Unknown (2 page)

Gratefully, Rachel drank two cups of tea and sampled her aunt’s delicious baking while she gave the older woman news of her family.

Aunt Rose sighed. ‘I would like to have seen Frank again....’

Frank was Rachel’s father. 'Why don’t you come and spend a holiday with Dad and Mother?’ asked Rachel. ‘I know they’d love to see you.’

Rose shrugged. ‘Maybe one day....' her voice trailed off.

Suddenly Melanie slid off her chair and ran to the window, her face, for the first time since Rachel arrived, animated. There was the sound of a car door slamming.

‘Oh, that’ll be Ben. You always hear him coming, don’t you child? Well, come along then, fetch your anorak. You don’t want to keep him waiting, do you?’ Rose spoke brusquely but not unkindly to Melanie.

Melanie went for her anorak as the door opened and a young man entered. He was very tall with craggy features and brown curly hair. His eyes were blue and had deep laughter lines at the corners, giving him a good-natured appearance. He stood filling the doorway, rain glistening on his hair, his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his rather-the-worse-for-wear parka.

‘Ben,’ Aunt Rose said briefly, by way of introduction. ‘Manages the Estate for Mr Duncan. My niece Rachel,
here for a holiday.’ Rachel gained the impression that Rose didn’t care much for this big shaggy man, although he seemed pleasant enough as far as Rachel could tell.

Ben returned her greeting and then turned to Melanie, who had flung herself at him, picking her up and letting her burrow into his shoulder.

‘Time to go home, poppet. Your daddy's waiting for you.’ He spoke with only the merest trace of a Scottish burr.

Melanie shook her head fiercely, but she was grinning. Obviously this was a game they often played. ‘Say goodbye and thank you to Rose,’ Ben instructed, putting her down.

The little girl went over to Rose, stood in front of her and gave a stiff, unsmiling nod. Then she flung herself back at Ben.

Turning to leave, Ben said to Rachel, ‘Goodbye now. If you’d care to come with me tomorrow I’ll show you round the Estate.’ At this Melanie beat him on the chest with her fists, pointing to herself in between. 'We’ll see, poppet,’ he smiled, ‘maybe if you’re very good you can come too.’ He looked at Rachel again. ‘The sun will be shining tomorrow.’ With a smile of farewell he left, taking the strange little girl with him.

‘What’s wrong with Melanie?’ Rachel asked her aunt as she helped with the washing up.

Rose shrugged. ‘Nobody seems to know. She simply won’t talk. She’s been to specialists in Edinburgh and they say there’s no physical reason for it; her hearing’s normal and there’s no sign of any defect in her palate. She simply doesn’t talk.’

‘She’s always been like this?’

‘It’s been worse since her mother died, two years ago. Before that she did say a few odd words, although she never spoke much. We didn’t see that it was any cause for worry, though, some children are late in learning to speak.’ Rose spoke in a sharp, abrupt manner and Rachel couldn’t help wondering whether this was to cover her anxiety over Melanie. An anxiety well founded. Even without her years of experience teaching maladjusted children Rachel would have recognised that there was something very wrong with little Melanie Duncan.

The next morning was, as Ben had predicted, sunny and warm. At ten o’clock he called for Rachel as he had promised. He was wearing jeans and a check shirt which was open at the neck to reveal a muscular chest smattered with dark hair. He smiled at her, his glance warm and approving in a friendly way. She had slept well in the little bedroom under the eaves at her aunt’s cottage and woken refreshed, and she knew she was not unattractive in the simple blue peasant-style dress she had chosen to wear. Not that she was interested in looking attractive; there could never be anyone to replace Keith; nevertheless, she was feminine enough to recognise and appreciate an admiring look.

She locked the door behind her and left the key under a stone, where Aunt Rose, who had left early to begin her duties up at the ‘Big House' as she called it, had directed.

‘You can see the mountains this morning,’ said Ben, as they walked up the drive towards Kilfinan House. ‘Everything’s sparkling. Even the colours are brighter. It’s always the same after the rain—as if the world’s been washed and now it’s hung out to dry.’

‘That’s quite poetic,’ Rachel smiled, ‘although I must say I agree with you. Things look very different today, now that the sun’s shining. Yesterday, with the mist hanging so low over them, the mountains just didn't seem to be there. But today ...’ she gazed around,
‘it’s incredibly beautiful.’ From where she stood Rachel could see the mountains all around her rising, green and tree-covered on the lower slopes, but becoming gradually more wild and craggy as they rose higher and higher. And between the mountains the road snaked through the glen like a length of grey ribbon flung carelessly down.

