‘Ach, I doubt if he’ll remember anything about it.’ Kirsteen’s fair face was sparkling with mischief. ‘Only, I’ll make sure he does, down to every last little detail.’ With love in her blue eyes she stroked the hair from his brow. ‘My darling Fergie, he’s a man of surprises. I knew he loved Richard Tauber, he always listens to him on the wireless, what I didn’t know was how beautifully he could sing, I’ve never heard the likes from him until tonight.’
‘Ay, he was always good at keeping things up his sleeve,’ Phebie observed, her plump, pleasant face rosily pink from both her exertions and a good drop of the Uisge Beatha, ‘and he looks so snug and comfortable lying there I’ll be joining him if I don’t get to my own bed soon.’
‘I could drop you off if you like,’ Mark offered, but Lachlan, whose own old car had been laid up for weeks, hastily shook his head.
‘It’s a fine night, the walk will do us good. I’ve got a hole in my back where Thunder’s springs were digging into it on the road up here. I think I’ll revert back to the old ways and get a horse, saddle sores are infinitely preferable to rusty springs and cramp.’
‘You get a horse, Lachy McLachlan!’ Phebie said firmly. ‘I’m saving up to get us a decent car, and even if I never learn to drive the damt thing I can aye get somebody who does and we’ll wave to you as you ride by on your smelly old steed.’
Laughing they bade goodbye to Kirsteen and went their separate ways at the gate. Megan settled herself beside Mark in Thunder and as they drove back up to the Manse she said thoughtfully, ‘You know, Lachlan was right about our mystery man, he does belong on the concert platform, I have a feeling that there is a great deal about him we have still to find out.’
Mark nodded, concentrating hard on manoeuvring Thunder, whose lights left a lot to be desired, along the glen road. ‘Ay, he is quite a man, is our Otto, his manners are impeccable and his charm rubs off on everybody. Fergus isn’t exactly renowned as a chatterbox but he blossomed tonight under Otto’s influence. I’ve been to quite a few gatherings with McKenzie but it’s the first time I’ve heard him singing with such abandon, he has a fine voice too. He must have practised a lot in the bath, or up on the hill with only the sheep as an audience.’
‘There was something about his eyes, something strange,’ Megan said slowly, speaking as if to herself, her own gaze staring unseeingly into the velvet black of the night. ‘But I can’t quite put my finger on it.’
‘We are talking about Fergus, aren’t we?’
‘No, Otto.’
‘Well, he consumed a fair amount of hard spirits, anybody’s eyes would be glazed and queer after a session like that.’
‘No-o, it wasn’t that – something else . . . Oh well,’ she shrugged herself out of her reverie, ‘it doesn’t matter, it was a great night, and to think I thought that Otto would remain as unapproachable and as remote as he was when first he came to Rhanna. It just goes to show that first impressions don’t count.’
‘He was being wary,’ Mark decided, turning in thankfully at the Manse gates. ‘He likely wanted to size us up before deciding that none of us would be able to fathom who he was and why he came here, both factors which still remain something of an enigma.’
‘Rachel, of course, had a lot to do with bringing him out of his shell. She and he are real buddies, I don’t suppose . . .’
‘No, Megsie, you mustny suppose,’ he told her firmly, putting his arm round her and giving her nose an affectionate peck. ‘This little nose is a doctor’s nose and must on no account be poked in where it doesn’t belong – leave that to people like Behag and Elspeth, you can be certain they are already making merry with their gossip and I can’t have my new and innocent little wife adding fuel to the flames.’
‘You’re right, of course, you usually are. I am getting to be a bit of a cailleach, I suppose that’s what comes of living in a close-knit island community.’
He took her arm and led her indoors where they were immediately surrounded by a bevy of canine and feline bodies. When they had laughingly extricated themselves from wet tongues and hairy paws, Mark took his wife into his arms and nuzzled her lips with his.
‘You’ll never be a cailleach,’ he murmured tenderly, ‘not until you’re at least one hundred and ten years old. And I’m not always right, in fact, I’m often wrong, but on the subject of Otto and Rachel I prefer to give them the benefit of the doubt. Now, how about a nice hot cup of cocoa before bed, my treat?’
