‘Gosh, Mr Ferguson,’ he sighed, ‘I’m terrified to even think of driving this.’
‘I have every confidence in you,’ James smiled. ‘You can have as much practice as you feel you need and then … and then, you can take me to see my friend – something I thought I would never have the chance to do.’
The months passed at varying speeds for them. For James, impatient to set off on the journey he wanted to make, they crawled. But for Malcolm, unable to rid his mind of reservations about it, they sped past. He did like the old man but felt that their friendship had progressed too far, too quickly. Who else would offer the loan of a Rolls Royce – a Rolls, for goodness sake – to a practical stranger? What was even more unsettling was his reference to a two-day journey. An overnight stay? Did something murky lie behind this? Was James one of those … one of those men who preferred other men to women? What was he planning?
However, nothing untoward was said or done on their first little jaunts to South Queensferry. And when they had ventured further afield to Dunfermline one day and round the East Neuk of Fife to St Andrews on another occasion, everything was as proper as it should have been. He was enjoying himself now and so was James by the look of him.
With winter past, the weather grew milder and the trips grew longer and it was only when James remarked that he thought the time was right for the one journey he longed to make that something occurred to Malcolm – and he wondered why he had never thought of it before. ‘Where are you getting all the petrol, James? I know Rolls Royces are harder on the juice than any other make of car.’
The old man gave a secretive grin, then said, ‘I was a surgeon, you see, and having registered as such, I am entitled to as much fuel as I need. I had used hardly any of my petrol coupons before I met you, so I feel within my rights in doing this one last thing.’
He was so clearly serious about this that Malcolm hadn’t the heart to tell him his ruse could land him in jail if it were found out – or, at the very least, with a substantial fine to pay. But this trip, to wherever it was, would definitely be the very last, as far as the driver was concerned.
Thus, as soon as Malcolm was told he was due a ten-day pass, they arranged for him to sleep at Cramond on his first free night so that they could set out fairly early in the morning.
The die was cast and time would tell if the young man’s fears were justified.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Henry was feeling somewhat disgruntled. He had planned to pay another visit to Becky in case something had come back to her – something that might clear his son’s name once and for all – but the early morning rain had kept him inside. To be more correct, it had made his wife keep him inside. Fay was always afraid for his chest because his father had died of pneumonia. A little after ten, however, the sky took on a lighter tinge – not ‘enough blue to make a pair of breeks for a sailor’, as his beloved Gramma used to say, but enough to give body to another of her weather forecasts – ‘Rain before seven, sun before eleven.’ She had been a right character, his old Gramma. There weren’t many like her around today.
The old prophecy had come true and, by twelve o’clock, the sun was streaming into the kitchen, making Henry itch to jump on his bike – struggle on, would be more like it – and pedal off to The Sycamores area.
‘And where d’you think you’re going?’ Fay asked when Henry took his boots out from the cupboard under the stairs. He had never been comfortable in shoes.
‘Out.’
‘Where to?’ she demanded.
‘Just out. Can a man not please himself, these days?’
‘Not when he’s over seventy. I’m not trying to stop you doing what you want to do but I want to know what that is. You spent all day yesterday cleaning your old bike and blowing up the tyres, as if you were going to go out on it, but you’re not fit for that, Henry. You know you’re not.’
‘I’m fit enough if you’d leave me alone,’ he growled but slid the boots sheepishly under his chair.
‘You can go and meet Mara, if you like, on your feet, though. That’ll give you a wee breath of fresh air and maybe take that scowl off your face.’
Unable to argue with her for long, Henry’s mouth turned up as he resurrected the boots and tried to put them on. Sitting so long had made his feet swell and he had to loosen the laces a good bit before the opening was anywhere near wide enough. Fay watched, longing to kneel down and help him, but she knew better. She had won one victory; it would be asking too much to try for another.
It took some minutes before Henry, sweating and red in the face, stood up triumphantly, both feet shod, both laces securely tied, but he made a face when his wife held up the jacket she had taken from the peg at the door.
‘Anybody would think I was a bairn.’
‘And they wouldn’t be far wrong.’
But her smile was so loving that his heart beat a little faster – as it had always done and as it always would. Then he detected a mischievous glint in her eyes and knew what she was thinking. ‘You needn’t look at me like that either for I was going to put on my bonnet to stop my baldy bit getting cold.’
They both laughed at that for it was a standing joke between them. Even the tiniest coin of the realm, the silver threepenny bit, would have a hard job fitting into the bald patch on the crown of his head.
Having buttoned up his jacket, donned his cap and made sure that he had a hankie in his pocket, he opened the door, his bottom lip plunging down when a car drew up in front of him. Not an ordinary car, though – a car such as he had never set eyes on in his entire life. He hadn’t even heard the engine of this sleek black vision and came to the conclusion that it must have broken down – right outside his door. He hurried forward to offer assistance to the two men inside.
‘If you go down this road and up the next one,’ he said to the driver, the younger of the two and wearing an air-force blue uniform, ‘you’ll see the garage. It used to be my father’s smiddy at one time but one of my nephews converted it to a garage in the early thirties.’ He turned to the older man now. ‘And, if you’d like to come in while you’re waiting, my wife will gladly make you a cup of tea or give you something to eat.’
