“Art is not about being an expert,” said Byron. “It’s about feeling.”
Joan felt this man was engaging her soul.
“If I can stir something in you then I’ve succeeded, “said Byron, “will you come?”
Despite the coffee, Joan’s mouth was suddenly dry. She nodded.
“I’d be delighted.”
Joan was beginning to want to know as much about this man as possible.
“So tell me about your marriage,” she said.
“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”
“No, of course not,” said Joan feeling she’d overstepped a boundary. “Sorry, I’m being too nosy.”
“It was a rough time, a very rough time but people come, people go,” said Byron with a shrug. “One thing I have learned though.”
“What’s that?”
“Never pursue a beautiful woman.” He stared intently into Joan’s eyes.
“Why’s that?” she asked.
“Because they expect it,” said Byron. “Because they’re used to it.”
“What about the ugly ones?” said Joan.
Byron laughed. “Now they’re a different story.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
A storm was brewing at sea, moving inland towards Handa. Ominous charcoal thunderclouds obliterated the sky. The wind had picked up significantly since early afternoon. It lashed the breakers into a frenzy, hurling them against rocks and sending plumes of spray shooting into the air.
Declan stood on the edge of the sandstone cliff transfixed by the drama unfolding before him. How long had he been here? As far as he could tell from using the calendar in his room, it was going on three months. The days slipped easily past, each a simple routine of hard work spent gathering food and sheltering from the elements, punctuated by the sensual delights of Fionnaugh.
A jagged spoke of lightning bisected the threatening heavens. Declan decided it would be unsafe to stay any longer. Even the squall of seabirds ceased as they took shelter in the nooks and crannies of the four-hundred foot high sandstone cliff that dropped before him.
By now, Declan was familiar with birds that were good to eat. He remembered Moira’s look of disapproval when he used his deadly slingshot to bring home a Great Skua. She’d frowned and tut-tutted although she seemed glad for the feathers. The Great Skua ended up being served to the dog Freuchie who had no trouble tearing tough meat from the bird’s bones.
Declan set off at a fast clip across the island. His feet had become so leathery that he no longer bothered wearing shoes. He’d even attempted a cliff climbing expedition with Callum, using his toes to gain a foothold as Callum had showed him. Declan managed to retrieve two eggs from an indignant Kittiwake but made the mistake of looking downward and was overcome by dizziness. Callum helped him clamber back to safety, insisting Declan remain at the top of the cliff while he continued foraging on his own.
Declan raced unsuccessfully against the rain. He was soon cold and soaked. He felt his heart pounding in his chest. Anytime he tried to answer the question of who he was, his brain became enveloped in fuzziness. Once or twice he caught a glimpse of something, the silky red hair of a woman, bright lights, crowds cheering and clapping but as soon as he tried to isolate each image and connect them they slipped away like a stone sinking into the sea. The past was lost. The present was a mystery. The future was unknowable. The barrenness of the island beneath his feet, the howling wind, and the emptiness of his mind frightened him. Despite the companionship of Callum, Moira, and Fionnaugh these people seemed to belong to another time in which he was not fully present. Declan felt completely alone.
Declan was glad when he arrived safely back at the stone cottage. A peat fire glowed merrily in the iron grate sending a soothing warmth into the cottage. Moira and Fionnaugh were both busy sewing beside the light of an oil lamp. Callum dozed in a chair with Freuchie asleep at his feet. Fionnaugh glanced up at Declan with a tiny smile. He was sure she’d come to him tonight, sneaking into his room as soon as she was sure Moira and Callum were sleeping. It seemed she couldn’t go more than a couple of days without him inside her.
In his tiny room, Declan stripped off his wet clothes and hung them on a chair to dry. He put on dry trousers and lay underneath blankets, listening to sounds of the household preparing to sleep. He didn’t have long to wait before the creak of his door announced Fionnaugh’s arrival. Wearing a thick woolen nightdress, Fionnaugh clambered in beside him. She reached for his hardness, whispering ‘cock’ in his ear.
