The Legacy of Lochandee (18 page)

Chapter Eighteen

B
RIDIE WAS EMPTYING THE
was emptying the last pail of milk over the cooler the following morning when Nick drove up in his truck. She half expected him to make some bitter comment about her work but she was dismayed at the pallor of his face, accentuated by the dark stubble and shadows beneath his eyes. He didn't even see her in the dairy door as he made straight for the house, head down. Bridie left Emmie and Frank to finish up in the byre and followed him. She kicked off her Wellington boots and padded silently into the kitchen. He was sitting at the table, his tousled head bowed on his hands. He did not look at all like the proud young airman Bridie had fallen in love with, or the handsome groom who had awaited her at the altar less than a year ago, but a wave of infinite tenderness filled her breast until it was almost a physical pain. She wanted to cradle him to her like a child.

‘Nick …?' She moved towards him and put a tentative hand on his shoulder. He looked up briefly, then dropped his head again in silence.

‘Wanting me out, I suppose, after last night,' he said flatly. ‘It's back to the flat I'll go, to Conan.'

‘Oh, Nick.' Bridie was almost in tears. ‘That's the last thing I want …'

‘Is it?' he said dully. Then he raised his head. ‘Is it? Is it, Bridie?' His dark eyes scanned her face. ‘Even – even after last night …? Even after …' He bowed his head in his hands again. ‘I don't know what came over me.'

‘Nick …' Bridie pulled out a chair and sat beside him at the table. ‘Nick, it was probably the best thing you ever did. I-I've been so selfish. I should have known you were hurting too …' Her voice shook. ‘I-I promise I'll be careful, if only we can have another baby. I-I didn't mean to-to … I-I just never thought I could lose our baby.' Her voice broke. ‘And I feel so … so wretched, almost like I murdered it,' she added in a whisper.

‘Oh no, Bridie! There's my girl now. You mustn't feel like that.'

‘But I do, and I know you think it was my fault. I'm so unhappy, Nick, so short with everyone – even Fiona, last night.' She couldn't tell him how jealous she had felt. Nick reached out and clasped her hands where they lay on the table.

‘Listen, Bridie, so long as we have each other … Well, I know now, that's all that really matters as far as I'm concerned. I seem to have waited for you for half a lifetime, and then – then …'

‘And then I shut you out …' Bridie said huskily. ‘I didn't mean to, honestly. I-I just feel so …' She shook her head from side to side. ‘It's as though I'm in a black cave and can't find my way out. But I do love you, Nick. I need you so much.'

‘And I love you too,' Nick said huskily. ‘So long as we have each other, we'll get through this – somehow.'

Nick was patient with Bridie in the months which followed, but there were days when she seemed unable to shake off the melancholy moods. They were triggered by any mention of babies. The rejoicing over Princess Elizabeth's new baby girl brought on a particularly black depression. Nick was brooding anxiously when Doctor MacEwan called at the garage to ask him to check his car engine. He told him of Bridie's despondency.

‘The best thing you can do is try to distract her attention. How about buying her one of these new television sets?'

‘A television? That's a luxury I can't afford …'

‘Regard it as an investment in your wife's health.'

‘I can't imagine Bridie sitting down and watching pictures,' Nick said slowly, ‘but she does listen to that new radio programme. Have you heard of it? It's called
The Archers
, and it's about farming. Makes a difference that, I suppose.'

‘A-ah yes. It's surprising how many of my patients are listening to it. Isn't it supposed to bridge the gap between the townspeople and country folk?'

‘Probably. My father-in-law says they put topical farming news on it – and the main characters read out notices from the Ministry. He thinks the government is encouraging the BBC to influence the farmers by letting them know what's needed for the good of the country.'

‘Like a sugar-coated pill, eh?' Doctor MacEwan chuckled. ‘Well, Ross Maxwell is no fool, so I suppose he's probably right. But you take my advice and think about buying your wife a television set. She can always knit or do the mending while she's watching it in the evenings. It will take her mind off her own problems. And by the way, my wife is hoping you and Bridie will sing a duet at the concert she's organising at the end of September. I think she has already asked Ross to play the fiddle and I believe young Lucy Mason is going to play the accordion, if she's not too nervous.'

