The Tender Glory

by Jean S. MacLeod

  Her hands were trembling by the time she pulled up on the far side of the bridge. If she couldn’t contact Jim now the van was her one remaining hope, and even Huntley had said that it would never get her to Wick.

  With the kiosk door half open, she turned at the sound of an approaching car. It was the car she had noticed in the open yard at Craigie Hill that first morning when Huntley had called to order butter and eggs from Kirsty. Remembering the faint amusement in his grey eyes when he had first seen her, she turned on him almost aggressively.

  “I’m hoping this thing works,” she said. “I have to get through to Wick, somehow.

  She had the receiver off its rest even before he was out of the car and was dialling Jim’s number, praying fervently that the line had been restored. Once again she drew a blank. Huntley waited for her to come out of the box.

  “I tried to catch you at Craigie Hill,” he said “but you had already left.”

  “I had to be early.” Sharpened by anxiety, her tone was cutting. “I can’t really rely on anyone. I wish now that I had gone to Wick yesterday instead of staying here, wasting time. At least I could have hired the taxi in person and been sure of it getting here.”

  He slammed the car door.

  “You’ve no need to worry,” he said briefly. “I’ll get you there.”

  Relief and resentment fought each other in her eyes for a moment.

  “It’s out of your way,” she pointed out truculently. “You weren’t really going to Wick.”

  “Does that matter?”

  “I think it does. You bought Sterne to get away from civilisation, didn’t you? You can’t want us cluttering up your life like this.” Pain and the desire to hurt were deeply embedded in the sharpness of her words. “I should never have accepted your offer yesterday, but I had to because—because I was desperate.”

  “And you’re just as desperate this morning,” he suggested grimly. “Whether you’re cluttering up my life or not, I intend to keep my promise. I said I would get you to Wick and I shall. I tried for a connection at Golspie last night, but the lines were down all along the coast. Your mother will be comfortable enough in this.” He turned back towards the car. “I’ve already told Kirsty I’ll call for you at one o’clock.”

  The anger and frustration ran out of her like an ebbing tide.

  “I can’t even say I’m sorry,” she confessed. “You’re being so kind.”

  “Where will you stay?” he asked.

  “In Wick? I thought of going to the Orbisters’. Jim assured me I’d be welcome there at any time.”

  “How long do you expect to be there?”

  “A night—perhaps two.” Her voice shook. “It will depend on the result of the operation. I can’t leave her till I’m reasonably sure.”

  “That will take a week, at least,” he said with conviction.

  “I can’t afford a whole week away from Craigie Hill. I’ll have to come back and travel every day. The van journey won’t be so bad when I’m alone,” she decided. “It was the idea of taking my mother all that way in comparative discomfort that worried me.” It didn’t apply now. The car he drove was luxurious. It would be fast and warm, eating up the miles without her having to worry about draughts or bumpy springs or not getting to the hospital without a mishap.

  “This has taken a tremendous load off my mind,” she told him.

  He acknowledged her gratitude with a curt nod.

  “I’ll pick you up around one o’clock,” he promised. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to see to. The storm brought down a lot of our trees.”

  His task would take him back to Calders, the house full of memories, which he sought to avoid. He turned the car in between the gateposts, but she heard him stop again a little way along the avenue, where the first pine had fallen aslant its companions. He would be working there for the next few days, she imagined, haunted by Leone.

  When she reached Craigie Hill her mother looked relieved. “We’ve had Mr. Daviot here,” she said. “He’s coming in his car for us at one o’clock. It’s so very kind of him. He knew you couldn’t get through to Jim on the phone.”

  “I met him down at the bridge,” Alison explained. “We still appear to be cut off. The storm’s been worse than we thought.” “Was he going to Wick?” Helen asked, still thinking of Huntley. “It’s a long way to go, just for an obligement.”

  “He made the offer.” Alison’s tone was sharp. “Maybe he had no alternative, but he did make it. I was prepared to go through myself last night with the van.”

