by Jessica Hart
‘I never thought I would admit it, but I’m shopped out,’ she said to Torr as they unpacked the perishables they had bought at their last stop. They had done a major supermarket shop, stocking up on all the basics, and as many fruit and vegetables as they thought would keep fresh for a while, as well as some luxuries, including a ready-made meal that went straight into the range to heat up when they got in.
‘Just as well,’ said Torr, stacking milk in the old chest freezer. ‘If we do many more shops like that we won’t be able to afford to have the roof done! We’ll have to make do with what we can get in Carraig for a while now.’
‘We really need to try and grow as much as we can ourselves. I’m all fired up now I’ve bought my book on growing vegetables,’ Mallory told him. ‘I’m going to start digging a patch to plant those seed potatoes I bought tomorrow.’
‘I thought you were painting tomorrow?’
‘That’s true.’ She was dying to get going on the bathroom, but if she didn’t start planting vegetables soon it would be too late. ‘I’ll paint in the morning,’ she decided, ‘and garden in the afternoon.’
Torr raised an eyebrow. ‘You don’t need to knock yourself out,’ he said, and something in his tone made Mallory flush. She was obviously sounding too keen.
‘That was what we agreed as part of our new deal,’ she reminded him stiffly.
He didn’t reply for a moment. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said at last. ‘You’re working to repay your debts so you can leave in a year’s time with a clear conscience.’
Mallory bit her lip. She hadn’t been thinking about leaving, but if she denied it he would start to wonder why she was getting so enthused about planting vegetables she would probably never eat.
And he wouldn’t wonder nearly as much as she would.
So she told herself that repaying her debts according to the terms of their deal was all she cared about.
It certainly gave her a good excuse to work really hard for the next few weeks. She had bought paint in Inverness, and cleverly gave each room a character of its own just by careful choice of colour, so the bedroom was warm and restful, the bathroom cool and calm and the kitchen fresh and bright.
Having done much of the preparation in advance, it didn’t take her that long to slap on some paint, and she spent the rest of the time in the kitchen garden, where she’d started by clearing that one small patch. Mallory was surprised at how addictive she found it, and she got quite ambitious. She planted potatoes and beans, leeks and purple sprouting broccoli, peas and spinach, and once they were in she kept clearing one patch at a time, marvelling at what she found. There were great clumps of parsley and mint that had gone to seed, coarse rhubarb and chard, and a fine collection of old fruit bushes-blackcurrants, redcurrants, raspberries and gooseberries-that had grown woody.
Every night she would pore over the book she had bought, but the best advice came from Dougal, one of the roofers, who turned out to be a keen gardener. Dougal had a seamed, weathered face, and could obviously hardly bear to see her making mistakes. Every chance he could, he would climb down the scaffolding and stand over her in the garden, sucking his teeth and shaking his head.
‘You’ll no be getting a decent crop of potatoes now,’ he told her. ‘You’re much too late to be putting them in.’ He wagged a stubby finger at her. ‘Next year, now, you start in February.’
Mallory listened humbly. Dougal told her how to chit seed potatoes, how to grow carrots from seed, how to prepare soil, and he identified all sorts of plants that she had thought were weeds and had been planning to dig up.
‘It’s like Gardeners’ Question Time whenever I come in here,’ grumbled Torr one day, watching Dougal return reluctantly to the roof after finishing his mug of tea. ‘He spends more time in the garden than he does on the roof!’
Mallory pulled off her gardening gloves and put a hand to the small of her back. ‘I don’t know what I would have done without him,’ she said. ‘I can tell he thinks I’m too silly for words, but he’s showed me how to do all sorts of useful things. I’m going to start early so I can grow a really good variety next year.’
‘Don’t put in too much,’ Torr said. ‘Your year will be up before next summer. There’s no point in planting vegetables if you’re not going to be here to eat them.’
