Dangerous Encounter

by Flora Kidd

  They both became aware that they were staring at each other in a curiously tense silence because they both looked away from each other and spoke at the same time.

  'Dr Calder said you would take me over to the island,' Helen said.

  'Give me your case and I'll put it in the boat,' said Magnus.

  Helen turned and looked at him again, suspicion clouding her mind. Now she wasn't at all sure she should go with this ruffian.

  'Perhaps I'd better wait for Dr Calder,' she said. 'And then we can all cross to the island together. It seems pointless for you to take me over and then have to come back again for him.'

  The blue eyes—they were that clear Celtic blue found so often in the people who inhabit the islands and Highlands of Scotland, the blue of harebells which grow wild on the sprawling tawny moors—narrowed thoughtfully and a frown pulled his eyebrows together across the bridge of his long nose.

  'It would be a long wait, I'm thinking,' he said at last. 'And when I was talking on the phone with Dr Calder—'

  'When? When were you talking to him?' Helen asked quickly.

  'This morning,' he replied coolly. 'He told me he wouldn't be arriving until about eight o'clock this evening but that you would be coming this afternoon, and he asked me to take you over to the island straight away, so I think we should do as he suggested.'

  He picked up her case and dropped it into the motorboat which he had pulled in close to the jetty, and with a graceful gesture of one lean hand he indicated that she should go down the few stone steps which were showing above the lapping water and get into the boat. Still suspicious of him because he didn't fit in with her preconception of what a caretaker should be like, Helen hesitated, giving him another wary glance. He looked back at her steadily, his eyes blank, his mouth set in a straight unsmiling line.

  'Are you sure you won't mind doing two trips?' she asked, unable to find any other reason for not going with him.

  'I'm sure. Do not be worrying about it, but think of it from my point of view. If I am not obeying Dr Calder's instructions and taking you over to the island he will be annoyed and I might lose my job. And jobs are hard to come by in this part of the country for the likes of me.'

  'Yes, I suppose they are,' she agreed. 'All right, I'll go with you.'

  She stepped into the boat and sat down in one of the padded seats. Magnus untied the rope which had held the boat to the jetty, stepped aboard and started the engine immediately as the boat began to drift away from the jetty. While they had been talking a faint breeze, coming from the south-west, had begun to blow. It ruffled the water and seagulls soared on the currents of air, flashes of white against the darkening grey of sky and sea.

  Putting the engine in gear, Magnus turned the steering wheel, pointed the bow of the boat towards the island and opened the throttle. Over the swirling water the boat surged, flinging up white spray. Speech was impossible because of the roar of the motor, and anyway, Helen couldn't think of anything to say to her rather wild impassive companion, and he didn't seem to be at all interested in conversing with her now that he had got her in the boat. The distance to Carroch was much farther than she had imagined it would be, and it wasn't until the cottage on the mainland shore and the jetty below it were merely grey blurred shapes seen through thick grey air brought by the south-westerly wind that she was able to see the reddish cliffs of Carroch and an opening in them of a small bay rimmed with sand.

  A jetty similar to the one they had left jutted out into the bay and Magnus guided the boat behind its protective wall, stopped the engine and sprang ashore, the rope in his hand. Helen lifted her case up to him, then climbed out of the boat, noticing as she did the clarity of the water. Rocks and mud shone up from the bottom and blue mussel-shells glinted. A shoal of tiny greyish-green iridescent fish flitted by.

  'The castle is at the southern end of the island, looking down the Sound towards the hills and Kintyre and the mountains of the island of Jura,' said Magnus. 'You will not be minding the walk?'

  'No. I like walking.'

  'Some parts of the path are a wee bit boggy, but if you follow where I lead you'll avoid them,' he added, and lifting her case to one shoulder he set off up a narrow path which passed into the grey gloom of closely planted pine trees, protected from wind and salt spray on this sheltered eastern side of the island. The path was matted with many layers of the tiny brown pine needles and the feathery branches of the trees swayed and sighed in the wind. As she followed Magnus through the scented gloom of the little wood Helen felt she had been whisked away from the noise and cares of modern life to a magic place where it was possible to believe the 'wee folk' of Celtic mythology, the kelpies and the fairies, lived.

  Emerging from the wood at a higher level than they had entered it, they had to brace themselves against the increased force of the wind as it swept across an expanse of tufted green and tawny moorland, scattered with outcrops of rock and starred with wild flowers. The fronds of bracken were thick and strong and where a small stream trickled the straight sword like leaves of wild irises clustered.

  They came to the castle suddenly, dropping down from the crown of the moor by a narrow twisting path to a door in a stone wall that protected a garden laid out behind the square stone tower. Magnus opened the door and went through first, holding it open for her, and then they walked across the garden, following a neat pathway between rows and rows of vegetable seedlings which Helen recognised as carrots, peas, potatoes and beans, from an intimate knowledge of her father's garden in Dumfries.

  'Your garden is looking very well,' she said falling into step beside Magnus as they approached the addition to the plain square tower, a smaller building two storeys high which had a sloping slate roof.