‘You do not recognise me, Henry?’
He took a closer look. The set of the head and the style of the walk, as the elderly man crossed the wide pavement, did remind him of somebody; somebody he hadn’t seen for a good many years, and, even then, it had only been a few times. It was the cut of the clothes more than anything else that gave the game away. ‘You’re Leo’s father! You’re James Ferguson! What are you doing in Ardbirtle?’
James smiled beatifically. ‘I’ve come to see Samara.’
‘She’ll be home from work in a few minutes. How did you know we were at Oak Cottage? We were in Mid Street when you were up before.’
‘I directed Malcolm to Corbie Den first,’ James admitted. ‘So stupid of me when I should have remembered that it was sold after Leo …’
‘Did the folk there tell you we were here now?’
‘I asked where Samara Ferguson lived now and they told me that she was living with her parents. Then, of course, I had to be redirected again.’
‘But I’m keeping you standing. Come in, come in, for any sake.’
Fay’s recognition was quicker than her husband’s and, after Malcolm had been introduced as ‘a young friend of mine’, they were all talking as if they saw each other every day. When Mara appeared, some ten minutes later, wondering who owned the expensive car outside, her whole face lit up. ‘Mr Ferguson!’ She hurried across to kiss his cheek. ‘Oh, my goodness, what a lovely surprise. Are you on a touring holiday …?’
‘No, my dear, we have come specifically to see you. I feel thoroughly ashamed at not having made more of an effort to keep in touch with you. A card each Christmas is poor acknowledgement for all you did for Leo … and for me. Oh, my dear girl, it is so good to see you again.’
Then Malcolm was introduced and they all sat down to a bowl of broth
with an oatcake, which was all Mara had time for before going back to work. The meal passed in comparative quiet and it was not until Mara had set off for the solicitor’s office – with her father-in-law’s assurance that he would still be there when she came back – and Fay and Malcolm had gone into the scullery to wash up, that Henry had a chance to talk privately to their guest. He had been considering it throughout their meal and had decided that James would be the ideal person to give him some guidance on how to find out what had taken place in 1916.
Having guessed what her husband was talking about, Fay took Malcolm out at the back to show him the garden, when they finished the dishes, and then took him through the gate between Oak Cottage and the garage. It had never been blocked up because, as Clarence Laing, Pogie’s and Abby’s eldest, had said when he took over, ‘Best to keep communications open. We never know when we might need each other in a hurry.’
He had pretended that he was thinking of himself but Fay knew that it was she and Henry who were his main concerns. Clarence and Malcolm got on very well, although there were over twenty years between their ages, and presently Henry ushered James out, too, and Fay was free to go in for a seat. She wasn’t up to standing very long, nowadays.
When the men came back inside, James said, a little apologetically, ‘I hope you do not mind, Fay, if we come back after we have found somewhere to spend the night? I would like to have more time with Samara and we did set off with the intention of returning to Edinburgh tomorrow.’
‘For goodness sake, James!’ she chided. ‘There’s plenty of room here for you and I’m sure Mara would be delighted to sit and talk to you till the early hours.’
‘My dear lady, I couldn’t possibly put you to so much trouble.’
Henry put his oar in now. ‘It’s no trouble to my Fairy Fay. She just loves looking after people.’
At half past three, Laurie bounded in from school, bombarding Henry with questions about the big motor sitting at the door, but, when he spotted the two strangers, he went to Fay’s side and wouldn’t open his mouth.
Bemused by the boy’s unusual shyness, Henry explained who he was and why he was there, then Fay took him upstairs to help her to make up two extra beds, ‘One for Mr Ferguson and one for …’ She looked enquiringly at Malcolm.
‘Just Malcolm, if you please.’
‘What’s his last name?’ Laurie demanded.
‘It’s Fry. Malcolm Fry.’ He was much easier in his mind now that he knew he would have a room – and a bed – to himself. He had been impressed by the size of Oak Cottage and was surprised and somewhat amused on learning that Willie Rae had fathered thirteen children, of which Henry was the youngest.
After Mara came home, Laurie seemed more friendly towards the visitors and ended up on Malcolm’s knee, listening to tales of the Royal Air Force, while Fay and Mara set the table and served the supper. Laurie, most reluctantly, was then put to bed, while Fay, Henry and Malcolm retired about nine, all claiming to be exhausted by the events of the day. James, alone with Mara at last, recalled Leo as a small boy, as a schoolboy, as a young university student, while Mara listened enthralled. Leo had never told her much about his youth and she felt more compassion than ever for his father. He must have been terribly hurt when Leo enlisted, giving up the chance of a junior post in the hospital where he himself worked. Then there had been the trauma of the homecoming, followed by years and years of heartache and sorrow that his dreams for his son could never come to fruition.
At last James gave a long sigh of what sounded like relief at having been able to speak about it. ‘And then you stepped in, my dear, dear, Samara, to take the burden from me.’
‘I didn’t consider it a burden,’ she smiled. ‘I loved him, remember?’
