by Alan G Boyes
“I honestly didn’t know if you would come, you know. I really thought you might have backed off. I’m just so pleased to see you, I can hardly believe it’s you and you’re here!” Gordon for once sounded slightly less than in total control of his emotions.
“Of course I would come. We’ve waited months for this. I couldn’t have done that to you anyway. Oh Gordon, this is just so… so bloody, bloody marvellous.” Cindy did not know quite what to say either and her words were instinctive and spontaneous. They hugged and kissed each other again, and it was some minutes before Gordon realised that Cindy was still wearing only her jeans and jumper and without any kind of jacket.
“Cindy, you must be frozen. Let’s get in the car and I’ll show you where to park up and get your stuff out.”
“Not yet, Gordon, please not just yet.” She turned off her engine then made her way to the back of her car, opening the boot.
“I’ll put on my jacket, gloves and hat. See I remembered what you said. Please let’s stay here a few minutes. I need to remember this moment, this view, you and me, and I want to make certain I have taken it all in.”
Gordon held out the coat for her and she slid her arms into the sleeves and zipped up the front. She placed a simple, dark blue, woollen hat onto her head and produced a matching coloured glove from each of the jacket pockets.
“There now, do I look ok?” she twirled around.
“Fantastic, but you still may soon get cold as it is only just above freezing today and several layers are needed if we are to stay out for any length of time.”
They locked arms behind their respective backs whilst Cindy slowly turned her head, taking in every aspect of the view and firing a barrage of questions at Gordon. He answered them as accurately as he was able to, given the brevity of time Cindy allowed before asking him another, until he eventually said, “Tell you what. I’ll give you a brief answer and a more complete version over dinner or later this afternoon. How’s that?”
“Agreed,” she said.
Fifteen minutes later, Cindy did start to feel the cold and they got into the car. They had driven just over a mile when Gordon pointed out a barely noticeable small track leading off to the right and which immediately swung behind a large mound of rocks into the crevices of which had sprung tufts of coarse grass. The track was surprisingly smooth, having been layered with small rock chippings, and from the highway seemed to almost immediately disappear somewhere into the lower slope of the mountain. Cindy drove along it and in fifty metres came into cleared area where there were two enormous, separate garages, each with a different coloured door. She stopped the car, as instructed, in front of the one with the green door.
Both garages had tiled gable roofs and were built of block but then faced with the natural rock stone hewn from the hill to hide (and protect) the unsightly brick work. There were no windows. Gordon got out of the car and pulled back two sizeable black bolts before unlocking the padlock that retained the two ends of a length of thick chain that had been wrapped between the handles of the garages double doors. As the doors were pulled apart the warning, intermittent shrill sound of an audible alarm pierced the air. Gordon quickly punched some numbers into the keypad to disarm the security system and prevent the main alarm from being automatically triggered. He switched on the fluorescent lighting and beckoned Cindy to drive in. She parked alongside an old Land Rover, proudly wearing its battle scars of skirmishes with the local terrain and whose mud spattered windshield could not possibly have permitted much vision. The remaining space was largely unused except for an old white van parked by the far wall, one or two minor pieces of machinery, a trailer in an equally battered state to that of the Land Rover and some small items scattered on the shelves. A few poles and stakes along with rolls of fencing wire were in the far corner and several large plastic fuel containers, placed against the near wall, completed the inventory.
“By the time we get your stuff out here, Sandy will be over and we can get moving. One thing, very important, both these garages have double doors that share the same alarm system and spare padlock keys hang in the kitchen lobby cupboard at Mealag. Can you give me an important date, it doesn’t have to your birthday!“ he quipped.
Cindy obliged giving him 24 12 05 and Gordon pressed a number of buttons on the alarm key pad before turning to her saying, “You might need to come here and get your car, so remember to key in that code number to stop the alarm, else we will have everyone at Mealag and the local police force down at Invergarry or beyond racing up here.”
“You surely don’t get any crime here, do you Gordon?” she asked.
“Fortunately not yet, but we might. People visit the Highlands from all over, especially the big cities. Some come to fish, some to find work in summer, many to simply walk the hills. I doubt they are all fine, honest folk. Sadly, even Fort William and Fort Augustus are not without the occasional opportunist thief. We also have many sightseeing tourists in the summer of course, but a few at other times of the year. Once that alarm goes off, the local nick can just block the turn off at Invergarry whilst they investigate. No one could get far, but why put temptation in anyone’s way? That’s why the exterior alarm is also very visible and has a notice that says it is directly wired to the police.”
Cindy had barely observed that as she had driven in, too busy making sure she parked the car in the right place, but wondered just how expensive the equipment had to be to justify the cost of installing its own dedicated power supply and telephone link in these remote parts.
“So, can I ask what’s in the adjoining garage?” Cindy enquired.
