She rode on, part of her lost in thought, the other revelling in the freedom that was all around her. Her ambitions and all that they meant seemed to belong to another self, someone outside of this green and blue jewel that was her home. Despite what had happened she was having the time of her life. She wished the holiday would last forever, but it wouldn’t, it would pass very swiftly, she would have to savour each precious minute of every hour of every day.
Lorn watched her thundering away over the beach, riding her horse into the shallows where his hooves threw spray against the sun so that millions of droplets cascaded like diamonds all around, and Rachel was almost lost in the dazzling display. The madness that had seized him for the last hour had dispersed rapidly in that humiliating scene, leaving him starkly and miserably aware of the foolishness of his actions.
‘Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!’ He spat the blasphemy savagely through gritted teeth, too angry in the aftermath of the episode to admit to himself that the blame for it lay firmly with him. Sinking down on the cool sand he dug in his elbows and leaning back, closed his eyes while he drew air greedily into his lungs. After a few minutes his breathing grew steadier and with the returning of normality his irrationality left him, cold reason taking its place. Sitting up, he buried his face in his hands and whispered harshly, ‘What have I done? God Almighty, what have I done?’ He realized then that, thanks to Rachel, he hadn’t done anything, certainly not the drastic and ill-fated step he had almost taken without thought or consideration for anyone else. Something had possessed him, something outside his understanding. If he’d had his way there would have been no peace of mind for him for the rest of his days.
Thoughts of Ruth crowded his mind and his face turned whiter than it already was. ‘Oh, God, Ruthie, I’m sorry,’ he murmured brokenly, then in a rush of anger, ‘I knew something like this might happen, I warned you, Ruthie, but you wouldn’t listen – it’s happened; Rachel has already disrupted our lives – I knew she would – I knew . . .’ He stopped and beat his fist into the soft, yielding sand. It hadn’t been Rachel who had lost control just now, it had been he, himself – but it was because of her that it had happened. If she hadn’t intruded, none of this would have happened and he would still be living in that cosy, safe world he had built for himself and Ruthie.
He got up slowly, all the fire gone out of him. He felt leaden, tired and miserable. Mounting Dusk he made his way slowly back, lost in thought. Nothing like this would ever happen again, he would make damned sure of that. He vowed he would give himself no opportunity to be alone with Rachel again – he daren’t ever allow that to happen for he knew, deep in himself, that he couldn’t trust himself with her, that if a like opportunity presented itself he wouldn’t be strong enough to withstand the lovely, exciting creature whose voluptuous body promised undreamed-of pleasures which he had tasted but briefly in the soft, burning promise of her lips.
High on the cliffs above Mara Oran Bay, Anton Büttger slowly laid his binoculars on the close-cropped turf at his side. He loved this spot, the scent of the emerald green machair which stretched way back to the vault of the heavens; the limitless panorama of sea and sky; the majesty of the great cliffs plummeting to meet the might of the sea; the wind tearing at his body, shrieking angrily up from the sea to lift the seabirds aloft and bear them effortlessly along. Often he came to this place to take a few minutes’ respite from his labours in the fields around Croft na Ard.
The sweep of his glasses over the terrain below had been swift and careless and the advent of Lorn and Rachel into his line of vision had been as unexpected as it had been fleeting. Feeling like an intruder he had brought the glasses round to focus on them with more attention. Whatever he had expected, he hadn’t expected to see them embracing and after the first rapid impression he had felt suddenly guilty of spying and now the glasses reposed at his side while he tried to dismiss Rachel and Lorn from his mind. Drawing his knees up to his chin he gazed contemplatively into the distance and was quite unprepared for the sudden burst of apprehension that flooded his mind as the full import of what he had just seen struck him. What the hell was Rachel playing at? he wondered. Surely it couldn’t be that she and Lorn McKenzie were – lovers? Quickly he rejected the idea. She was devoted to Jon, her husband, she couldn’t be so foolish as to start playing around the minute Jon’s back was turned!
