The Tender Glory

by Jean S. MacLeod

  “Because she was engaged to Daviot. Now, don’t go losing your hair!” he cautioned. “There was no comparison. Daviot had everything she wanted.”

  Alison drew back, stunned into silence by this amazing revelation.

  “It’s—difficult to believe,” she said, at last.

  “It could be the reason why Robin cleared off to America so suddenly.”

  “He wouldn’t just—follow her for no reason at all,” Alison protested.

  “No—not without a reason.”

  “Then—you think she encouraged him?”

  “I don’t know. Personally, I don’t know the first thing about it.” He pushed his peaked cap to the back of his head. “It’s Cathie’s theory.”

  “Does she really know?”

  “I suppose not. It was just a rough guess.”

  “What a muddle!” Alison started her engine. “It might help if we knew even half the truth.”

  At the hospital she was assured that her mother was well and getting stronger daily.

  “We’ll soon have you out and home again,” she promised, bending over the bed to kiss Helen on a slightly flushed cheek. “You look blooming! What’s happened?”

  “I’ve had a cable from Robin.” Helen’s eyes shone like twin stars. “If he had the money I think he would come home.”

  They couldn’t send him the money, Alison thought.

  They hadn’t enough to spare.

  “I’ve got a bit put away,” Helen said. “Your father was always a careful man. He tried to leave me independent.”

  “You’ll need your money,” Alison said firmly. “This isn’t definite.”

  “No. We’ll have to wait and see.” Helen hesitated. “If he did come—if he felt he couldn’t settle anywhere else, it would make a big difference to you, Alison.”

  “To me?”

  “You could go back to your studies.”

  Another door opening! The same door, although now the vista on the far side of it wasn’t quite so splendid. That first time all her dreams, all her desires had been centred in her career, and now they were centred on Huntley Daviot to no avail.

  “I could go back,” she said in a frozen voice. “I’ve been offered a second chance.”

  Huntley had been kind in that respect, too, in a cold, impartial way which had hurt her more than she had realised at the time. He had offered her another chance to conquer the world, which didn’t seem to matter so much any more.

  “We must give him time,” Helen said, thinking of her son. “You can’t force that sort of decision on a boy.”

  “He’s hardly a boy now,” Alison pointed out. “He’s twenty-five.”

  “He’ll be twenty-five at Christmas,” Helen corrected her.

  “And Christmas is almost here.” Alison rose to her feet. “How long does it take to come from Canada?”

  “Five days, if he sailed.”

  Helen had it all worked out, Alison thought as she turned to the door, and the chances were that Robin would fail her. Tears blinded her as she hurried along the passage to the main entrance.

  It was more or less accepted by now that she should call in at Dyke Cottage for tea with Cathie Orbister before she started on her return journey, and she found Cathie setting the table in the pleasant little dining-room overlooking the moor.

  “I was expecting you,” Cathie greeted her. “Jim came in for a bite before he went off to Thurso. We’re terribly busy these days, but he said he would try to get back before you left.” She infused the tea. “He worries about that van of yours.”

  “So do I!” Alison carried in a plate of scones. “One day I must do something about it.”

  Cathie scrutinized her across the table.

  “You mean to stay?” she asked.

  “Yes—and no. That’s really my answer, I think.” Alison drew a deep breath. “If Robin comes home I won’t be needed. Not after a bit, anyway. There isn’t room for both of us at Craigie Hill.”

  “Which means you haven’t changed your mind about your career?”

  Alison shook her head.

  “It’s all I’ve got.”

  “Marriage and a career often pose a problem,” Cathie mused. “I suppose so.” Alison looked at her squarely. “I won’t marry, Cathie. Not for a long time.”

  “And not because of your career, either? Oh, Alison! I wish I could help you!” Cathie said.

  “Nobody can.” Alison stirred her tea. “Maybe I was meant to hang on to my career like grim death and not to think about anything else. Maybe coming home like this was just meant to be—an interlude.”