‘Beth it is more likely to be nervous, I'm thinking,' Nick declared ruefully.

‘You could be right. Mr Urquhart tells me Lucy has real talent. I believe he gives her a few free lessons now and again. But he says she's a natural and your father-in-law gives her all the encouragement she needs. Apparently, he plays along with her whenever she's staying at Nether Rullion.'

‘Yes, so I do believe,' Nick nodded, ‘and young Ewan gets very irritated with them for “wasting time indoors”.'

‘Och, it wouldn't do if we all had the same talents, would it? Who should I get to keep my motor car running, if you were like me, Nick?'

‘Somebody would be coming along, I expect. I reckon you should consider changing it though. A reliable car it is you're needing in your job. You'd find the modern ones far easier to drive and to start.'

‘Are you trying to sell me one?'

‘No, not really. Haven't gone into car sales yet, have we now. Could always be getting one for you, we could, if you should be liking one. The Morris Oxford is a nice little car.'

‘Mmm, I'll think about it. It's taken me long enough to get used to this one and I don't like change.'

When the doctor had departed, Nick thought over what he had said about a television set. Maybe he would enquire about prices next time he went into Annan. The garage was doing well enough, but Conan seemed to begrudge every penny that was taken out for personal use. But Bridie's peace of mind came a long way ahead of the garage or pleasing Conan. According to the government, the average wage was now seven pounds and eleven shillings a week, yet they allowed themselves only three pounds a week. He couldn't afford to buy a television on that and he didn't like the idea of this new hire purchase system that some of the shops were offering, tempting people into buying things they couldn't afford. The prospect of a mortgage had been bad enough and he would certainly have needed to take more money out of the business if Mrs Maxwell had not relieved him of that burden. There was nothing for it but to have a serious word with Conan. They were equal partners, but so far Conan had made most of the decisions about business. Bridie was his sister, so surely he would agree the doctor's advice ought to be followed, if it would help her spirits.

Conan was aghast when Nick told him of his plan to buy a television for Bridie, especially when he mentioned taking the money out of his share of the garage profits to pay for it.

‘A television! That'll cost a fortune!'

‘A hundred and fifteen guineas, if you want to know.'

‘A hundred and fifteen! That's …'

‘Purchase tax there'll be, on top of that. Twenty-seven pounds, nine shillings and five pence …'

‘You're mad! You'd be cheaper going to the pictures every night! Even at one and nine a time! We'll never build up a fleet of buses if you throw money away so frivolously,' Conan argued fiercely. ‘Tell Bridie to pull herself together. Why don't you have another bairn if that's what she wants?'

Nick's eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened. ‘You do know well about these things then, do you? Duw man! There's a bell you do have in every bloody tooth …'

‘Hey, steady on, Nick!' Conan looked at him sharply. He knew that tone, the Welsh accent, the anger. ‘I didn't mean to …'

‘Canting on, you were! Never consider Mother Nature do have a hand in things, do you? If that is all you care for your sister's happiness and health, then time it is we parted company.' Conan gazed helplessly at the white line around Nick's mouth, the fury in his eyes. ‘You buy as many buses as you want – but you do be paying out my share first.'

‘Oh, Nick! Come on, old man! I didna realise things were as bad as that for Bridie. After all she still has her cows and her calves and chickens.'

‘You do think they can be picked up and cuddled!' Nick said sarcastically. ‘It's a heartless bas – devil you are, Conan Maxwell. Anyway, Bridie is frustrated with the farm. You Maxwells, needing a challenge in your lives always, isn't it. All the time. Bridie works hard and what is she? A glorified milkmaid! Your father is still the boss. I ask you …'

‘A-ah, now that I can believe.' Conan nodded thoughtfully. ‘I'm glad I made my break for independence when I did.' He grinned, but the grin faded in the face of Nick's cold stare. ‘Well, Bridie does get half the profit for Glens of Lochandee,' he said defensively.

