Anne Douglas (27 page)

‘Sometimes good things do happen, though,’ she told Gingerboy, who’d come stalking in from her room. ‘So you should never give up – that’s the thing to remember.’

His yellow eyes only stared.

Later, when the family was back, she basked in their surprise and pleasure when she told them her news. Rod was back? And wanted to take Lindy to meet his father?

‘That says it all,’ declared Myra. ‘I always knew he’d come back, anyway. He was that keen from the start.’

‘And such a grand lad,’ said George. ‘I’ve always liked him.’

‘Me, too,’ added Struan. He looked around at the decorations. ‘Don’t blame you for putting the flags out, Lindy!’

‘Never mind the streamers,’ said Myra. ‘How’d you get on with Jemima, then? You were late back; we’d all gone to bed.’

‘We got on very well. She’s a nice lassie, Jemima, and the Marx Brothers had us in stitches. Groucho – Harpo – och, the things they got up to! I never thought Jemima could laugh so much. Always seemed a bit serious, eh?’

‘Seeing her again?’ asked Lindy.

‘Ah, that’d be telling.’

‘Well, tell, then.’

‘OK, yes, we’re going out after Christmas. Might have a fish supper.’

Myra and George exchanged glances.

‘Well, well,’ Myra murmured. ‘Both of ’em, eh?’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Lindy quickly.

‘Just thinking o’ you and Struan – both your dad’s children – no’ children any more.’

‘You just found that out?’ asked Struan. ‘But Lindy, now you’re back with Rod, do you think he’d let me drive his car again? I really missed that, you ken.’

With her thoughts fixed firmly on Boxing Day, Christmas passed like another dream for Lindy, except when she saw Jemima and Neil, for they, of course, were important to her and had to share in her good news about Rod.

‘I knew it would happen,’ Neil told her, under the cover of the noise in his mother’s flat on Christmas night when all the tenants of number nineteen, including the Websters – the new couple from Rosemary’s flat – had squashed in for a sing song and leftover mince pies.

‘I could tell from the way you were,’ Neil went on. ‘I mean, when you’d seen him and thought he hadn’t stayed. He was the one, I thought, and you see I was right.’

‘But I didn’t know he’d come back then,’ Lindy pointed out. ‘You couldn’t have known what would happen.’

‘I’d a pretty good idea that you two would get back together somehow. One of you would have to give in.’

‘I feel bad it was Rod, Neil. It should have been me.’

‘No, it’s good it was Rod. He was the one who caused the rift; he was the right one to mend it.’

‘It will never happen again, we’ve promised,’ she said quietly, and then felt a pang to be talking about her happiness and Rod’s, while poor Neil . . . Och, he’d find happiness himself one day, sure he would! In the meantime, he had his book.

As for Jemima, Lindy thought she’d never seen her looking quite so much at ease. Why, even coming up to the MacLaurens’ for a get-together would never have been her sort of thing, but here she was, enjoying herself, helping to hand round the mince pies and joining in the singing.

‘Hear you had a good time with the Marx Brothers?’ Lindy ventured during a lull. ‘So Struan said.’

‘Oh, I did, Lindy! I’ve never laughed so much and that’s the truth.’

‘And you’re going out again?’

‘Just for a bit of supper,’ Jemima agreed cautiously. ‘But don’t go getting carried away for me, eh?’

Am I the one who’s carried away? thought Lindy. But of course it was too soon to tell whether these outings meant anything or nothing. To change the subject she asked about Rosemary. How was she?

‘Oh, I looked in to see her – she’s got a lovely wee flat. She was just getting ready to spend Christmas with her mother.’ Jemima gave a little smile. ‘But I think she won’t be going on her own.’

‘Are you talking about a young man?’

‘Definitely a young man. He’s always been in the background – now he’s stepped forward.’

‘How about her modelling, though?’

‘Ah, she’ll keep on with that, I’m sure.’

Like me, thought Lindy. What would the New Year bring? Just for a little while she wondered what might be in the pipeline, but soon returned to thinking about Boxing Day and what she might wear to meet Rod’s father over the Christmas cake made by ‘his admirer’. It would have to be her same old blue woollen dress, she decided, but at least Mr Connor wouldn’t have seen it before. Not that he’d care if he had, if he was like most men, but she did want to look her best for him. This meeting was important.

Boxing Day came at last, and Rod with it, collecting Lindy at three o’clock for the drive to Leith. Aware of eyes at windows looking down, they didn’t kiss, only let their eyes send the messages each wanted to see, and then were on their way.