Jon was a personal friend of Anton’s. They had been in the Luftwaffe together, Anton as a bomber pilot, Jon as a flight engineer. He had always liked the gentle, insecure young man with his hatred of war and his love of music. Jon had been a brilliant musician, could have made a notable career for himself, but on that fateful crash landing on Rhanna his heart had been captured forever by the untamed little dumb girl, Rachel. After many years he had come back to Rhanna to fall in love and finally marry her. For her he had given up his own career to allow her to pursue hers for he had recognized in her a far greater talent than his own. And it had worked; despite their age difference it had worked – and they had been happy – or so it had seemed. Anton’s handsome face puckered into a frown. Had he after all been deceived by the outward success of Rachel and Jon’s marriage? Perhaps a girl as beautiful and vibrant as Rachel needed something more than Jon could give her . . . Wild ideas surged through Anton’s head. Ought he to phone Jon, tell him to come as quickly as he could – he could say Rachel was missing him – needing him? Anton shook himself and smiled wryly. What a fool he was. He was making mountains out of molehills. It was quite possible that the incident he had witnessed was just an isolated one with some perfectly reasonable explanation – his gaze travelled downward and he saw a horse fleeing back along the sands. Picking up his binoculars he saw that the rider was Rachel – and way back among the rocks she had left Lorn behind. Anton put down the glasses and let out a little sigh of relief. He was getting as bad as Behag Beag with her ability to turn small incidents into monumental scandals. Whatever had happened down there, Rachel was having none of it. He had been wrong to jump to conclusions about her. It was obvious she was as devoted to Jon as he was to her. Anton stood up and walked back to his tractor, deciding that what he had seen was so trivial it wasn’t even worth mentioning to Babbie.
Rachel was hanging out the washing in the little green below the knoll when Lorn finally arrived home. He didn’t look at her but went straight into the house, half of him cold at the thought of facing Ruth, the other half longing to see her, to reassure himself that everything was as it had been. She was in the bedroom, going through her wardrobe, sighing as she skimmed past each item in turn. He stood hesitating, looking at her and she half turned in fright.
‘Lorn, I didn’t hear you come in – what kept you? Dinner has been ready for ages.’
‘Dusk turned his hoof. I had to walk back part of the way.’ The lie came readily to his lips and he hated himself for the deceit. He went to her and nuzzled her hair. ‘What are you doing? Looking out things for the ragman?’
She giggled. ‘Ach, I might as well for it seems the only things I’ve got left are rags. I was wondering what to wear for Father’s wedding – nothing I’ve got looks decent enough.’
‘Why don’t you go over to Oban with Mother and get yourself something?’ he suggested, glad to be talking of everyday affairs.
She shook her head. ‘Och no, we canny afford it, I’ll make do with what I have, the bairns need new things more than me.’
He pulled her to him and cupping her face in his hands kissed her tenderly on the lips.
She gazed up at him in some surprise. ‘What’s wrong, Lorn? It’s not often you do things like that in the middle of the day.’
‘I felt like it – can I not kiss my own wee wife when the mood takes me?’
She snuggled against him. ‘I wish it would take you more often, I wish it wasn’t dinner time . . .’
‘And I wish we had the place to ourselves!’ he interposed bitterly, spying Rachel coming towards the house.
Ruth’s brow furrowed. ‘Lorn, don�
��t start that again – I thought you had settled your feelings about Rachel.’
‘I’m putting up with her for your sake.’ He knew he sounded too vehement and added, ‘Och, Rachel’s all right – it’s just – I’ll be glad when it’s just you and me and the wee ones again.’ He held her away and studied her face. ‘You’re looking better. How’s the bellyache?’
‘Gone. I had a quiet time to myself and even managed to get a bit of writing done. I’m looking forward to the picnic this afternoon. Kirsteen is keeping Lorna and Douglas for the afternoon so it will be just you and me. Rachel isn’t coming, she thought she ought to go and see her mother.’