‘If there is any, she hasn't seen it. Your father is like you, Conan; he knows which way he wants to go. Right now he wants to improve Nether Rullion. Nothing else matters.' Nick took a deep breath and strove for calm. ‘But it's not the money that matters to Bridie, nor to me. She needs something to stimulate her interest. Your father makes all the decisions about the farm and the breeding of the herd – not that I blame him. It's his life too, and he built up the herd. It was Doctor MacEwan who suggested getting a television and I mean to take his advice. I'd do anything to help Bridie get over losing the baby and regaining her usual spirits.'

‘Oh well, I suppose you know best,' Conan shrugged, but Nick knew he was thinking of the other bus he was planning to buy.

‘Anyway,' Nick said. ‘While we're discussing things, never did we agree about buying another bus. We should do better with a cattle lorry, I'm thinking. Always the farmers are asking me why we haven't got one yet. A lot of business there is, transporting their cattle to and from the markets.'

‘Och, a cattle lorry! Who wants one of them – certainly not me!'

‘Well, I think it would be a good proposition,' Nick said stubbornly, as he turned on his heel and left Conan staring after him thoughtfully.

The television proved a serious distraction for them all. Even Beth often stayed to watch in the evenings and sometimes Fiona came too, bringing Lucy with her, if it was a Friday night. Nick felt the company was good for Bridie, especially when he was working late at the garage.

Beth still worried about the lump in her breast, but she didn't think it was growing any bigger. Gradually, the horror she had felt watching Dolly Kidd's suffering and subsequent death began to recede. Her own spirits and health improved.

The year ended, winter progressed slowly. One bitterly cold day in February, Ross drove over to Glens of Lochandee. He wanted to talk about the farm. He was as full of enthusiasm as ever and Bridie wondered where her parents got all their energy.

‘The government is going to pay £5 an acre if we plough up more grassland for cereals,' he announced. ‘I wondered if Nick would bring the Lochandee plough over and help us at Nether Rullion, if he has any spare time from the garage. I'm thinking of ploughing up the parkland adjoining the Mansion House ground and …'

‘Oh, Dad, you're surely not going to do that! It's lovely there with the massive oak trees.'

‘You're as bad as your mother.' Ross frowned. ‘She doesn't approve either, but …'

‘Anyway the cereals wouldn't ripen so evenly in the shade of the trees.'

‘I hadn't thought of that. You could be right, lassie.'

‘I suppose you heard about the death of the King this morning? Is Mum very upset? Princess Elizabeth has only just set out on her tour of Kenya.'

‘The King's dead? I didn't hear that, but then I didn't listen to the radio this morning.'

‘It's true. I heard it myself.'

‘Ah well, the poor man. He wasna in good health, and he has to take his turn, just like the rest of us. We're all just mortals, whatever our status. Anyway, what about Nick and this ploughing? Even if I don't plough the parkland I could plough some of the other fields and get them re-seeded with a better grass mixture when I get them into a rotation. I think we ought to plough Buttercup Field here as well.'

‘Oh no, Dad. We have enough land ploughed at Lochandee as it is,' Bridie protested. ‘I don't know why the government wants so much land for cereals, when the cows and sheep need grass. They are even talking of cutting the cheese ration back to one ounce a week again and it's nearly seven years since the war ended, for goodness sake.'

‘Well, the politicians know what's best for the country – or at least they think they do,' Ross added thoughtfully.

‘I can't understand, Dad, why you are so modern about farming in some ways and yet you won't even consider using artificial insemination to improve the dairy herd.'

‘Oh, lassie, you're not still going on about that, are you? Forget about it and put the cows with the bull as we've always done. You've got to be sure of getting them in calf regularly – no calves, then no milk. You know that well enough by now, Bridie. It's a question of economics.

‘I know that, Dad. That's why …'

‘Don't forget to ask Nick if he'll come and help me with the ploughing. He's a better hand with the tractor than I am.'

‘That may be so, but he scarcely has time to breathe. Conan leaves him to do all the repairs, while he's off driving his buses.'

‘Aye, the business seems to be going well for them. Conan was telling me he's employed another man full-time, mainly to drive one of the buses. He's already getting bookings for day trips for the summer, and some for a whole week each.'