by Maggie Craig
‘Aye, my lassie, I’m fine.’ His eyes creased at the corners. ‘Well I suppose you’re not my lassie any more, you’re Robbie’s lassie.’ There was a catch in his voice.
‘I’ll always be your lassie,’ she said, looking intently into his soft green eyes, so like her own, and willing him to know how much she loved him. She wished she could just have told him, simply have leaned forward and kissed his forehead, but things weren’t done that way in the Cameron household. Lily had the Scottish dislike of public displays of affection in full measure, and she’d inculcated it into her family.
‘Ready, Mrs Baxter?’ came a voice in her ear. Robbie, smiling broadly, put his hand on her back. She could feel the warmth of his fingers through the thin dress, splayed out over her back. He’s taking possession of me, she thought, staking his claim. She turned to him, uncomfortably aware of his closeness.
‘It’s not time to go yet, is it?’ She hoped she didn’t sound as panicky as she felt. In a few hours’ time, they were going to have to get closer still. She might still be her father’s daughter, but she was about to become her husband’s wife.
Neil Cameron rose slowly to his feet and extended his hand to Robbie.
‘You take care of my girl now, Robert.’
Robbie shook his new father-in-law firmly by the hand. ‘You can depend upon it, Mr Cameron.’
Chapter 18
Kate was coming slowly out of sleep, the events and images of the day before replaying themselves in her head: Robbie, so proud and happy, slipping the simple gold band onto her finger; her father - proud too, but sad to lose his wee girl; her mother, relieved that they’d pulled it off; her own sick realization during the wedding ceremony of what she was doing; her unhappiness at how she was fooling Robbie - a man she cared for deeply - a man she did not love as one should love a husband.
Then there had been the sail ‘doon the watter’ from Craigendoran: the little steamer chugging her way through the waves, the magnificent scenery of the Firth of Clyde, its hills and sea lochs and islands, the gulls following the boat. There had been a wee laddie with his grandparents who’d fed his piece to the gulls, shrieking with delight as the birds swooped low to snatch the pieces of bread from his outstretched fingers. At any other time Kate would have relished it all - the sights, the sounds, the fresh air on her face, the sea breeze lifting her hair.
‘Oh good, you’re awake.’
Struggling up onto two plump pillows - what luxury - Kate saw Robbie struggling into the room with a huge tray.
‘No, don’t get up,’ he said, seeing her pushing back the blankets. ‘This contraption’s got legs.’ Kicking the bedroom door shut behind him, he crossed the room towards her.
‘Sit up,’ he said cheerfully, ‘and pull the covers up. There.’ Deftly moving his hands so that foldaway legs fell down at both ends of the tray, he set it on the shiny dark blue counterpane.
‘Scrambled eggs and sausage, tea, toast, butter and marmalade. Breakfast is served, madam.’ Dressed for the day in new flannels and an open-necked shirt, he sat on the bed facing Kate, one leg bent, the other dangling over the side.
‘How did you persuade the landlady to do this?’ asked Kate, finding her voice at last. If they kept to neutral subjects, maybe they could manage to get through today. Maybe.
Robbie, concentrating on his scrambled eggs, didn’t look up.
‘Och, she says that a lot of new brides feel shy the first morning. After the wedding night.’ He was eating calmly, but Kate hadn’t missed the tiny hesitation between the two sentences. Their wedding night had been a disaster.
By the time they had landed at Millport and got the bus the short distance along to Kames Bay, Kate had been as tightly wound as a watch spring, her emotions swaying wildly between guilt and apprehension. She shouldn’t have done this to him, but now that she had, was he going to be able to tell? One problem was solved when the landlady took her quietly to one side and pointed out a bucket of cold water sitting discreetly under the curtains below the sink in their bedroom.
Kate, hideously embarrassed, had made out only a few words about taking off the small draw sheet which, the landlady explained, was on top of the main sheet, and steeping it overnight.
‘That’ll take the bloodstains out fine. If you just do it straightaway, pet - as soon as young Mr Baxter’s finished with you.’