Without giving Mallory a chance to reply, he walked off, leaving her to stare after him in consternation. They had been getting on so well recently that his blunt reminder was like a slap in the face. It wasn’t that she had forgotten that she would be leaving in a year’s time, or that she had changed her mind, but she just hadn’t been thinking about it. She hadn’t been thinking about Steve either. She had just been painting and digging and walking Charlie and not thinking about anything very much. In spite of all her hard work, it had been a strangely restful time.
Now Torr had unsettled her again. She didn’t want to think about leaving, not yet. Much better to take each day at a time, Mallory told herself, and let the future take care of itself for now. She would just keep on tending the garden, and helping Torr with the mammoth job of bringing Kincaillie back to life, and she would worry about what she was going to do when the year was up.
Dougal and his fellow roofers drove back to the pub in Carraig every night. It seemed a long drive to do, there and back every day, but when Mallory asked Dougal if they wouldn’t rather camp at Kincaillie, he told her they had didn’t like to rough it unless they absolutely had to.
Absurdly, she felt almost hurt that the men would drive all the way to Carraig rather than stay at Kincaillie. ‘It’s not as if it’s that bad,’ she said to Torr when she told him about it as he came into the kitchen at the end of a rare sunny day, having washed and changed.
‘You’ve changed your tune, haven’t you?’ he said, with a somewhat sardonic glance.
Mallory was stirring a sauce on top of the range. She tapped the wooden spoon on the side of the pan and rested it on the edge.
‘You’ve got to admit that things have improved since we arrived,’ she said, turning to lean back against the welcome warmth of the range. It might be May, but even when the sun shone the heat rarely penetrated the thick castle walls.
Torr let his eyes travel slowly round the kitchen, noting as if for the first time how much things had changed. Music played from small speakers, and appetising smells drifted from the pot on the range. Mallory was a bright figure, leaning there in jeans and a scarlet cardigan, her dark hair tumbling to her shoulders and her face vivid.
The walls had been freshly painted in a bold colour. She had made fabric blinds that cut out the blackness outside and made the whole room seem cosier. The armchairs in front of the fire were covered by new brightly coloured throws, and the table between them was scattered with books and magazines. Now that they had a standard light each they could actually read them at night now, while the music played and the fire burned low.
Given what a huge room it was, it had taken surprisingly little for Mallory to change the whole atmosphere.
‘You’re right,’ he said as his eyes returned to hers. ‘Things have improved a lot.’
Reaching into the fridge, he poured them both a glass of wine. ‘Seriously,’ he said as handed one to Mallory, ‘it all looks great.’
She took the compliment with a word of thanks. ‘Do you really like it?’ she asked almost shyly. It was always so hard to know what Torr was really thinking.
‘I do. I can’t believe the difference you’ve made.’ He looked her straight in the eye. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘There’s no need to thank me. It’s just…’
‘Part of the deal. I know,’ Torr finished for her. ‘Still, you’ve worked really hard, and now everything is so much more comfortable. I want you to know that I appreciate it.’
Mallory was pleased, but his praise made her feel awkward at the same time. ‘You’re working just as hard,’ she pointed out, thinking of the long hours he spent in the rest of the castle. ‘It’ll just tak
e longer for you to see any real results.’
‘That’s for sure,’ he said, with a brief, wry smile. ‘But it’s different for me. I’ve got an investment in what I’m doing because my future’s here.’
‘I’m investing in paying my debts,’ Mallory reminded him. ‘Besides,’ she went on, trying to lighten the atmosphere, ‘working is the only way to stay warm round here!’
Torr looked at her. ‘It’s not quite the only way,’ he said slowly, and even though she resisted, letting her gaze skitter desperately round the kitchen, something dragged it back to his until brown eyes and blue eyes locked into place so definitely that she almost expected to hear a click.
