The Tender Glory (3 page)

She smiled at him.

“She’d never forgive me if I let you go.”

Once more he appeared to hesitate and she remembered his friendship with her brother.

“It won’t matter,” she said, trying to keep the stiffness out of her voice. “She’ll expect you to come in.”

He followed her to the green painted door between the two windows. Byres and house were huddled closely together, making three sides of a square, as if for protection, and the marks of muddy boots and herded cattle were everywhere. It was Neil Kinloch’s job to clean the yard, but Neillie had been away. Rather vaguely ‘away’, for it seemed that the yard had been neglected for days.

“Illness doesn’t improve a place like Craigie Hill,” she mused.

“Nor a woman on her own.” Jim’s tone was serious. “Your mother tried to do too much.”

“It’ll be different now.” Alison squared her shoulders. “I’m not as helpless as I apparently look.”

He carried her suitcases into the rather untidy dairy. Kirsty probably had her hands full in the house, but the dairy had always been her mother’s especial pride and the signs of neglect hit Alison with the force of a blow. She had been kept

in ignorance of the true plight of Craigie Hill for too long.

The door leading to the kitchen opened and her mother stood there, small where once she had seemed big and comfortable, frail now beyond imagining. “Mother!”

It was all Alison could find to say as Helen Christie folded her in her arms with the faintest sigh of relief. Never a demonstrative woman, Helen had always been happier to give than receive. She had never clung to her family nor sought to stand in the way of their advancement, and even now, when she felt the ebb tide of her strength running out, that small, faint sigh was the only indication she gave of her heartfelt joy that her daughter, at least, had returned to Craigie Hill in her hour of need.

“Come away in, both of you! ” She had seen Jim Orbister in the background and recognised him. “You’ll be needing a cup of tea. I haven’t been out, but I can smell a
haar
a mile away and it’s always cold.”

Jim picked up the suitcases and followed them into the kitchen where a large fire burned in the grate. The sullen peats, newly stirred to a blaze, bathed them all in a deep orange glow, sending warmth and a certain amount of comfort into Alison’s heart. Life might be hard here at Craigie Hill, but it was the known way. She must put her mind to it with confidence and forget her dreams.

Jim looked about him while she helped her mother with the tea. The big room was much the same as it had always been, simple, tidy and scrupulously clean, a family living-room and kitchen combined with its small gestures to comfort added through the years. He had been in it often enough during the time Alison had been in London, but it was almost a year since his last visit and he had not been quite sure of his reception. He might have known, he assured himself, that Mrs. Christie would make no difference. She had welcomed him with only the barest trace of hesitation, although his presence must have reminded her all too vividly of her missing son.

“Bring in your chair,” she invited, making room for him at the hearth. “It’s a long drive back to Wick.”

He stood beside the table, not intending to stay.

“If you don’t mind, I won’t be too long,” he excused himself. “The
haar’s
sure to thicken when the light goes and I don’t like Berriedale bank in the dark! I’ve another job, too, when I get back, taking some people up to Scrabster. There’s no flying out of Wick, so they’ll have to cross to Stromness with the early boat tomorrow morning.”

“You’re a busy man!” Helen smiled at him. “I hear you’re doing well with your business.”

“Reasonably well,” he acknowledged with justifiable pride, looking suddenly in Alison’s direction. “It’s what I always had a fancy for,” he confided. “I’ve two cars now, both earning their keep, and I’ll start a garage in the spring. There’s scope for it now, with all the holiday traffic up to John o’ Groats and along the north coast.”

“You’ll do well, I dare say,” Helen agreed, taking his empty cup. “You’ll come again, maybe, and stay a while longer.”

It was a rather obvious attempt to make Craigie Hill a little brighter for her daughter, although Jim’s presence could only remind her of Robin, who had gone away. Alison, who was longing for Jim to leave, turned with him to the door.

“Maybe I ought to wait till you add your invitation to your mother’s,” he said when they were outside once more, “but you’re going to need company, Alison. You can’t be selfsufficient in a place like this and Wick’s your only answer. It doesn’t begin to compare with London, I know, but you’ll have to settle for it for a month or two, won’t you?”

“I can’t see myself settling for anything apart from Craigie Hill,” she told him, looking about her. “There’s enough work here to keep me busy all the time. I don’t think I’ll find myself in Wick very often.”

He wouldn’t show his disappointment, but somehow she felt it.

“That’s up to you,” he said. “But there’s nothing here. You’ll simply stagnate.”

She laughed without mirth.

“You forget that I was brought up at Craigie,” she said.

“No,” he said, “I haven’t forgotten. I quite believe that part of you still belongs here, but there’s the other half, the part that always wanted to get away, the part that made you spread your wings and fly south to conquer the world in London.”

Turning her head, she avoided his probing blue eyes, wondering what he wanted her to admit.

“I didn’t conquer,” she said flatly, “and I didn’t die, either.

I’ve just come home. Goodnight, Jim. I’ll see you again, some time.”

Some time soon, he determined, as he started up the car’s engine. Now that he had been invited back to Craigie Hill, even if it were only by Helen, he meant to come quite often. Alison didn’t have to live the life of a recluse now that she had turned her back on London and all it had meant to her.

CHAPTER TWO

ALISON went slowly back into the kitchen. The first shock of encounter over, she was able to look at her mother with critical eyes. Helen had made a tremendous effort, but there were deep hollows in her cheeks and the marks of fatigue even in the way she walked across the room. She had lost so much weight that she looked a shadow of her former self. Her robust health had kept her going to the very edge of collapse, but now an operation was necessary and, although she did her best to hide it, the hand of fear lay coldly on her heart.

