Dreams to Die For (14 page)

The first shafts of dim grey light of the December dawn were slowly revealing huge shadowy shapes on the far side of the loch as Cindy helped herself to an orange juice and croissant at the self-service breakfast bar. She sat at a table immediately adjacent to the panoramic glass frontage of the restaurant that allowed unrestricted views across Loch Lomond. She had never visited Scotland and was hoping that her first views of it would be favourable and she was not disappointed. She watched, fascinated, as the layer of mist that hung over the loch quickly dissipated as the light brightened and the weak warmth of the early morning sun struck the water. The sky changed from being a leaden dark grey canopy to an umbrella of the palest cyan, providing a perfect contrast to the deep green of the acres of spruce trees that partly covered the massive rock faces of Ben Lomond and its neighbouring peaks opposite, their tops dazzling from a dusting of fresh snow. Cindy took several minutes simply looking at the view, stunned by its breathtaking range of colours and grandeur.

By the time she had started her second juice and helped herself to perhaps too much bacon and eggs, convinced that she needed additional sustenance for the drive ahead, the loch had become a mirror image of its surroundings. The water was the colour of the pale sky, its smooth glass surface reflecting in perfect detail the vivid yellows and browns of the past summer's dead bracken amid the myriad of colours that painted the shoreline grasses and the green mountain slopes with their beautiful frosted hats. Occasionally she spotted the tell-tale sign of a fish, swimming fast and trailing the tiniest of wakes as its dorsal fin cut through the water – or sometimes she noticed a series of small ringlets, which expanded slowly as though a small stone had been thrown into the water, revealing the presence of a trout below.

She could not have wished for a better start to her day, and in buoyant mood she was soon driving north, quickly passing by the twenty-four miles of Loch Lomond. The route emailed to her by Gordon was exceptionally simple:

Stay on the A82, through Fort William, until Invergarry. Then take the A87 until the left turn, unclassified road, for Kinloch Hourn. Stop at the large dam.

It couldn't have been easier and Cindy was able to take full advantage of viewing the vast landscapes that were presented to her at every turn, whilst also enjoying the luxury of driving without traffic on a superbly maintained smooth road – a marked contrast from the potholed suspension testers she had often encountered. Each scenic view seemed to be better than any of its predecessors and Cindy was quite overwhelmed by them long before she reached Glencoe.

Gordon had told her to look out for Buachaille Etive Mor, the mountain on her left that would mark her entrance to Glencoe and, almost opposite on her right, the edge of Rannoch Moor and the Seventeenth Century
Kings House Hotel
, but she didn't need his guidance. As soon as she saw the road stretch ahead into the distance for several miles, as it traversed the length of a deep glen flanked by huge mountains, she was filled with awe. She knew that before her lay Glencoe, the site of the worst and bloodiest treachery to take place in the Highlands. The few cars upon the road appeared small and vulnerable as they weaved their way amongst some of the highest and most foreboding peaks of Scotland, and it thrilled her to know that in a few moments she would be driving through the sombre pass. Even in sunlight, the glen was intimidating and Cindy shivered slightly as she drove onwards, nervously excited by Glencoe's mix of myth, massacre, legend and sheer scale.

Once through the Glen she felt a slight relief but also a fresh wave of anticipation. It was a little before 11am and, having made good time, she was nearing Fort William. Gordon had asked Cindy to phone him when she arrived at the town so that he could estimate the time he needed to be at the dam to meet her. Sat in the lay-by on the shore of Loch Linnhe, watching grey seals laze on a cluster of rocks near to the shore, Cindy had little appreciation of the level of anxiety that had been rising in Gordon since he first woke. It had been several months since they last met, and apart from text messages and emails, they had not been in contact. Gordon had found it hard to sit still, even for a moment, worrying that perhaps at the last moment Cindy would change her mind about coming. He let out a huge sigh of relief when his hall telephone rang. They spoke briefly, not wanting to waste time, and arranged the time for Gordon to wait at the small parking area by Quoich Dam. As soon as he replaced the receiver, he rushed to tell his housekeeper the good news.

