The Tender Glory (6 page)

“I’d like to, but I’m sure I can’t,” Alison told him regretfully. Jim was easy to know. “Maybe later on, when things are a little more settled, Jim.”

“Your mother wouldn’t mind,” he persisted. “She says it would do you good. I’d bring you back in the car.”

The taxi she had hired in Wick was standing outside on the road. It seemed a long, long time since she had landed at the airport that day and Jim had met her by chance.

“I know how Mother feels,” she said, “but I’m not lonely. Honestly, Jim. There’s too much to do.”

“You’ll miss London,” he suggested tentatively.

“I must forget about it.” She found it difficult to lie to Jim Orbister. “Jim,” she asked briefly, “do you know why Robin went away?”

He hesitated.

“Maybe he was just restless. We all feel like that at times— wanting to kick over the traces.”

“It isn’t the whole truth, is it?” She looked directly into his blue eyes. “Something happened, something connected with Calders. Sometimes I think my mother knows what it was, but she won’t say. Do you think—it had anything to do with the Searles?”

“They were always there,” he admitted, “but I wasn’t seeing so much of Robin just before he left.”

“If you heard from him —if he wrote to you by any chance— you would let us know?” she asked earnestly.

“I wouldn’t wait to post it,” he promised. “I’d come straight down.”

“Thank you, Jim. I think if my mother only knew about him it would make all the difference when she went in for her operation.”

He glanced towards the house and she said, as he expected her to do:

“You’ll come in for something to eat with us.”

He talked with her mother about the land while she made the tea. Sheep, he said, were the only thing that mattered in Caithness and, if you had enough land and enough money, afforestation. But that was for the large estates.

When he finally rose to go it was quite dark. Alison saw him to the door.

“Jim,” she asked, “if I brought the van through to Wick one day next week would you service it for me? I don’t think it’s very safe.”

“I’ll take a look at it now,” he offered.

She shook her head.

“I couldn’t expect you to do that. You were going to the dance,” she reminded him.

“I asked
you
to go,” he said. “Since you won’t, I may as well look at the van.”

He spent an hour working on the engine while she saw her mother into bed.

“I’ll never be able to repay you adequately,” she told him as he washed his hands at the scullery sink.

“You never know!” He grinned down at, her. “One day I might send you a bill.”

She drew back, painfully aware of his nearness. “You do!” she said with unreasonable nervousness. “I’ll pay up willingly.”

“I hope so.” He dried his hands on the towel she offered him. “And don’t worry too much about—everything,” he added awkwardly. “When you bring your mother to the hospital you’ll want to stay in Wick. Cathie and I would like to have you. We’ve moved out to a bungalow on the Milton road. You’d be more than welcome, and Cathie would visit your mother after her operation if you had to come back here to Craigie Hill.” She drew a deep breath of relief .

“Jim, you’re being far too kind.”

As they crossed the yard he looked down at her in the light of the hurricane lamp.

“Don’t embarrass me,” he laughed. “We’re old friends.” He put his arm about her shoulders, drawing her towards the parked car. “You’ll remember that, won’t you, if you need anything done in a hurry? I’m always there, at the end of the telephone.”

She nodded, hardly knowing what to say. He was being kind because he had been her brother’s friend, but he hadn’t been able to reassure her about Robin.

“Do you think he’ll ever come back?” she asked impulsively.

“Robin?” He stood with his back to the light. “I don’t know. I used to think he and Cathie would make a go of it, but it fizzled out once he got to know the Daviots. Maybe he got big ideas.”

“It was more than that.” Her voice grew husky. “It was something that went very deep.”

“Maybe.” He stubbed the toe of his shoe idly against a tyre. “We may never know the truth,” he said.

“I wonder if it would help if we did,” she mused. “If only he’d write more often and not change his address so much! He seems so unsettled, roving about from job to job. Robin wasn’t like that.”

“No,” he agreed. “He was the settling type. It’s time I was on my way,” he added reluctantly. “You’ll remember what I told you if you should ever need help? The van’s a bit of a liability, by the way, but it might just see you through the winter with a bit of luck. If you like I’ll look out for something more reliable for you in the spring.”

In the spring, Alison thought as he drove away. So much could happen long before spring came again.

CHAPTER THREE

IT was breaking light the following morning when she rose. A storm had lashed the headland all night in a fury of wind and rain and every door and window pane rattled and shook. Over the sea an angry scarlet spread with the dawn along the horizon while grey, lowering clouds pressed down against the inland hills.

“It’s oilskins and gumboots this morning!” Alison remarked, finding Kirsty on her knees before the kitchen fire. “Where’s Neillie?”

“Out in the byre.” Kirsty spoke without turning. “He’s loading up the van for you. It’s a terrible morning.” Alison warmed her hands at the peats.

“I’d forgotten it could be so wet.” She shivered, drinking her early-morning cup of tea. “Thank goodness Jim Orbister had a look at the van last night.”

“It needs more than looking at,” Kirsty decided. “It’ll fall to pieces one of these days and at a right awkward moment, too. You mark my words.”

Alison finished her tea in silence. Of course they needed a new van, but she couldn’t worry her mother with details like that just now, even if there was enough money. She supposed Robin had attended to this sort of thing and it was true to say that a man was essential on a farm, a strong, vigorous man, not a tired old retainer like Neil, who did his best. The van was just one of the problems she hadn’t anticipated when she had made up her mind to come home and help, so no doubt she would stumble on others in time.

Buttoning her oilskins and tying a sou’wester under her chin, she pulled on Wellingtons and a pair of leather gloves before she went across the yard. The van stood ready and Neillie was in the byre, talking to one of the cows.