At the end of the drive stood Kilfinan House, protected by banks of rhododendrons. It was a white, slate-roofed house, with two large urns flanking the steps to the front door. It was not big by some standards— some thirty rooms, Ben told her—but standing as it did on the mountain slope overlooking the glen it was impressive.

‘And that’s where Alistair Duncan lives,’ Rachel breathed. ‘It’s a big house to live in all alone.’

‘Oh, he doesn’t live there alone. Richard, his son, lives there too. And Melanie, Richard’s daughter.’

‘Oh, I didn’t realise...

‘You don’t know about the family?’ Ben cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘Come into the barn with me, I want to sharpen some knives, and I’ll fill you in briefly before we go on to the house and pick up Melanie. By the way, you don’t mind if she comes with us?’

‘Of course not.’ Rachel followed Ben to the big stone-built barn housing all manner of farm equipment, ranging from the gleaming up-to-date tractor to rusty museum pieces which clearly hadn’t seen daylight for decades.

‘Now,’ Ben rummaged in the drawer of a battered old dresser in the corner and found an oil-stone, put it on the bench and began sharpening his penknife, ‘where shall I begin? Old Alistair Duncan—well, he’s not that old, barely sixty I should think—owns the whole of Kilfinan Estate, which includes the house and grounds, the two Lodges—Rose lives in one and I live in the other—and several farms up the glen. Richard, his son, also lives at the house but has no part in running the Estate, much to Alistair’s alternate sorrow and disgust. Richard preferred to go it alone, rather than step into his father’s shoes, and he’s built up a business of his own, hiring out fishing boats at Ardenbeg— you’ll have come through there on your way here.’ He looked up at Rachel and smiled. ‘Get the picture so far?’

She nodded. ‘And my aunt runs Kilfinan House for them.’

‘That’s right. Or course she has a bit of help with the heavy work. A woman from the clachan comes in to do that.'

Rachel digested this. ‘So Melanie is Richard’s daughter,’ she said after a moment, adding, ‘and Richard's wife is....’

‘Dead. Killed in an accident,' Ben spoke roughly. He ceased the circular movement of the knife on the oil-stone and tried the blade with his thumb. ‘It was a terrible tragedy. She was beautiful, quite beautiful, Celia Duncan.'

‘You admired her,’ said Rachel, stating the obvious.

Ben looked past her, through the open door of the barn, to the mountains beyond. ‘Aye, you could say that,’ he said softly. Then with an obvious effort he turned his attention back to Rachel and said with a smile, ‘But what man in his senses doesn’t admire a beautiful woman? And I’m lucky enough to be spending the morning in the company of one. Come along, let’s collect Melanie and then we’ll show you our waterfall. Listen, you can hear it from here.'

As they left the barn Rachel could hear the distant rushing noise.

‘I didn’t realise that what I could hear was the sound of water, I thought it was the wind in the trees.’ She
turned to the man beside her. ‘Ben, does Melanie miss her mother very much?’

‘I should think everyone misses Celia,’ he said simply.

They collected Melanie, who led the way up the hillside, running on ahead, excited in her strange, silent wav, and then running back to pull on Ben’s hand before running on again.

‘All right, poppet, give us time to catch our breath,’ he laughed, ‘we’re coming as quickly as we can! ’

They threaded their way among the trees and bracken and Rachel found her feet sinking up to her ankles in enormous cushions of moss, damp from yesterday’s rain. Once, Ben stopped to help her climb a gate across their path, holding both her hands to steady her as she jumped down. For a moment before he released her he looked down into her eyes and she saw the warmth in his gaze. She looked away quickly over his shoulder and caught Melanie s expression. The child had watched the perfectly innocent scene, but the look on her face was pure venom. For a moment Rachel was taken aback, then she understood; Melanie was jealous. Ben released her hands and she moved away. Immediately Melanie ran and put her hand in his, looking up at him anxiously.

Thoughtfully, Rachel walked on. It would seem that if she wanted to make a friend of the child she would have to make sure this tall, craggy man didn’t pay her too much attention. The thought didn't trouble her; Keith was still too near—not that Ben was the type of man she would have been attracted to anyway.