Cindy drove towards the dam, passing through the tiny hamlet of Corach, and noticing that the road was exactly as she had imagined it from Gordon's previous descriptions and from his tales of watching the arrival of his guests. She correctly assumed that Gordon would be at his favourite vantage spot on the southern shore watching for sight of her blue Honda. As the narrow road twisted and turned she wondered just how long it would be before the dam came into view, her anticipation rising at every bend. She realised she had to be very close when to her left, nestling between the barren trees, she passed a red brick box-shaped building. There was a sign in white lettering upon a navy background erected on its access road stating ‘Quoich Power Station'. She turned a sharp right-hand bend and audibly gasped as the entire dam came into view, its huge structure completely spanning the wide glen in front of her. The road ahead climbed gently uphill for about two miles until it was level with the top of the dam wall, occasionally twisting around the few remaining granite foothills not blasted completely away and levelled by the construction engineers. As she drove onward, she guessed Gordon could see her now, and strained her eyes as she tried to glimpse him. In fact, Gordon had spotted her well before she had reached the power station and had already crossed the dam wall to await her arrival. Whilst Cindy was searching the south end of the dam, Gordon was leaning against the north gate adjacent to the road. Five minutes later, she turned the car onto the rough stone parking area, excitedly waving to Gordon as she did so. Without turning off the engine, she rushed out of the car to greet him whilst Gordon came over to her. He was dressed in a wax jacket over a thick white roll neck sweater, mole skin trousers and a rather incongruous black beaver hat. It wasn't at all as she had expected him to be dressed and it made her giggle. They hugged each other briefly and then kissed each other firmly on the lips, but not for overly long as they were both bursting to speak.

“I honestly didn't know if you would come, you know. I really thought you might have backed off. I'm just so pleased to see you, I can hardly believe it's you and you're here!” Gordon for once sounded slightly less than in total control of his emotions.

“Of course I would come. We've waited months for this. I couldn't have done that to you anyway. Oh Gordon, this is just so… so bloody, bloody marvellous.” Cindy did not know quite what to say either and her words were instinctive and spontaneous. They hugged and kissed each other again, and it was some minutes before Gordon realised that Cindy was still wearing only her jeans and jumper and without any kind of jacket.

“Cindy, you must be frozen. Let's get in the car and I'll show you where to park up and get your stuff out.”

“Not yet, Gordon, please not just yet.” She turned off her engine then made her way to the back of her car, opening the boot.

“I'll put on my jacket, gloves and hat. See I remembered what you said. Please let's stay here a few minutes. I need to remember this moment, this view, you and me, and I want to make certain I have taken it all in.”

Gordon held out the coat for her and she slid her arms into the sleeves and zipped up the front. She placed a simple, dark blue, woollen hat onto her head and produced a matching coloured glove from each of the jacket pockets.

“There now, do I look ok?” she twirled around.

“Fantastic, but you still may soon get cold as it is only just above freezing today and several layers are needed if we are to stay out for any length of time.”

They locked arms behind their respective backs whilst Cindy slowly turned her head, taking in every aspect of the view and firing a barrage of questions at Gordon. He answered them as accurately as he was able to, given the brevity of time Cindy allowed before asking him another, until he eventually said, “Tell you what. I'll give you a brief answer and a more complete version over dinner or later this afternoon. How's that?”

“Agreed,” she said.

Fifteen minutes later, Cindy did start to feel the cold and they got into the car. They had driven just over a mile when Gordon pointed out a barely noticeable small track leading off to the right and which immediately swung behind a large mound of rocks into the crevices of which had sprung tufts of coarse grass. The track was surprisingly smooth, having been layered with small rock chippings, and from the highway seemed to almost immediately disappear somewhere into the lower slope of the mountain. Cindy drove along it and in fifty metres came into cleared area where there were two enormous, separate garages, each with a different coloured door. She stopped the car, as instructed, in front of the one with the green door.