Under different circumstances Kate might have allowed herself a smile at that last statement. As it was, she felt only huge relief. When the time came to go to bed, she insisted on the lamp being put out, despite Robbie’s gentle pleading to be allowed to light it again.
‘I want to see you, Kate,’ he whispered in the darkness. ‘Please?’
‘I can’t,’ she mumbled. ‘I can’t... I’m sorry.’
‘You’re shy,’ he said, matter-of-factly. ‘Come here then, my bonnie lass, we’ll just have to find each other by touch.’ He was smiling. She could hear it in his voice.
She tensed when he reached for her, remembering another voice saying sweet and soft things in her ear, other fingers caressing her skin. Robbie was very gentle, yet she had to steel herself not to shrink from the touch of his hand on her body.
‘Kate?’ Now he sounded puzzled. He doesn’t deserve this, thought Kate, angry with herself. Pull yourself together, Cameron. Make an effort. She lifted a hand and laid it on his shoulder, above her in the dark. His skin was smooth and warm.
‘It’s all right. I’m just nervous. Go on.’
‘Is that what you want? For me to go on?’
The question hung in the air for a few seconds. She moved her hand on his shoulder, stroking it.
‘Yes.’
She hadn’t convinced him.
‘I think I could stop now. I might not be able to, later on.’
Oh God, she couldn’t do this! Not with Robbie. But she had to.
‘That’s all right.’ She could hear for herself how wooden she sounded.
‘Are you sure-’ he began again, but Kate, her nerves at breaking point, snapped at him.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Robbie. Just get it over with!’
She could feel his hurt, sense his emotional withdrawal from her, but confused as he was, he did as she asked. It wasn’t long before she realized that he had reached the point where he wasn’t going to be able to stop. Slowly and gently, he entered her - and she froze, every part of her recoiling from this intimacy with him. He took her reaction for pain and would have pulled out, only by then it was too late.
Afterwards, once she had whipped off the draw sheet with its non-existent bloodstains and dunked it in the pail under the sink, Robbie took her stiff body in his arms and drew her, all unwilling, into his warm embrace. He kept apologizing for having hurt her, until she wanted to scream at him to shut up. He hadn’t hurt her at all, that was the whole problem. At last, unable to bear the contact any longer, she pulled herself out of his arms and turned onto her side, facing away from her new husband.
‘Kate?’ He was leaning over her, trying to work out what was wrong. ‘What’s the matter, Kate? Can’t you tell me?’
No, she couldn’t. Tell him that she was a fraud, that she had fooled him?
‘Go to sleep, Robbie,’ she said dully. ‘Just go to sleep.’
When they had finished breakfast, Robbie suggested a walk along the prom to Millport. It was a beautiful day, the sky blue and the clouds as white and fluffy as the luxurious towels Marjorie had given them as a wedding present. Kate walked by Robbie’s side in silence, responding when he asked her a question or pointed out something in the bay, but her replies were monosyllabic. He tried to take her hand as they walked, but she pulled it out of his grasp.
Kate gave her head an angry little toss. She had to snap out of this, for his sake. This whole mess was her fault, not his. She had used him, taken advantage of the feelings he had for her. Should she tell him the truth? See his face cloud over, see the bitter disappointment in his eyes? Shatter all his illusions?
&
nbsp; It would give him the chance to walk away from her. But what then? They were married, fair and square. American film stars might get divorces - you read about it sometimes in the newspapers and magazines - but not people like them. People like them just put up with it. You made your bed and then you lay on it. She felt as though her head was going to burst. She stopped suddenly - because he had. She was a pace or two ahead of him. She had to turn round to look at him.
‘What?’ She hadn’t heard him speak. Kate forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying.
‘I said - d’ye fancy hiring a couple of bikes and going round the island? It’s only eleven miles. We could take a picnic - stop round on the west coast somewhere. Maybe we could even get a tandem. What do you think, Kate?’
How many times in the last twenty-four hours had she heard him say her name with that anxious question in his voice?
‘Och, Robbie!’