‘Had a nice day yesterday?’ asked Rod.

‘Oh, yes, though Dad and Struan were at work as usual. But we all went to a neighbour’s in the evening and that was very nice. The new tenants were there.’

‘Not like the famous Rosemary, I suppose?’

‘More like the rest of us,’ agreed Lindy, smiling. ‘How about you? The hostel folk had a good time?’

‘Certainly did. Dad came over for Christmas dinner, which I helped to cook, and all went well. No dust-ups. But I’m looking forward to today.’

‘And I want to meet your dad.’

‘You soon will. Here’s the grand Port of Leith coming up now, busy as ever, Christmas or no Christmas. Work never stops at the docks, you know – that’s where Dad’s ship is now, being checked over.’

‘Always seems strange to me that Leith’s a part of Edinburgh now. I mean, it’s so different, eh?’

‘A lot of Leithers would agree. They like to think of themselves as independent still, but it’s too late to think of that now. There are compensations, anyway, being part of a great city.’

‘You don’t live near the docks?’ Lindy asked, looking around her as they turned from Leith Walk to enter streets new to her.

‘No, by the Links. Know the Links? It’s a huge open space, full of history – battles with the English and all that sort of thing. Now it’s more like a park – very popular. Our house is one of a terrace quite close by.’

‘You have the whole house?’

‘Why, yes. Dad bought it on a mortgage when he first got married.’

‘Oh,’ said Lindy, wondering how you got a mortgage. ‘So he’s no’ a tenant? He owns the house?’

‘He does now. Did well, in fact, because there was no money in the family. I think I told you, my grandfather was a fisherman, never had much, but Dad had a good technical brain; he earned enough to get a property.’

‘And it sounds nice – near the park.’

‘Spent half my childhood there,’ Rod told her. ‘Would still play cricket if I had the chance. Golf as well, maybe. Did you know that golf was said to be invented on the Links? There’s fame for you.’

Seemingly, thanks to his dad, Rod’s life had been different from that of anyone else Lindy knew. Except for Rosemary, of course, but then Rosemary was just a ship who’d passed in the night. Hadn’t Lindy once thought that of Rod? Clasping her hands together with sudden nerves, Lindy thanked her lucky stars that that had turned out not to be true.

‘Well, this it!’ cried Rod, turning into a terrace of solid, stone-built houses and drawing up at one of them. ‘Here’s my home, Lindy.’

Stepping from the car, Lindy’s eyes went over the three-storey house, taking in the oak front door with polished letter box, the sash windows, all with net curtains, the small strip of front garden with evergreen shrubs. She turned to Rod.

‘The whole house?’ she repeated.

He nodded. ‘It’s just a terraced house – see ’em all over Edinburgh.’

‘But half the time there’s no one here.’

‘It’s the way things have worked out. Dad’s away and my job’s partly live-in. I get home when I can. But come on in, he’ll be waiting for us and it’s getting dark already. Hello, Dad!’ he called as they entered the house. ‘We’re here!’

And into the neat, polished hallway, came another, older Rod, smiling as he put out his hand. ‘Hello, Miss Gillan!’ he cried, in a deep, pleasant voice, more of a Leither’s voice than Rod’s. ‘Or can it be Lindy?’

‘Oh, please, call me Lindy,’ she answered quickly, and once they’d shaken hands he took her arm. ‘Come away in, then, by the fire.’

The sitting room, or parlour, into which Rod’s father showed Lindy, was instantly charming. Long, dark red curtains at the bay window had already shut out the darkening afternoon, while table lamps and a bright open fire gave mellow light. There were watercolours of ships around the walls, the frames decorated with berried holly; photographs on a small desk, one of a sweet-faced woman Lindy guessed to be Rod’s mother; two easy chairs and a sofa before the fireplace, and a round table already laid for tea with a white cloth and pretty china.

Admiring all of this, it was only when Mr Connor had taken one of the armchairs and waved her to the sofa that she saw he wasn’t quite as much like Rod as she’d thought. True, he was the same height and still had chestnut-brown hair only slightly touched with grey, but his eyes were blue, not brown, and his features were heavier – not quite so handsome. Still, he had Rod’s friendly smile and easy manner, which were what counted.

‘You must call me Lindy,’ she said as Rod took away her coat and hat. ‘Only people at work call me Miss Gillan.’

His brilliant blue eyes – sailor’s eyes, she supposed – were fixed on her face that was a little flushed by the heat of the room and her own excitement.

‘And at present you’re working at Logie’s?’ he asked.

