by Ruth Hay
“That’s better! I feel more human now,” she told herself, “I think I can tackle the rest of the journey.”
In only a few minutes she was waiting at the hotel entrance with her cases and bags, watching the clouds fly by above the city, revealing intermittent patches of blue sky.
It was years since Anna had made a journey by train and she was looking forward to the trip to Oban.
“Righty oh, lassie! Ye’ll be off to the train station I suppose?”
The friendly greeting from Bob of Bob’s Taxi Service, as his card had informed her, gave Anna a glow of pleasure. No one seemed to be a stranger for long here. This boded well for her mission to find out more about Helen Dunlop and Aileen Anne and to see what she could do with the McCaig Farm House property. She knew the task would not be easy without help.
Bob steered her into his cab and stowed the luggage into the trunk for the short trip.
On the way, Anna caught a glimpse of George Square with its red tarmac and white statues. It was crowded with people and the famous tour buses ready for the city sightseeing tour.
“Next time I’m here,” she promised herself, “I’ll make time to see a lot more of Glasgow.”
With Bob’s help, she found the right platform, the correct coach, and hefted her luggage to the space beneath the window seat and tucked under her feet. Bob swung the lighter bags onto an overhead rack. Anna could not believe Bob had escorted her into the station and onto the train, leaving his taxi parked outside in the busy street where Anna had seen ‘N0 Waiting’ signs.
“Bob, please don’t get yourself a parking fine on my behalf,” she pleaded.
“This personal service is far beyond anything I could have expected, but I am so grateful to you for taking such good care of a stranger.”
“Ach, away with ye, miss. Happy to help. This is the Homecoming Year for Scotland and nothin’ at all is too much trouble for visitors. Now, you huv a gran’ time in Oban and watch out o’ the windows on the way there. This West Highland Line is wan o’ the most famous rail trips in the hale, wide world.”
Bob’s Glasgow dialect seemed to be getting stronger as he responded to Anna’s emotional thanks, but there was no mistaking his sincerity.
Anna could not stop herself from giving this kind soul a big hug and slipping a ten pound note into his pocket, although she realised both actions were most uncharacteristic for her. As Bob made his way back to the platform, Anna could not help thinking how unlikely it was that she would ever make such physical contact with a North American cab driver. She would probably be arrested for assault if she had ever tried.
* * *
During the entire three-hour train journey, Anna was glued to the views out of the train windows. The sun followed the train, peeking out of clouds and illuminating scenes of splendor that were marred only by the fact that Anna had not thought to bring a map of the west coast of Scotland with her. Instead, she had to rely on the station names in an attempt to identify the breathtaking lochs and soaring mountains parading past her in an endless spectacle.
At the beginning of the journey, she was positive they were following the Clyde for about forty minutes and Anna feasted her eyes on new museums and housing developments that replaced the shipyards that once must have towered there. She saw her first castle on a huge rock between two stations named Dumbarton where the Clyde widened significantly. Then they were skirting a lake (I must remember to say ‘loch’, she warned herself), which might have been Shandon or Gareloch, as both stations were situated along its length.
A land-based stretch of track appeared, allowing Anna to focus on the hills which were becoming more and more like mountains, then the train sped alongside another loch fed by streams rushing down these mountains.
On the other side of the train line, a beautiful loch came into view and Anna knew from the conversation of a family near her in the coach, that it must be the famed Loch Lomond. She hummed the words and tune of the lament to herself. It was the lullaby her father used to sing to her when she was a child. Anna watched the loch, the islands and the greening slopes slide by, framed by the rocky, snow-topped mountain that seemed to be the highest peak she had yet seen.
When Loch Lomond disappeared from view, the train entered a valley where a waterfall tumbled down from the high hills and soon after this, they stopped at Crianlarich station.
A number of passengers disembarked at this point and it seemed as if the train would halt here for a while longer than usual.
Anna could not stand the lack of knowledge of her surroundings any longer so she ventured down the carriage until she spied a young couple with a map spread out on the table before them.
“Excuse me,” she began hesitantly, “I am travelling without a map, if you can believe it, and I am driving myself crazy back there not knowing where I am, or what I am looking at. Would you mind if I have a glance at your map?”
“Not at all! Sit here and I’ll show you what’s ahead.” The man shoved a backpack aside and swung the map around so that Anna could see where he was pointing.
His companion gave Anna a lovely smile and said, “Isn’t it marvellous country? We’ve travelled from Australia to see this. My husband’s father came from here and he has talked about it all endlessly, but we truly did not expect such a variety of beautiful scenery within such a small area. Can you imagine what it must be like in summer?”
Anna agreed at once and added that she had crossed Canada by train from Ontario and it had taken three days to get to British Columbia on the west coast before she saw anything like the views of the last hour or two.
“What mountain is that, for instance?” Anna gestured to the east where a high peak stood in solitary splendour above the hills.
“Must be Ben More, nearly four thousand feet,” came the swift response from the tanned and fit-looking young man. “You’ve spotted the tallest mountain in this whole area.”