‘Mmm, sounds good – but bed sounds even better, you could be my hot water bottle, my feet are like ice after just fifteen minutes in poor old Thunder.’
His dark eyes glinted. ‘Bed it is, Mrs Mark James, I might just make an excellent hot bottle, but I’m in a wicked mood tonight and somehow I think I’m not going to be very interested in your feet, though they, of course, will warm up with the rest of you, I promise you that.’
His mouth fondled her ear, she shivered and forgot all about Rachel in the pleasure of being the wife of this tall, wonderful man who took his job as minister of Rhanna very seriously but who was first and foremost a husband par excellence.
After seeing the visitors off, Otto came back into the room, his face alight as he strode over to Rachel and took her hands. ‘Liebling,’ the endearment caressed her ears, ‘it has been a perfect evening, such music, such charming people, so natural and entertaining. The ladies I adore, the men I feel I have known all my life. McKenzie of the Glen has, on the outside, all the rough edges of an uncut diamond – but inside,’ he put his hands on his chest, ‘he has the heart of gold and the character of steel. He and I, we click. Tomorrow we go fishing in the Fallan river but somehow, I think, he will not remember that in the morning time.’
He sighed as he studied her. Only one lamp burned in the room, she looked shadowy and mysterious, her great dark eyes were luminous in the quiet, secret planes of her face. She was regarding him in that quizzical way he had come to know very well and he sighed for many things, but most of all for the absence of a voice from the throat of such an exquisite creature.
‘Ah, mein Mädchen,’ he whispered, ‘only to hear one word from your lips would be, for me, paradise. We speak to one another with our hearts, our eyes, and our music, but I am greedy: I have need to know more of you, your thoughts, your fears, your dreams, and so, tomorrow I begin to learn the language of your hands. Tonight I am too tired to want even to listen to my own voice . . .’
He paused and looked above her head to the window, and without another word he led her over to look outside. A feeling of pure magic stole over them; she put her head on his shoulder and together they watched a huge silver moon rising above the sea, spinning a pathway of crystal light over the sparkling waters, etching the great cliffs of Burg into stark black silhouettes against the star-spangled sky.
‘Come, liebling,’ he said at last, though the softness of his voice did not break the spell. ‘Together we will walk through that enchantment. I will pluck moonbeams for your hair and steal a star for us to wish upon.’ He laughed. ‘Forgive my little fantasies but moontime always makes me feel romantic and weaves the poems in my head. We will go to bed with the wonder of this night held in our hearts, you in your small corner, and I in mine.’
She wanted the night to last forever, she didn’t want to go back to the emptiness of An Cala when here, with Otto in the shorehouse, there would be warmth and comfort, love and passion, all the things that were missing from her life just then. She was never more happy, more relaxed than when she was with him and she had to concentrate her thoughts on Jon, how much he meant to her, how she had promised never to betray him again for another man . . .
She moved away from the window. Otto went out to the hall and came back with one of his own warm jackets which he tucked round her shoulders. Hand in hand they wandered through the moonlit perfection of a Hebridean night to An Cala, waiting lonely and bare up there on the cliffs above Mara Òran Bay.
Chapter Ten
The minute Rache
l stepped over the threshold of An Cala she sensed that the house was no longer empty and unwelcoming, the feeling of life was in the atmosphere, and though it was dark in the little hallway it was a friendly darkness and she wasn’t afraid to go further inside to investigate.
It was very quiet. The house wore that cloak of soundless peace that seemed to enclose it after gloaming had departed and night had settled over the countryside. Even so, her heart beat a little faster as she stood there in the deep stillness, and she just about jumped out of her skin when, on the wall beside her, the ornate clock she had brought back from a trip to Germany chimed out the hour of one o’clock.
She stayed very still outside the parlour door while her racing pulse galloped on, bringing in its pounding beat the first small niggle of unease. Then, with an impatient shrug, she put her hand very gently on the doorknob and slowly, slowly, began to turn it. The hinges creaked slightly. She held her breath as bit by bit she pushed open the door.
Not even she was prepared for the sight that met her eyes, for there, sprawled by the dying embers of the fire, was her husband, dead to the world.