“It’ll all come right,” she said vigorously. “I’m a strong woman. I’ve never ailed a day in my life. It wasn’t the operation I was thinking about when I wondered if you’d come home. It was Craigie Hill. It’s all we have. It’s been in the family so long. It would be a pity to lose it.”

Alison took the teapot out of her hand.

“Mother, why are we doing this?” she asked gently. “Do you really think Robin will come back?”

Helen looked down into the fire where the peat glow was already dying to a sullen brown.

“I’m hoping with every breath I draw that he will,” she said.

“He used to be so fond of Craigie and I had hopes of him bringing a bride to it—the fourth in line—somebody of our own kind, who would help him with all these new-fangled notions he had for improvement. At one time he was very keen to see Craigie a big place, with more sheep and more cattle, perhaps.” “Then what changed him?” Alison demanded.

Helen sat down in her chair beside the fire, allowing the question to remain unanswered for several minutes as she gazed at the sullen peats.

“Circumstances, I think,” she said at last. “A chance meeting with someone from another world.”

“You mean the Daviots?” Alison asked.

“Partly.” Helen’s tone was guarded. “They were very fond of him.”

“But how could they influence him completely?”

“He enjoyed their way of life.”

“Oh, Mother!” Alison knelt beside her chair. “I’m sorry, and I think I hate these people. I don’t know anything about them, but they had no right to—to lead him on when they knew Robin had to work for a living.”

“It wasn’t like that at all,” Helen said fairly. “Huntley Daviot was a young man, doing his best for Calders. They had the same interests, they did things in the same way, only Huntley had the money to put his ideas into practice. When old Mr. Daviot died he took over the estate.”

“As Robin should have done here, at Craigie,” Alison suggested tersely.

“He made improvements,” Helen continued without comment. “He even worked on the home farm and helped out in the glen, besides. Huntley Daviot was anything but a lazy young man, although he had spent so much of his time abroad.”

“Wasn’t he in the Fleet Air Arm?” Alison remembered. “I thought it an odd sort of choice at the time, although I never really knew him.”

“That was what he wanted to do most of all in life,” Helen said. “He wanted to fly, and his father was a good manager, so there was no real need for them both at Calders. But when he was needed he came back.”

“So he’s here,” Alison mused, not really interested.

“Yes.”

Her mother’s brief monosyllable fell into a lengthening silence. Apparently Helen had told her all she needed to know about Calders and Huntley Daviot, yet she was suddenly

prompted to ask:

“Is he living at the big house?”

“No.” Helen turned in her chair, shading her face with her hand. “It’s closed. When he comes home he doesn’t stay there. It’s a big place and there are people at the Lodge—friends of his. They came from Edinburgh some time ago, before your father died.”

And before Robin left for America, Alison supposed, but her questions seemed to be tiring her mother, or distressing her unduly, so she dismissed Calders and Huntley Daviot from their conversation if not entirely from her thoughts.

“Tomorrow,” she suggested briskly, “I’m going to check up and decide what needs to be done first. Kirsty can’t cope on her own any more, that’s plain, but she can still do the milking. Now, what about Neillie?” she asked. “He doesn’t seem to be pulling his weight.”

“He’s a poor soul,” Helen excused their hired man, not for the first time. “He has to be watched or he forgets. I used to prompt him all the time, but Kirsty won’t. She thinks he’s useless and wants to be rid of him, but I just haven’t the heart to turn him out after all these years.”

“Which means I take over Neillie as well!” Alison smiled, getting up to clear away the tea things. “I dare say he might be useful if he’s fully supervised.”

“He’s fond of you,” Helen reminded her. “He used to follow you round like a big, faithful retriever when you were little, watching over you and picking up things after you. Neillie wouldn’t harm you. He wouldn’t harm anyone so long as they didn’t hurt you. He’s worth your patience, wee dear. Don’t send him away.”

“I promise.” Alison stood beside her chair. “And now I’m going to send you to bed. At a guess, I should say you’ve been up since early morning, preparing for me, but now I’m here and I’m in charge. And orders are orders, remember! You’ve got to rest.”

“Och, my goodness,” Helen sighed, “I’ve been resting for weeks, and when I get to the hospital I’ll have all the rest I’m needing.”

She was half reluctant to relinquish her chores. The hand that had been so steady on the reins all these years clung tightly still, although it was weaker now.

During the next two days, however, Alison was able to convince her that she could do the job and that the more sensible

plan was to hand over completely until she was well again.

“I hate to see you working so hard, wee dear,” Helen would say frequently. “Let Kirsty do the fires. You’re going to spoil your nice hands.”

“They’ll mend,” Alison answered briefly, conscious that already they were showing signs of wear and tear. “I’ll start fussing about them when they get really gnarled!”

She had worked hard on the dairy, scrubbing benches and floors and scouring the milk pans until they shone in the fitful sunshine which brightened the headland now that the
haar
had drifted out to sea. The house had claimed her full attention, but she had also taken time to inspect the byres. Neillie was supposed to attend to them and he had done so, after his fashion. An adequate supply of fresh straw was spread each day, but they hadn’t been regularly cleaned out.

On the third morning she determined to see this task at least begun.

“I canna’ both deliver milk an’ muck byres,” Neillie protested, watching her out of his ‘good’ blue eye. “Someone else will have tae tak’ the van.”

“Oh, all right, I will!” Alison agreed since Kirsty couldn’t. “But I’ll have to have a list of our customers. Are we still delivering in the glen?”

“Ay, that’s right, an’ there’s a message come to leave an extra pint at the Lodge.”

“At Calders?”

“Ay, the gate house.”

If she stopped to talk to Neillie she would be there all day, Alison realised.

“I’ll try to remember,” she promised.

“You’d better! They’re folk that like good service,” Neillie warned her.

Friends of the Daviots, her mother had said.