‘I am well aware of that and he loved you, deeper than most men have the capacity to love, and then …’ He shrugged, his old eyes dimmed even further by unshed tears. ‘I, too, love you, Samara, and I will until the day I die, although it was not until I reached my seventieth birthday that I realised I had not done my duty by you …’
She shook her head. ‘You were under no obligation to me, James. What I did, I did of my own accord, out of my love for Leo, and his love was all the reward I needed.’
He cleared his throat suddenly as if he had made up his mind about something. ‘I buried Madeline some months ago. That was the day I met Malcolm and also the day that I planned my visit to you.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier about your wife? I’m very sorry …’
‘I wasn’t.’ His smile was a little lopsided. ‘For the first time in years I was able to think my own thoughts, plan what I wanted to do … and do it. I am very pleased that I have been able to see you again before it was too late … No, don’t shake your head. I am an old man …’
‘The same age as my father,’ she reminded him.
‘Yes and it will be through your father that I will repay what you did for me.’
‘What do you mean? What has he been saying to you?’
‘He told me about your brother and how he is sure there is someone who can tell him the truth. I have a car and a driver, who has nine more days before he has to return to his airfield, and I mean to trawl the district around The Sycamores until I find that elusive person.’
‘You know, when I came in today and saw Malcolm first, I thought he must be Jerry’s son. I thought the baby hadn’t died at all but it was just wishful thinking.’
‘Samara, I am so sorry. I did not know about the terrible tragedy until today.’
‘It’s all right, James, but I can’t see how you hope to get at the truth when my father couldn’t.’
‘Possibly I can’t but I’ll have a damned good try. There are ways of making people delve into their innermost memories.’
‘I suppose I shouldn’t ask any more,’ she grinned, ‘though I can’t really see you as one of the Gestapo.’
Mara spent some time after she went to bed in thinking over the latter part of the evening. It had been lovely to see Leo’s father again and it was no surprise that he was not saddened by his wife’s death. Maddy, as Leo had called her, had not been a very likeable person. As for this quest he was set on making, he was an old man and, judging by her father’s failing health, she doubted if James was capable of carrying out such an investigation. It could mean hours and hours of going from door to door. He would be in the Rolls, of course, which could impress these country people, could loosen their tongues – plus, if she was reading him correctly, he intended crossing their palms with silver. Grinning into the darkness, Mara closed her eyes and was soon soundly asleep.
At breakfast the following morning, James said, ‘I think I’ll have a tour round Aberdeenshire now I’m here. You don’t mind driving me for a few days, do you, Malcolm? It’s new ground to you too, isn’t it?’
‘I’d love to do a bit of exploring.’
After everyone had left, Henry was very quiet and, when Fay asked him what was wrong, he just said, ‘I thought James might have asked me to go with them. I know what he’s up to, you know.’
‘He’s not up to anything. He just wants to see a bit of the countryside and it’s lovely at this time of year.’
Henry let her have the last word, although he had a strong suspicion that she did know what James Ferguson meant to do. Of course, he wouldn’t succeed either … except that he was in a position to offer bribes or, as he would likely put it, rewards for information. Still, if he did learn something, it wouldn’t matter how it was done, would it? All Henry Rae wanted was the truth.
Malcolm could tell that the people James spoke to were doing their utmost to give him the answer he wanted. Possibly the Rolls Royce had something to with it or just the old man’s manner. He had a way of coaxing information out of people, as he himself had discovered, and several tiny snippets about Jerry Rae seemed to be emerging, enough to build up a picture of the young lad, a hard worker who, while friendly with everyone, kept himself to himself.
‘I thought the way you introduced yourself was brilliant,’ Malcolm smiled. ‘You look exactly right for an author investigating mysteries.’ His eyes twinkled suddenly. ‘A little old, perhaps, but you could pass for sixty-five, even sixty, in a poor light.’
‘Cheeky monkey,’ James said affectionately. ‘Well, I have had enough for one day but a good night’s sleep and I shall be fighting fit again.’
He fended off Henry’s curiosity by saying that he was fit to drop and scuttled off to bed not long after they had eaten.
Having covered the outlying cottages on the day, in a huge sweeping circle around The Sycamores, they tried the village of Drymill the following day but the few pieces of information they gleaned mainly duplicated what they had already been told.
Towards the end of their third day, even Malcolm was feeling frayed at the edges and James had to admit to defeat. ‘We’ll finish this street and call it a day.’
At the first of the two remaining houses, a very stout, crippled old lady with straggly, yellowing grey hair opened the door. ‘Aye?’ she asked but not in the least aggressive as some of the others had been.
James recited his spiel and, at the mention of the ‘mystery’, she perked up a little. ‘You’d best come in, sir.’ She led the way into a neat little kitchen with a fire burning in the range. ‘Sit you down now and I’ll put on the kettle …’
‘Don’t bother making tea,’ James interrupted. ‘We have drunk so many cups today that it feels like a whole ocean is sloshing around inside me. I ask you, please, to cast your mind back to a time in 1916, Mrs … um … when the trouble at The Sycamores began …’
‘I’m Rosie Allardyce and I was cook there at the time.’
The Shadow of the Sycamores Page 42
