The Last of the Kintyres

by Catherine Airlie

  The light in Elizabeth’s eyes'" surely betrayed how much this meant to her.

  “I don’t see why not,” he said. “Most of the people you know will be there.”

  When Stephen telephoned the following morning he said it was to remind them about the regatta, not to invite them to it.

  “I knew you would still be here,” he said. “As a matter of fact, Elizabeth, I want a word with you. Can I come over and pick you up for lunch tomorrow?” The following day was Friday, and Hew was generally at Whitefarland, but now that the sheep were down off the hill he would probably be somewhere on the estate. It was no reason for refusing Stephen’s invitation, of course, but she said:

  “Why not come and have lunch here? Hew may be at home.”

  “I didn’t particularly want to see Hew,” came the reply from the far end of the line. “I said I wanted to have a word with you. Nevertheless, being the martyr type, I’ll give in! What time did you say?”

  “I didn’t!” she smiled. “But twelve-thirty will do. It would give us time for your highly mysterious talk before one o’clock. Will you bring Imogen?”

  “It’s quite a thought! Will Tony be there?”

  “You sound like a meddling old matchmaker!”

  “Perhaps I am.” His voice was suddenly serious. “How is Tony shaking down?”

  “It’s quite wonderful.” Elizabeth lowered her voice. “Oh, Stephen, if only he can keep it up!”

  “What makes you think he won’t?”

  “I—oh, lots of things!”

  “Enlighten your Uncle Steve!”

  But Elizabeth did not want to bring Caroline’s name into their conversation. She had, in fact, determined to try to forget what had almost amounted to a warning on Caroline’s part.

  “See you tomorrow!” she said instead, and rang off. “I’ve invited Stephen to lunch,” she told Hew the following morning. “He phoned yesterday—about the regatta.”

  Hew glanced at his watch.

  “I’ll try to be back by one o’clock,” he said. “I have to go to Oban this morning, on business.”

  She wondered if he would have taken her, offering her a lift to do some shopping, perhaps, while he was busy. She would have loved that, but she had forestalled him with the information about Stephen.

  Oh, well, she could not go back on her arrangements now and—and perhaps he hadn’t meant to ask her, after all. He might even have arranged a meeting with Caroline, although he had said “on business.”

  “I’ll be up at Whitefarland,” Tony informed them, spooning up porridge as if he had been born to it. “Pity about the farm,” he added when his mouth was empty. “Hew’s heart is up there, and no mistake!”

  Elizabeth got hastily to her feet. Hew had gone out, closing the door behind him, and she could hear him starting up the Land-Rover out on the drive.

  “I know,” she said shakily. “He meant to get married and live there, Tony.”

  “I don’t think that’s all,” Tony observed with amazing perspicacity. “It meant more to him than just a home. He knew that he would be faced with all these heavy death duties on Ardlamond and he thought of Whitefarland as the answer. A flourishing, well-established sheep-farm would not only have paid its own way but shown a considerable profit in time. And it was all going to be ploughed back into Ardlamond.”

  “Who told you all this?”

  “Oh—I came by it bit by bit. Some of it I worked out for myself—much to your surprise, I dare say—and Stephen dropped a few hints, I suppose. I think he had some idea of instilling a sense of obligation into my head, making me see that one can’t go on being selfish all the time, that people—and things—demand something in return now and then. The point is that Hew hasn’t had the time he needed, and you can’t fight time, I suppose.”

  “No.” There was a little silence. “Oh, I wish we could do something,” Elizabeth said.

  “Even if we could buy Whitefarland—if we could get hold of some of my money, somehow,” Tony suggested gloomily. “I don’t suppose it would help all that much. It’s time Hew needs.”

  “All the same,” Elizabeth said, the tears very near her eyes, “the thought was very sweet of you, Tony.”

  “It would have benefited myself,” he pointed out. Was that the way? Elizabeth held the thought to her for a moment before she was forced to relinquish it with a little practical shake of her head.

  “You’d have to know an awful lot more about sheep-farming, Tony,” she said aloud. “Hew would never allow you to risk your capital at this stage.”

