‘But I can’t afford it!’
‘I could afford it.’
‘Of course you could, but I can’t, so it’s no use thinking about it any more. As a matter of fact it’s no use talking about it, because it’s settled. Simon is going to Limbourne when he leaves school.’
‘Does Simon want to do that?’
‘At first he was a little doubtful, but he has decided now that it’s the right thing to do.’
‘Quite definitely?’
I nodded. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have bothered you about it and asked your advice but I was sure you would say it was the sensible thing and I was silly to worry. I hoped you’d say that, Alec.’
Alec sighed. ‘I can’t say that, but if it has been decided definitely we shall have to leave it in the meantime. Here’s a piece of advice which may be helpful. Shelve the whole problem. Simon will have two more years at school so leave off bothering about his future; shelve it, Katherine. It’s quite a sound way of dealing with future problems. I’ve discovered that. I had a problem and I worried myself into fits about it. Then, when the time came, everything changed and it solved itself. So just pack up future problems and put them on the top shelf and forget about them—see?’
‘Yes,’ I said doubtfully. ‘But what will change? Two years from now everything will be the same.’
‘How do you know? Two years is quite a long time. All sorts of things can happen in two years.’
Alec had meant it kindly but to me the words had a sinister meaning. I was silent, thinking about all the things that might happen in two years. . . .
‘Katherine, don’t look like that!’ Alec exclaimed.
‘Like what?’
‘Tragic. You’re afraid you’ll lose Simon, aren’t you?’
‘Not altogether,’ I said slowly. ‘But—but those people have different values, a different way of living. Simon will spend part of his holidays there. If it would be better for Simon I could bear it—I could even be happy about it.’
‘They won’t be able to take him away from you.’
‘Do you mean they’ll try?’
‘You think so, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘They won’t succeed. You won’t lose the boy.’
I said in a low voice, ‘He has been promised a lavish allowance—a car of his own—two hunters—ski-ing in Austria. What boy could say no to all that? And Simon has had nothing!’ I was almost in tears. ‘He’s had nothing, Alec. He’s never known what it is to have enough money in his pocket; we’ve always had to count every penny. Perhaps I’m being selfish. Perhaps I’m jealous—possessive—I can’t be sure.’
‘You are none of these horrible things,’ said Alec, putting out his hand and patting my knee. ‘Don’t torture yourself, Katherine.’
We were silent for quite a long time after that. I was thinking about Alec’s advice to ‘shelve the problem’ and deciding that I must do my best to take it. Perhaps before the time came for Simon to leave school something unexpected would have happened and he would be able to go to Cambridge after all . . . and ‘grow up,’ as Alec had put it.
‘Alec,’ I said at last, ‘I’ve sometimes wondered why you went to Cambridge.’
He smiled and said, ‘To read Law.’
‘But English Law is different. I suppose you must have had to read Scots Law as well.’
‘Yes, I had to take a degree at Edinburgh University. As a matter of fact it’s a case in point—the case of your dustman. Everybody told me that if I intended to practise in Edinburgh it was a waste of time to go to Cambridge and everybody was wrong.’
‘You know both kinds now. That’s useful, of course.’
He laughed. ‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but you’ve got the idea. To study something worth while is never a waste of time . . . and there were other things at Cambridge besides work. There was the way of life, there were friends and good talk; last but not least there was cricket. I wouldn’t have missed Cambridge for anything. That’s why I want it for Simon.’
I did not reply. I, too, wanted it for Simon but I could not give it to him.
Alec rose. He said, ‘Shelve it, Katherine. Don’t worry. That’s my advice.’
He was walking away and then suddenly turned and came back. ‘What an ass I am!’ he exclaimed. ‘I came over on purpose to say that I’d take the children out in the boat after tea—and you, too, if you feel inclined.’
‘Don’t you want to fish?’ I asked in surprise.
‘Obviously you aren’t a fisherwoman,’ he replied, laughing.
