Winter's End (4 page)

After having done her
shopping earlier that morning, she had picked up the children and drove further
down the highway.

“Where are we going,
Mum?” said Jai noticing.

“To
Portree
,” she answered. “I need to speak to Mr.
MacGregor
about something.”

Half an hour later
she found herself sitting in the small realtor office. Jai and Hannah waited
patiently on the customer couches provided.

“Hello, Mrs.
Winston,” said Mr.
MacGregor
emerging from the back.
“
Ciamar
a
tha
sibh
?
”

“
Tha
gu
math
,” Emma replied with a smile.

Mr.
MacGregor
smiled. “You’re brushing up on your Gaelic, I
see?”

“I’ve learnt a bit,”
Emma said. And a few other things, she thought to herself.

“Well, Mrs. Winston,
what can I help you with today? You are well settled at the house?”

“I am, thank you, Mr.
MacGregor
.”

“And the folks around
Breakish
, Broadford? They treating you well?”

“I couldn’t be more
welcome,” she answered as politely as she could. “Mr.
MacGregor
,”
she added quickly before he could continue with his small talk. She was well
aware that he knew she had money and he was probably counting on his good
fortune that she would buy another property to add to his sales. She was
banking on this in the hope that she would get the answers she was looking for.
“You said the previous owners were selling because they wanted to move closer
to
Portree
.”

“Yes,” said Mr.
MacGregor
. “They could no longer maintain the size of the
land. Five acres of farm land is no easy feat to manage Mrs. Winston.”

“So this has nothing
to do with the fact that the adjoining property to mine belongs to Mrs.
Kinnaird?”

Mr.
MacGregor
licked his lips nervously, slightly taken aback.
“Why,
er
, of course not. Mrs. Kinnaird is an
upstanding member of the community. I don’t know who has been talking to you
but it’s all gossip.”

“What gossip?” said
Emma immediately attentive.

Mr.
MacGregor
stammered slightly. “What? No…no gossip. Like I
said Mrs. Kinnaird is a well-respected member…”

“I know she is a
well-respected member,” Emma snapped in annoyance. “And that is why no one
wants to tell me exactly why people avoid her. Particularly so, of why no one
wants to buy a five acre property that was on sale for pittance and on the
market for almost half a year.”

“Mrs. Winston,”
 
Mr.
MacGregor
said
assuredly. “You’re making this out to be more than it is.
 
Sheep farming is on the decline. The previous
owners realised that and so they did what was economical to them. They sold
out. The property is an hour’s drive from
Portree
which makes it quite inconvenient to most residents in Skye. And expensive for
most locals to maintain as well. Aside that, there is also the fact that real
estate in Skye tend to sell a little slower than they do in London.” He added
the last statement a tad more sterner in the hope that Emma would put an end to
her curiosity.

The indirectness did
not go unnoticed. Emma watched him closely. “You sure there is nothing I should
be worried about?”

“Of course not,” said
Mr.
MacGregor
, rising from his chair. “Listen, I have
an appointment in ten minutes. I wish I could help you more but there really
isn’t anything that you should be concerned about. If there is anything else Mrs.
Winston, please feel free to drop by anytime.” He extended his hand.

Emma took it
hesitantly. She hoped, for his sake, that it was true.

*****

“Ted! Ted!” called
out the woman as she leant against her window to get a closer look. “Theodore!”

A middle-aged man
rushed up the stairs and into the parlour where the woman was. “Yes, Mrs.
Kinnaird?” he said. He heaved breathlessly, trying to keep his tall and thin
stature as upright as possible.

“She’s back, Theodore,”
the woman said excitedly. “Look, there she is walking up the highway.”

Theodore glanced
slightly at the window and saw the young woman stop briefly near the road
leading up to the house. “Ah, yes, Mrs. Kinnaird,” he said. “I see her.”

“Come on, then,” she
rushed out of the room. “Let’s go before we lose her.”

“Lose her?” he asked
puzzled, racing behind her.

The older woman
didn’t answer. She called out to her housekeeper. “Nancy! Get my shawl.”

A woman in her
fifties sprinted out the front door with a deep green shawl and after her
employer.

“What is it?” she
mouthed silently at Theodore.

Theodore gestured a
“I’ll tell you later” and hopped into the driver’s seat.

Mrs. Kinnaird
scrambled into the back seat. Nancy hurriedly closed the door after her
mistress but did not move away from the car. She was still astounded by all the
hastiness caused by Mrs. Kinnaird.

Nancy had been
working for the Kinnaird’s for almost thirty five years. In all this time she
had seen the family pass through both joy and sorrow. The old woman Kinnaird
was a woman who was quite misunderstood by the people of Skye. But how could
she blame the residents of Skye? Mrs. Kinnaird always had a terrible habit to
interact with the locals on her sourest days. On her better days, she preferred
sitting alone at home with her two little dogs in her flower garden.

Theodore started the
car and sputtered down the road towards the highway.

“Where to Mrs.
Kinnaird?”
 
he asked still unsure of what
his employer wanted.

“That way and up the
highway,” she said. “I’ll tell you when to turn around.”

He turned the car to
the left and it slowly moved onto the main road and towards the young woman
strolling up the road.

“Slow, Theodore,”
said Mrs. Kinnaird almost in a whisper. “So I can see her.”

The car drove past
slowly. Mrs. Kinnaird peered at the young woman through the dark, tinted
windows. She was wearing a long grey skirt and a pale blue open front cardigan
over a cream top. Her long red curly hair was swept into a top knot on the
crown of her head. She had her face held down so Mrs. Kinnaird could not quite
see how she looked. As the car moved away, she sat back into her seat
thoughtfully.