“Get over, ye great stupid beast ye! And keep still! How can a body wash ye down when you’re dancin’ a highland fling all over the place?”

Neil was old and bent and ‘crabbit’, as Kirsty said, but he was amazingly loyal.

“Thanks, Neillie, for loading up for me,” Alison called in to him. “Are there any extras?”

“Another pint at the Lodge.” He came to the open door. “They must be keepin’ plenty o’ company down there these days. They want it from now on.”

Possibly because they would be entertaining Huntley Daviot for coffee or a nightcap, Alison thought, letting in her clutch, and then she laughed outright. I’m getting as curious as everybody else in the glen, she mused, and I haven’t been back five minutes!

The wind was still boisterous, the rain lashing against the windscreen, but there was something wonderfully exhilarating about a storm. In her present circumstances it held a challenge, and she set her wipers to work and pressed on.

The road was more like a river, and by the time she reached the glen she was glad of the comparative shelter of the trees. Here and there, in the wooded approaches to Calders, a fir had come down, lying aslant in the dense green twilight of the avenue leading to the house, and long before she came to the clachan she could hear the roar of the bum.

The little village houses huddled together in the early morning light, their shutters closed against the storm, their bedraggled gardens squelchy with rain. Everything dripped and she seemed to be the only living soul abroad at this early hour. Belatedly a cock began to crow.

Feeling curiously alone, she set the van towards the headland. She would go that way and deliver the milk at the Lodge on her return journey.

The wind met her with demoniacal fury when she left the shelter of the hills, yet now that the rain had slacked off a little she could almost enjoy it. Winding down her window, she listened to the pounding of the surf and the harsh cry of the gulls, feeling an odd excitement stirring in her veins. The rush of wind and the deeply resonant thunder of wave upon wave fretting the headland from end to end was like some wild concerto played by nature in the splendid isolation of the dawn. She found herself listening to it and taking a sort of harsh comfort from it. Music was everywhere. She hadn’t left it behind in the busy throng of London any more than she had taken it with her when she had left Craigie Hill.

When the white column of the lighthouse rose starkly before her it seemed only natural that she should be going there.

The storm had taken its toll at Sterne, like everywhere else. A section of the cliff face had crumbled and part of the wooden fencing was down. The white gate lay open, swinging on its hinges, while a huddle of sheep pressed close to the inside wall. They had strayed off the moor, seeking the nearest shelter they could find.

Alison got down from the van, realising that she couldn’t very well leave Huntley Daviot’s milk at the gate. He had apparently forgotten all about the box he had mentioned or else it had been blown away. She would have to walk up to the Light, after all.

She put the bottle on the step, eyed by the sheltering ewes. Then, on an impulse, she knocked on the door. It was opened immediately.

“I—thought this might get broken.” She held out the bottle rather lamely. “I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you, but the ewes might have knocked it off the step.”

Huntley looked at her for a moment without answering.

“How did you make it?” he asked, glancing towards the

parked van. “The roads are all but impassable, I should imagine.”

“I managed,” she told him, trying not to look beyond him to the bright fire burning in a wide grate. After all, he had accused her once before of curiosity. “It isn’t too bad, once you make a start.”

“On a day like this you could have left my milk at the Lodge,” he reminded her.

“I suppose I could,” she admitted, “but it’s my job to see that it gets here. So long as I can deliver it, I will. You forgot the box,” she pointed out.

“I suppose I didn’t expect you,” he said.

He had been out earlier, by the look of him. He still wore his oilskin jacket and waders and a sou’wester hung on a hook on the wall behind him, dripping on the floor. Yet what she could see of the big, warm room looked comfortable enough. There were deep leather chairs on either side of the fireplace and a table was spread with a checked cloth. The pungent aroma of coffee hung in the air, making her feel hungry. Almost reluctantly she turned to go.

“I don’t suppose this wind can go on blowing for ever,” she remarked. “It must stop some time.”

He watched her to the gate, where she had to struggle with the latch before she could fasten it securely, but eventually she got in behind the wheel and pressed the starter.

Nothing happened. She tried twice and then again, but the engine remained silent beneath her touch. Huntley was still standing at the door, watching. She jabbed at the starter once more without result.

“Hold on a minute!” he called to her. “You’re not improving matters.”

Reaching for the sou’wester, he strode down the path towards her, stooping to open the gate as she got out of the van.

“This is ridiculous!” she exclaimed. “Somebody checked it over for me only last night.”

He lifted the bonnet to look at the engine, sending a tide of rain water over the other side.

“Carburetor trouble,” he decided. “Have you got a rag handy?”

Of course she hadn’t. She felt annoyed.

“The tools rattle about so much I left them at home.”

“You’ll find something in the kitchen.” He glanced back at the Light. “Through the living-room and up two stairs,” he directed.

She felt taken aback, as if she had almost forced her way in.

“I—couldn’t we manage without?”

“I’m afraid not. The whole thing’s awash.”

She made her way back along the path. He had closed the door behind him, but it yielded to her touch this time and she stepped inside. The big, raftered main room was completely round, with high windows letting in the light and a spiral stone staircase leading up to the floor above. It was warm and smelt of leather and the sea, a man’s room where he could live his life undisturbed, alone.

An old collie rose from the hearth, following her up the two steps to the kitchen where coffee was brewing in a glass percolator and two eggs boiled furiously in an enamel pan. They would be as hard as stones by the time he ate them, she thought, pulling the pan aside. Obviously she had disturbed him at his breakfast. The coffee bubbled over on to the stove. He was no doubt wishing her miles away.

Finding a duster, she hurried back through the room and down the path. The collie began to bark and Huntley looked up from the bonnet.