This time he strode off briskly and did not look back. I watched him until he had disappeared into the wood.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The sky remained blue and cloudless; the loch was like a sheet of glass, there was not the slightest whiff of wind to ruffle its calm surface. I had discovered by sounding Mrs. MacRam in a tactful manner that blue skies and calm, clear water was not the weather for fishermen. ‘They are very clever, the fish,’ she explained. ‘If they see a boat and a line they go away down to the bottom. Thunder is bad too. Maybe there will be grey skies and a nice breeze soon and then Mistress Wentworth will get a trout for her breakfast.’
This information relieved my mind. Fishing was hopeless to-day, so Alec was not giving up his sport to take us out in the boat.
Another thing I discovered from Mrs. MacRam was the name of the village—which Zilla had omitted to tell me. ‘The loch is Loch Ron,’ she said in answer to my question. ‘So the village is chust called Loch Ron . . . and the cottage is called Craig-an-Ron because of the big cliff behind. If you walk up the path by the burn you can see how pretty it is, with the bell-heather in bloom and little ferns in the crevices of the rocks. It is a pretty walk to the village too, through the woods and across the moor, or you can go along by the side of the loch—but that way is longer. It is longer still if you go by the road. I am glad you are going out in the boat after tea, the children will enjoy it. The boat belongs to Mister MacRam but the arrangement is that Mister Maclaren can have it when he likes. There is a boat-house round the promontory where the boat is kept. Mistress Wentworth can have the use of it while she is here.’
‘Oh, thank you!’
‘There is no need for thanks. It is the arrangement,’ explained Mrs. MacRam.
When we had finished tea we went out and sat on the grass, waiting for Alec to come, and I pointed out to the children that the hills and the trees and the jagged rocks on the opposite shore of the loch were all reflected faithfully in the calm water.
‘How funny! It’s just like a mirror,’ said Den.
Daisy rose, and standing firmly with her back to the loch looked at it between her legs. ‘No, you can’t,’ she said breathlessly—her figure was not the kind that bends easily from the waist.
‘Can’t what?’ asked Den.
‘Tell the difference,’ she replied. ‘Try it, Den. It’s the same whichever way you look.’
They were both looking at the loch upside down when Alec came in sight, rowing round the little promontory.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked as he pulled in to the shore.
‘It’s an experiment,’ explained Den.
‘Come and try it, Uncle Arly!’ cried Daisy. ‘It looks the same both ways—the rocks and trees and everything. Mums won’t try it, but you’re sporting, aren’t you?’
‘Extremely sporting,’ he replied and, leaping out of the boat, he assumed the correct posture for the experiment.
At this moment Mr. MacRam came out of the wood and was petrified with astonishment. Unfortunately his dog was not petrified, but immediately rushed at the three strange figures, barking furiously. Daisy fell flat on her face, Den fled for his life and Alec stood up looking flushed and sheepish.
‘Och thiss iss dreadful!’ exclaimed Mr. MacRam, as he seized the dog by the scruff of the neck and cuffed it vigorously. ‘I haff neffer seen Pruce do such a thing pefore, Mister Maclaren. I am thinking th
e teffel hass got into him.’
‘It was a game,’ explained Alec. ‘The children were looking at the reflection upside down and wanted me to try it—quite silly, of course—no wonder Bruce thought we’d gone mad. Don’t beat him, Mr. MacRam, it wasn’t his fault.’
I had been wrestling with giggles; but now, having overcome them, I was able to speak so I rose and joined in the conversation, saying how greatly we were enjoying our stay in the cottage and the delicious food Mrs. MacRam was providing for us.
‘Och, she iss not a pad cook at all,’ he agreed proudly. ‘She iss baking cakes sometimes for the W.R.I. and getting prizes for them. She iss saying it iss a pleasure to be cooking for Mistress Wentworth and the chiltren.’
By this time Den had appeared from behind the shelter of a boulder so, after a few more complimentary exchanges, we embarked and Alec rowed off with fierce strokes which sent the little boat tearing through the water at a terrific pace.
‘Alec, you’ll make yourself terribly hot. It isn’t a race!’ I exclaimed.
He laughed and slowed down. ‘There’s nothing better than rowing for letting off steam. Gosh, what a fool I felt! It must have been damn’ funny for an onlooker.’