“What should I be watching for next?” she asked eagerly, glad to have found tourists like herself, and glad to avoid embarrassment by displaying her ignorance to the local people.
Just then the train lurched forward. Anna made to get up and return to her assigned seat but she was stopped by an outstretched hand.
“I’m John Robertson and this is Maureen. Please stay and share the map. We’ll be glad of the company.”
“Anna Mason, and thank you for the invitation.” Handshakes were exchanged all round and, for the first time since she had left home, Anna began to understand the lie of the land she had chosen to live in for the next two months.
John pointed out that they would very soon enter a valley called Strath Fillan, then past the station at Tyndrum they would finally turn west towards Oban, the terminus of this line.
“But, first,” interrupted Maureen, tracing the route with her finger, “we travel twelve miles or so along the River Lochy, through Glen Lochy and at the very northernmost tip of Loch Awe....”
As she paused for breath, John jumped in as if they were of one voice and one mind thinking together. “... we’ll see Kilchurn Castle!”
“This is obviously important to you both,” implied Anna. No one could have missed the palpable excitement in the air between the two. Their eyes shone as they exchanged private glances and their hands touched across the map.
“My father’s ancestors have some connection to the castle,” explained John. “He often spoke about it in such romantic terms that we couldn’t wait to see it for ourselves.”
“It’s a ruin now, we’ve been told,” said Maureen, “but it was built in 1440 and from the top of the towers you could once look a long way down the length of Loch Awe, for protection from approaching clan warriors, I suppose.”
“We’ll be exploring this whole area,” added John. “and that’s one stop on the itinerary we can’t miss. My father would kill me if I don’t go there!”
The couple dissolved in laughter at the thought and Anna was hesitant about intruding on their special moment a
ny longer.
“I’ll just go back to my seat now, but thank you for the map tour,” she said as she rose to go.
“Watch out for the Cruachan Power Station inside a mountain,” insisted John, as she turned around.
“....and there’s a bridge over Loch Etive at Connel,” exclaimed Maureen. “When you see it, we won’t be far from Oban.”
Anna waved to them both and sank back down into her seat. The names of glens and bens and straths and lochs swirled around in her brain. It was a lot to take in all at once and she was not sure it was worthwhile to devote much energy to the task when other, more pressing, matters would require her attention very soon. Nonetheless, she watched in fascination as the miles to her destination rolled by.
Chapter Twelve
George McLennan checked his watch for the fourth time in as many minutes.
Yes, almost three o’clock, the train should be arriving shortly. He stretched his neck to loosen the collar and tie that seemed to be restricting his breathing all of a sudden.
A sharp breeze that must have arrived straight from the cold Atlantic, bypassing the barrier of the Isle of Mull, swooped down upon him, ruffling the hair on his head with its icy blast.
The heavy, navy wool overcoat did not provide protection from this March weather.
Such a nice day earlier, he remembered. I wonder what she will think of the typically variable Scottish climate?
Lord save us! What have I got myself into, he thought, as he turned away from the wind.
I just hope Anna Mason hasn’t come all this way for nothing. What on earth persuaded me to take on a project like this? The partners are certainly not happy with me.
The words of Alec Thomson rang in his ears again. They had been revolving around in his brain since the confrontation of a fortnight ago.
“We are not responsible for the vagaries of our clients, George. You have stepped beyond the bounds of prudence in agreeing to act on behalf of Helen Dunlop in this matter.
If, at any point in the future,” and here Thomson had paused in a most menacing way, “you should again be tempted to indulge in such foolhardy behaviour, I can assure you that a senior partnership in this firm will be entirely out of your reach, sir.”
George felt the colour rise in his cheeks as he remembered the scene in Thomson’s office.
Just like a scolding from the headmaster at school, he thought ruefully. I suppose I do deserve it, but who could have resisted that poor old soul with no one in the world to turn to at the end of her days? Her circumstances were so different from my own Gran up the road in Fort William, with two daughters and sons-in-law looking after her every need.
I just felt so guilty whenever I thought about her.
And of course, I have racked up a huge bill for research and phone calls. Ms. Mason had better be prepared to deal with all these personal and financial issues or I am in deep trouble, he concluded.
He could hear the train approaching now and he automatically straightened his shoulders to meet the coming challenge. There won’t be so many holiday makers at this time of year, he reminded himself, so I should be able to spot her. She’s bound to have luggage with her.
Scanning the scattered crowd descending onto the platform, he tried to guess which person might be Anna Mason. He nodded to, and greeted, local people who worked in Glasgow during the week, and dismissed the strangers carrying only briefcases with barely a glance.
The couple with the Aussie accents and the heavy rucksacks talking to a tall woman were not immediately likely candidates, but when the tourists moved away, smiling and waving as they marched down the platform, he could see that the woman had cases and bags at her feet.
