the Highlands to be with your dad? Very nice, that is, but what are you young ladies going to be doing, then?’

‘I’ve just been made assistant warden,’ Monnie told her, offering the biscuits. ‘I’ll be helping my father.’

‘Is that right?’ Mrs Duthie bit hard on her shortbread. ‘That is a very fine thing to be doing, then.’ Her eyes moved back to Lynette. ‘And are you looking for a job too, my dear? There’s little enough round here.’

Monnie, watching, knew that Lynette was not taking kindly to the interrogation, but she replied politely enough that she was trying for a post as receptionist at the Talisman Hotel.

‘At the Talisman? Working for Mr Allan? Oh, my!’

‘Oh, my?’ Lynette repeated. ‘Oh, what, then?’

‘Not my place to speak of the manager, my dear, seeing as I once used to do some work at the hotel.’ Mrs Duthie was shaking her frizzy dark head. ‘But if you get that job – well – you will have to see how it goes.’

‘Of course I’ll see how it goes!’ Lynette cried. ‘I wish you wouldn’t talk in riddles, Mrs Duthie.’

‘There will be no riddles if you get to work there, that’s for sure,’ Mrs Duthie declared, rising. ‘All will be plain before you’ve been there five minutes. Mr Allan – he’s not an easy man.’

She crossed to the sink, rinsed out her cup and again washed and dried her hands with fierce energy. ‘Handsome, though,’ she said from the door, snatching up her dusters again. ‘Very handsome.’

And with that she went out, leaving them to listen to her clattering back to the main house, and exchanging wide-eyed stares.

‘Well,’ Lynette said softly, ‘that was interesting. First, she says she’ll say nothing, then she says plenty.’

‘Oh, Lynette,’ Monnie murmured. ‘Do you think you should still apply?’

‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘Well, if the hotel manager is like Mrs Duthie said, would you want to be working with him?’

‘I’d want to be working with him more than ever!’ Lynette tossed her head, her blue eyes glittering. ‘It’d be a challenge, eh? See if he could be difficult with me!’

‘But why work in an unpleasant atmosphere? I should think you’d rather look for something else.’

‘I’ve said, it’d be a challenge, and I like challenges. Can’t wait for that interview now. Think I’ll wear my black blouse, after all. Cut a dash, eh?’

Monnie, shaking her head, took her cup to the sink and glanced at the kitchen clock. Time was moving on. When would Torquil call? How soon? How late? Why was she so interested, anyway? He’d probably just hand in the fish and that would be that. Except he’d need to be paid.

‘Think I’d better check with Dad about the money for the fish,’ she said aloud, and Lynette, dabbing a crumb from her lip, grinned.

‘Oh, yes, do that. Better have the cash ready, if you’re going to answer the door.’

‘Why, I don’t know who’s going to answer the door,’ Monnie retorted. ‘Doesn’t matter, does it?’

‘Not to me,’ Lynette said smoothly.

In the event, it was Mrs Duthie who answered the door. Torquil was early. A whole hour earlier than on Tuesday, and Mrs Duthie was only just leaving, tying a headscarf over her hair, when his knock came at the warden’s door. Monnie, who had been hovering in the kitchen, wishing Mrs Duthie would be as quick at departing as she was at everything else, ran quickly forward. But Mrs Duthie was ahead of her, flinging open the door and fixing Torquil with a cold stare from her dark brown eyes.

‘Oh, it’s you, Torquil MacLeod. Got yourself in here, have you? I thought you would.’

‘Good evening, Mrs Duthie,’ he replied politely, his look already going to Monnie. ‘I am not sure of your meaning, but I am here, yes, with my fish, for Mr Forester. Just as for Mr MacKay. Why not?’

Mrs Duthie shrugged. ‘I’m away,’ she cried to Monnie. ‘See your dad next week.’

And with that, she squeezed her little body past Torquil’s tall frame and hurried away, while he stood with his fish basket, smiling.

‘Hello there, Monnie,’ he said softly. ‘I see your father has taken on the little dragon.’

‘Little dragon?’

‘That is what we call her – Mrs Duthie.’

‘She wasn’t very nice with you.’