  'The garden?' he repeated, giving her a puzzled frowning look and then glancing beyond her at the neat rows. 'Ach yes, it's coming along fine, just fine,' he added quickly, then strode forward, leaving her to follow him again, and she had the distinct impression that he had no interest whatever in gardening, and that the row of vegetables had not been planted by him.

  They entered the additional wing of the castle through a porch where Magnus took off his sea-boots and hung up his yellow jacket. Opening another door, he led the way into the big kitchen which seemed to have all the necessary modern equipment, a gleaming gas cooker, stainless steel sinks, formica working surfaces, cupboards and a refrigerator, as well as a scrubbed deal table and a dresser, its shelves filled with old willow pattern plates. There was a wide stone fireplace too, its dog grate filled with paper and kindling ready for lighting, should a fire be needed.

  Beside the fireplace another doorway led straight into the ground floor of the tower, which had been divided into a narrow hallway of which doors opened into two rooms one on either side. A narrow stone staircase slanted up from the hallway following one of the thick walls of the tower to a second-floor landing. Helen followed Magnus up the stairs and he led her into a wide room with a single latticed window.

  'The view from the window is that of the Sound and is magnificent on a good day,' he said, putting down her case. 'But you won't be seeing much today. I'm thinking we're in for a storm tonight.'

  'I hope it doesn't get too stormy,' said Helen anxiously, glancing out of the window at the shoreline below the castle and the grey waves hurling themselves against reefs of jagged rocks. Beyond the waves there was nothing, only greenish-grey murk covering everything, blotting out views of islands and mountains. She glanced at her watch. It was almost five-thirty. 'I hope you'll be able to get across to fetch Dr Calder,' she added.

  'I'll leave you now to unpack,' Magnus replied coolly, turning his back on her and going towards the door. 'If you want anything to eat or to drink just help yourself in the kitchen.'

  'Oh, don't you live in the castle?' she asked, going after him. In spite of the pleasant comfort of the room, the Rose-pattered curtains and bedcover, the pink carpet, the simple pinewood furniture, she felt she didn't want to be left alone. On that f
ast darkening afternoon the old castle had an eerie atmosphere. Magnus looked back at her from the doorway and the cold blankness of his eyes, the hard gauntness of his face, did nothing to reassure her.

  'Yes, I live in it,' he replied.

  'And your wife lives here too?'

  'I don't have a wife.'

  'Then who keeps house?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'I thought… I assumed there must be a housekeeper to cook and clean for the owner. Dr Calder told me that the place is owned by a relative of his.'

  'That's right, but there is no housekeeper. Mrs Macleish comes over once a week to clean the place and Archie, her husband, looks after the garden. They live at the croft by the jetty on the mainland, where you left your car,' he said, and left the room.

  He wasn't exactly friendly thought Helen, as she lifted her suitcase to a low blanket chest which was situated below the window. She clicked undone the locks and began to take out clothes and hang them in the wardrobe, puzzling over the enigma of Magnus. There was something vaguely familiar about him. She felt she had seen him before. But then maybe he was just typical of the people who live in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland and that was why he seemed familiar.

  When she had finished unpacking she left the bedroom and went downstairs to the hallway, pausing there to listen. All she could hear was the whining of the wind and the crash of the waves on the shore. No lights were on in the hallway or in the rooms off it. The tower was silent and dark. Not liking the feeling of being alone that was creeping over her, Helen went quickly into the kitchen hoping to find Magnus there, but the room was empty and dim.

  Quickly she snapped on the light switch, thankful that the castle had electricity, and went across to the window to pull across the bright chintz curtains and shut out the wild storm-grey light of late afternoon. Searching through the cupboards, she found a tea-pot, tea-cups, and saucers. In the fridge there was plenty of milk and other foods, lamb chops, a roast of beef, frozen vegetables, butter and eggs. Presumably Mrs Macleish had stocked up when she had been informed that Dr Calder would be staying at the castle for the weekend.

  She made a pot of tea and found a tin of biscuits, turned on the transistor radio and sat for a while at the table drinking tea and nibbling and listening to. the usual programme of music transmitted before the news. When the news came on she turned the radio off, not wanting to listen to the usual headlines about the economic recession, wars and strikes, and parliamentary argument. Soon Blair would be arriving at the Macleishes' croft. Had Magnus gone to meet him? Was that where he had gone? She hoped so.

  Should she start preparing a meal for herself and Blair? Or should she wait until he arrived? She decided to wait. It would be fun to prepare a meal together in this well-equipped kitchen and then eat it in another room. On sudden impulse she left the kitchen and went into the tower, switching on the hall light. She stepped into the room directly opposite the kitchen and turned on the light in there. It was a dining room furnished with a long antique Jacobean refectory table, a beautiful piece, its surface highly polished. On either side of the table were the customary long oak benches and at either end there were high-backed intricately carved Jacobean chairs. To Helen's way of thinking the room looked ready to receive guests dressed in seventeenth-century clothes. The ladies would be in low-cut full-skirted gowns and the men in satin breeches, silk stockings and long-skirted coats, and would carry plumed hats.