Jon! Her heart cried out his name; a few swift steps took her across the room, straight into his arms. He awoke with a start but she gave him no chance to say anything, instead she smothered him with kisses until he broke away, breathless and laughing.
‘Let me look at you!’ he cried, quickly lighting the oil lamp and retrieving his glasses from the fireside table. Putting them on he held her at arms length. ‘More beautiful than ever,’ he said, the light of love shining in his eyes. ‘Your holiday on Rhanna has done you much good, you are brown and healthy and perfect. Ah, liebling.’ He sighed, folding her in his arms. ‘How I’ve missed you and counted the days till I could be with you. It has been forever, but we will make up for it, the summer is ours to pass as we will. The decision to come home to Rhanna was arrived at in haste and I had no time to write and let you know when I would be coming.’
She had a thousand questions to ask, and her hands flew so swiftly he laughed and shook his head in some bewilderment. ‘You go too quickly for me, or perhaps I am just out of practice. Firstly, I came on this evening’s boat, you weren’t here so I lit myself the fire and settled down to wait – and wait – and wait.’ Tenderly he kissed her nose. ‘I think to myself, she is at Ruth’s house and will be home soon, then when soon passed I have the idea that there is a ceilidh somewhere and she won’t be home till late. But my little wife, she still doesn’t come at twelve of the clock and I am tired from the journey – and so, I sleep, and now I wonder, what has kept her out till the little hours of the morning.’
She found it hard to meet his eyes, such honest eyes, brown and gentle and trusting, sometimes she laughingly told him that he looked like a big puppy dog, but she didn’t convey that to him tonight, not when she had just come fresh from the arms of another man whose kisses still tingled on her lips. For Otto had indeed walked her home, but he hadn’t been able to resist crushing her to his chest and covering her mouth with such bruising kisses she had at first been dismayed before she had responded to him with a passion that equalled his.
‘Forgive me, liebling,’ had been his parting words, ‘I told you I would only kiss you when I was tempted beyond endurance: tonight I very much needed to kiss you, and now go home before I lose my control altogether.’
He had walked away quickly, leaving her to stare after him, every fibre in her so thoroughly awakened she had been trembling with emotion. Her legs had felt so shaky, her heart had beaten so quickly, she had had to allow some time to elapse before attempting the climb up the cliff path to An Cala – and now, here was Jon, tugging at heartstrings that were already weak with feelings.
Dear, darling Jon. She was glad, so glad to see him, she felt that somehow he had saved her from herself and she was so genuinely pleased to see him her face was aglow with the relief she felt at having him home at last. But his questions awaited an answer and as quickly as she could she told him that she had indeed been to a ceilidh though she omitted to say where it had taken place. Somehow she wasn’t yet ready to tell him about Otto but his next words made that kind of evasiveness very difficult indeed.
‘Has it been all fun, liebling?’ he asked lightly. ‘Or have you kept up some violin practice? I know you want to forget the world for a while but you have a very large following out there, I have to be a hard taskmaster and we must work out some sort of schedule in order that you do not allow yourself to become rusty.’
‘There is a man – he has come to live at Doctor Megan’s old house,’ unwillingly her fingers spelled out the words. She paused, wondering if she should tell him the truth about Otto. She had given her word not to say anything to anyone, but Jon was her husband: if anyone could be trusted to hold their tongue he could. She gazed at him; he was waiting, a quizzical half-smile lifting the corners of his mouth. Making a swift decision, she told him everything, ending, ‘With him I have had the most wonderful time, he plays his piano, I my violin. So you see, darling Jon, I don’t need a schedule to make me work. Otto is my encouragement, he makes everything so happy and pleasurable, it is a joy to be with him.’
Whilst talking about Otto, her face had become more alive, more glowing than ever. Jon saw the light in her eyes and slowly he nodded. ‘I see you have everything you need here on Rhanna, all the freedom in the world, friends, family, above all a man who is in tune with your spirit and who makes his music with you.’ He gave a rueful shrug. ‘Perhaps I make a mistake when I think you must be missing me as I missed you, you – light up when you talk of this man.’