“That’s right,” said Declan. “It is my cock and you’re going to suck it.” He pushed her head down to where he wanted her. He met no resistance. Fionnaugh was more than eager to please. . She took him in her mouth, murmuring sounds of delight as she licked his shaft. Declan moaned softly.
The gale outside made an eerie ‘whoo whoo’ sound as it blew over the thatched roof of the cottage and battered against the windows, concealing the noise of the lovers.
Declan would let Fionnaugh suck him off and then he’d give her a good fucking. He felt his juice rising, ready to explode into her sweet mouth. Yes, he was coming. He was coming.
“Do it baby, do it,” he moaned. Just as he peaked, the door to his room burst open. Moira was standing in her nightdress holding a pot of boiling porridge. Her crazy eyes took in the scene. Her daughter and son were fucking.
“Chan! Chan!” she screamed. “Fhalbh!”
Lightning flashed outside illuminating Moira in all her fury and madness. With a single hurl she aimed the porridge straight at Declan and Fionnaugh. Declan heard Fionnaugh howl in anguish. A searing heat hit his arm. The sky rumbled and cracked. Lightning seemed continuous, illuminating the room in a low yellow flicker.
The walls enclosing Declan fell away, along with the rest of the stone cottage. His surroundings simply vanished into the ether, leaving Declan outside and exposed to the elements. He was alone on a hill. Below him he saw a tableau of suffering; battalions of ghostly soldiers marched in kilts, their bagpipes yowling with the wind. He saw children crying and clinging to their parents as families were forced from their homes. He saw galleons and people carrying pathetic bundles of belongings. He saw them leaving their familiar lives behind and setting sail for the unknown. He felt their tears and sorrow. Then everything went black and deathly silent.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Next stop Inverness.” Natasha slipped her wedding ring on. From here on she was a respectable widow , devoted to her dead husband Declan Thomas. She took her scrapbook from her carry-on and gazed at the doctored photo of her and Declan as bride and groom. She would tell anyone who asked that their wedding had been a fabulous social occasion with more than five hundred guests at the stately old Timothy Eaton church in Toronto. The royalty of rock, Lady GaGa and Katy Perry, had attended along with Justin Timberlake, who’d performed a special song he’d written just for them. Natasha’s gown was made from yards and yards of exquisite French lace. She’d been the most beautiful bride anyone had ever seen. Declan loved her madly. He’d slipped the ring on her finger and looked at her in adoration. Natasha twisted the ring around her finger.
“I do,” she murmured as the train pulled to a stop.
The car rental office was beside the train station. Natasha had reserved a zippy red Fiat for herself with a GPS system. With assistance from the manager, she programmed the co-ordinates of Scourie.
The manager, a jocular jowly man said, “Och, you’re away to the highlands then?”
“Yes,” said Natasha.
“Aye, beautiful up there. Watch out for the sheep when you’re driving,” he warned. “Where is it you’re headed exactly?”
“Handa Island,” said Natasha.
“So, you must be a birdwatcher. Nothing there but birds.”
“Yes," said Natasha. “I’m crazy about birds. Can’t get enough of them.”
“Och but wait. Ah think ah read the island has been closed to visitors this season because of poacher
s. Just a wee minute.” The man went to his computer then smiled brightly at Natasha.
“Yer in luck lassie. Ah was right. It was closed for the season but it’s open now, not that anyone’ll be going mind you. It’s too late. People like ta go in the spring when there’s young’uns but that’s when the poachers like it as well.” The man handed Natasha the keys to her car.
“Good luck ter ya lassie.”
Luck shmuck, thought Natasha, driving away. It had been a while since she’d driven a standard but it soon came back to her as she navigated a series of hair-raising roundabouts leading out of the city. After an hour she felt comfortable in her little car. The hills gradually became bigger and bigger until they were actual mountains.