There were other ways to keep warm, of course there were, but as she stood there staring back at Torr, the only one Mallory could think of was going to bed and making love. What was more, she was convinced that Torr was thinking exactly the same thing. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but the air between them was suddenly tight, so tight that her breath shortened. To her dismay, she could picture it all too vividly-falling into bed together, kissing hungrily, hands fumbling for each other. Mallory felt warm just thinking about it.
More than warm, in fact.
If he suggested it, what would she say?
She would say yes.
The realisation made Mallory’s heart jerk, and she moistened her lips. ‘Like what?’ she asked huskily. Invitingly? She couldn’t decide whether she wanted Torr to think that or not.
‘Dancing, for instance,’ he said.
Dancing? Mallory felt as if he had chucked a bucket of water over her. He had been thinking about dancing when she…No, don’t even go there, she told herself fiercely, but it was too late to stop the flush of mortification staining her cheeks. Good Lord, short of hanging out a neon sign she could hardly have made it more obvious that she had been thinking about something completely different!
‘Are you suggesting a tango round the table?’ she managed, pleased to hear that her voice sounded almost normal, with just the expected hint of surprise at the idea of Torr dancing at all.
The corner of his mouth flickered in appreciation of the picture. ‘No, I’m not really the tango type,’ he said. ‘I forgot to tell you that when I went in to Carraig yesterday everyone was talking about the ceilidh on Saturday. They made a point of inviting us along.’
‘A caylee?’ Mallory echoed doubtfully, trying to echo his pronunciation. ‘That’s Scottish country dancing, isn’t it?’
‘Music and dancing, yes.’ Torr nodded. ‘You’ll enjoy it. Everyone always does, even if they wouldn’t normally be seen dead dancing. It’ll be a chance for you to meet some of our neighbours, too.’
‘What? In case I ever want to pop round for a cup of sugar or a quick coffee?’ said Mallory, who was still feeling edgy after misinterpreting his look so humiliatingly. ‘Our nearest neighbours must be at least fifteen miles away-hardly handy for a chat over the fence.’
‘It’s all relative,’ he pointed out. ‘You never know, you might make some friends. I said we’d go, anyway.’
So on Saturday evening Mallory had a bath and washed the dirt of the garden out of her hair. Torr had said that it wouldn’t be a formal affair, which was just as well as she had left most of her smart evening clothes in storage in Ellsborough, but she wanted to make a bit of an effort.
For the neighbours, she reminded herself.
She found a soft, swirly skirt and a vibrant pink blouse with three-quarter length sleeves, which she cinched at the waist with a wide belt. She would just have to hope that it looked all right. The next time she went to Inverness, she decided, she was going to get a full-length mirror.
As it was, she had to inspect her reflection as best she could in the bathroom mirror. She had dried her hair so that it fell in soft waves to her shoulders, and she was wearing make-up for the first time in ages. She looked just the same, Mallory thought with surprise. She felt so different now from when she had first come to Kincaillie that she had somehow expected it to show in her face.
Perhaps the changes were more visible than she had thought, though. Torr was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a paper while he waited for her, but when Mallory went in he looked almost startled. He got slowly to his feet.
‘You’ve changed,’ he said.
‘Of course I’ve changed! I can hardly go dancing in my old gardening clothes!’
‘No, I meant…you’ve changed,’ he said. He studied her, as if contrasting his pale bride with her stark eyes and withdrawn expression with the vivid woman in front of him. ‘You look…better,’ he said inadequately.
Mallory thought about what he had said. ‘I feel better,’ she admitted honestly.
‘I suppose that’s because you don’t feel trapped into our marriage any more.’ Torr was folding up the paper, searching for his car keys, not looking at her any more, and his voice was curt and careless.
She watched him with a slight frown. Was that why she felt better? It must be. ‘I suppose it is,’ she said.
They left Charlie in the kitchen, knowing that the moment they’d gone he would be up on one of the chairs and making himself comfortable.
For some reason the atmosphere between them felt strained again as they made their way out to the car.