  But later? Was this, perhaps, what Hew saw for Tony in the future, provided he would stay the course? It would be a wonderful opportunity for any boy, a glorious, free, open life among the hills. Whitefarland, she thought. Whitefarland would have been ideal!

  When Stephen’s brake drew up on the gravel outside the main door exactly at twelve-thirty, the first person to get out was Imogen. She looked shyly about her until Tony appeared.

  “Hullo!” he greeted her with apparent indifference. “Come and have a look at the launch. We’re trying her out this afternoon, so I might be able to take you across to Lingay.”

  There was a proprietorial swagger about him, an air of belonging where Ardlamond was concerned because, for three weeks now, he had earned the right at Whitefarland. Elizabeth smiled a little as she watched him walking off with Imogen.

  “What about Hew?” Stephen asked, easing himself out from behind the steering-wheel.

  “He’s gone to Oban, but he’ll be back by one,” Elizabeth answered. “He had to go on business.”

  Stephen turned towards her rather sharply.

  “Was he at the factor’s?”

  “I’m not sure, but I expect so. Why?”

  He frowned.

  “Stephen,” she asked quickly, “is there anything wrong?” He shook his head, taking her arm to lead her round the gable end of the house where they could walk in the sun.

  “Nothing apart from what we already know,” he answered slowly. “Whitefarland has been snapped up right away. In fact,” he added, “I strongly suspect that it was bought even before it came officially on to the market.”

  She looked bewildered.

  “You mean that someone knew Hew was going to sell and forestalled everyone else?”

  “Someone who wanted Whitefarland very much,” Stephen added dryly. “Caroline.”

  “Caroline?” Elizabeth echoed in disbelief. “But what—”

  “What could Caroline want with a farm?” he supplied for her. “Nothing, if it happened to be any farm, but Whitefarland was different. She paid a fantastic price for it, and she’ll use it to hold over Hew’s head like a tantalus. It’s what he wanted to keep more than anything else in the world, and he can have it again when he marries her! Oh yes, Caroline is very clever!”

  “Perhaps she had another reason for wanting it,” Elizabeth said in a strained undertone. “Hew saw it as their future home—”

  Stephen’s laugh was sharply cynical.

  “You can tell that to someone else!” he said. “No, Elizabeth, you can’t think up anything sentimental about Caroline’s motives. She knows what she wants and she’ll go out to get it, one way or another. And this is the way she intends to try for a start.”

  “But surely Hew must have known—”

  “I don’t think he did. But I think he will see through her little ruse and be furious.”

  “Or—grateful.”

  “Maybe,” he agreed laconically. “Do you know if he has definitely agreed to the sale?”

  “I think he would leave it entirely in the hands of the factor, but I should imagine that that’s why he has gone to Oban this morning.” Her voice was not quite steady. “Stephen,” she added after a moment, “who told you about Caroline?”

  “Intuition! Fact is,” he confessed briefly, “I went in yesterday to buy Whitefarland myself. I rather fancied a farm,” he added hastily and, Elizabeth was convinced, untruthfully, “
but I was told that I had been beaten to it by ‘a lady with other interests in the district.’ Who, then, could I suspect but Caroline?”

  “But you’re not really sure?”

  “As sure as doesn’t matter.”

  They walked in silence until they heard the sound of a car’s engine coming from the direction of the shore road.

  “If Hew doesn’t know who has bought Whitefarland are you going to tell him what you suspect?” Elizabeth asked uneasily.

  “He’ll know,” Stephen said, “If he’s been to Oban.”

  Hew came round the gable end of the house. His face was a mask, and Elizabeth knew that even Stephen had no idea what he was thinking.

  “Had a successful trip?” he asked.

  “Most successful.” Hew’s tone was grim, his jaw as hard as granite. “Have I kept you waiting for your lunch? I’m several minutes late.”

  Throughout the meal he spoke of everything but Whitefarland, guiding the conversation skilfully to the events of the following day, and when their coffee was served he excused himself, saying that he had several phone calls to put through.

  “Will we see you tomorrow?” Stephen asked doubtfully.