Both garages had tiled gable roofs and were built of block but then faced with the natural rock stone hewn from the hill to hide (and protect) the unsightly brick work. There were no windows. Gordon got out of the car and pulled back two sizeable black bolts before unlocking the padlock that retained the two ends of a length of thick chain that had been wrapped between the handles of the garages double doors. As the doors were pulled apart the warning, intermittent shrill sound of an audible alarm pierced the air. Gordon quickly punched some numbers into the keypad to disarm the security system and prevent the main alarm from being automatically triggered. He switched on the fluorescent lighting and beckoned Cindy to drive in. She parked alongside an old Land Rover, proudly wearing its battle scars of skirmishes with the local terrain and whose mud spattered windshield could not possibly have permitted much vision. The remaining space was largely unused except for an old white van parked by the far wall, one or two minor pieces of machinery, a trailer in an equally battered state to that of the Land Rover and some small items scattered on the shelves. A few poles and stakes along with rolls of fencing wire were in the far corner and several large plastic fuel containers, placed against the near wall, completed the inventory.

“By the time we get your stuff out here, Sandy will be over and we can get moving. One thing, very important, both these garages have double doors that share the same alarm system and spare padlock keys hang in the kitchen lobby cupboard at Mealag. Can you give me an important date, it doesn't have to your birthday!“ he quipped.

Cindy obliged giving him 24 12 05 and Gordon pressed a number of buttons on the alarm key pad before turning to her saying, “You might need to come here and get your car, so remember to key in that code number to stop the alarm, else we will have everyone at Mealag and the local police force down at Invergarry or beyond racing up here.”

“You surely don't get any crime here, do you Gordon?” she asked.

“Fortunately not yet, but we might. People visit the Highlands from all over, especially the big cities. Some come to fish, some to find work in summer, many to simply walk the hills. I doubt they are all fine, honest folk. Sadly, even Fort William and Fort Augustus are not without the occasional opportunist thief. We also have many sightseeing tourists in the summer of course, but a few at other times of the year. Once that alarm goes off, the local nick can just block the turn off at Invergarry whilst they investigate. No one could get far, but why put temptation in anyone's way? That's why the exterior alarm is also very visible and has a notice that says it is directly wired to the police.”

Cindy had barely observed that as she had driven in, too busy making sure she parked the car in the right place, but wondered just how expensive the equipment had to be to justify the cost of installing its own dedicated power supply and telephone link in these remote parts.

“So, can I ask what's in the adjoining garage?” Cindy enquired.

“At the moment it has my Range Rover and Volvo in it, though I often keep one or other at the house. Also the launch trailers and some other more expensive gear, and we can keep a boat or two in there if we need to. We can launch the boats from the shore a couple of miles from here where the road skirts the edge of the loch and where there's no bank or boulders. You'll see, I'll explain it all later.”

The steady, rhythmic crunch of gravel of Sandy MacLean's footsteps forewarned Cindy of his impending arrival and when he came into view he waved and called out. “Welcome to the Highlands, Mrs Crossland.”

“Cindy. Please call me Cindy, and thank you.”

After a few more brief pleasantries, Cindy pulled on her gum boots whilst Gordon and Sandy took hold of her bags and coats.

“Thought you might have had more than this?” Gordon mischievously teased.

“Why? Because I'm a woman I suppose,” Cindy laughed back. “Actually, I took on board what you told me about your executives last summer with some of them coming laden down with suitcases.”

Sandy laughed. “Aye, they make a rare sight sometimes. That they do.”

Gordon reset the alarm and locked the garage before following the other two back along the track. They crossed over the road and easily stepped down the slope to the waiting boat below, bobbing gently alongside the small wooden jetty.

Cindy could only just make out what she thought was Mealag in the distance at the far shore. In fact what she could see was the edge of one of the chalets within the complex. Having been built on the eastern edge of a bay, Mealag Lodge would not become visible until she was two thirds of the way across. She could hardly believe what she was now doing. Here she was, in a boat, crossing a loch in one of the most remote parts of the Highlands on a cold winter's day – and not just any winter's day, but Christmas Eve! She looked around her in total amazement. The huge loch stretched out to the west, but she realised that as the distant shoreline occasionally disappeared from view, the loch must also penetrate to the north and south between some mighty Munros. She looked up at the lofty white peaks surrounding her.