by C. Litka
Chapter 27: Sunday 11 August
01
I'd barely wandered downstairs and put the kettle on when there was a pounding at the door. I turned to see Lord Learmonte stalking in, not waiting for an answer.
'There you are Say,' he exclaimed. 'Just the person I want to see.'
'Good morning, sir,' I said. 'Then you've come to the right place.'
'Are you done with the project?' he demanded bluntly.
'Not quite, a dozen pages to finish up,' I replied. 'I can finish it by tomorrow.'
'Close enough. Pack up, you've time to catch the 11:11 train to Edinburgh. My driver will take you to Inverness in my car.'
'But sir, I'm so close. Certainly another day is neither here nor there. I'll be out well before your guests start arriving and you'll have the complete work.'
He shook his head “no”. 'I'm certain what remains can be deciphered easily enough from the work you've already done. No need to finish it. Project completed. Get dressed and packed.'
Even in the dim light of the cottage I could see that he was operating under a full head of steam. No doubt the storm had brought him up earlier than planned, perhaps even last night, and I had the distinct impression that he was aware of or at least suspected, the changes at Scathroy Lodge, which made my project far less urgent.
'That's for Professor Blake to determine, but if you'll make a copy of the transcription, I'll give it to him when I see him tomorrow,' I said, not that I expected him to do it, but knowing it was expected of me to at least ask.
'Rave will be up for some hunting in a few weeks. I'll turn it over to him then,' he replied, and waited, seemingly eagerly, for my protest. He knew he had all the cards now and was ready to play them.
I hesitated just a second before deciding not to give him the chance – not because he had all the cards, but because, well, I found I was afraid to spend another day with Nesta – not that I could, with Learmonte around – but being just her friend and keeping my promise was becoming too hard to bear, especially after these last several days together. And yesterday. It was too close to summer's end to spoil it now by doing or saying something stupid. 'Right,' I said. 'I'll get my gear together.' And slipping past him, climbed the steep stairs to the attic. Learmonte followed me up, no doubt to make certain I took nothing from the safe.
I'd more clothes than I brought, but stuffed them in my bags as best I could. Some things, like the wellies, I left behind. It took me less than five minutes to pack and I turned to Learmonte still standing on the steep stairs and said, 'I'm done up here.'
I followed him down.
'You can put that in the boot along with your bike,' he directed.
So I carried it out, and his driver, who'd been lounging about opened the boot and I tossed the bags in. I went back for the bike and unmounted the front tire to fit it in. Looking up I saw Mrs Douglas in the yard across the lane and walked over to her to say goodbye and to ask her to pass it on to my friends on the staff. I told her to repossess all the stuff I was leaving behind, and pass around my remaining provisions to whomever might like them.
Learmonte was waiting impatiently for my return. 'Done?'
'I've got a few more things to pack up downstairs. We'd plenty of time to catch the train even if it's running on time,' I added. It was iffy, since yesterday's great solar storm had sent surges through even the shortest of lines and closed circuit breakers across half the world, impacting many services, including rail. I went through the cupboards and checked the desk and bookcase for anything else of mine as Learmonte watched from the doorway before slipping by him and out of the Groom's Cottage for the last time into the sunlight.
Nesta was hurrying down the lane, saving me another argument with Learmonte I'd likely have lost. The coward in me might, I fear, have settled for saying our goodbyes over the phone from Inverness, but when I saw her, I knew I'd have always regretted that. I tossed my knapsack into the boot and hurried to meet her.
'What's going on?' she asked, rhetorically, I think.
'Your father has decided my services are no longer needed, and is anxious to see me on the 11:11 for Edinburgh. Giving me a lift in his car, in fact,' I replied lightly.
She scowled over my shoulder at her father.
'I thought it best to go without a fuss,' I added quietly. 'I didn't want to make a scene that will accomplish nothing.'
'Would you have left without saying goodbye?' she asked, watching me now.
'He can run me out of Glen Lonon, but not out of Scotland,' I replied. 'But you're here, and I'm glad. I want to thank you for everything you've done to make my stay in Glen Lonon so wonderful. I will never forget it. I'll treasure it...'
'I won't take credit for everything,' she replied with a faint smile. 'I'm sorry everything wasn't wonderful.'
'I think everything was,' I replied, watching her. It was the truth.
'Say goodbye, Nesta and let him go,' snapped Learmonte walking up beside us.
I ignored him. 'I'll never forget this summer, Lady Nesta. Thank you.'
She nodded. 'Nor I. Thank you for being my friend,' she said simply, extending her hand.
I took it, and looking into her cool, thoughtful eyes behind her glasses, I added because I had to, 'I will always remember you.'
'Enough,' said Learmonte. 'Come along Say, we haven't all day.'