“At the moment it has my Range Rover and Volvo in it, though I often keep one or other at the house. Also the launch trailers and some other more expensive gear, and we can keep a boat or two in there if we need to. We can launch the boats from the shore a couple of miles from here where the road skirts the edge of the loch and where there’s no bank or boulders. You’ll see, I’ll explain it all later.”
The steady, rhythmic crunch of gravel of Sandy MacLean’s footsteps forewarned Cindy of his impending arrival and when he came into view he waved and called out. “Welcome to the Highlands, Mrs Crossland.”
“Cindy. Please call me Cindy, and thank you.”
After a few more brief pleasantries, Cindy pulled on her gum boots whilst Gordon and Sandy took hold of her bags and coats.
“Thought you might have had more than this?” Gordon mischievously teased.
“Why? Because I’m a woman I suppose,” Cindy laughed back. “Actually, I took on board what you told me about your executives last summer with some of them coming laden down with suitcases.”
Sandy laughed. “Aye, they make a rare sight sometimes. That they do.”
Gordon reset the alarm and locked the garage before following the other two back along the track. They crossed over the road and easily stepped down the slope to the waiting boat below, bobbing gently alongside the small wooden jetty.
Cindy could only just make out what she thought was Mealag in the distance at the far shore. In fact what she could see was the edge of one of the chalets within the complex. Having been built on the eastern edge of a bay, Mealag Lodge would not become visible until she was two thirds of the way across. She could hardly believe what she was now doing. Here she was, in a boat, crossing a loch in one of the most remote parts of the Highlands on a cold winter’s day – and not just any winter’s day, but Christmas Eve! She looked around her in total amazement. The huge loch stretched out to the west, but she realised that as the distant shoreline occasionally disappeared from view, the loch must also penetrate to the north and south between some mighty Munros. She looked up at the lofty white peaks surrounding her.
“The snow line starts at about 2000 feet,” Gordon shouted above the noise of the outboard. Cindy nodded but continued to stare all about her. To the east, a mile away, was the dam. In itself a massive structure, man-made and faced with large concrete slabs, it fitted in well with the sc
ale of its surroundings but not their beauty. Sticking out from the centre of the dam was a thirty metre straight, steel walkway closely railed at either edge for safety which led to the dam’s plain concrete valve tower that was perched on four, ugly thick steel legs that disappeared into the depths of the loch. The whole thing resembled an oversize observation post protecting a concentration camp wall. Despite all its blandness, Cindy’s eyes kept returning to the dam.
“I’m looking forward to learning more about the dam, Gordon. Remember you promised. It’s just colossal, isn’t it? It looks so much larger now we are on the water than when you drive up to it, and it looked huge then.”
As Sandy turned the boat slightly to port, Cindy saw Mealag for the first time. Her eyes lit up. She could see how the deep bay had obscured the lodge from the road opposite, but she could now make out the full complex. Mealag was to her left, about fifty yards from the shore, and through the trees behind the lodge, were two separate buildings. One was Sandy and Margaret’s bungalow and she remembered that the larger one was the Training Centre, Ruraich.
On the other side of the substantial lawn and garden area, well back from the loch, in two staggered rows and with plenty of space between each, were the nine separate lodge type chalets. She wondered which three were for the favoured or special visitors. Almost instantly, she felt a sense of unease. Had Gordon planned, albeit no doubt only for the start of her stay, that she should be given one these lodges? Surely not, she thought, and quickly reassured herself that any awkwardness or embarrassment she was feeling at the prospect of even being asked the question of which chalet she would prefer was unlikely to arise, as Mealag itself had a number of separate bedrooms if either she or Gordon wished to be coy. She was so absorbed in her thoughts and subsequent sense of relief at the conclusion she reached, that she let out a quite audible giggle. The harder she tried to quell her laugh, the more she chuckled.
“Are you going to share the joke?” asked Gordon, which made her laugh all the more.
“No, definitely not. At least not yet,” she teased.
“Probably saw the reflection of that daft hat you’re wearing Gordon.” Sandy responded just as he drew the boat alongside a much larger landing stage than the one on the opposite shore. Made from heavy wooden railway sleepers and a thick reinforced steel frame that protruded thirty metres into the loch, this had been designed to provide a safe mooring for several boats. A shingle pathway traversed the lawn and directly into the complex where it divided into separate walkways to the chalets, lodge and beyond to the MacLeans bungalow and Ruraich.