  “I hope so.” Hew paused at the door. “I can spare the day,” he added briefly. “Whitefarland has been sold.”

  Giving them no opportunity to question him about the farm’s new owner, he strode from the room, but that retreating back view seemed eloquent of disappointment and frustration to Stephen and Elizabeth, at least.

  Tony, who had not been asked to work after lunch, spent the remainder of the time with Imogen and Elizabeth walked with Stephen along the beach to Dromore.

  Clambering over the rocks, they could have spoken about Hew again, but neither of them appeared to want to discuss this thing. The victory was to Caroline.

  She put in an appearance the following afternoon at the Yacht Club, as the guest of the Commodore.

  It was a glorious early autumn day, with the sun sparkling on the surface of the water as if a million diamonds had been scattered across the bay from the quayside to the green shores of Kerrera. No wind blew, to the bitter disappointment of the racing fraternity, and Stephen told Elizabeth with disgust:

  “It’s going to be no more than a drifting match. We’ll be in the bay for hours.” He screwed up his eyes to look out to the Commodore’s yacht, lying like a painted ship above her clear reflection. “The old man’s going to call it off, I think. There isn’t a hope of getting anywhere under sail.”

  “Will anyone dare go out on his engine?” Elizabeth laughed. Already she was beginning to understand, and appreciate, the foibles of the keen yachting enthusiast. “Or will it be more than his life is worth after the ‘no racing’ signal has gone up?”

  “In a while, perhaps,” Stephen grinned. “We may sneak out ourselves after we’ve had our tea,” he added. “Where would you like to go?”

  Elizabeth looked round for Hew, only to find him talking to Caroline.

  “Anywhere,” she said. “Anywhere you like, Stephen.”

  “We’ll round up the others,” he suggested, “and make a party of it. Poor old Naomi will be laid up on the Clyde by this time next week!”

  They took their tea in the Clubrooms, and Caroline crossed to their table with Hew.

  “Congratulate us, Stephen,” she smiled, her eyes bright with triumph.

  Elizabeth felt as if her heart had stopped beating. She could only sit and stare at Caroline and wonder why Hew remained so unsmiling when they were about to announce their renewed engagement.

  Stephen got clumsily to his feet.

  “Must I?” he asked. “What is it all about, Caroline?” She made a little face at him. It could hardly have been called a smile, yet it conveyed a certain amount of smug satisfaction.

  “I am now the proud possessor of Whitefarland,” she announced.

  There was a tense, hard silence before Stephen said: “You’re certainly to be congratulated, Caroline—if you mean to farm it.”

  “I’m not sure yet what I’m going to do with it.” She gave Hew a quick, sideways glance. “I’ve bought it chiefly for sentimental reasons, of course, but I dare say I can make it pay, too.”

  It was a bitter, challenging remark, thrown at Hew in anger, or out of pique, but he stood beside her, tense and unsmiling, making no sign that it had affected him in any way.

  “I understand that I only just beat you to it, Stephen,” Caroline continued. “So sorry! But you mustn’t really grudge me my little victory. There are so many other farms to be had for your money—if you want them.”

  “You’ll come aboard, Hew?” Stephen asked, trying to ignore Caroline as politely as possible. “We’re taking Naomi out for a short, last trip.”

  Hew hesitated.

  “I’d like to have a word with Prentice, if you don’t mind,” he said, refusing the offer. “He wasn’t in his office when I called in to see him this morning about the sale of the sheep.”

  “Just as you like,” Stephen said, turning to Imogen and Tony. “You coming with us?” he asked.

  “So long as we can get back for the dance,” Tony agreed, looking at Caroline.

  Imogen bit her lip and turned away, and Hew walked back to the jetty with Elizabeth and Stephen.

  “I meant to tell you about Whitefarland,” he said stiffly, “but Caroline got the news in first.”

  “What in heaven’s name can she possibly want with a farm?” Stephen burst out angrily. “She wouldn’t know a ewe from a ram, even if she saw them together.”

  “She’ll put in a manager, I expect,” Hew answered stiltedly. “Anyway, she’s bought it and we can’t do very much about it. Thanks for what you tried to do, Steve,” he added. “I appreciate it.”