  Leaving the formality of the dining room, Helen crossed the hallway and went into the other room. To her surprise it was much more modern and casual in its furnishing, with two big upholstered sofas covered with chintz slip-on covers, occasional tables and several armchairs. Under the window there was a big desk on which there was a typewriter. Papers were heaped beside the machine and opened books were scattered across the desk. Books filled the shelves on either side of the wide stone fireplace too and on one of the occasional tables close to a sofa there was a decanter of what looked like whisky and an empty glass. The room looked as if someone had been in it recently and had just got up and walked out. Who? Magnus?

  Surely not. A caretaker would hardly make himself at home in his employer's living room, would he? More likely Blair's relative had been here the previous weekend and had left this room in the state it was. But then if Mrs Macleish had been over to clean wouldn't she have taken the empty glass away to wash it and put the decanter away where it belonged? And wouldn't whoever had used the typewriter have removed the typed page which was still inserted into it, collected up all the other typewritten pages and put them away in a folder, closed the books and perhaps returned them to the shelves?

  Wind buffeted the Window which faced the shore and Helen looked up from reading the words on the sheet of paper which was in the typewriter—it seemed to be some sort of script, possibly for a play—and glanced out of the window. Sullen almost black clouds were rolling across the sky now and the sea was churned up by the wind into white-crested waves. What was it like in the strait between Carroch and the other island? Had Magnus been able to cross over in the motorboat? And if he had managed to get across would it be possible for him and Blair to come to Carroch? She hoped so, she sincerely hoped so, because she didn't fancy spending the night alone in this wild isolated place.

  Suddenly her skin prickled. She felt she was being watched. Whirling round, she looked around the room and then at the open door. There was no one in the room nor standing at the doorway. Quickly she walked over to the doorway and looked out into the hallway. No one there either. The stairway creaked and she looked up it. Was someone moving in the shadows up there? She found another light switch and flicked it. Light came on on the second landing. Slowly Helen mounted the stairs. There was no one on the landing, but it seemed to her that the flight of stairs leading up to the third storey also creaked, and she looked up them, trying to probe the black shadows.

  The wind whined and her courage deserted her all at once. Turning, she ran into her bedroom, flicking on the light, took her raincoat from the wardrobe and pulled it on. Without switching off the light she ran from the room and down the stairs, tying a scarf around her head as she went. Right through the kitchen she ran and into the porch, wrenching the door open and rushing out into the windy evening. She slammed the door behind her and walked quickly through the garden. Soon she was climbing the path to the moor. Behind her the lights she had left on in the castle twinkled through the grey mist brought by the south-west wind. Slowly, although Helen did not see because she was too busy hurrying across the moor, blown by the wind, the lights went out, starting with the one in her bedroom, then the landing light, the living room light and the dining room light, the hallway light, until only the kitchen fight was on.

  The pinewood was darker than ever, but she found her way along the path, sometimes sliding on the slippery pine needles in her haste to reach the little bay and the jetty. She was driven by a strange fear of the unknown, of the castle and its caretaker and by a need to see another human being.

  As soon as she saw the strait her heart sank. No boat as small as the motorboat in which Magnus had brought her to the island could possibly make the crossing in such wild conditions. The water, not as tossed as the sea was on the other side of the island admittedly, was swirling by in a series of whirlpools, seething and hissing, perpetually boiling, and visibility was so bad she couldn't see anything of the opposite shore, not even a twinkle of light in the Macleish cottage. Yet there was no boat bobbing about and pulling at its mooring line in the small harbour made by the jetty walls, so Magnus must have set out.

  Helen wasn't sure how long she stood at the end of the jetty trying to pierce the increasing gloom, trying to see if there was a small black boat leaping over the boiling water on its way back to Carroch, but after a while she became aware that she was shivering and that she had seen nothing. She glanced at her watch. It was well after seven and getting darker every minute, although on a normal evening at this time of the year the sun w
ould not have set yet.

  But this was not a normal evening and it looked very much as if she was going to spend the night alone at the castle. How she wished she had stayed on the other side of the strait and had waited for Blair to come! If she had she would be with him now and perhaps they would have been driving to Oban to have dinner in a hotel and perhaps to stay the night there, instead of being separated like this by wind and weather.

  Reluctantly she turned and began to trudge up the path to the wood. It would be best if she returned to the castle while there was still some light or she might get lost on the moor. From the shelter of the pinewood she battled out against the wind, pushing against it with all her might, occasionally plunging into a boggy bit of turf, filling her shoes with mud and slime. At last she reached the edge of the moor and saw the light in the kitchen window of the castle wing. Strange that no other lights were showing. She was sure she hadn't turned them off.

  Her shoes squelching as she walked she made her way through the garden to the back porch, opened the door and stepped inside. From the kitchen, through the door which was still closed, came the sound of music; bagpipe music. Helen's skin chilled. Who was in there? What would she see when she opened the door? The wee folk dancing to the sound of the pipes?

  Gritting her teeth, she took hold of the latch and lifted it and pushed the door open. She stepped inside and closed the door after her, then looked round, half-fearfully, and gasped with amazement. Sitting at the table eating, his dark ruffled hair glinting with golden lights under the glow of the electric light, was Magnus. The bagpipe music was coming from the transistor radio.