  “And risk the double journey!” Helen shook her head. “No wonder he wouldn’t let you go. You mustn’t try to come through too often—afterwards,” she added. “Not if the weather turns bad again. I’ll be as snug as can be, lying up there in the hospital. I wouldn’t like to think of you taking risks if there was fog about.

  “We’ll see.” Alison was quite prepared to take any risk. “It doesn’t apply at the moment. I shall be staying with the Orbisters for a day or two.”

  Kirsty prepared an early lunch, which they ate in comparative silence, each busy with their own anxious thoughts. Helen worried about going away, leaving so much to be done, while the outcome of the operation was constantly in Alison’s mind.

  They were ready to go when Huntley’s car drew up outside the front gate. Alison had to unbolt the door.

  “Dear me! Am I going in state?” Helen joked. “The front door no less!”

  “The yard’s wet and muddy,” Alison reminded her. “On you go and I’ll bring your case.”

  But Neil was already carrying Helen’s case through the hall. It was the one she had used all her life, too big, really, for its present task. It had gone with her on her honeymoon and on the two short holidays she had taken during her married life. It was an old case, solid but worn, and a hard lump rose in Alison’s throat as she looked at it.

  Huntley settled her mother in the front seat.

  “She’ll be warmer in there once the heater gets to work.” he decided.

  Alison climbed into the back seat, while Kirsty and Neil stood dumbly in the doorway, waiting to see them off. Helen turned her head to wave to them, and when she looked away Kirsty put a corner of her apron to her eyes. Then, sharply, she turned to Neil, chasing him back to work.

  The journey proved uneventful. It was a lovely late autumn day, with the deep dales a bright flash of orange and copper and yellow against the brown and gold of the moors. They could trace the path of the storm all the way north, where pines had been uprooted and thrown at crazy angles against each other and where the sea had taken its toll along the coast. Huntley explained to Helen how difficult it was to clear a wood under these conditions when the wrong trees had come down.

  “A gale doesn’t pick and choose,” he said. “Although I appear to have been lucky at Calders. We were about to fell on the far side of the river, anyway.”

  “Surely you won’t touch the avenue up to the house,” Helen said. “The pines are magnificent. I remember them being planted. Your father took great pride in them.”

  “They have to be thinned.” He was gazing straight ahead, not wanting to discuss Calders. “I may sell the house.”

  “Oh, surely not?” Helen couldn’t hide her genuine dismay at the idea. “It’s been in your family for three generations.”

  “Which may be enough.” His voice was harsh. “I have no further use for it.”

  “You’ll come by a use,” Helen persisted, in her forthright way. “I wouldn’t sell till I was sure, if I were you.”

  He pushed the car to its full capacity without answering and they speeded north. Sarclet Head stood out, darkly pinnacled, as they veered inland over the moors, and soon the blue water of Hempriggs lay beside the road, still and calm, reflecting the sky, a captive, inland lochan among the hills.

  Wick was busier than Helen had seen it for some time. She sat quietly now, looking about her, not wanting to talk. These were the streets she knew so
well, the familiar shops, the people who were her people. Had she come back among them for the last time?

  Huntley drove straight to the hospital.

  “I’ll wait,” he said in a tone which brooked no argument. Alison’s knees felt weak and she had to bite her teeth into her lower lip to keep it from trembling.

  “Don’t worry, wee dear,” her mother said. “I’ll be as right as rain!”

  A nurse met them at the door.

  “Mrs. Christie? Will you come this way, please?” She looked at Alison. “Are you her daughter? Perhaps you’d like to see your mother settled in?”

  The hardest bit was coming away with the suitcase. Huntley took it from Alison, putting it back into the car. He had been waiting an hour.

  “Would you like to contact the Orbisters right away or will you come for some tea?” he asked.

  “Perhaps I’d better try to contact Jim,” she decided.

  He drove to the taxi office, only to find a young girl in charge. “Can I take a message?” she asked helpfully.

  “No—I’ll come back. When do you expect Mr. Orbister in?”

