Anne Douglas (4 page)

‘Workhouses?’ Lindy’s eyes lost their shine. ‘It’s what folk dread, to finish up in the workhouse. If they get evicted, I mean, and have nowhere to go.’

‘I told you that you’d be disappointed,’ Rod said lightly as they crossed the road and began to skirt the railings of the Palace of Holyroodhouse, not pausing to look through the grand gates at the King’s official residence. ‘I know it’s not what everyone would want to do.’

‘I’m no’ disappointed!’ she cried. ‘I think it’s a wonderful thing to do work like that – helping others. And I bet you do a good job at the workhouses. Won’t be your fault folk don’t want to go to ’em.’

‘You really think that?’ He reached to touch her hand for a moment. ‘I’m glad. Well, I do what I can, mainly checking that things are running smoothly – admin work, you might say.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Only wish I could do more.’

‘And how about the hostel? What’s it like to work there?’

‘Difficult, but I think it’s worthwhile. It’s true that if you don’t keep your head the fellows can sometimes drive you mad – sometimes because of wanting the drink and, of course, you can’t let ’em have it, which means trouble. But you just have to keep calm. As I say, do what you can.’

‘You must be a special sort of person to work there,’ Lindy declared. ‘I couldn’t do it. Never in a million years!’

‘Now, why d’you say that?’ he cried. ‘How can you know what you can do?’

They had reached the Queen’s Drive, the long, snaking road that circled Holyrood Park, and were turning to walk onwards, past Salisbury Crags, an ancient cliff of rocks, to start the climb to Arthur’s Seat. Yet Rod was slowing, putting his hand for an instant on Lindy’s arm.

‘You can’t say that,’ he said firmly. ‘I think you’d be very good at my sort of work. I feel that you’d have the right qualities.’

‘If you knew what I liked, you’d never say that!’

‘What do you like, then?’

‘Wearing nice clothes and make-up, going dancing, going to the pictures to see Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers . . . anything of that sort.’ Her sparkling eyes searched his face. ‘There, now you’re the one to be disappointed, eh?’

‘Of course not! Any young girl would like the things you’ve said. Doesn’t mean that you’re not someone who cares for others.’

‘Doesn’t mean I could earn a living doing that, either. But listen, how did you manage to get this afternoon free? Shouldn’t you be working?’

‘I do get days off at the hostel – I share the day-to-day running with my assistant. But today I took a day’s leave. I had some time owing.’

She thought about that. A whole day’s leave? Just to be with her?

‘Fancy your thinking about it,’ he said, watching her face.

‘I was just wondering. Well, let’s get on, then. I want to see the Lion’s Head – isn’t that what they call the summit?’

‘Some do. I suppose it can look like a lion sometimes, though I don’t always see it.’

They were gradually beginning to climb, feeling no strain yet, the slope being still gentle, and Rod felt able to go on talking, pointing out that there were a number of places in Scotland with King Arthur’s name, yet there was no record of his ever having been to the country. Did he exist, anyhow?

‘Folk like to think he did,’ Rod finished with a smile. ‘Think it’s romantic, all that stuff about Camelot, Lancelot and Guinevere, the knights in shining armour.’

‘I think so, too,’ said Lindy firmly. ‘We had a teacher once who used to tell us stories about King Arthur’s Round Table and I always wished I could see it, with the lovely knights as well.’

‘But all we’ve got is a dead volcano that somebody called Arthur’s Seat!’ Rod laughed. ‘You get wonderful views from the top, though.’

And so they did when they’d negotiated the last ascent which was truly steep, making their breath come fast and their legs ache, before they came out on to the summit.

‘We made it!’ cried Rod. ‘Now we’re entitled to have a rest and look at the view.’

To be shared, of course, with a number of other people, mainly tourists, but they’d never expected to be alone on this, the most dramatic of Edinburgh’s seven hills. At least there was still a rock free for them to use as a seat, sinking down to gaze over the city spread out below, all its familiar landmarks so clear, and in the distance the Firth of Forth and even the Ochil Hills, standing out in relief against the backdrop of blue sky.

‘No wonder Robert Louis Stevenson called this “the hill of magnitude”,’ Rod murmured. ‘I feel that’s what I’ve climbed.’

‘It’s worth it,’ Lindy replied. ‘And I can say I’ve been on the Lion’s Head!’

‘You’re glad you came, then?’ he asked softly. ‘Glad to be with me?’

She studied him for a moment, half smiling before replying. ‘Yes, very glad. It’s been grand.’