So this was Anna Mason, at last. A cap of bronze hair crowned a pleasant, older face with an intelligent, if puzzled, expression. She clutched the collar of a dark grey raincoat to her throat and shivered slightly as the wind whistled around her, but he could see a bright red suit peeking out beneath the hem and a pair of elegant black leather boots protecting her feet.
Jeanette will want a full report when I get home, he said to himself, mentally filing away the details for a later chat with his wife.
In a few strides, he crossed the platform, introduced himself, and watched relief wash across Anna Mason’s face, erasing the wrinkle between her deep blue eyes.
Conversation about the weather and enquiries about the journey occupied the short distance to the car, and by the time he drove onto the street and past the Ferry Terminal, they were deep into a question and answer session about the town, its facilities, and how long it would take to get to the McCaig Farm House.
This latter enquiry was the one he had expected, and about which he had some trepidation. To delay the moment of response, he pulled into the North Pier and parked the car at the Columba Hotel, suggesting that Anna Mason might want to check in to the hotel overnight and leave her luggage there before venturing to the farm.
It was not difficult to see from her expression that this was not what she had expected, and a more detailed description of the condition of the house which had lain unoccupied for more than a year and a half, was required.
“I have had the chimneys swept recently,” he offered, “and the place is supplied with bed linens, but, as you can appreciate, the property will need serious attention before you can stay there comfortably at this time of year.”
She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then agreed with his assessment adding,
“I honestly had not thought beyond the point of actually getting here, George.
I can now see that was foolish of me. Thank you once again for taking care of the essentials.”
She seemed somewhat crestfallen at this, so he suggested that there was still sufficient daylight for a quick visit to the farm, if she was not overly tired from the journey.
“That would be wonderful, George!” she responded enthusiastically. “I don’t think I could sleep tonight if I had to postpone the visit after coming so far.”
With that settled, George escorted Anna into the hotel and waited in the bar, downing a whisky to settle his nerves, then calling home while he had the chance.
“No, Jenny, everything’s fine. She seems like a very nice person and she has agreed to my suggestions so far.”
“There’s not been the chance to talk about money yet, but I am sure everything will be fine.”
“Now, don’t you worry yourself, love, I have the letter safe in my overcoat pocket.”
“Yes, I should be home for my dinner.”
“Of course I will be careful on the roads. Yes, I have enough petrol for the trip.”
“I’ll tell you all about it later.”
“Cheerio for now, love!”
* * *
Anna Mason appeared just as he was tucking the mobile phone back into his suit pocket.
She exclaimed immediately, in some distress, that she had completely forgotten to activate her own cell phone and what would her friends think of her for being out of touch for so long.
“Don’t worry, Ms. Mason! I can sort that for you in no time at all. You haven’t been away from home for all that long, you know. It just seems that way when you cross the Atlantic.”
“You are probably right,” she said with a sigh, “I have so much to tell them already, but I guess it can wait an hour or two more.”
“Then, if you are ready, we’ll get on our way. The farm is about half an hour out of town and we’ll be heading back towards the train station first of all, then onto Glencruiten Road and out past the golf course. Do you play, Anna?”
“I am afraid not, George, although many of my friends do. Wasn’t the game invented here in Scotland? Wonderful exercise, they say, but it’s an expensive hobby, I believe.”
With this statement, Anna turned her head to watch the view from the car and silence descended. He wondered what she was thinking about.
He had plenty to think about himself, as they climbed the road out of town and left the s
peed limit behind.
What would she think of the farm house? It was certainly quite isolated.
Was she prepared for the more primitive conditions of country life after city living in Canada? How would she manage to get into town? Did she intend to hire a car and if so, would she require an automatic shift?
Would she decide to stay or leave? What would she think when she received the letter that was burning a hole, so to speak, in his coat pocket?
Anxious as he was to know the answers to these questions, he contented himself with attending to the road ahead and before long they turned on to the track that led to the farm.
“A bit bumpy here,” he apologized, “but you will see the property as soon as we reach the crest of this hill.”
Anna sat up and watched eagerly for her first glimpse of the McCaig Farm House.
The clouds had gathered since they left Oban and the light was fading, turning grass and track and hills into the same dull tones of grey, but she hardly noticed.
She felt like she had as a child on Christmas morning waiting endlessly for permission to gallop downstairs with Simon to raid the parcels beneath the tree. How long was it since she had felt this kind of anticipation? And yet, there was an equally powerful feeling of apprehension fighting for space in her heart. The next few minutes would determine so much in her future. The suspense was almost unbearable. Her heel began a tattoo on the floor of the car and she stole a glance over at George to see if he had noticed her impatience.
His brown, curly hair was flopping into his eyes as the car shuddered over the holes in the road and he reached one long hand to push it back.
Such fine hands, thought Anna, deliberately distracting herself from the tension for a moment or two. I did not expect him to be so young. His phone voice and manner suggested a much more mature man but I am glad he is so obliging and approachable.
Susan said he was most professional as far as she could tell, and having dealt with lawyers all of her working life, she was the one who would know.