‘Ah, ’tis nothing she has against me. My mother’s the one. They do not get on.’

‘I see.’ Monnie stood, looking at the basket Torquil was again swinging on his arm. ‘Er – what have you brought us, then?’

‘Something good. Today, I have been lucky. Threw out my line as well as my net and caught some cod for you.’

‘For us?’

‘Cod will be a fish you’ll know, in the city, I mean, but you will not know others that I catch.’ He laughed a little. ‘Coalfish, pollack, skate – all manner of things arrive sometimes in the Sound and might not suit.’

‘I see.’

Monnie would have liked to laugh with him but did not dare, she didn’t know why. Or, in fact, why, after waiting all day to see him, she kept looking away. She had the feeling she must be careful. Not let him see so soon what she was thinking – as though she even knew herself! Och, she was like a straw in the wind, blowing she didn’t know where, when this man stood before her, having an effect on her she had never known with any man before.

And there had been some men in her young life, fellows she’d gone out with a couple of times, then parted from by mutual agreement. One she’d even thought she might care for – a student who’d kept coming into the bookshop for days before asking her to go out with him. She’d agreed, too, and they’d got on well, but she’d soon realized he wasn’t the one. He’d never made her feel as she felt now.

‘Want to see them?’ he was asking her gently.

‘What?’

‘The cod.’

‘Oh – oh, yes. I’m sure they’ll be fine.’

Her eyes met his and this time did not draw away, but stayed to read something in their blue depths that set her heart beating like a hammer in her chest. Would he say something? He must speak. He couldn’t just go away, couldn’t leave without putting into words what she had read in his eyes. Couldn’t do that, could he?

His lips had parted, he seemed about to speak, when suddenly they were no longer alone. Frank had come into the kitchen, was standing close. And everything changed.

It was like a light being switched off, a shutter coming down. However she cared to describe it, Monnie knew the moment was over, the chance gone. She couldn’t have felt more devastated if something she’d been promised had been snatched away. But of course she’d never been promised anything.

‘Hello, Torquil!’ Frank was saying jovially. ‘What have you got for us tonight, then?’

‘Good evening, Mr Forester,’ Torquil answered with a ready smile. ‘I have some very nice cod.’

‘Cod, eh? Well, that’s something the girls’ll know how to cook. A good standby in Edinburgh, is cod. But of course, yours’ll be nice and fresh.’ As Frank opened the wrapped packet Torquil gave him, his eyes widened.

‘Why, you’ve prepared ’em! Taken off the heads, and cleaned ’em and all. You’d no need to do that!’

Torquil shrugged. ‘I told you, ’tis no trouble, and the ladies are not keen on the cleaning.’

‘I’d have done it, but still, it’s good of you. We appreciate it, eh, Monnie? Run and fetch a plate, then.’

‘It’s very kind of you, Torquil,’ she said in a low voice, when she’d brought a plate for the fish. ‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure.’ He bowed his straw-coloured head and replaced his cap, as Frank took a handful of coins from his trouser pocket.

‘So, how much do I owe you?’

‘Seven and six, if you please, sir. Four shillings for the cod, there being two pounds of that, and three and six for the hake, there being a little less in weight.’

‘Fine, fine.’ Frank counted out the money into Torquil’s hand. ‘See you next Tuesday, then.’

‘Tuesday,’ he repeated, glancing at Monnie.

‘Tuesday,’ she echoed, bravely returning his look. But there was no longer anything to read in his eyes and as he left them, walking fast away, she wondered if she might have been mistaken ever to think there might have been.

Fourteen

Tuesday morning. Interview Day.

Lynette, early out of bed, was studying her face in the dressing-table mirror, groaning at what she said were bags under her eyes, while Monnie, watching, laughed and kept her own thoughts about Tuesday to herself.

‘You needn’t have got up so early,’ she called. ‘Your interview’s not till eleven.’

‘I know, but I’ve got to sort myself out. Get rid of these terrible bags, decide what to wear—’

‘The red suit, the black blouse, wasn’t it?’

‘I think, maybe the white shirt, after all. More appropriate, eh?’ Lynette was standing, deep in consideration, before suddenly being galvanized into action and hurrying to the bathroom, pulling her dressing gown around her.