  “He’s gone to Thurso. He might be back about five.”

  “No luck?” Huntley asked when she came out into the street again.

  Alison shook her head.

  “None, at the moment. Jim won’t be back till five.”

  “Then come and have a cup of tea,” he suggested. “At least it will help to pass the time.”

  “You must want to get home.” She stood irresolutely on the pavement. “I can walk about. It’s quite fine.”

  He took her by the elbow, propelling her firmly towards the car.

  “Stop talking nonsense! You know I can’t leave you like this.” He was no doubt irked by the necessity of looking after her, yet she didn’t want to be left alone. She clung to kindness, although it meant nothing. He could hardly leave her flat after coming all this way with her.

  He parked the car in front of an hotel and they sat over their tea, looking down on the harbour. Like a chain of glowworms the lights on the North and South Heads pricked out, brilliant against the darkness of the sea. They said very little, neither of them feeling the need for speech. At five o’clock Huntley rose to pay his bill.

  “Orbister ought to be back by now,” he suggested.

  Jim’s taxi was parked outside the office door. When he saw Alison he looked surprised, then taken aback.

  “You haven’t come to stay?” he asked in obvious confusion.

  “My mother went into hospital this afternoon.” She felt dazed by his uncertain welcome. “I tried to phone you yesterday, but the line was dead. The only thing I could do was to come and hope everything would be all right.”

  Jim smoothed his unruly fair hair into a semblance of order.

  “It would have been, normally.” Suddenly he was looking beyond her at her companion. “But we’ll soon fix you up. Not to worry! Cathie went off to Invemaver for the week-end and she hasn’t come back yet. She’ll be home tomorrow, I expect.”

  “Which means you’ve nowhere to spend the night,” Huntley interrupted, looking at Alison. “Let me fix something for you, or would you rather go home?”

  “There’s no need for that,” Jim assured him aggressively. “I’ll look after her. I’ve plenty of friends in Wick. Thanks for bringing her,” he added abruptly. “If I’d known I’d have come down with the taxi.”

  Huntley accepted his dismissal with an indifferent shrug of his broad shoulders, obviously glad to be rid of his responsibility.

  “Have you any message for Kirsty?” he asked.

  “Just say—everything went very well.” Alison stood looking up at him, her eyes enormous in her pale face.

  “Thank you for bringing us,” she added. “You made everything so easy for my mother.”

  “That was the idea.” He stepped back. “You’ll let me know if there’s anything else I can do?”

  “I’ll be taking over from here,” Jim said before Alison could reply. “Thanks for being so helpful, Daviot, I’m sorry you had to come all this way, but it needn’t happen again.”

  “I wish you hadn’t been quite so curt,” Alison told him as Huntley drove off. “He stepped into the breach and saved the situation for me. He’s been terribly kind.”

  “I can’t say I like him much,” Jim scowled, picking up her canvas grip. “Never did, as a matter of fact. He’s the superior sort I’ve little use for, but never mind! We’ve got more to talk about than Huntley Daviot. This business of Cathie being away is a bit awkward. If we had known, of course, she wouldn’t have gone.”

  “Please don’t worry about me,” she begged. “I can easily put up at an hotel.”

  “Bobby Henderson and his wife would take you like a shot,” he began, “but maybe you wouldn’t want to be with strangers?” “That’s about it,” she confessed. “I don’t think I feel up to polite conversation tonight, Jim. The operation is scheduled for tomorrow morning. Please believe I’m not ungrateful,” she added, “but I think I’d rather go to an hotel.”

  He drove her through the town without demur to the Three Heads Hotel, where she had no difficulty in finding accommodation, but he wouldn’t allow her to shut herself up in her room alone.

  “I’m going to take you out to John o’ Groats,” he said. “We’ll have a meal there, at the hotel. It’s still open. Then we can wander back slowly when it’s time for bed. You’ll sleep better for a breath of fresh air.”

