“Of course not! They wanted to hold on to you in the convalescent home, but we couldn’t spare you. We need you at
Craigie Hill for Christmas.”
“Oh, wee dear! Wee dear!” Helen was fighting the tears of gratitude and relief. “You don’t know how I long for my ain fireside.”
“My goodness! We’ll have to polish it so that you can see your face in it!” Alison teased her affectionately. “We’ll be ready for you by Tuesday. Jim will bring you home in one of his taxis. I’ll pop round to Dyke Cottage now to make the arrangements.” “Cathie’s been visiting me a lot,” Helen said. “She’s a nice girl. I could have wished—”
She didn’t finish the sentence, but Alison knew that she was thinking about Robin and what an excellent wife Cathie would have made him.
“It doesn’t always turn out the way we want it, Mother,” she said. “Cathie seems to be contented enough with her career.”
“The bairns all like her, I hear,” Helen agreed. “And Jim needs her to keep the home together.”
“He’ll marry,” Alison said, “one day.”
Helen looked at her.
“He’s fond of you, Alison,” she said. “But maybe you don’t feel like settling down in Caithness.”
“I’ve—no time for that sort of thing just now.” Alison’s voice was sharp as she turned to the window. “Besides, you may be wrong. Jim has the look of a confirmed bachelor.”
“Not him!” Helen declared. “He’s waited longer than most, but I’ve never known a man who wasn’t improved by marriage. He’ll take a wife one of these days, just like all the rest.”
There was a knock on the door and a young nurse came in with a sheaf of flowers wrapped in Cellophane.
“For you, Mrs. Christie!” she said, laying them across Helen’s knees.
“Oh, my, aren’t they lovely!” Helen’s cheeks were flushed with pleasure, her eyes bright. “Do you think—?” Alison had found the accompanying card.
“They’re from Huntley—Huntley Daviot,” she said. “He promised to send them from Inverness. He went over there this morning with Tessa Searle. She’s seeing the specialist this afternoon.”
Helen took the tiny card.
“So kind!” she sighed. “So very, very kind. And we hardly know him, do we?”
She had hoped the flowers might have been from Canada.
Alison made her way to Dyke Cottage, only to find it deserted. It was Friday and Cathie had probably stayed later at school. “She’s taken the wee ones to skate,” a neighbour explained. “They went this afternoon. The loch’s bearing and Mr. Orbister took them down in his car. They don’t get the same chance to learn at night when the bigger laddies are on the ice.”
It was typical of Cathie, giving up her free time to the children.
“Do you know when Mr. Orbister will be home?” Alison asked.
“About five, I expect. But you could contact him down at his office if it was urgent,” the woman suggested. “I could even tak’ a message,” she offered, unable to curb her curiosity.
“I’ll chance the office,” Alison decided. “Isn’t it a lovely day?”
Cathie’s neighbour agreed that it was ‘seasonable’ and stood on her own side of the hedge, watching, as she drove away.
Alison had to leave a message at the office, after all. Jim hadn’t returned.
“I’ll book the car for you for Tuesday,” the office girl offered. “Will three o’clock be time enough?”
“That will be fine.”
It seemed such a long time till Tuesday, yet she and Kirsty had a lot to do. On the long journey back to Craigie Hill Alison planned everything with meticulous care, trying not to let the thought of Huntley and Tessa in Inverness intrude, but she couldn’t help remembering the flowers Huntley had sent, the promise he had kept. He must have ordered them through Interflora as soon as he arrived and possibly while he had been waiting for the specialist’s verdict. He had said it would be final and they would know by this time.
Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was almost five o’clock, They would be on their way back from Inverness now.
The following morning she expected to see either Tessa or Major Searle when she delivered the milk, but the Lodge door was tightly closed. Sterne, too, seemed to be deserted. On Sunday morning the Lodge still appeared to be unoccupied, although the milk of the previous day had been removed from the doorstep. At Sterne the door lay open.