‘And not over yet.’ He watched as she pulled off her hat and let the breeze ruffle her short dark hair. ‘I thought we might have a cup of tea somewhere. If you know a place?’

‘Know a place?’ Lindy laughed. ‘A tea room? They’re everywhere – this is tourist land, remember.’

‘And Scott Street’s not far away.’

‘But nobody’d say that was in tourist land.’

They rose together from their rock, smiling at nearby climbers, and began to make their descent, Lindy replacing her hat and taking the hand that Rod offered.

‘It’s worse going down,’ he murmured.

‘Gets your knees,’ she agreed.

‘You’ll find us a tea room?’

‘Nae bother. I know the very place.’

By the time they’d reached the little café in the Canongate they’d let go of each other’s hands, though Lindy was strangely feeling that she and Rod already knew each other quite well, even if they’d only just met. Did he feel the same? As his golden-brown eyes met hers, she thought he did.

Over their tea and buttered soda scones they kept exchanging looks, except when Lindy allowed her eyes to trawl around the café, as though in search of something. Or someone.

‘Are you looking for something?’ Rod asked, pouring himself more tea.

‘No, no.’ What else could she say? ‘Just looking round.’

‘Think you might know someone here? It’s pretty crowded.’

‘Folk I know don’t spend much time in tea shops. I mean, why would we? If there’s one thing we’ve got at home, it’s tea.’

‘Might have seen a friend, though.’ Rod took a slice of coconut cake. ‘Am I the problem, somehow? I mean, that you’re here with me?’

‘No, of course not.’

She was opening her eyes wide. Heavens, how sharp he was! But the fact was being with him was no problem, or shouldn’t be. She didn’t know why she’d suddenly begun to think of Neil. When would he ever come into this tea shop? And why should she worry if he did? Still, she didn’t want to get into a discussion about it.

‘Look, there was something I wanted to ask you,’ she said, smiling. ‘Hope you won’t think it nosy.’

‘Lindy, you can ask me anything you like.’

‘Well, then, I was just wondering why you’re alone when you go home from the hostel. I mean, have you no brothers or sisters, or –’ She had been ready to form the words ‘a mother’, but they did not come and she left her question hanging, her voice trailing away.

‘That’s easy to answer. I’ve never had a brother or sister. My mother couldn’t have any more children after me – she was always a bit of an invalid.’ Rod lowered his eyes. ‘She died when I was twelve.’

‘Oh, Rod, I’m sorry! Oh, that must have been awful for you – still a laddie and you lost your ma!’

So deeply touched was her heart, Lindy at once reached across the table and pressed Rod’s hand. ‘But who looked after you, then?’

‘Well, Dad found a housekeeper – a very nice lady – and he also took a shore job for a while, to see me over the worst. When I’d grown up, Mrs Warren went on to another job but she still comes in once a week, just to do a bit of cleaning.’

‘At least you knew your mother, eh?’ Lindy sat back with a sigh. ‘I never knew mine. She died when I was born.’

‘Why, Lindy, that’s terrible! Worse than what happened to me.’ Rod’s eyes were full of sympathy. ‘So how did your father cope?’

‘First, our gran looked after us – me and my brother, Struan, who’s a bit older than me – while Dad went to work at the brewery. And then he married again. That was my stepmother you saw in the shop the other day.’

Rod’s jaw didn’t drop but he seemed stunned. ‘The one I was talking to? Help, I never dreamed she was connected to you! Was I all right? Was I polite? She looked –’ He hesitated. ‘Well, as though she could be rather – what’s the word?’

‘Tough? Och, she’s all right. A bit keen to make us all do what she wants, but she’s no’ like the wicked stepmothers in the fairy stories. She’s been a great help to Dad.’ Lindy was looking at the clock at the back of the café. ‘Rod, it’s been grand seeing you, but I think I’d better go back now.’

‘Oh? So soon?’ He glanced at his wrist watch. ‘But I suppose you’re right, our afternoon is over. I had the crazy idea we might have . . .’

‘What?’

‘Well, gone on somewhere else, you know, for the evening. But that wouldn’t have done, would it? I mean, your stepmother, your father – they don’t know me. They might not have approved of your being out with me so long.’ He laughed a little. ‘We don’t even know each other, do we?’

‘I feel I do know you,’ Lindy said earnestly. ‘But I did tell Aunt Myra – that’s what I call my stepmother – that we were just going out for the afternoon.’

‘And that’s what we’ve done,’ Rod said cheerfully. ‘I’ll pay up and we’ll go.’

‘I want to thank you very much, Rod, for a lovely tea and a lovely afternoon.’