After two hours Natasha pulled into Lairg, a tiny village that seemed to contain nothing more than a café, a custom boot maker and a store for hunters. After grabbing a bite to eat, Natasha investigated the hunting store. My God some of the items looked straight out of Downton Abbey; all deerstalkers and tweed. Natasha bought herself a peaked newsboy cap as a souvenir. Much to the disapproval of a tight-lipped woman behind the service counter, Natasha left the store wearing her cap backwards.
As the road narrowed into a single track, Natasha kept noticing signs that said ‘Passing Place’. Weird, she thought. What the fuck does that mean? She found out when she met another car coming in the opposite direction, the driver pulled into a passing place to let her by. Now I get it, she thought, shifting gears. Five minutes later she pulled in to let a giant transport rattle past in the opposite direction. What an oddball country this is, she thought.
By the time Natasha arrived at Scourie, darkness was beginning to fall. She checked into the Scourie Lodge, a charming old inn with whitewashed walls, a magnificent garden and a view of the sea as a distant silver sliver.
Exhausted from her travels, Natasha climbed gratefully into a soft double bed and was soon dreaming. Tomorrow she would make her pilgrimage to Handa. She would take photos to use in her book. She would always be remembered as being the one true love of Declan Thomas.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Effie was thrilled by the new duplex on Palmerston Avenue. In no time she’d organized painters, decorators and designers. She completely renovated the upstairs kitchen, adding a deck and French doors. Every day the house filled with trades people.
Elizabeth’s days were taken up with choosing colours and finishes and traipsing around with Effie to buy furnishings for their new place. Elizabeth was glad to be occupied. Effie’s good cheer and natural bonhomie filled the house like its natural light.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Elizabeth told Effie.
After a hard day of shopping, they’d decided to treat themselves to a martini at one of their favourite old haunts, the Windsor Arms.
“Me too,” said Effie, settling into a comfy leather chair. “That place is something else,” she said.
“Are you referring to KLB or the new house?” asked Elizabeth.
“Both,” said Effie. “The house in a good way. KLB in a weird way.”
“Yes,” agreed Elizabeth taking a sip from her glass. “It certainly is an eccentric part of the world.”
“Did you know Angus MacDonald?” asked Effie.
“The guy who beat his wife? They lived in the old manse on the way out of town.”
“That’s the one,” said Effie. “The wife finally walked out. Left him for good.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Elizabeth. “Everyone knew he was beating her but she’d always denied it. Fucking bastard. Did she take the kids?”
“Yes,” said Effie. “Apparently they went down to England somewhere.”
“I bet Angus was happy about that,” said Elizabeth.
“Drunk for days,” said Effie. “But then you know what happened?”
“I can’t imagine.”
“Angus started getting parcelsevery week from California, a place called ‘Lovejoys,’" said Effie.
“So?”
“Well, Barry, his nearest neighbour, had to go into Angus’s garden because he wanted to borrow his hose. He’s pulling it out from behind the shed and he sees this pile of pink plastic. He’s nosy so he pulls on a piece and out pops this head…a woman’s head with a hole for the mouth. “
“No!” Elizabeth was aghast.
“I kid you not,” said Effie. “Angus had been ordering inflatable dolls and beating them up.”
“That is seriously fucking twisted.”
“Madder than a box of frogs,” agreed Effie, “but wait, it gets worse.”
Elizabeth was used to the strange stories of KLB but this one promised to beat them all.
“So then what?”
“Angus gets roaring drunk, takes the latest doll to the shore, and tries to drown her.”
“No!”
“Of course the fucking thing kept bobbing up because he hadn’t let the air out,” said Effie.
“Oh my God,” exclaimed Elizabeth.
“So the doll bobs out to sea, away from the clutches of the brutish Angus,” said Effie.
“Freed at last,” said Elizabeth. “Let’s toast her.”
The two women clinked glasses and each took a sip.
“So then,” continued Effie, “a passing sailboat sees what looks like a woman’s body floating on the ocean. They call the coast guard. Next thing you know Angus has been charged with public mischief for wasting the coast guard’s time.”
“That is too much,” said Elizabeth.
“So Angus earned himself a new nickname,” said Effie.
