The Tender Glory (18 page)

Straining her ears, she listened constantly for the slightest sound, but nothing stirred. In this vast, white, blind world there was nothing but silence. It rose like a wall all round her until it was shattered by her own gasping breath and the little cry when she fell.

Half stunned, she lay near a group of rocks, wondering vaguely if she had strayed on to the moor. It didn’t seem to matter so much now. The cold was almost comforting. Presently she began to feel warm.

It was a long time before she heard the sound she had been waiting for. It came nearer, stealthily nearer along the road. She struggled to her feet. It was a car! She could hear its engine out there somewhere in the blind world beyond the wall of falling snow. Then she realised that she was standing above it. She had climbed off the road on to the moor. It would pass her by unseen. If it was the Highland Patrol all they would find was an abandoned van farther along the road. Satisfied that there was nobody inside, they would drive on.

Panic-stricken, she began to run, stumbling and falling on the rough, snow-laden grass. The car passed beneath her and pulled away, a grey wraith in a world of whirling snow.

Her heart sank, but she was almost back on the road. She followed the car’s tracks until they were obliterated and then she stood quite still, waiting.

Waiting for what? She hardly knew, but when she saw the tall, blurred figure of a man coming along the road she could have cried for joy. Relief swept over her as she held out her hands to him.

“Huntley!” she cried, knowing him even at that distance. Before she reached him she was running, and then she clutched his arms and pressed her face into the roughness of his coat.

“You’ve come!” she said. “You’ve come!”

He opened his coat and took her into its warmth, holding her closely against him.

“You’re all right,” he assured her gently. “You’re all right now.”

She would not let him go. Trembling, she put her arms about him under the coat.

“I thought you’d never come,” she said.

“I saw the van.” He began to lead her back along the way he had come. “You shouldn’t have got out. Anything might have happened. You’ve been off the road.”

His voice had sounded harsh, almost angry, but it didn’t seem to matter to her now. Nothing mattered but the warmth under the coat and the fact that he had found her.

He put her into his car, chafing her hands and feet to restore her circulation, and when some of the numbness had gone he produced a flask and held it to her lips.

“Try to drink some of this,” he commanded.

She swallowed a sip of brandy.

“How did you know?” she whispered.

“Neil came to the Lodge. He had a fair idea you would be on your way home.”

His dinner-party with Tessa had been spoiled and she was responsible. She turned to look at him as he reversed the car. Once again she had thrust herself into his life and this time she had let him see her love —all unasked.

They drove for a long time in silence. Even in the heated car, with the wipers working, it was a difficult journey.

“I’ve put you to a great deal of trouble.” Her voice sounded thin and shaken. “It wasn’t like this when I left Wick.” “There was a snow warning,” he reminded her brusquely.

“I thought I could make it.” She could see his stern profile etched against the white wilderness beyond the windscreen. His jaw was clamped tight and his mouth was hard, as if he refrained from saying exactly what he thought with the greatest difficulty. “I wish Neil hadn’t disturbed you.”

“Did you expect him to sit tight and not bother?” he asked. “You had to be found before morning. There’s a lot more of this to come.”

“It doesn’t always come so quickly.”

“It’s been forecast for days.”

“Huntley, I had to go to Wick.”

“Yes.” All his attention was given to his driving. “Don’t think I grudge coming out. Anyone would have done it.”

“I suppose so.”

They drove on, endlessly, it seemed, the silence building up between them.

“I’m sorry about Tessa’s party,” she apologised, at last. He looked round at her for a moment.

“Oh, that,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. She was as concerned about you as the rest of us. They want me to take you back to the Lodge.”

“It’s very kind of them, but would you mind if I went straight home?” She felt that she couldn’t face Tessa, or anyone else. “Perhaps you would explain to Tessa.”

He turned the car off the main road, coming on the junction at a snail’s pace.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he agreed. “Kirsty must be worried stiff by now.”

The approach to Craigie Hill was rutted and difficult, but his powerful car took it in its stride. Kirsty was at the door, holding a storm-lantern, as they drove into the yard.

“Heaven be praised,” she exclaimed when she saw Alison. “It’s you! What a night! We thought we had seen the last o’ you. In ye come, both of you, and thaw yourselves out. Neillie’s just this minute back. He phoned through to Wick to tell them you’d gone out for her,” she added to Huntley, whom she considered a friend.

“Not to the hospital?” Alison gasped.

“Och, no! he had more sense than that,” Kirsty assured her.

“He phoned the Orbisters. Miss Orbister was in alone. She wanted to get her brother, but Neillie managed to persuade her it would be all right. Maybe we could let them know, though,” she added to Huntley. “It would put Jim Orbister’s mind at rest.”

“I’ll phone as soon as we get back to the Lodge,” he promised stiffly.

Kirsty’s fire was a masterpiece of warmth and comfort. It was stacked so high that there was scarcely any need for other lighting in the big, low-raftered room. It drew them instantly towards it.

“Sit down, both of you,” Kirsty commanded. “You’ll have need of a hot drink and a bite to eat.”

“I mustn’t stay.” Huntley remained on his feet. “I ought to get back to Sterne. I suppose Neil has all your sheep gathered off the hill?”

“He went up this morning,” Kirsty said, infusing tea in spite of his determination to depart without it. “Just you sit yourself down and drink this, Mr. Daviot, and dinna’ be daft!” she expostulated. “You must be fair chilled to the marrow!”

Huntley did as he was told, smiling at Kirsty’s blunt kindliness. Alison, with all her faculties restored to normal, felt desperately ashamed. The scene out on the moor would remain stamped on her memory for ever. Huntley could only feel pity for her, or possibly contempt. Her heart quailed at the thought so that when he rose to go she felt almost glad.