A wave of relief washed over him, mingling with a strange sense of regret that wouldn’t be denied. It would be lovely to go away with Ruth, to be alone with her such as he hadn’t been in a long time – yet – how much more exhilarating it would have been had Rachel been there with them. Then he thought about his resolve never to think of her in that way again. But it wasn’t as simple as that. Just knowing that he would see her in a minute or two drove all reason out of his mind. He couldn’t stop the thoughts that crowded in on him and he was afraid – afraid for the lovely life he and Ruthie had built together. Sharply he pulled in his breath. Ruth looked at him in bemusement.
‘Lorn, are you deaf? I said it would be just you and me this afternoon.’
He crushed her to him and stroked her hair. ‘I heard, Ruthie, I heard, and I’m glad. It’s high time we got away on our own. We’ve had precious little time to ourselves since we got married.’
His hands moved over her arms. She felt young and soft – and somehow rather fragile.
Chapter Seven
The first thing that struck the Reverend Mark James as he stood before Dugald and Totie preparatory to taking the marriage ceremony, was the quantity of blue and purple heads which bobbed into the sweep of his vision. Without exception, all the ladies in question wore hats, jammed so far down over their eyes that it was a wonder their owners had managed to see their way to kirk, yet even so enough of the hair escaped to cause immediate and startling effect. It was obvious that Mairi had had a busy and profitable start to her new hairdressing venture, though it was equally obvious that zeal had got the better of her normally cautious nature and had allowed her to ‘go daft wi’ the dye’ as Elspeth Morrison, herself having fallen foul of Main’s enthusiasm, so eloquently put it.
‘You look just like a bunch o’ fallen wimmen,’ Tam McKinnon had told a red-faced coterie who were gathered in Merry Mary’s shop the day before the wedding to air their horrified grievances. ‘I am glad my Kate had the good sense no’ to allow anybody to tamper wi’ the natural colours God gave her. I wouldny be seen dead wi’ a woman wi’ hair that colour. I have no notion at all to be havin’ a wife lookin’ like a Jezebel.’
But Tam had crowed too loudly and too soon because Kate, having left her hairdressing appointment till the last possible moment, had emerged from her daughter-in-law’s premises just after nine that morning sporting a head just a shade bluer than the Sound of Rhanna itself.
‘My God, it canny be Kate!’ Tam had cried aghast, stopping dead in the middle of the street to stare in disbelief at the apparition approaching him with beaming smiles.
‘And what is wrong wi’ you, my man?’ Kate had demanded severely while self-consciously surveying the windows in the nearby harbour cottages for signs of twitching net curtains. ‘Have you no sense o’ culture at all, Tam McKinnon?’ she said haughtily patting her coiffure in an affected manner which was totally out of keeping with her straightforward ways.
‘Culture! Is that what you call it?’ Tam had spluttered. ‘A waste o’ good money more like. What is this island comin’ to I’d like to know!’
‘Into the twentieth century that’s what!’ Kate told him venomously. ‘It’s all the thing now, this colour o’ hair. The ladies in Oban have had it long ago and it’s high time we caught up wi’ them. The bodachs o’ this island have had it easy for too long. You are just annoyed because for once in your mean life you actually dug into your pouch to pay for a hairdo for your very own wife.’ With belligerence she had eyed the untidy strands escaping his cap. ‘While we are on the subject, just you get along to Mairi’s and get her to give you a decent haircut. And go this minute, Tam McKinnon, I don’t want you givin’ me a showing up at Doug’s wedding this morning.’
Tam had almost had apoplexy and had gaped at her in open-mouthed horror. ‘Ach, will you stop haverin’, Kate,’ he said beseechingly. ‘You know fine you always do my hair wi’ the shears – they have always been good enough for me.’
Kate’s lips had set grimly. ‘Well, this time it’s goin’ to be different. I am no’ liftin’ one finger to you for I’m that mad I just might cut off your lugs wi’ the shears. The first hairdo I’ve had in my life and all you have done is moan. Any other man would have said they liked it fine, even if it was only to keep the peace, but no’ you, my silly mannie, oh no! You have nothing between your lugs but fresh air! I have felt the draught of it often enough, so mind you tell Main to leave a few strands round about your head or the bairns will be queuein’ up for a free peep show.’