  He turned on his heel, saluting Elizabeth and Imogen as he went back up the steps on to the promenade.

  “That sale is rankling,” Stephen observed as they stood watching Tony manoeuvring the dinghy round to the steps. “It will be like tearing out Hew’s heart to watch Whitefarland go down, or even to see it made a rich woman’s plaything. This is only a whim as far as Caroline is concerned.”

  Elizabeth found nothing to say to that. As they rowed out to Naomi and Stephen helped her aboard, her thoughts were with Hew.

  Tony and Imogen stretched themselves out on the foredeck to enjoy the last of the sun, and without the shadow of Caroline to cloud these brief hours, Imogen abandoned herself to complete happiness. Her laughter rang out, clear and bell-like, and Tony seemed content enough to amuse her, whiling away the time until he would be dancing with Caroline in his arms. It was a strange enslavement, Elizabeth mused unhappily, feeling that if he had been left alone Tony could have been completely happy with someone like Imogen.

  “We’ve got time to slip across to Loch Don or even down as far as Loch Spelve,” Stephen suggested halfway across the open Firth. “I think you’d like Loch Spelve best, Elizabeth.”

  “Anywhere,” Elizabeth agreed abstractedly. “Anywhere you say, Stephen.”

  It was a magic journey for Elizabeth, sailing right into the sunset like this, with the great shoulders of Mull rising dark and rounded against a turquoise sky splashed with apricot and gold. The whole Firth seemed dyed in it, and the sheer red basalt cliffs looked less formidable in its softening light.

  Even when they came to the entrance to Loch Spelve it was difficult to see it. A narrow, craggy opening, which seemed far too small and far too dangerous for any boat to negotiate, opened before them when it had seemed that they were heading straight for destruction on the treacherous, rock-girt shore, and Elizabeth found herself holding her breath as Stephen steered them through.

  One false move would have landed them in trouble, and then suddenly she realized that Stephen Friend wasn’t the sort of person who made false moves. He knew these shores; he was sure of where he was going.

  He sailed with the land so close that she could almost put out her hand and touch the lichen-covered rocks, and th
en, to her utter amazement and delight, the whole loch widened out, spreading two silver wings of water on either side of them as they sailed straight into the heart of the hills.

  When she tried to tell Stephen how wonderful it was she could not find the right words. She could not speak at all. They had come into such utter peace after conflict, and she felt that he had brought her here deliberately.

  He dropped anchor behind a tiny island on the west side of the loch, although there was no prevailing wind from which to shelter, and Imogen told them that the seals came there to breed, and took Tony ashore to walk up the narrow, winding road which skirted the side of the loch.

  “They’re like a couple of kids on a Sunday-school outing!” Stephen smiled, watching the dinghy’s erratic progress towards the weed-strewn shore. “They could be happy.”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth agreed huskily. “It would be so good for Tony.”

  He came to sit beside her on the sun-warmed deck.

  “Don’t worry too much about Tony,” he advised. “He’ll settle.”

  “But in the meantime?” She turned to face him, aware of his friendship and understanding as never before. “I’m afraid, Stephen,” she confessed. “I’m afraid of Tony’s impulsiveness. He can be so utterly reckless, and I won’t always be here to make sure that he doesn’t do something foolish and antagonize Hew altogether.”

  It was a full minute before Stephen moved. When he did it was to turn and put his strong, capable hands over hers.

  “There’s no reason why you should go,” he said. “No reason at all. If you feel that you can’t stay at Ardlamond after a bit, there’s always Glenisla.”

  Perplexed, she could only look at him with a question in her eyes.

  “I’m asking you to marry me,” he said.

  Elizabeth’s heart contracted with a swift pain. All her affection and respect for Stephen Friend rushed to the surface, yet she could do nothing but disappoint him.

  “I wish I could, Stephen,” she said in a voice that was no more than a regretful whisper, “but it wouldn’t be any good. I couldn’t offer you anything but my complete love—my whole heart. Half measures just wouldn’t do.”

  He sat for a long time contemplating the sea, her hand still held loosely in his.