  “We can’t help falling in love,” Cathie said gently.

  “If it was as easy as that!” Alison pushed back her chair. “Just falling in love and being loved. There wouldn’t be any need for a decision then. It would be easy—natural to choose. It’s when you fall in love with the wrong person—”

  “I know.” Cathie’s quiet voice filled the silence. “It makes the whole world seem empty. But we’ve got to try to fill the void, somehow.”

  “But how?” Alison raised bleak eyes to hers.

  “Work can be a great compensation once you’re over the first terrible hurdle of loneliness.”

  “And you think I’ll meet someone else one day?”

  “I’m not looking quite so far ahead.” Cathie glanced through the window. “Here’s Jim,” she added. “I thought he’d come back in time to see you safely on your way home.”

  They had become such firm friends in so short a time, Alison thought, waiting for Jim to come in.

  “I don’t like you travelling all that way alone in the dark,” he said when he saw her into the van. “I ought to come with you. There’s a snow warning. Yesterday was cold enough for it, goodness knows!”

  “I’ll make it,” Alison assured him as cheerfully as she could. “After all, I know the road. Even if it does start to snow it can’t get really deep before morning.”

  “You’d phone me if you got into difficulties?”

  “Of course! Who else?”

  “Well!” He looked relieved. “Off you go, then. And I hope we’ll see you again before Christmas!” “Three weeks!” she laughed. “Surely you’re expecting an awful lot of snow!”

  He reached into the van to kiss her on the cheek. “Just in case!” he said.

  The kiss stung, because it wasn’t the kiss she wanted. Swiftly she drove away.

  The van behaved quite well, although a gale-force wind began to blow as soon as she left the town behind. It struck at her viciously, rocking the van as it sped along. She had most of the way to go on an open, treacherous road, exposed to the sea and with no shelter between her and the vast, wild stretches of the moors. The darkness seemed impenetrable, without even a single star to cheer her.

  Presently it began to snow. The first flakes drifted across the windscreen to be quickly dispersed by the sweep of the wipers, but when they began to fall thick and fast they piled up in an uneven white fringe, rising higher and higher until only a small half-circle of glass remained clear. Inside the van it became colder and colder and she felt as if her hands had frozen to the wheel. She had never driven alone in weather like this.

  Where the road came close to the sea she could hear its angry pounding far beneath her and to see properly she was forced to wind down her window. After that the cold became intense and to her horror the wipers froze to the glass. Quickly the snowflakes obliterated the dark semicircle which was all the vision she had.

  This was hopeless! She wiped away the snow with her glove, managing another yard or two. She had no idea where she was or how far she had come. Under such conditions a yard could seem a mile.

  Small clusters of houses loomed up, showing a light or two, but she was determined not to stop. The stretch of road between Latheron and Dunbeath took her an hour, and from there on she could expect little shelter. She thought of the steep climb up out of Berriedale and shivered. If she ever reached there!

  Once
she had seen her father driving under similar conditions with the windscreen open, and after another mile or two it was the only thing she could do. She had been driving blind on a road that went nearer and nearer to the sea.

  Suddenly there were trees ahead of her and she dropped down into Berriedale. A quick elation lifted her spirits, the sense of conquest which a mountaineer must feel when he had almost reached the summit of some coveted peak. Only a few more miles to go!

  They were the most difficult miles. Grimly she recognised the fact, although she was equally determined not to give in. She could drive quite well. Robin had taught her long ago.

  She thought about him, clenching her teeth as she forced the reluctant van up the hill on the other side and out again on to the moor. Would he ever come back?

  The howl of the wind was her only answer. It swept down from Coire na Feama, driving a blizzard into her face.

  When the engine stalled she was almost glad. There was no panic in her. Only the terrible, numbing chill of defeat. She had nine miles to go, nine desolate, empty miles before she turned towards the sea. It might just as easily have been nine hundred.