'Goodbye Nesta,' I said and gave her a quick, cousinly kiss on her cheek.
'Goodbye Sandy,' she said softly, watching me intently.
I (tried to) smile and tore myself away from her gaze and stalked back to Learmonte's big petrol powered car and let myself into the passenger side front seat, the final act of our summer's agreement. Ships passing in the night.
Learmonte nodded, and his driver slipped in beside me and started the car. We swung around, and I waved as we drifted past Lady Nesta and her father, standing alongside the lane. Nesta only thought to wave after we'd passed.
I was dropped off at the station half an hour later, and had a pretty miserable breakfast at the station's buffet before I boarded the train for Edinburgh. I didn't pay attention to the engine. I'd other things on my mind.
02
I arrived early in the evening at Waverley and the first train I could catch south was the all night train to London, so I had four hours to kill in Edinburgh. I checked my luggage and bike and set out to walk and think.
I could not help but feeling that it was cowardly to have left without at least telling Nesta how I'd come to feel about her. (Was it really love? I couldn't imagine what else it could be, save infatuation. Time and heartbreak will tell.) And no matter how many sound, logical and insurmountable reasons I came up with for not saying it – including the fact that she'd never indicated any romantic interest in me at all, her one kiss, a sleepy, absent minded gesture, and the fact that she'd set her wedding date only a few weeks ago – I couldn't erase the suspicion that I'd somehow failed a test. Which had to mean something. Right?
There was, of course, our understanding that we were not to get romantically involved. I'd given my word on that. It was fundamental to our friendship, and I would've betrayed it if I'd told her how I felt. But wasn't I now free of that obligation? Couldn't I return and at least tell her now?
Well, there was the matter of her fiancée Renny Lonsdale, and a wedding a fortnight away which would make any such declaration hardly honourable, and any response from her other than outrage, dishonourable as well. And yet, Renny and the marriage I considered the least of the barriers. They both struck me as reluctant to alter the nature of their relationship to one of husband and wife, and I was quite certain, on instinct only, that Renny would want Nesta happy, and if I could make her happy, he'd accept that.
If I could make her happy. That was the final and insurmountable barrier. Learmonte would never accept me as worthy of his daughter's hand in marriage, and he'd bitterly blame me for not only breaking a promise made on his wife's death bed, but smashing his business deal as well. What
he would do, I'd no idea – but having seen how ruthless and unpleasant he can be, I had to believe neither Nesta nor I would ever be welcomed at Glen Lonon again during his lifetime.
There may be people who run away together, leaving family and friends behind and still find happiness, but I don't think that's Nesta. She's too tied to Glen Lonon and all its associations, memories of her mother and youth and the Clan Lonon friends. She'd never find happiness for long, away from those connections. While such an exile may not be entirely complete – I doubt all of her friends and family would cut their ties with her – the price would still be steep for defying her father and dead mother's wishes. It was not something a person who loves her would ask of her.
And finally, there was the simple fact that as the son of a London green grower, I was not near her stratum of society. Even as a PhD, I was neither rich nor titled, and while she might have friends that are neither rich nor titled, I doubt that I'd fit in – nor did I really want to either. Renny proved to be a finer chap than I'd first imagined, but I had my doubts about the rest of the Lonons. I'd known enough of their kind at the uni to be leery of their society and my acceptance by them.
In short, everything argued against doing something rash. And yet I walked and walked, seeing little of the grey stone town I walked through, unable to entirely dismiss the idea that perhaps I should give it a go. Learmonte sent me packing from Glen Lonon, still, if I went back to Cambridge with my tail between my legs without having seen Nesta again, I'd have only myself to blame.
It was dark and after ten o'clock when I made my way back to Waverley Station still undecided. I bought my tickets and then I stood staring at the baggage claim window for five minutes trying to gauge how I felt as the minutes counted down to departure time.
Reluctantly, turned in my tickets and collected my bike and bags and made my way through the big station to the platform where the London train was spewing steam and smoke into the darkness under station's canopy. Groups of people stood scattered along the platform, saying their goodbyes or talking to travellers who'd already boarded though the open carriage windows. I stood alone, still uncertain as to what to do until, the echoing speaker announced last call for my train. I forced myself to hurry over, handed up my bike, shouldered my bags and climbed aboard. Even as I settled into my seat, I was unsure of my course. It was only with the jerk and bang of the bumpers, and the iron pillars gliding past that I realized that my summer beyond the pale had come to an end. I could only hope that in time I could come to view it in the golden light I knew it possessed. A time when all my regrets would be forgotten, the pain of my inevitable heartaches romanticized, making it a perfect summer preserved in memory like an insect in golden amber.
The End.