  Alison felt too numb to protest. She was entirely in his hands. Nothing had gone according to plan, but soon this dreaded day would be over. Her mother was in safe keeping and she was here with Jim, who didn’t try to hide his affection for her.

  The road to Duncansby took them along the coast until Freswick Bay pushed them inland and the great stacks of rock which marked the edge of Scotland reared between them and the sea. Long before they reached John o’ Groat’s they could hear the pounding of the surf round the mighty Head and the thunder of the tides pouring through the Firth like some wild and terrible concerto beaten out by a gigantic orchestra of wind and wave. Alison felt shaken by it and curiously afraid, yet it had a fascination for her which drew her irresistibly. She stood looking out from the hotel window to Stroma and Mell and the distant Skerries looming dangerously in the moonlight, hardly aware of the man by her side.

  They went out to stand in the darkness and Jim put his arm about her, drawing her against him while the fierce wind tugged at them both.

  “Don’t fret, Alison,” he said, with heartbreaking gentleness. “It’s all going to work out for the best. You’ll see.”

  His words were awkward, but his kiss, firm on her mouth, underlined his sincerity.

  “I’ll take care of you, never fear,” he assured her.

  The revelation of his affection was almost more than Alison could bear in the circumstances. Jim wasn’t the demonstrative type and he had gone out of his way to look after her, but his kiss had been disturbing.

  Gently she disengaged herself from his encircling arm, staring out at the stormy Firth. It wasn’t quite eight o’clock and an eternity of waiting stretched between her and the morning. She wondered if Huntley had reached home and supposed he might be already at the Lodge.

  “I’ve been making friends with the Searles,” she confessed as they made their way to the dining-room. “Tessa’s rather a strange sort of girl. She seemed almost antagonistic when we met, but now I believe we’re getting to understand one another. She’s lonely, I think, shut up there in the Lodge all the time, and I think she’s sensitive about her limp.”

  “She changed completely after her accident.” Jim pulled out a chair for her. “She was the gay, friendly type before it happened. Everybody liked Tessa. She came up here a lot, generally with Robin. They sailed his Snipe together at Scrabster, but after her hip was injured she wouldn’t come. I believe Daviot tried to persuade her once or twice, but it didn’t work. If she wasn’t able to handle a dinghy properl
y she wouldn’t want to be an onlooker.”

  “I think she feels her position very keenly,” Alison agreed, “but it could right itself, I suppose.”

  “Given time, perhaps.” He studied the menu. “There’s a rumour going round that she’ll marry Daviot.”

  Alison drew in a quick breath.

  “I’ve heard so.” She couldn’t tell him that it was Tessa herself who had given her the impression. “Maybe she wants to wait till she’s absolutely fit.”

  “Or he’s forgotten her sister! Two accidents inside a month,” Jim mused. “It was enough for any man! No wonder he flung himself into work like a fanatic and shut himself up in that lighthouse of his. He was responsible for Tessa’s injuries, of course, but the American plane crash could hardly be laid at his door. We knew Leone Searle quite well up here,” he added when he had given their order to the waiter. “She never turned down a request to sing for charity—a reasonable one, anyway—though she came in the first place because she had been ill. She had a breakdown or something, after a European tour and a change of scene was evidently the answer.”

  “I read about it at the time,” Alison said, toying with her fish. “She was helping with the lunchtime concerts at the Wigmore Hall when she collapsed. It was a great disappointment to everybody concerned.”

  “We wondered why she stayed on at Calders,” Jim remarked, “but when she came back the following year I suppose we knew. Daviot was the obvious attraction.”

  “I wonder—do you think she would ever have settled down here, even at Calders?”

  “That we’ll never know,” Jim decided. “How do you feel about settling down?”

  “I don’t know.” She gazed out through the wide, plate-glass window to the towering headlands etched greyly in the moonlight against the darkness of the Firth. “I haven’t had time to think properly. Sometimes I feel as if part of me has been torn out, as if I’ll never really be a whole person again, and then I wonder if there might not be something else. Some sort of compensation for loss.”