“What have you found
about her, Theodore?” she said.

“She’s a widow from
London. Two kids, ten years old and under, one boy and a girl.”

“Boy older?”

“Ah… yes,” he
replied. “Moved here to heal from the grief of her husband’s death, I suppose.”

“What did the husband
do?”

“Was an architect, I
heard.”

“Her name?”

“Emma Winston.”

Mrs. Kinnaird sat
back quietly. She watched the stream of trees fly past her. She let out a small
breath. She could be the one, she thought. The one she had been waiting for all
these years.

“Turn around
Theodore,” she said quietly. “It's time we go home.”

*****

Emma glanced at the
dark BMW turn out of the driveway and into the main road. It crept slowly by
her. She tried not to look at the old woman that seemed to be peering at her
with a strange stare through the dark tinted windows. Emma looked down
uncomfortably, brushing the loose strands of hair framing her face away in a
weak attempt to occupy herself as the car crawled by her. When the car drove
away, she shook her head in bewilderment. The old woman was sure strange.

Emma let out a small
nervous giggle. Mrs. Kinnaird must be wondering if she was crazy strolling
along a deserted highway at approaching dusk. She heard the tweeting of birds
preparing for the night in the trees around her. The setting sun was emanating
a golden glow. She loved the feel of it on her skin as she basked in its amber
light. There was still much light in the sky for her to walk a little further
on.

She heard the sound
of a car come towards her and she edged onto the side of the road. It was Mrs.
Kinnaird’s dark BMW and it was slowing as it approached her. To her surprise,
it veered to her side of the road and came to a stop right beside her.

The dark windows
rolled down and inside was sitting an old woman who had a frown etched up high
on her forehead. A deep green shawl was draped over her shoulders. Her shoulder
length hair bobbed as she tilted her head to a side to scrutinise her. Her eyes
roamed the facets of Emma’s face as Emma looked back at her with obvious stun,
speechless.

“Who are you,”
demanded the woman. It wasn’t a question. Emma didn’t know whether to be
offended by the statement. But seeing this could highly possibly be the
infamous Mrs. Kinnaird that most of Skye was in awe of, she decided to undertake
a more peaceful approach.

She managed a small
smile and leant towards the window. “I’m Emma.
 
I live down the road,” she said pointing towards it.

The woman
 
frowned at her with indifference.

Emma hesitated before
she said. “I saw you a little earlier drive out of the adjoining property. Are
you Mrs. Kinnaird?”

The woman sat back
and stared straight ahead. “It’s late. Get in. You should not be walking at
such an hour.”

Emma dropped her gaze
to the ground, feeling uneasy at accepting her offer. “I’m fine, madam,” she
said sternly. “I can manage the walk back.”

“Theodore,” the woman
said.

A tall, thin man
stepped out of the driver’s seat. He wore a dark suit and was immaculately
groomed. He stepped around the car and towards Emma. “Please, Miss,” he said opening
the rear door for her. “Mrs. Kinnaird would appreciate it if you would oblige
her to drop you off home.” He said the name with a little reassuring smile. A
smile that told her that she would be safe.

The two minute car
ride to her house was done in absolute silence. Emma twiddled her thumbs
nervously, the ride feeling longer than it actually was.

Mrs. Kinnaird sat
beside her without saying a word. Emma almost breathed out a sigh of relief as
she saw her house emerge in the distance. The car came to a smooth halt outside
her home. Emma opened her car door a little too eagerly before remembering her
manners.

“Um…thank you Mrs.
Kinnaird,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

The older woman
continued to stare outside her window. She didn’t look at Emma nor did she
acknowledge her.

Emma swallowed
uncomfortably, unsure of what she was to do. She put a foot outside the door.

“Mrs. Winston,” the
woman said at last. “If ever you wish to take a walk, try avoid doing it along
the highway.”

Emma stared at her, a
little taken aback by her commanding tone.

“Mrs. Kinnaird…,” she
started.

“Mrs. Winston,” the
woman interrupted her. “I understand that you are a single mother of two
children. I would hate to hear if something terrible happened to you. You are
welcome to pass through my property anytime you have the urge to walk. It is
large and well enough to cater any length of walk you’d like to take.”

“Mrs. Kinnaird,” started
Emma again. She didn’t want to take the woman’s offer but she was overcome by
one of those annoying nagging feelings that she was right. “Thank you,” she
managed to blurt out finally. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Hmmm,” the woman
grunted and turned back to look outside the window again.

Emma stepped outside
the dark car and then watched it drive away up her driveway and back into the
highway.

She stood outside
watching the last of the evening light fade into the darkness. She didn’t know what
to make of her encounter with her elderly neighbour. Did she just make a new
friend in the Isle of Skye? She just
wasn
‎
’t so sure.

*****

Two days had passed
since Mrs. Kinnaird had dropped Emma off at her front door. She had yet to take
advantage of Mrs. Kinnaird’s offer.

Emma tucked her feet
under her as she settled herself into her settee. She looked at the sheet of
blue sea lay in the distance outside her sun room. A white boat bobbed on its
waves like the paper boats she used to float in the drains outside her mother’s
flat when she was ten.

She heard her
children cheer in excitement over a new game they were playing on video. They
had adjusted well to the slow and quiet life in Skye. She had been inwardly
fearful that they would reject the move. But they clearly loved the open and
clean air just as much she did.