The main house, Mealag Lodge, was far larger than Cindy had imagined and its name rather belied its impressive appearance. This was no ordinary A-frame type lodge of the type erected for the guests, but an extremely grand traditional stone house. Although of a unique design based upon more traditional shooting lodges, it had gables on three of its sides. The front of the house faced down and across the loch. The lounge had double floor-to-ceiling triple glazed patio doors and the room immediately above had another, slightly smaller, set of patio doors that led to a balustrade balcony which afforded a spectacular view. Cindy realised that this must be the main bedroom and her heart started to beat more rapidly. A thin stream of bluish smoke rose gently from one of the three chimneys and curled into the air. The closer she studied the house the more rooms she counted, and she wondered just why Gordon would need such a large home when he lived alone. As they passed a row of finely clipped miniature hedging to their left, Gordon said to Cindy that they would use the ‘Tradesman’s Entrance’, as he jokingly put it.
This was located at the side of the house and the plain entrance door was in marked contrast to the large main front oak doors. She followed as Gordon entered a lobby area, slab-floored and brightly lit. Various jackets hung from pegs on the near wall and an assortment of muddy and well-worn boots and wellingtons were kept untidily on the floor, though a few remained in the purpose-built boot racks. A whole shelf had been devoted to a wide range of moccasin type house shoes of various colours and a few pairs of conventional slippers. A large double stainless steel sink was immediately below the window and an assortment of clean towels hung close by. In the corner opposite to the entrance door was a small bathroom where one could shower and change without firstly having to go through the main house. Various cupboards and shelves filled most of the remaining spaces on the sparkling tiled walls, apart from two large steel fireproof gun cabinets that were fixed close to an inner door that led through to the kitchen.
“This is the boot room, or lobby as we call it, so get your boots and jacket off and put them wherever you want, and take a pair of the moccasins – there’s bound to be a size that fits!” said Gordon. “Then we’ll go through and meet Margaret.”
Margaret was in the kitchen and warmly welcomed Cindy giving her a hug and small kiss on the side of her cheek. “You must be frozen, my dear, the chill can get right through you on that water. Sit down and I’ll get us all a hot drink and some soup.”
As with most things that Margaret MacLean undertook, contained in her offer of immediate refreshment was a great deal of understatement. Piping hot drinks were served at the large, centrally placed, pine table and Cindy was offered the choice of two soups plus bread from any of the three types of crusty loaves. This was followed by a simple serving of various hams, cheeses and homemade chutneys.
Cindy looked around her and was now able to appreciate the size of the kitchen and the quality of the fitments. It had been fitted out with a range of appliances that might be seen in exclusive luxury hotels, and under Margaret MacLean’s stewardship was clearly capable of providing excellent cuisine. Near to the lobby door, a large cooking range stood against one wall with a steaming kettle simmering gently on one of the hot plates. There seemed to be several ovens and cooking hobs sited in various places, and at differing heights, and numerous electronic gadgets were sitting atop the granite worktops. Behind two half-height swing-doors was a recessed area that contained the fridges, freezers and drinks chiller.
After twenty minutes, Cindy felt completely reinvigorated and was keen to see the rest of the house but Gordon suggested he show her around after she had unpacked and changed. She was unaware that Sandy had removed her cases until she asked for them and Gordon started to lead her out of the kitchen. As he escorted her, Gordon did mention the location of some of the important rooms though she simply could not assimilate them all. She did, though, make a mental note every time he said there was a bathroom. Cindy had learnt from experience in other people’s homes how embarrassing it can be gently trying to open a door to see what’s behind it, when looking urgently for a toilet. She followed Gordon upstairs and saw that her cases had been diplomatically put down on the corridor carpet and not outside any particular room. Gordon picked up the cases, one in each hand, and opened a door. He started to speak but a little hesitantly at first.
“If you’re agreeable, Cindy, this is the main bedroom of the house but, er… “, his speech faltered and Cindy smiled widely – her ruddy cheeks, fresh from the warmth of the house and the bracing journey, glowing from the light streaming in the window.
“If you’re going to say it’s already occupied that will suit me fine,” she paused, “as long as the occupant isn’t likely to object to my cold feet.”
She jested with him. Every woman he had ever known seemed to suffer from that problem, but he did not tell Cindy that. Instead he laughed, hugged her gently and gave her a long, soft kiss before bringing the cases into the bedroom and leaving Cindy to arrange her clothes in the wardrobes and drawers he suggested.
She went over to the window. The house faced northwest and the setting winter sun cast a pale yellow glow on Loch Quoich and the mountains on the far shore. The bedroom was almost as stunning as the view. It had been fitted out with the most amazingly expensive, tasteful furnishings and was huge. Original paintings, mainly of the Highlands, hung from the fabric-lined walls and the super king-size b
ed was sumptuously covered. Two separate dressing areas led to a sizeable en-suite bathroom. She noticed the deep bath and its futuristic taps, plus a matching double shower decorated with wonderfully designed tiles on the sides and splash-back. Cindy lay back on the bed, her mind simply blown away by the day. It was everything and more she had dreamt about the night before at the hotel, and this was only the beginning.