‘It was,’ I admitted.
‘These people are so dignified, that’s the trouble. Mr. MacRam will never have any respect for me again.’
‘Uncle Arly, row us to the island,’ said Daisy. ‘Mr. MacRam says there are bits of an old castle on the island where people used to live long ago.’
‘There aren’t many “bits”,’ Alec told her. ‘There’s just a piece of wall. Some day they’re going to excavate but meantime the whole place is thick with nettles and brambles. The piece of wall is the remains of an old fort; it’s vitrified—if you know what that means—but it isn’t particularly interesting, unless you’re an archaeologist, of course.’
This was far above Daisy’s head, but fortunately she had become interested in a family of swans so she did not demand an explanation.
There are few pleasures more delightful than to lie back upon a cushion and to be rowed with long slow strokes upon the calm bosom of a Highland loch. The skies were blue; the sun was golden; the murmur of the water against the sides of the boat was soothing. Alec rowed along the edge of the loch where tall rushes swayed gently in the ripples and the damp scent of marsh herbs filled the air with a strange astringent smeli. Presently we came to a broken-down landing-stage behind which some tumbled walls and a rowan tree proclaimed the fact that there had once been a cottage in this out-of-the-way spot. The children wanted to land and ‘explore,’ so Alec pulled the boat shorewards and helped them out.
‘Can we be long?’ asked Den anxiously.
This curious request was the outcome of the usual injunction from grown-ups: ‘Don’t be long.’ I was about to explain it to Alec, but there was no need.
‘You can be as long as you like,’ he replied, settling himself comfortably in the bottom of the boat and taking out his pipe.
They ran up towards the ruined cottage and disappeared.
It was very peaceful when they had gone. We did not speak for some time. I was thinking how good Alec was with the children, how kind and understanding. Few men would have sat there doing nothing peacefully and looking happy about it.
Suddenly Alec looked up at me and smiled, ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said. ‘As a matter of fact I often know what you’re thinking. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘What was I thinking?’
‘Just feeling a bit surprised because I’m happy doing nothing. Is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s because I’m with you, that’s all. Quite simple, really.’
‘We’re friends,’ I said quickly. ‘That’s what we are, Alec—good friends.’
‘Yes, I know,’ he agreed. He smiled and added, ‘I’m “solid and sensible.”’
‘That—and more. It’s wonderful to have a friend like you,’ I told him.
He did not speak.
‘You’re happier now, aren’t you?’ I said. ‘When you wrote to me you seemed terribly depressed and wretched.’
‘It was a foolish letter, wasn’t it? “The grasshopper was a burden”—that’s what I said, didn’t I?’
‘But the grasshopper has ceased to be a burden?’
‘Yes, I’ll tell you about it some time—but not now. Here come the victors laden with spoils.’
Here they came, leaping down the slope, their hands full of flowers which they had found in the neglected garden: trails of honeysuckle fresh and fragrant, little moss-roses tightly packed in their little green sheaths, all mixed up with meadow-sweet and bluebells and spikes of lavender. It was a queer sort of bouquet, but there was something rather attractive about it and the scent was delicious.
‘We didn’t think anybody would mind us picking them,’ explained Daisy in her usual breathless way. ‘They were all growing wild, you see, and nobody has been there for about a hundred years. I think they felt lonely and wanted to be picked. I do, really.’
‘I’m sure they felt lonely,’ agreed Alec quite gravely. He filled the baler with water from the loch and put in all the flowers.
‘That will keep them nice and fresh till we get home,’ he added.
*
2
Saturday was another day of sunshine and blue skies. It was Alec’s last day at Loch Ron so he asked if we would like to have lunch with him at the inn and I accepted gladly. I was pleased, not only because it would be a pleasant change, but also because it would give Mrs. MacRam a break in her routine. I had asked when she liked to take her ‘day off’ and she had looked at me in astonishment. Apparently the idea of having ‘a day off’ or even ‘an afternoon off’ had never crossed her mind. ‘But who would be cooking the dinner!’ she had exclaimed in horrified tones.