‘It’s meant a lot to me,’ he murmured as they rose from their table. ‘I’m the one who should be thanking you.’

Making their way up the Canongate towards the High Street, he seemed as though he would speak but never managed it, until finally he drew Lindy to a halt.

‘Maybe you’ll guess what I want to say,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I’d just like to ask – is there anyone . . . anyone special for you? Lord, I can’t seem to talk straight! What I’m asking is have you what they call a “young man”?’

‘I’ll be honest, Rod,’ she answered at once, relieved to be putting it into words. ‘There is someone. He’s no’ my young man, but he is a very good friend. He lives in the same tenement and I’ve known him for years. We go out together, to the pictures and that. He wants to be a writer.’

‘I see. I knew there’d be someone. I expect there are fellows queuing up to see you all the time, aren’t there? But this writer chap – he’s only a friend?’

‘A very good friend, Rod.’

For a moment they stood still, oblivious of others passing by, until finally they walked on, Rod’s brow furrowed, Lindy looking at him and then looking away.

‘I don’t understand that at all,’ Rod said shortly. ‘He’s just a good friend? Why, for God’s sake? Why is that all he wants from you?’

‘It’s always been like that between us. I suppose it’s because we know each other so well.’

‘Well, it’s got me stumped. On the other hand, does it mean there’s hope for me? That you might come out with me again?’

‘I’d like to, Rod,’ she said quickly. ‘I don’t think my friend would mind.’

‘Lindy, that’s terrific!’ He grasped her hand and squeezed it hard. ‘Can we fix it up now? Our next meeting?’

‘When would be best? Will it be difficult for you, being at the hostel?’

‘I’ll manage it, come what may. Trouble is my free time’s pretty limited. As I said, I do have an assistant, but I still have to sleep at the hostel four nights a week. That cuts down on evenings out, and I only get one Sunday off in four.’

‘Help!’ cried Lindy. ‘You’re worse off than me!’

‘I still have some free evenings, though, and I have next Sunday off – how about that?’

At the look on Lindy’s face, he sighed. ‘I see – that’s the writer’s day, isn’t it?’

‘We did say we might go for a walk this Sunday.’

‘Well, there’s next Tuesday evening?’

‘Tuesday would be grand.’

‘Really? Thank the Lord, then.’ His face was all smiles. ‘Where would you like to go?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I love going out, anyway.’

‘I’ll see what’s on. I’m willing to take you anywhere you like, except dancing. I’m no Fred Astaire.’

‘No one is, except him,’ she answered, laughing. ‘But I don’t mind where I go.’

‘Leave it to me, then. Shall I call for you at your tenement? About seven?’

She hesitated, but only for a moment; it would be all right, she’d have seen Neil by then.

‘Fine. If I’m no’ outside, just come into the hallway. The front door’s always open, and knock on the first door you see on the right. That’s us.’

‘Wonderful. Till Tuesday, then, though I’m sure to see you before.’

‘Oh? Why?’

‘To do some shopping, of course. And make myself known to your stepmother. Got to make her like me, you know.’

‘Why, she likes you already – you’re a good customer!’

Lindy, casually, was edging a little away, but Rod was quick to put his hand on her arm.

‘Hey, wait a minute. Where are you off to? I want you to tell me what you’re doing tonight when we might have been together.’

‘What will I be doing? Darning, mending, ironing – all the chores I have to do on my time off. And maybe seeing another friend from the tenement.’

‘Another friend?’ He groaned. ‘I’m not sure I want to know.’

‘It’s a girl friend,’ she told him sweetly. ‘Jemima Kerry, who lives up the stair. She’s a lady’s maid and lives in, but comes home on Wednesdays for her day off. We just like to meet, you know, and have a wee chat.’

‘Jemima Kerry,’ Rod repeated. ‘What a relief to hear about her. I’ll think of you, then, darning and mending, and having your chat. But shall I walk you home now?’

‘No need!’ she said quickly. ‘Scott Street’s just round the corner – I’ll be home in no time.’

She knew he wanted to argue, but was already turning to go, her hand raised in farewell. ‘See you when you come into the shop!’ she called. ‘And thanks again for a lovely day – I really enjoyed it!’

‘Me, too,’ he called back. ‘Me, too!’

Already he was working out when he could revisit the Scott Street shop, while Lindy’s thoughts had gone ahead to number nineteen. Would Neil be back from work now to see her coming in? Why was she worrying, anyway? He wouldn’t mind about Rod, she knew he wouldn’t. He and she were just good friends. Even so, she quickened her step, hoping to get back before him, so that when she did tell him about Rod she’d be looking wonderfully at ease.