She turned to look out at the bay. There wasn’t a breath of wind this morning; the sea was glassy and flat, the water sparkling in the morning sun. It was going to be a hot day. A seagull flew past their heads, his squawk loud and discordant. She closed her eyes and saw the little boy on the boat yesterday, face wreathed in smiles as the birds took the bread he held out to them.
Robbie’s voice floated to her from where he stood, a few paces behind her, on the esplanade.
‘I’m sorry, hen. Maybe bikes aren’t such a good idea today. I should have realized.’ He hesitated and then asked, his voice low and concerned, ‘Are you very sore?’
‘Robbie... ‘ she murmured. Embarrassed and ashamed, she took a few more steps away from him. An elderly man, out for his morning constitutional, touched his hat in polite greeting. Kate barely acknowledged him. Robbie had followed her to the ornate handrail separating the promenade from the rocks and sand below. He was right behind her - so close that she could feel his breath warm on the back of her neck.
‘Kate?’
She put her hand out to the wrought-iron rail and curled her fingers tightly around it. Sore? She should have been, shouldn’t she?
‘Talk to me, Kate.’ There was something in his voice that might have been amusement - and might not. ‘At least tell me what I’ve done wrong. Then I might be able to work out how to put it right. At the moment, I’m kind of struggling in the dark. Like last night, in fact,’ he joked clumsily.
She wheeled round at that, looking up into his face. He was trying to keep things light, but his forehead was creased in a frown and his eyes were wary.
‘You’ve done nothing wrong,’ she said at last. Her voice sounded odd. She coughed to clear her throat. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong,’ she repeated in a stronger voice. ‘It’s me.’
‘Do you mean that you’re having second thoughts?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘That you wish you hadn’t said yes to me?’ As though afraid of the answer he might read in her face, he turned away from her and looked out over the water.
Oh, Robbie, she thought, that’s exactly what I wish, but it’s not your fault, it’s not. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the rail and staring fixedly in front of him.
‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘if you really don’t like it.... I know a lot of women are supposed not to ... I suppose I could try not to want... I could try not to bother you too much ... in that way.’
They were both scarlet by the time he had finished speaking, stumbling his way along, leaving most of the words unsaid. He tossed his head, flipping back the rogue lock of hair from his forehead.
‘Let’s walk,’ he said abruptly, the colour fading slowly from his face. They fell into step together, automatically heading in the direction of Millport. Robbie made no move to take her arm, or hold her hand.
God forgive her. God forgive her for what she had done – and to Robbie, of all people. She looked at the houses they were passing - big, solid sandstone mansions, like his house. She turned away, back to the view out over the Firth of Clyde. She would not think of him. That was over. Kate lifted her face to the breeze. And made a decision.
She stopped and pulled on Robbie’s sleeve. ‘Not that way,’ she said, ‘this way. Where it’s quiet.’
He slanted an odd look down at her, but allowed her to turn them around.
‘Can I take your arm, Mr Baxter?’ she asked, consciously lightening her voice. He would never know the effort it cost her. He must never know, if her plan were to work. He studied her face. Whatever he saw there smoothed out the frown on his brow and lifted the corners of his mouth, but he was cautious, unwilling to let the smile go any further. They walked in silence for ten minutes, until they had left the fine houses of Kames Bay behind.
When Robbie spotted a bench looking over the narrow channel which separated the island from the mainland he steered them both to it and sat down, pulling Kate with him.
‘Talk to me,’ he demanded, ‘or I’ll go off my rocker.’
Kate took a deep breath. She had made her bed and she had to lie on it - with Robbie. There was no reason why it had to be uncomfortable for him too. She put a hand out and touched his leg. His eyes fluttered closed for a second and he gave a funny little moan.
‘Och, Kate.’ His voice was very soft. ‘I said I would try not to bother you, but if you only knew the thoughts I have about you. They would make you blush, lassie.’
His eyes were as soft as his voice. When he covered her hand with his own, Kate felt oddly breathless. It was like her father’s, she thought, rough and work-calloused, nothing like ...