There was no sign of Huntley, however, or the dog. It was a clear, dry morning, so they were probably down on the shore. She searched the rocks under the promontory and far out along the Point without result.
At church, however, Huntley occupied the Daviot pew. He looked tired and curiously restive during the sermon and he was first out when the service was over.
“Huntley, wait a minute!” Alison cried, running after his tall figure as he strode off in the direction of Calders. “I—have you any news of Tessa? Good news, I hope.”
“I think it’s good,” he said. “Everything has gone well. Her leg is stronger and she ought to be walking without difficulty in less than six months. She’ll tire easily at first, but that’s to be expected.”
“It must have been a great strain for the Major, especially—”
“After Leone?” A flame lit suddenly in his grey eyes. “He’s had more than his fair share of trouble, I admit.”
She drew back, nonplussed by his brusqueness. Of course, she had said all the wrong things, but she hadn’t meant to hurt him, and Tessa must be a constant reminder of his lost love. She stood, silenced, waiting for him to speak.
“Your mother?” he asked. “How did you find her?”
“Ready to come home.” This was much safer ground. “They’re going to let her come home on Tuesday. I’ve hired a car to bring her from Wick.”
“What about getting up there?” he asked. “Won’t someone need to travel back with your mother?”
“I was going to ask if I might borrow the jeep again,” Alison confessed.
“I’ll drive you up and bring the jeep back,” he offered. “Or we could make the double journey in the Mercedes.”
She hesitated.
“I’ve ordered a car from Jim Orbister,” she explained.
“I see.” His mouth clamped into a firm line. “I’d forgotten about Orbister. Well, the jeep it is, unless it’s blowing a full gale. Then we might be more comfortable in the Mercedes.”
“I thought I might have seen Tessa,” she commented as they walked out on to the snow-bound road. “But the Lodge seemed to be locked up.”
“They stayed for a couple of days in Inverness,” he explained. “The Major came with us and decided to buy a new car, so Tessa thought she might as well do her Christmas shopping.”
“Oh? I noticed the milk had gone.”
“I took it up to Calders,” he said. “I’m opening the house again.” Her heart lurched at the unexpected news.
“It —was the right thing to do.”
“Yes. I’ve become convinced it isn’t being improved shut up like that all the time, with damp getting in all over the place. I intend to live there again.”
With Tessa! A desperate feeling of envy and loneliness engulfed her at the thought.
She almost ran from him along the road, away from Calders, away from the warm look in his eyes which was for Tessa. Surely it was for Tessa.
CHAPTER NINE
SHE saw Tessa before they set out for Wick. The Searles returned on the Monday afternoon in the new car and called in at the farm for eggs.
“Tessa, I’m so glad!” Alison greeted her. “Huntley told me the verdict. Will you come in for a minute while Kirsty gathers the eggs?”
“I’ll give her a hand,” the Major offered. “If I know Kirsty, she’ll insist on cleaning every one of them!”
“We couldn’t sell them the way they are in this weather,”
Alison smiled. “Do you want any butter?”
“We’re not due for it, but
I might be able to charm a pound out of Kirsty while your back’s turned!” he smiled.
“He fancies he’s got a way with women,” Tessa remarked sardonically as her father disappeared in search of Kirsty.
She had seemed rather quiet and withdrawn as she had stood waiting, and even When Alison held the door open she hesitated before she walked into the house. It seemed familiar to her. She went straight through the kitchen to the sitting-room, where Kirsty had lit a fire.
“It’s cosy in here,” she said awkwardly. “It’s a lovely old house, Alison, even though it is lonely and far off the road.”
She hovered about the big, raftered room, running her fingers over the well-polished furniture, drawing the curtains apart to look out into the snow-covered garden. For a moment she seemed to have forgotten Alison altogether.
“Would you stay for tea?” Alison asked. “We’re expecting my mother home tomorrow. It’s wonderful, isn’t it? They say good news never comes singly.”
“Good news?” Tessa came out of her reverie as if she had been shot. “What do you mean? What—other news have you had?” Alison felt taken aback.