Gathering herself up to her full height she had stuck out her ample bosom, glared round defiantly at the now furiously twitching curtains, and had stomped off with the parting shot, ‘Go you along to Main’s now. I’m away home to see to Old Joe’s hair. The bodach would go to kirk lookin’ like a forsaken scarecrow if it wasny for me. Hmph. Men! They are all alike, dirty buggers the lot o’ them!’
Now Old Joe sat beside a thoroughly crestfallen Tam, his snowy locks cropped to the bone, a grimace on his pink-skinned face as the residue of jagged hair caught in his vest made him twitch restlessly in his seat. Kate had not been in the best of moods when she had taken the shears to his head and he hadn’t dared to utter one protest as she snipped energetically ‘right down to the bones of his skull’. Nor had he dared to make any comment about her new hairdo, though he had been so startled at sight of it he had choked over his breakfast egg which had given Kate a good excuse to take her irate feelings out on his back, thumping it so heartily she had knocked out his false teeth, though fortunately they had landed on the rug and so had escaped drastic damage. Old Joe sighed as he sat on the hard pew of the kirk, and thought longingly of the house by the harbour that his advancing years had forced him to give up. Kate had insisted that he come and live with her. He was a McKinnon after all and she would allow no relative of hers to spend their last days in some home away from family and friends. For that he had been extremely grateful but it wasn’t easy living with the forceful Kate and trying to adjust himself to ways that were so different from his own. She was always making him wash himself and change into clean underwear when he had only just ‘broken in’ the last set. He shifted in his seat and glanced malevolently at Kate’s primly held blue coiffure. Nudging Tam in the ribs he whispered with a certain amount of grim humour. ‘She is sittin’ there lookin’ like the stiff end o’ a peacock’s erse. I’m thinkin’, Tam, that this will be a blue do, a very blue do indeed.’
Tam squirmed as the old man’s wheezy chuckle broke the rather stunned silence which had fallen over the males in the gathering ever since the ‘blue and lavender brigade’ had filed into their pews. Without exception the women looked exceedingly self-conscious and uncomfortably aware of the astounded glances thrown at them askance from all quarters. Indeed, it was a wonder that any of them had dared to put in an appearance at all and one or two of the more sober minded had opted to stay at home rather than face the critical public eye.
Mairi gazed round with admirable calm for she was somewhat shocked to see the results of her work gathered in a relatively confined space. She determined that next time she would have to aim for a more subtle effect, though when her husband Wullie nudged her and sniggered, ‘God, woman! Are you colour blind?’ her rather vacant brown eyes grew troubled and she swallowed hard as she wondered if there would be a next ti
me.
The minister’s lips twitched as his eye fell on Behag Beag sitting in her pew, a black cloche hat pulled down so far over her forehead it was difficult to see her eyes. As eager as a sniffing bloodhound, Behag had gone to Mairi’s to claim her right to a half price hairdo with ‘a nice wee rinse’ thrown in to the bargain. Shocked beyond measure at the results she had gone home and had tried to lather away the offending dye to no avail. Afterwards she had swithered mightily about appearing outside till the colour had worn off, but a glance at her BEM medal in its frame above the fireplace had reminded her anew just how important a personage she was and pulling her hat over her long ears she had marched off determinedly to the kirk, ignoring the remark Erchy made in her hearing about her looking like a ‘chanty wi’ legs’.
The minister’s eye caught that of Shona sitting beside Niall in the middle of the church, and as always, the sight of her brought a warm glow to his heart. He could see plainly her dimples, the convulsive twitching of her lips in her laughter-bright face. Almost imperceptibly he lowered one of his eyelids and her hand flew up to her mouth to stifle the merriment that threatened to engulf her. Niall, fair head bowed, eyes glued to a sweet wrapping on the floor by Captain Mac’s big, stout black shoes, sidled up closer to her and hissed from the side of his mouth, ‘For God’s sake don’t! I’m in agony keeping my own back.’ A glint of devilment shone in his eyes. ‘Look at Merry Mary. The dye has stained one of her ears.’
Song of Rhanna (The Rhanna series) Page 11