But she would not think of him. Robbie was what mattered now. Robbie who loved her. Robbie whom she had cheated. Robbie who was now looking at her with a rueful smile.
‘They make me blush sometimes,’ he confided. Embarrassed, she dropped her eyes, studying the hand which held hers captive.
‘I’m hungry for you, Kate.’ She looked up, startled by the edge to his voice. His eyes were narrowed in concentration, searching for the right words. ‘No, it’s more like thirst. I’m in the desert, crawling across the sand ... and then I see an oasis - like in that picture we saw, remember? A beautiful oasis of cool, clear water and shady green trees. You’re my oasis, Kathleen Cameron. Cool, clear and shady. Somewhere I can rest and be myself. Find myself, somehow, in a way I can’t explain yet. Maybe I’ll never be able to explain. I only know that when I’m with you, I feel as if I’ve come home.’
‘Robbie,’ she began, her voice cracking. ‘I don’t want you to think that I don’t love you . . .’
He was looking rueful again. ‘You love me like your brother. I know that now. I also know that you married me for your own reasons. Maybe because of Barbara ...’ His voice tailed off. ‘All I hope is that, given time, you’ll be able to love me like your husband. Which I am, Mrs Baxter.’ Leaning forward, he kissed her gently on her slightly parted lips.
‘Robbie, I...’
He tapped her mouth with his forefinger. ‘You don’t have to say anything. I don’t want you to say anything. Let’s just give it time, eh?’
‘But I do love you,’ said Kate urgently. ‘I do. And I’ll try to be a good wife to you, and try to like ... that. You can bother me whenever you like. Och, Robbie, you know what I mean -and stop laughing at me!’
‘I’m not,’ he protested. ‘Honest.’ But he was grinning widely. He stood up and extended a hand to pull her to her feet, too. ‘Give us a kiss, Mrs Baxter.’
Kate did her best. She knew it wasn’t quite good enough. She knew he knew it too, but he was still smiling when he released her, his eyes full of hope. She couldn’t extinguish that. Maybe, if she tried really hard, she could make him happy, never let him know that he’d been second best.
‘Right, madam, what do you want to do today?’
‘Whatever you want,’ she said earnestly.
Robbie’s dark eyebrows shot up. ‘I know you promised to obey me, but I didn’t think either of us had taken that seriously!’
‘I took my wedding vows very seriously.’
There was a pause which went on for just too long.
‘Did you?’ His tone was neutral. She forced herself to look at him. He couldn’t know. Could he?
His apparent composure cracked. He took her by the shoulders and gave her a shake. ‘I don’t want a wee doormat, Kate. I want you. Full of life and full of ambitions. The Kate I know and love. My Kate.’
He finished on a quick, rapid breath, looking intently down at her.
My Kate. He must never know that she’d been someone else’s Kate. Never. She lifted her face.
‘Give us a kiss, Mr Baxter.’
Robbie took her in his arms enthusiastically and did as she asked, then held her in a loose embrace.
‘Will you do something for me?’
‘Anything,’ she promised recklessly.
He lifted his hand to her head, touching the short chestnut-brown strands.
‘Grow your hair for me? It’s so bonnie, and I’d like to see it dancing on your shoulders again.’
‘Dancing on my shoulders? You’ve definitely got a way with words, Robert Baxter,’ she teased. ‘Yes, I’ll grow my hair for you.’ It was a small enough thing for him to ask.
‘Good.’ He took her hand. ‘Why don’t you do some painting while we’re here? You can look at the sea and the rocks and I can look at you.’
‘I didn’t bring my water colours. Not even my sketch book.’
‘No, but I did. I got Jessie to smuggle them out for me.’
She turned to him, genuinely touched. ‘Och, Robbie, that was kind of you! Whatever made you think to do that?’
‘I reckoned,’ he said, trying to look severe, and failing miserably, ‘that if I didn’t keep my promise to encourage you, yon wee Miss MacGregor of yours would have me hung, drawn - and quartered.’ He dropped a kiss on her nose. ‘Come on, bonnie lass, let’s go and fetch your stuff now.’
PART III