“I was thinking about you—about the specialist’s verdict.”
“Oh, that was expected, wasn’t it?”
The odd reply was surprising. Ever since she had come in Tessa had looked tensed and unhappy, not at all as she should have looked after hearing such a heartening verdict on her future health. She was pacing the room now, wandering about as if in search of something, her hands clenched tightly in the pockets of her coat.
“I should never have come here,” she burst out, at last. “It doesn’t do any good—”
Alison crossed to her side. It was obvious that Tessa was deeply distressed.
“I wish you’d let me help,” she said. “Why shouldn’t you come to Craigie Hill, Tessa?”
Her question remained unanswered while Tessa stared back at her with something like resentment in her dark eyes. Then, suddenly, as if the floodgates of some wild, pent-up grief had been opened at last, she blurted out the truth.
“We loved each other!” she cried. “Right from the beginning. When we first came here he was kind to me. I hated everything— the cold, and the isolation, and being taken away from London. I was eighteen and all I could feel was being cut off—immured up here in this lonely glen because of Leone. She had to have peace to get well. Her voice had broken. She had to get away for a long rest in the quietest place we could find. And we found Calders! The Lodge was for rent for the summer months. It was just after Huntley’s mother died. He lived at Calders then, but I hardly ever saw him. It was Leone who monopolised him—as usual. I didn’t care. It kept her from pestering me, and I could see a lot of Robin.”
“Robin—?”
“Yes. Didn’t you know?” Tessa’s lips trembled. “We went everywhere together that summer. He taught me to sail the Snipe and we went to St. Margaret’s Hope for the Championships. It was the loveliest summer I had ever known. Nothing went wrong. Oh, we argued sometimes—who doesn’t?—but we were ideally happy deep down. We were in love. When Leone decided to move back to London because her voice was stronger it seemed the end of the world for me, but Robin and I wrote to each other. We wrote all that winter. We promised never to be in love with anyone else.” She drew a deep breath, remembering. “The following spring we came back. This time it was because of Leone, too, because her voice still needed resting and because she had met Huntley. I didn’t care about Huntley or Leone. I had Robin again. Our love was perfect. If it was marred for me at all it was only by the thought that Leone might get well too soon. I knew how much she prized her career. Being Leone Searle meant everything to her. When Huntley announced their engagement I was deliriously happy. Selfishly happy, I suppose. I’ve always been a selfish person.” She looked gloomily into the fire. “I had to be. I had to snatch what I could for myself or Leone would have taken everything, as a sort of right. She was so talented and beautiful she thought nobody else mattered.”
Alison stood waiting. She knew this wasn’t the end of the story, but a whim, a mood might silence Tessa.
“There was a good deal of excitement over their engagement,” she went on. “Parties and a ball and loads and loads of invitations. Everybody wanted to meet Leone and she loved being the centre of attraction. It went on for weeks. Then Huntley was away in Edinburgh on business—she had nobody to admire her, so she took Robin.”
“Oh, Tessa, no!” Alison protested.
“He couldn’t help himself. Leone was like that. She swept people off their feet. She just had to look at a man with those great dark eyes of hers and he was hopelessly infatuated.” Tessa refused to call it love. “Then she was going to America and Robin and I quarrelled.”
Her tone had become guarded and she began to wander about the room again, pulling up beside the window to look out at the white world beyond the garden.
“We quarrelled about Leone,” she said. “It was a dreadful scene. I accused him of every infidelity I could think of. I said so many things in my anger that I didn’t really mean. Huntley knew that.” She ran her fingers along the window ledge. “Robin was hurt and angry and terribly confused. Maybe he realised what Leone was like, but he was determined to defend her and I didn’t care what I said. I hated her and he knew it.” She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “When he went off to New York I knew he had gone off after Leone. Then there was the accident—”
Alison felt stunned. She had followed Tessa’s unhappy story like someone in a nightmare. It held the key to so much that had puzzled her in the past, yet there still seemed to be another closed door just ahead of them. Would Tessa open that, too?