“What’s that?” asked Elizabeth.
“The locals call him…” She was trying to hold back laughter.
“What? What is it?” asked Elizabeth. “Chrissakes Eff, tell me.”
“Dolly. They’re calling him Dolly,” said Effie.
“No!” exclaimed Eizabeth.
“Yes, Dolly MacDonald.”
The two women laughed so hard that Effie sprayed out her mouthful of martini. She reached for a napkin. “Sorry about that.”
“Only in Kinlochbervie,” said Elizabeth shaking her head. “But they’ll go on treating Angus the same as anyone else.”
“True,” agreed Effie. “Eccentrics are us.” She signaled the waiter to bring two more drinks.
“So how was Jimmy about you leaving?” asked Elizabeth after the two women managed to contain their mirth..
“Extremely civilized,” replied Effie. “Nice to know I can go visit whenever I want and we can take up where we left off, if we want. No strings. No pressure.”
“He’s a sweetie,” agreed Elizabeth. She finished her martini and changed the topic.
“I want to get to work on Rags ‘n’ Beats’. It’s a seriously excellent idea Effie. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”
“Me too,” said Effie. “I’ve put together the business plan, and, I’ve also set up a couple of meetings.”
“Oh wow. Great news.”
“One thing about Kinlochbervie, it’s a good place to concentrate. There’s fuck all else to do.”
“Except fuck,” teased Elizabeth.
“Except fuck,” agreed Effie. “And a girl can only do so much of that.”
Elizabeth chinked her empty glass with Effie’s.
“I think this calls for another. To Rags ‘n’ Beats.”
“To us.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The morning dawned bright, clear and calm. Natasha was vaguely aware of a few cracks of thunder in the night but for the most part slept soundly. She woke refreshed and eager to get on with her day. She tucked heartily into the full Scottish breakfast of eggs, sausages, bacon, beans, mushrooms and black pudding. She wasn’t quite sure what black pudding was. It looked like a large dark slice of fried salami but it tasted good. She cleaned her plate, had a slice of toast with thick orange marmalade and coffee, and felt ready to complete her mission.
Natasha made enquiries at the front desk and reserved an outboard m
otor boat at Tarbet, a small fishing dock on the mainland across from Handa Island.
Natasha had grown up with boats at her parent’s cottage and was a gold level sailor. The crossing to Handa was only about ten minutes and would present no problem, particularly since the sea looked as flat as a freshly ironed sheet.
Natasha packed her camera in a knapsack, along with a picnic lunch that the inn provided.. She set her G.P.S. for Tarbet. She would make sure that she and Declan Thomas were forever linked. Her book would be a blockbuster.
Natasha pulled into a car park and took a stone footpath down to the Tarbet jetty. She could see her boat moored, an aluminum outboard with a 60cc engine. There was no sign of life, except for a couple of ducks bobbing around the dock.
“Hellooo,” she called.
“Aye,” said a man’s voice.
Natasha turned to see a burly fellow emerging from behind an office shack where he’d been taking a pee. He was pulling up his fly.
“That my boat?” she asked pointing.
“Aye, if yer the lassie that’s rented it,” said the man.
Natasha peeled off a wad of bills.
“Five hundred including deposit right?”
The man pushed a greasy sailor’s cap back, scratched his head, and regarded Natasha skeptically.
“Sure ya know what you’re doing like?” he asked.
Natasha shot him a bored glance. She didn’t even bother to reply. She strode authoritatively to the boat, untied it and hopped nimbly in. The outboard started easily. Natasha deftly maneuvered the craft in reverse, swung it around, and roared towards Handa Island.
A few feet from shore, Natasha cut the engine letting the boat’s momentum carry it forward. As the bow edged onto a sandypebbled beach, Natasha hopped out, glad she’d remembered to bring rubber boots. She tied the boat to a crusted iron ring set into a massive charcoal stump. A single wooden hut functioning as a tourist information bureau was closed. A weathered glass case attached to the side of the hut posted some basic facts, and a map.
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