  Giving way to fear for a moment, she sat huddled in the van, wondering if she was going to be blown off the road. Supposing the snow drifted, as it sometimes did, and she was buried for days? Who would find her? Who would come out in a night like this? At Craigie Hill they would think she had decided to stay in Wick, and when Jim heard how bad things were it would be morning. This bitter, exposed section of the road could be cut off for days and the nearest clachan was three miles away.

  Three miles in blinding snow. Could she make it? And what about the van? It was the only means of transport they had.

  The most stupid mistake she had made was to come on such a journey in ordinary walking shoes, not expecting snow. She should have known, of course. People up here were always prepared for such an emergency.

  At this point she remembered the Highland Patrol. The little yellow Land-rovers, like true Knights of the Road, would surely be abroad in weather like this. If she stayed where she was one of them was sure to reach her eventually.

  Yet she couldn’t just sit there and freeze. She had to keep moving. Sitting still was the danger.

  Huddled in her sheepskin coat, she got out of the van only to walk a couple of yards before she was defeated in that direction, too. Within minutes she was covered in snow. It stuck to her hair and clogged her eyelashes, while the force of the wind

  drove her almost to her knees.

  Struggling with the bonnet, she raised it to peer in at an engine already turned stone cold. Everything seemed normal until she noticed that there was moisture round the plugs again.

  Remembering Huntley’s efforts at Sterne, she felt for her tool-roll, but her fingers were almost too numb to hold a spanner. And even if she did manage to start the engine by some miracle the snow was already piled high against the radiator.

  She hadn’t a chance! She felt defenceless and frustrated in the same breath. Why had all this to happen so near Craigie Hill? Nine miles. She wondered if she could walk it.

  Determined to try, she faced the wind. The van was well to one side of the road and she had left her side lights on, although they were scarcely visible once she had staggered a yard or two.

  A yard or two, and she had nine miles to go!

  How far she walked, stumbling and falling, she never knew. The snow seemed to be pressing down on her now like a great blanket, obscuring everything. It was difficult to guess whether she was still on the road or not.

  Straining her ears, she listened constantly for the slightest sound, but nothing stirred. In this vast, white, blind world there was nothing but silence. It rose like a wall all round her until it was shattered by her own gasping breath and the little cry when she fell.

  Half stunned, she lay near a group of rocks, wondering vaguely if she had strayed on to the moor. It didn’t seem to matter so much now. The cold was almost comforting. Presently she began to feel warm.

  It was a long time before she heard the sound she had been waiting for. It came nearer, stealthily nearer along the road. She struggled to her feet. It was a car! She could hear its engine out there somewhere in the blind world beyond the wall of falling snow. Then she realised that she was standing above it. She had climbed off the road on to the moor. It would pass her by unseen. If it was the Highland Patrol all they would find was an abandoned van farther along the road. Satisfied that there was nobody inside, they would drive on.

  Panic-stricken, she began to run, stumbling and falling on the rough, snow-laden grass. The car passed beneath her and pulled away, a grey wraith in a world of whirling snow.

  Her heart sank, but she was almost back on the road. She followed the car’s tracks until they were obliterated and then she stood quite still, waiting.

  Waiting for what? She hardly knew, but when she saw the tall, blurred figure of a man coming along the road she could have cried for joy. Relief swept over her as she held out her hands to him.

  “Huntley!” she cried, knowing him even at that distance. Before she reached him she was running, and then she clutched his arms and pressed her face into the roughness of his coat.

  “You’ve come!” she said. “You’ve come!”

  He opened his coat and took her into its warmth, holding her closely against him.

  “You’re all right,” he assured her gently. “You’re all right now.”

  She would not let him go. Trembling, she put her arms about him under the coat.

  “I thought you’d never come,” she said.

  “I saw the van.” He began to lead her back along the way he had come. “You shouldn’t have got out. Anything might have happened. You’ve been off the road.”