They carried on up the hillside, the sound of rushing water becoming louder and louder, until suddenly Melanie broke away and ran to a flimsy fence.

‘Careful, poppet,’ Ben called, ‘it’s a long way down there.’

Rachel followed him to where Melanie stood. The
waterfall was about fifty feet high, and they were standing on the edge of a ravine about halfway up. From high above them the water fell in steps, cascading, it seemed, from boulder to boulder, changing direction as it fell, the force of it capping each boulder with frothy white lace. Below them it fell into a deep stream, green-gladed and cool, the water sparkling spasmodically in the sunlight dappling through the trees above. Rachel caught her breath after a brief moment of dizziness. ‘It’s beautiful!’

Ben nodded. ‘Yes, it is quite something. It’s impressive today, too, because of yesterday’s rain. Sometimes it’s little more than a trickle, and that worries us because this is where all our water comes from.’

Rachel looked at him in amazement.

‘Oh, yes,’ he smiled, ‘we’ve our own water supply, a complicated system of pipes and filters. It’s pretty old, but it works perfectly well. And it all comes from here.’ He looked at his watch. ‘My, we’ve been longer than I expected. I’ve to take Melanie to Ardenbeg to meet her father at twelve and I must have a word with Mr Duncan first. Look, I’ll hurry on. Melanie will show you the way down, then perhaps you’d like to come with us to Ardenbeg.’

Melanie pouted.

‘I know you don’t like going to Dunglevin to see the speech therapist, poppet, but it pleases your daddy to take you. Not that it does a scrap of good,’ he added quietly to Rachel. ‘Now, I must hurry. Bring Rachel round to the garage, Melanie.'

The child nodded sulkily and Ben hurried off.

Slowly Rachel followed, with Melanie lagging behind. The way was fairly straightforward, which was fortunate because Melanie was no help, deliberately hanging back or going off in the wrong direction.

Rachel made no attempt to stop her; she wandered through the trees full of her own thoughts. She was used to dealing with difficult children, but she realised that if she was going to win this little girl’s affection she would have to go about it very carefully. She called, ‘I’m going to see if I can reach the garage first, Melanie, even though I don’t know the way,” and was gratified by a scuttling in the undergrowth as Melanie began to run.

She found her way to the garage with no trouble. As she approached she could see Ben talking to a distinguished-looking man with grey hair, whom she judged to be Alistair Duncan. Excitedly, Melanie ran up to him and put her arms round his waist. He ruffled her hair absently, at the same time taking something out of his pocket and giving it to her. Then, still deep in conversation with Ben, he began to move away, walking with a marked limp. Melanie, her shoulders drooping, went and got into the estate car standing by, and Rachel climbed in beside her.

‘You won,’ she said cheerfully. ‘But then you know all the short cuts.’

Melanie didn’t answer. She sat turning over the pound note her grandfather had given her, her expression bleak.

Rachel felt a surge of compassion towards the little girl.

‘What are you going to buy with that?’ she asked.

Melanie glared at her, stuffed the note into the pocket of her jeans and turned to gaze out of the window.

Rachel couldn’t help comparing the journey to Ardenbeg in bright sunshine with her journey the day before in the company of the taciturn stranger who had nevertheless appeared to know so much about her.

Ben drew her attention to one or two particular points of interest, but in the main he was silent, seeing that she was content simply to drink in the beauty of the surroundings, a beauty that had been obscured the previous day by the mist and rain. Once or twice she sensed Melanie’s eyes on her but as soon as she turned to smile and speak the child turned away.

At Ardenbeg, the quaint little town nestling against the foot of the mountain where the loch entered the sea, Rachel could see the road to Dunglevin climbing along the side of the mountain, high above the loch, the cars crawling over it hardly bigger than ants. It wasn’t called a scenic road for nothing, Rachel decided; on a day like this the view must extend for miles.

Ben drew into a small car park. ‘You can wander round the town if you like, Rachel, while I take Melanie to her father’s office,’ he suggested.

But, surprisingly, Melanie took Rachel’s hand and refused to let go, although she still wouldn’t look at her.

‘All right, Melanie, Rachel can come too, if that’s what you want,’ Ben said with a smile.

They made their way to a small office overlooking the loch. There were numerous charts on the walls and the desk was littered with papers. A pair of thigh boots stood in one corner and a thick Arran sweater was flung over the back of a chair. Rachel had taken this much in when a door in the corner opened and Melanie’s father came in.