“I can’t thank you enough,” she said, “though I seem to be always trying.” A wan smile touched her lips. “Some day, perhaps, I might be able to do something for you in return.”

He looked down at her.

“I wonder,” he said. “But the first thing to do is to get some rest. You won’t be able to do anything about the milk in the morning.”

She had forgotten about the van.

“But I must,” she protested. “There are children at the clachan.”

“Leave it to me,” he said briefly. “The snow plough should be out on the main roads by morning. If the wind drops they might just be able to keep them open. If it drifts, of course, we’re sunk.”

“What about the sheep?” she asked dully.

“I have plenty of help.” His tone was clipped. “They’ll be off the high ground by now.”

She felt too tired to argue. The brandy, coupled with the warmth of Kirsty’s amazing fire and the hot tea, was making her drowsy.

“Go straight to bed,” Huntley said. “That’s an order.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

LATE the following afternoon he brought back the van. Apparently he had towed it most of the way with the jeep.

“It’s going, but only just,” he informed her. “Don’t take it out again. I’m leaving you the jeep.”

The wind had dropped, but it was still snowing.

“I couldn’t possibly take it,” she protested. “You must need it at Sterne.”

“I can manage with the car.” He brushed the snow from the front of his coat. “Don’t be too independent, Alison.”

“It isn’t that.” She could scarcely meet his eyes. “I always seem to be needing your help and getting in your way.”

“There’s no point in thinking about it,” he said. “And you needn’t feel under any obligation to me.”

“I can’t dismiss the fact so easily.” She clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling. “Last night could have been the end of things for me.”

He looked down at the untrodden snow between them.

“It wasn’t,” he said, “so why worry? I didn’t do so very much.” She looked across at the van which had been the cause of all the trouble.

“I’ll have to get another one,” she mused. “Something more reliable.”

He walked towards it.

“You’d be wise. By the way,” he added, “I phoned the Orbisters last night. They were relieved to hear you were safe.”

“I hope they won’t tell my mother what happened.”

“I warned them not to, though they’ll have to explain why you won’t be able to get through for a day or two.”

“She’ll understand.” They stood looking at each other.

“Was Tessa very disappointed about her party?”

“Not unduly. I went back there to phone Wick. We had cold

chicken and coffee.”

He sounded so deliberately aloof, shutting himself away behind the old facade of indifference. Last night had spoiled whatever slight understanding had grown up between them. She had lost both his friendship and his respect by the pitiful revelation of her unwanted love.

“I’ll take my things out of the van,” she offered. “It might just get you back to Sterne. You couldn’t possibly walk all that way.”

“I was thinking in terms of a Scots convoy.” He smiled. “A lift back to Sterne when you deliver the milk. I wouldn’t trust the van even that far!”

He was making it easier for her now, putting them on a surer footing. She had work to do, and it was something he understood.

Cathie Orbister had called it a great compensation! “The crates are ready.” She stood back while he helped Neil to load them into the jeep. “I could drop you at the Lodge,” she suggested, “if your

car’s down there.”

He shook his head.

“I left it at Sterne. I’m afraid you’ll have to come all the way.”

With the jeep it was more or less easy. He insisted on driving it through the glen, however, while she made her belated deliveries from door to door. Nobody had really expected her. The children were at school, gathered cosily round a gigantic stove, while their mothers went about the endless task of housekeeping in a cold climate. Windows and doors were all firmly barred and peat smoke rose straight and blue into the chill air. They had the vast white world outside entirely to themselves.

“You can deliver to the Lodge on your way home,” Huntley suggested, putting the jeep to the hill. “The Searles won’t be short of milk.”

He had avoided Calders, going by the road instead of taking the shorter way through the estate. The memory of her intrusion there, too, must still be vivid in his mind.

“Did you manage to get the drawing-room window repaired?” she asked.

“I’ve had it boarded up. It will do for the present,” he said.

She left him at the lighthouse. A cold place, she thought, for a man to choose as a home. Bleak and remote, with the wind howling round it and the sea thrashing among the rocks at its base, it looked more isolated than ever in snow. It merged into the grey and white of the landscape, a hidden place of a thousand memories that could tear a man apart.

Huntley didn’t ask her in.

“We’re going to get more of this,” he predicted, glancing up at the sky. “Don’t linger about too long.”

The snow had slackened a little, but she made her way quickly to the Lodge. Ski marks criss-crossed the drive and Tessa came to the door in a pair of vivid red vorlages and a blue anorak. A pair of skis stood propped up against the wall.

“I’ve been out,” she intimated, her cheeks flushed a faint pink. “My father thought it would do me good.”

Suddenly Alison was reminded of the quick footsteps she had heard from the far side of the wall several days ago going away from her along the drive. Then Tessa had come back, walking at a distance without her limp.

“Tessa, it is true,” she found herself saying. “You can get about quite well!”

Tessa stared at her, a small pulse throbbing rapidly in her cheek.

“You must be mad!” she said.

“But I saw you,” Alison protested. “The other day. You were walking normally.”

“You’re quite wrong,” Tessa blustered. “You must be imagining it.”

“No, Tessa, I’m sure.” Alison caught her arm. “What is it? What’s wrong? You can walk, can’t you? You’re not limping any more. Why don’t you tell Huntley? Why are you afraid?”

Tessa refused to respond.

“I’m not afraid of anything!” she cried in a falsely confident voice. “You must be crazy to imagine I’d go on—pretending to be ill if I’m not. I hate my weakness and having to depend on Huntley all the time. Oh, if you only knew how I hated it!”