The children were delighted at the prospect of lunching at the inn, they made none of the usual objections when I called them from their morning’s play at the loch-side and made them put on their best clothes for the occasion. Den looked neat and tidy in his grey flannel shorts and white shirt, and Daisy wore the summer frock I had made for her; it was yellow and sprigged with a pattern of daisies.
‘It’s my very own frock!’ she cried as she danced gaily up the path. ‘It makes me happy.’
I, too, felt happy. The little frock was a success; well worth the trouble it had given me. It was also very becoming. When we see people every day and all day long we cease to see them as they really are, but to-day it struck me that my daughter was very pretty indeed. Her skin, tanned by the sun, made her eyes look as blue as forget-me-nots and her hair was as golden as buttercups.
We walked through the wood and along the path which led across the moor and presently came to Loch Ron village. There was just one crooked street which sloped down to the little jetty. A few boats were lying there, fastened securely to bollards on the wide stone wall. The inn was half-way up the street, it had been newly painted and looked fresh and clean, with little net curtains in the windows. Opposite the inn was a large and very beautiful chestnut tree and beneath it stood Alec’s car.
‘Look, there’s Clara!’ cried Daisy, dashing forward in her usual impetuous manner.
‘And there’s Uncle Arly,’ added Den. ‘He’s doing something to Clara’s inside.’
Apparently whatever it was that Alec had been doing to Clara’s inside had been done, for he looked up as we approached and waved a small spanner. ‘Here you are!’ he exclaimed, smiling cheerfully. ‘I hope you’re all frightfully hungry. I’ve ordered an enormous meal.’
‘Meringues?’ asked Daisy hopefully.
‘Meringues, of course.’
‘Is this where you keep Clara?’ Den inquired.
‘Yes, this is her garage. There’s a dirty old stable behind the inn, but Clara doesn’t like it so she stands here under the tree all the time.’
‘Much nicer,’ agreed Den approvingly.
Alec went
off to wash his hands, which was necessary after his attentions to Clara’s inside. Then we all went into the dining-room and sat down to eat the ‘enormous meal.’
Zilla had said that the inn at Loch Ron was dreadful but it seemed a pleasant place to me; everything was spotlessly clean and the food was excellent. No doubt this was a ‘special’ meal, ordered by our kind host for our delectation, but at least it showed that there was a good cook in charge of the kitchen.
There were about half a dozen people there beside ourselves—mostly disgruntled fishermen. Alec knew them, of course, and I gathered from the conversation that there were rainbow trout in Loch Ron and salmon in the river. Fortunately I was now aware that none of these creatures would allow themselves to be caught in clear cloudless weather so I was able to disguise my ignorance and take a fairly intelligent part in the talk. Alec glanced at me once or twice and I could see he was amused. I remembered his remark that obviously I was not a fisherwoman.
Well, he would see that I could learn, I thought, as I listened with interest to an elderly gentleman at the next table who was allowing his delicious lamb cutlets to congeal upon his plate in order to tell me the story of a ten-pound salmon which he had caught some time ago in the Findhorn.
*
3
We had all eaten such a large meal that we felt disinclined for exercise, so we spent a lazy hour sitting on a wooden bench outside the inn. Then we walked slowly back through the woods to the cottage. Alec said good-bye to the children—but not to me.
‘I’ll look in after supper and tell you about my grasshopper,’ he explained.
‘Tell us about it now,’ said Den.
‘Is it a tame grasshopper, Uncle Arly?’ asked Daisy eagerly.
‘It depends what you mean by tame,’ replied Alec, and so saying he turned and strode away.
The grasshopper had ceased to be a burden to Alec but before tea was over it had become a burden to me. Neither Den nor Daisy had ever seen a grasshopper, so they wanted to know what it was like; did it make a nest and have baby grasshoppers? They wanted to know whether Uncle Arly’s grasshopper was a boy or a girl, where he had found it and whether it had been difficult to catch. Daisy asked if he kept it in a box and what he gave it to eat.
Katherine Wentworth (The Marriage of Katherine Book 1) Page 18