‘Just for Christmas, but I might get something else after Hogmanay.’

‘I’ve told Dad about your modelling,’ Rod said quietly. ‘Was quite impressed, weren’t you, Dad?’

‘Sure I was! I know nothing about it, but I’m sure to get into that line of work is quite a feat. The main thing is to enjoy it. If it’s what you want to do, you’ll do well.’

Rod opened his mouth as though to speak, but in the end said nothing, while his father, after studying him for a moment, turned back to Lindy. ‘I expect you’ve heard that I’d have liked Rod to follow in my footsteps, but it’s his decision what he does and I’m glad he’s found his niche. No, I mean it, Rod. We can’t all be the same.’

‘He does wonderful work, Mr Connor,’ Lindy put in earnestly, at which Rod rose and said he’d put the kettle on.

‘Spare my undeserved blushes, I think. And no, Lindy, I don’t want you to help me. This is your time off.’

‘Rod does do good work,’ she insisted when he’d gone. ‘I really admire him.’

‘Oh, so do I.’ Mr Connor rose to make up the fire, then sat down, looking at Lindy again. ‘Am I right in thinking your father’s with Bayne’s Brewery, Lindy? Tell him their bitter’s my favourite tipple. Not that I drink much, but I like Bayne’s when I do.’

‘I’ll tell him, Mr Connor. My brother, Struan, works there too.’ She paused. ‘At least, they do for now. Never know for how long.’

‘People will always want their beer. I think Bayne’s will weather the storm. But are there just the two of you, yourself and your brother?’

‘Yes, just the two of us. Our mother died when I was born.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Mr Connor’s eyes went to the photograph of the sweet-faced woman and he gave a heavy sigh. ‘Rod lost his mother too, as you probably know, but he was twelve. That’s her picture there – my Mildred. We still miss her, Rod and me.’

‘I’m sure,’ whispered Lindy. ‘I have a stepmother. She’s very kind, but it’s no’ the same.’

‘No, couldn’t be. I’ll never marry again.’

‘Here we are!’ cried Rod into the silence that had fallen between his father and Lindy. ‘Here’s the trolley, all loaded by my own fair hands. Want to move to the tea table, folks?’

Lindy, taking her seat and accepting a toasted teacake, couldn’t resist thinking, as she looked at the iced Christmas cake made, Rod had said, by his father’s admirer, that the lady in question would not have much hope of being anything more. Perhaps she didn’t want that, anyway, and such appeared to be the case, for when Rod passed her a slice of the cake he explained about the donor.

‘Mrs Landers is a widow who lives next door. She’s always very kind to us, and I tease Dad about her, but really she’s wrapped up in her family – got three daughters and five grandchildren, so we’re lucky she gives us some of her baking when she can. This is an excellent cake, eh?’

‘It’s lovely. We don’t really celebrate Christmas much, but I think I’d like to have a go making one of these one day.’

‘Secret’s in the baking,’ Mr Connor declared. ‘That’s as much as I know, but I’ve been told that if you bake a cake too long it’s dry as dust, and if you bake it too little it collapses.’

‘Best of luck, Lindy!’ cried Rod and they left the table laughing, Lindy having insisted that she wanted to do the washing up. In the kitchen, of course, they closed the door and kissed long and happily before getting down to work.

‘Don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do that,’ Rod murmured as he washed and Lindy dried, standing together at the sink in the large, warm kitchen. ‘How’d you find my dad, then?’

‘He’s grand, I like him so much, Rod. I think he’s a lot like you.’

‘Much cleverer. But I could tell he likes you, Lindy. Oh, yes, like son, like father.’ Rod, drying his hands, surveyed their pile of plates and teacups and said they could leave them on the table – he’d put them away after he’d taken Lindy back home. First, though, he had something to give her.

‘Give me?’

‘It’s nothing special.’ He was taking a package wrapped in Christmas paper from one of the kitchen cupboards. ‘It’s just a scarf. I didn’t know what to get you.’

‘A scarf?’ Lindy smiled. ‘Rod, I’ll just get my bag.’

‘You haven’t got me something?’

‘Guess what – it’s a scarf, too.’

‘Let’s compare, then.’

Rod’s was a lightweight woollen scarf, one of Logie’s special lines in Royal Stuart tartan, as he had no tartan of his own, and which he said was just what he wanted and that he’d wear it that very evening. Lindy’s, however, was a shawl, rather than a scarf, made of white Shetland wool in a cobweb pattern so delicate, so beautiful, it brought tears to her eyes.