Somehow, she thought not, because it concerned Huntley, who had offered her Calders and protection for the rest of her life. He had been responsible for Tessa’s accident and he would stand by his promise to marry her.
“Huntley would have married me long ago,” Tessa said, as if in answer to her agonized thoughts, “but I wouldn’t agree. I wanted time to think—time to be absolutely sure.”
“Whether you cared for him or not?” Alison asked mechanically.
There was no answer. Tessa kept her back turned to the room, her gaze fixed on the snow.
“You couldn’t marry him without caring for him,” Alison insisted shakily. “It wouldn’t work, Tessa. You’d be miserable and you’d make him miserable, too.”
“Huntley knew what he was doing,” Tessa said almost aggressively. “I think he hated Leone, too. He used to play her music, over and over, to remind him how false she was. I know he did. I’ve heard him, up there at Sterne.”
Alison had heard that wild music, too, but the solution Tessa had offered was too easy. Tessa wanted to believe that Huntley despised her sister, that he was determined to put Leone out of his life, but deep in her heart she must still feel unsure.
“There isn’t much more to tell you.” Tessa came back to the hearth. “Robin didn’t write, and I was too ill for a while to care very much what happened. When Leone was killed in a plane crash on her way to an engagement in Philadelphia she was back in the headlines again, where she liked to be.” Tessa’s voice was brittle. “It was a terrible shock, of course,” she added lamely.
For the moment Alison could think of nothing but Robin, understanding for the first time why he had left Craigie Hill. It had been a rash decision, and yet—and yet he had loved Leone to distraction and she had encouraged him, it seemed. Love knew no bounds. His father had still been alive when he had shaken the dust of Craigie Hill from his eager feet.
Oh, Robin, she thought, if only you had waited a while! But youth, hot-footed, had run after love.
“That’s all,” Tessa said with blank finality. “It’s a sad little tale, isn’t it? Two lovers at loggerheads having to live unhappily ever afterwards!”
The cynicism was ugly, serving to hide the hurt which still lingered. Tessa was determined not to be sensitive or, at least, not to show it.
>
“You’re really still in love with him,” Alison said slowly.
“Why should I be?” Tessa picked up her gloves. “He’s never written. I waited and waited, but he’s never shown me by one little sign that he’s sorry. Why should I go on loving him? Why should I go on breaking my heart over him for ever?”
There was no adequate answer to that, but long after Tessa and her father had gone Alison sat thinking about Robin and Tessa’s almost reluctant confession.
When Huntley came for her the following afternoon she wondered how much he really knew about Tessa’s feelings. He seemed to be prepared to marry her on the rebound from what she believed to be a hopeless love because he felt responsible for her accident. Yet Tessa was almost well again. Soon she would be able to walk and run and dance and play like everyone else. The year she had spent as fate’s captive was over.
He had come to Craigie Hill in the Mercedes.
“We’ll take this,” he said. “It’s more comfortable. I have to go on to Thurso on business, so I’ll come back by Strath Halladale.” She got into the big, roomy front seat beside him. The Mercedes was sheer luxury. It took the snowbound road in its effortless stride.
“What are you doing about the van?” he asked.
“Jim might be able to sell it for me,” she said. “It would be useful enough in a town. Perhaps I ought to have a jeep. I’ve kept yours so long,” she apologised. “You must need it.”
“I get around quite well in this,” he assured her. “There isn’t much logging work at present to take me off the main roads.” “We’re handicapped by the weather up here, I suppose,” Alison mused, “but I wouldn’t change it for the world.”
“What about your career?” he wanted to know. “I thought you were only biding your time before you went back to London. The offer of the scholarship still stands, by the way.”
His tone had been flint-hard, his manner almost indifferent. She could take his offer or leave it, just as she pleased.
“I can’t make such a decision,” she told him. “Not just yet. You gave me till the spring. Things may be different then. We might even be able to get a manager in to look after Craigie Hill.” He drove on without comment and soon they were in Dunbeath and then Latheron.
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