‘No, Jon, no!’ Frantically she tried to make him understand how lonely she’d been without him but still he seemed unconvinced and in desperation she threw herself at him to kiss him with such eagerness he was soon lost in the sweetness and insistence of her mouth.
When at last he spoke he sounded shaky. ‘Oh, mein Rachel. Always, always, I melt in your arms. I tell myself one day I will be strong and not give in to you so easily but . . .’ he spread his hands, ‘I can never resist you and you know it.’
For a long time after that they sat on the rug in front of the fire, holding one another, but she sensed a restlessness in him, his mind wasn’t fully on her, he kept glancing towards the door, a strange expression on his thin, aesthetic face.
All at once he got abruptly to his feet and began pacing the room in a worried fashion, then, with his back to her, not meeting the questions in her eyes, he said in a low voice, ‘Rachel, I don’t know how to tell you this, it will come as a shock and perhaps I should have mentioned it right away, but seeing your happiness I couldn’t bring myself to ruin our reunion.’
Scrambling up from the rug she went to him and put her hand on his arm but still he wouldn’t look at her and she became angry because the only way she could communicate with him was through her hands, and how could she speak to him in that fashion if he couldn’t see what she was doing?
He passed a hand over his eyes in a characteristic gesture. ‘I’m sorry, liebling, I’m not behaving very well, perhaps, after all, I shouldn’t have come . . .’
‘Jon!’ Pulling on his arm she made him turn to face her. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s – it’s – Mamma.’ Somehow he got the words to come out. ‘She’s here, Rachel, upstairs asleep in the little guest room. She insisted on coming with me, she wanted, she said, to see for herself the island that we love so much, she said it was time she saw my wife’s birthplace. Also – she felt the change might do her some good as she’s been very low since her illness and taking the flu didn’t help matters . . .’
He couldn’t go on. Rachel gave him no chance anyway, her eyes were like black burning coals in the deathly pallor of her face. At first she had stared in disbelief as he had talked, now she balled her hands into fists and began to beat them against his chest.
NO! NO! NO! The screams of protest filled every space in her pounding skull but only the barest of sobs made themse
lves heard. To have his mother here, on Rhanna, spoiling everything with her hints and innuendoes, her accusations and her black, glowering glances, was just too much to bear.
No! No! No! Her face crumpled. She subsided against him, shaking her dark head. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t live under the same roof as that formidable woman who had never accepted her as a daughter-in-law and never would.
‘Rachel – oh, my liebling,’ gently he took her hands and clasped them to his mouth, ‘please, don’t be so unhappy, it will only be for a little while. Mamma is used to the city, she doesn’t like the country and will hate an island even more. A week, ten days at the most.’
It was eternity! Rachel saw the days stretching ahead, filled with Mamma, her demands, her likes, her wants, her needs. Limp as a doll, Rachel pulled her hands out of Jon’s grasp and moved away from him.
She went to the door. ‘Rachel,’ he began, but she was already out of the room. He could hear her going upstairs, and not being very quiet about it – she would waken Mamma and that was the last thing he needed just then.
A great sigh gusted out of his chest. The start of his holiday looked very bleak indeed, with the two women in his life hating the sight of each other and making no effort to hide their feelings, be it in private or from the rest of the world.
By the time he got upstairs the room was in darkness and Rachel was in bed. Very quietly he got undressed and slipped in beside her. It was very peaceful, the sky outside the window was littered with stars and even as he watched, the edge of the full moon came into view, peeping through the muslin curtains as it climbed higher. Gradually the room became filled with its silver light and in a moment of contentment he gazed round at all the familiar things that were so evocative of his times spent at An Cala.
The furnishings were simple. Both he and Rachel had agreed that the house, with only a few exceptions, should look as it might have looked fifty – a hundred years ago. Here in their bedroom there were no exceptions: the bride’s kist under the window, the sturdy mahogany wardrobe and dresser, the pewter basin and jug, the enormous brass bed with its wonderfully soft feather mattress, even the very rag rugs on the wooden floor, were as they must have been when An Cala was a working croft and its rooms had rung with children’s voices and the sound of tackity boots taking their work-weary owner upstairs to well-earned rest.
Stranger on Rhanna Page 11