It was long, clear May evening, windless for once, and the sea gleamed like a sheet of copper. The hills in the distance were a smudgy violet beneath a sky washed with the gold of a slowly setting sun. Mallory stopped with one hand on the car door, caught by the luminous light, noticing the setting as if for the first time.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, sounding almost puzzled.
Torr was momentarily forgotten as she gazed at the scene. She had never thought of this landscape as beautiful before. It had always seemed so barren, so intimidating in its savage grandeur, a mighty battlefield between the scarred mountains and the ceaseless wind and sea. But now all was still and a magical hush lay over it, and she could see at last how you might come to love it.
If you were going to stay more than a year.
‘Yes,’ Torr agreed, but when she turned her head he wasn’t looking at the sea or the hills beyond. He was looking at her as she stood with her face lifted to the setting sun.
‘You are too,’ he said gruffly, opening his door so that his words were almost lost. ‘I should have said before.’
Mallory’s heart clenched like a fist in her chest. ‘Thank you,’ she said after a moment, which seemed like a better option than, Why don’t you kiss me if you think I’m beautiful? A more sensible option, anyway.
He was her husband. He thought she was beautiful. Mallory sat next to Torr, her pulse booming in the dark, enclosed space of the car. She was burningly aware of his hand on the gearstick, of his massive, reassuring presence. The light from the dashboard illuminated his cheekbone, the edge of his mouth, the line of his jaw, and every time her eyes slid sideways to rest on his profile she felt hollow and slightly sick.
He was her husband. She ought to be able to lean across and put a hand on his thigh. They would share a bed when they went home tonight, but she ought to be able to turn to her husband for more than warmth. She ought to be able to press her lips to his throat, to trail her fingers down his stomach, to kiss her way along his jaw and whisper in his ear.
If he thought she was beautiful, he ought to want her to do that, surely?
Mallory swallowed, half terrified by the train of her thoughts. Torr had made it clear enough that he didn’t want that. No sex, no passion, no excitement. That was what he had said. No touching other than in the interests of warmth.
But if he really did think she was beautiful…
Mallory was appalled at herself. She seemed to be in the grip of something beyond her control, so that no matter how often she reminded herself that it would be better to keep things the way they were, her imagination would simply sweep all sensible thoughts of the future aside and leave her next to him in the darkness, where nothing mattered but the
longing thumping deep inside her and clenching at the base of her spine.
When Torr parked outside the pub in Carraig and switched off the engine, Mallory was almost disorientated. The sharp air helped clear her head at least, and she was able to smile and greet people at the ceilidh even though she was still quivering with awareness. She knew every time Torr smiled or shook hands, every time he so much as turned his head.
He seemed to have met a surprising number of people in the area already, which was puzzling when she remembered how grimly unapproachable he had always seemed in Ellsborough. The Scots seemed to like his austere style, though. Or perhaps, like her, it was him who had changed.
The village hall was very plainly decorated. A buffet was laid out at one end of the room, and uncomfortable-looking chairs were ranged along the walls. Dragging her mind away from Torr for a moment, Mallory did wonder if it was going to be an excruciating evening, but once the musicians started tuning, things began to look up.
The music was impossible to resist, and in spite of herself Mallory’s foot started tapping. As the first set started to form, she hoped Torr might ask her to dance, but he was talking to the doctor’s wife, and in the end it was the vet who swept her onto the floor.
‘I’ve got no idea what I’m doing,’ she warned him, and he grinned at her.
‘It doesn’t matter. You’ll pick it up as we go along.’
Had Torr even noticed that she’d gone? Mallory wondered crossly, and was then even more miffed when she saw him inviting the doctor’s wife to dance.
The dancing was great fun. Mallory whooped and swung and tapped her feet along with everyone else, but she was aware of Torr the whole evening. Like her, he had a different partner for every dance, so it wasn’t as if she were jealous. It wasn’t that kind of dancing, and one of the great things about the ceilidh, she learned, was that you danced with anybody and everybody.