  His voice had sounded harsh, almost angry, but it didn’t seem to matter to her now. Nothing mattered but the warmth under the coat and the fact that he had found her.

  He put her into his car, chafing her hands and feet to restore her circulation, and when some of the numbness had gone he produced a flask and held it to her lips.

  “Try to drink some of this,” he commanded.

  She swallowed a sip of brandy.

  “How did you know?” she whispered.

  “Neil came to the Lodge. He had a fair idea you would be on your way home.”

  His dinner-party with Tessa had been spoiled and she was responsible. She turned to look at him as he reversed the car. Once again she had thrust herself into his life and this time she had let him see her love —all unasked.

  They drove for a long time in silence. Even in the heated car, with the wipers working, it was a difficult journey.

  “I’ve put you to a great deal of trouble.” Her voice sounded thin and shaken. “It wasn’t like this when I left Wick.” “There was a snow warning,” he reminded her brusquely.

  “I thought I could make it.” She could see his stern profile etched against the white wilderness beyond the windscreen. His jaw was clamped tight and his mouth was hard, as if he refrained from saying exactly what he thought with the greatest difficulty. “I wish Neil hadn’t disturbed you.”

  “Did you expect him to sit tight and not bother?” he asked. “You had to be found before morning. There’s a lot more of this to come.”

  “It doesn’t always come so quickly.”

  “It’s been forecast for days.”

  “Huntley, I had to go to Wick.”

  “Yes.” All his attention was given to his driving. “Don’t think I grudge coming out. Anyone would have done it.”

  “I suppose so.”

  They drove on, endlessly, it seemed, the silence building up between them.

  “I’m sorry about Tessa’s party,” she apologised, at last. He looked round at her for a moment.

  “Oh, that,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. She was as concerned about you as the rest of us. They want me to take you back to the Lodge.”

  “It’s very kind of them, but would you m
ind if I went straight home?” She felt that she couldn’t face Tessa, or anyone else. “Perhaps you would explain to Tessa.”

  He turned the car off the main road, coming on the junction at a snail’s pace.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he agreed. “Kirsty must be worried stiff by now.”

  The approach to Craigie Hill was rutted and difficult, but his powerful car took it in its stride. Kirsty was at the door, holding a storm-lantern, as they drove into the yard.

  “Heaven be praised,” she exclaimed when she saw Alison. “It’s you! What a night! We thought we had seen the last o’ you. In ye come, both of you, and thaw yourselves out. Neillie’s just this minute back. He phoned through to Wick to tell them you’d gone out for her,” she added to Huntley, whom she considered a friend.

  “Not to the hospital?” Alison gasped.

  “Och, no! he had more sense than that,” Kirsty assured her.

  “He phoned the Orbisters. Miss Orbister was in alone. She wanted to get her brother, but Neillie managed to persuade her it would be all right. Maybe we could let them know, though,” she added to Huntley. “It would put Jim Orbister’s mind at rest.”

  “I’ll phone as soon as we get back to the Lodge,” he promised stiffly.

  Kirsty’s fire was a masterpiece of warmth and comfort. It was stacked so high that there was scarcely any need for other lighting in the big, low-raftered room. It drew them instantly towards it.

  “Sit down, both of you,” Kirsty commanded. “You’ll have need of a hot drink and a bite to eat.”

  “I mustn’t stay.” Huntley remained on his feet. “I ought to get back to Sterne. I suppose Neil has all your sheep gathered off the hill?”

  “He went up this morning,” Kirsty said, infusing tea in spite of his determination to depart without it. “Just you sit yourself down and drink this, Mr. Daviot, and dinna’ be daft!” she expostulated. “You must be fair chilled to the marrow!”

  Huntley did as he was told, smiling at Kirsty’s blunt kindliness. Alison, with all her faculties restored to normal, felt desperately ashamed. The scene out on the moor would remain stamped on her memory for ever. Huntley could only feel pity for her, or possibly contempt. Her heart quailed at the thought so that when he rose to go she felt almost glad.