by M C Beaton
On top of her wool fishing hat, kept back from her face by the thin brim, was a sort of beekeeper mosquito net which could be pulled down over her face if the flies got too bad.
Jeremy rested the oars. ‘Pooh, it’s hot. Let’s take some clothes off.’
Alice blushed painfully. Of course he meant they should remove some of their outer woollens, but Alice was at an age when everything seemed to sound sexy. She wondered feverishly whether she had a dirty mind.
Thank goodness she had had the foresight to put a thin cotton blouse under her army sweater. Alice took off her hat and then her sweater after unslinging the fishing net and laying it in the bottom of the boat. She kept her scissors around her neck. Heather had been most insistent that they keep a pair of scissors handy for cutting lines and snipping free hooks.
‘Well,’ said Jeremy, ‘here goes!’
The water was very still and golden in the sun. A hot smell of pine drifted on the air mixed with the smell of wild thyme. Alice felt herself gripped by a desire to catch something – anything.
She cast and cast again until her arms ached. And then . . .
‘I’ve got something,’ she whispered. ‘It’s a salmon. It feels enormous.’
Jeremy quickly reeled in his line and picked up his net. ‘Don’t reel in too fast,’ he said. He picked up the oars and moved the boat gently. Alice’s rod began to bend.
‘Reel in a bit more,’ he said.
‘Oh, Jeremy,’ said Alice, pink with excitement, ‘what am I going to do?’
‘Take it easy . . . easy.’
Alice could not wait. She reeled in frantically. Suddenly the line came clear, and she jerked it out of the water.
On the end of her hook dangled a long piece of green weed.
‘And I thought I had a twenty-pound salmon,’ mourned Alice. ‘Do you know, Jeremy, I’m still shaking with excitement. Do you think I’m very primitive, really? I mean, I wouldn’t normally hurt a fly, and there I was, ready to kill anything that came up on the end of that hook.’
‘I don’t think you’re all that quiet and timid,’ said Jeremy, casting again. ‘Only look at the way you put down Lady Jane. I heard all about that.’
‘I can’t believe I did that,’ said Alice thoughtfully. ‘I’ve never used that sort of language to anyone in my life. But it was all so beautiful when we were having lunch, I wanted it to go on forever. Then suddenly she was there, bitching and making trouble. She drops hints, you know. Almost as if she had checked up on us all before she came. She . . . she told me you belonged to the Somerset Blythes.’ Alice bit her lip. She had been on the point of telling him the rest.
‘She did, did she? Probably one of those women with little else to do with their time. I hope she doesn’t make life too hard for the village constable. She probably will complain to his superiors.’
‘Poor Hamish.’
‘I think Hamish is well able to take care of himself. And what policeman, do you think, would rush in to take his place? Hardly the spot for an ambitious man.’
‘What do you do for a living?’ asked Alice.
‘I’m a barrister.’
Alice felt a pang of disappointment. She had been secretly hoping he did something as undistinguished as she did.
‘What do you do?’ she heard Jeremy asking.
He was wearing a short-sleeved check shirt and a baggy pair of old flannels, but there was a polished air about him, an air of social ease and money. All at once Alice wanted to pretend she was someone different, someone more important.
‘I’m chief accountant at Baxter and Berry in the City.’ She gave a self-conscious laugh. ‘An odd job for a woman.’
‘Certainly for someone as young as yourself,’ said Jeremy. ‘I didn’t think such a fuddy-duddy firm would be so go-ahead.’
‘You know Baxter and Berry?’ queried Alice nervously.
‘I know old man Baxter,’ said Jeremy easily. ‘He’s a friend of my father. I must tease him about his pretty chief accountant.’
Alice turned her face away. That’s where telling lies got you. Futureless. Now she wouldn’t dare even see Jeremy again after this holiday.
‘When I was your age, which was probably all of ten years ago,’ said Jeremy gently, ‘I told a perfectly smashing-looking girl that I was a jet pilot . . .’
‘Oh, Jeremy,’ said Alice miserably, ‘I’m only the chief accountant’s secretary.’
‘Thank you for the compliment.’ He grinned. ‘It’s a long time since anyone’s tried to impress me.’
‘You’re not angry I lied to you?’
‘No. Hey, I think you’ve caught something.’
‘Probably weed.’ Alice felt young and free and lighthearted. Mr Patterson-James’s saturnine face swam around in her mind, faded and disappeared like Scotch mist.
She reeled in her line, amused at the tugs, thinking how like a fish floating weed felt.
There was a flash and sparkle in the peaty brown and gold water.
‘A trout!’ said Jeremy. He held out his net and brought the fish in.
‘Too small,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘We’ve got to throw it back.’
‘Don’t hurt it!’ cried Alice as he worked the fly free from the fish’s mouth.
‘No, it’s gone back to Mum,’ he said, throwing it in the water. ‘What fly were you using?’
‘A Kenny’s Killer.’
He took out his box of fishing flies. ‘Maybe I’ll try one of those.’
A companionable silence settled between them. The light began to fade behind the jumbled, twisted crags of the Two Sisters. A little breeze sent ripples lazily fanning out over the loch.
And then out of the heather came the midges, those small Scottish mosquitoes. Alice’s face was black with them. She screamed and clawed for her mosquito net while Jeremy rowed quickly for the shore.
‘Quick – let’s just bundle everything in the car and drive away from the beasts,’ he said.
Alice scrambled into the bucket seat of something long and low. They shot off down the road, not stopping until they were well clear of the loch. Jeremy handed Alice a towel to wipe her face.
Alice smiled at him gratefully. ‘What about Daphne? I’d forgotten all about her.’
‘So had I.’ Jeremy was shadowed by a stand of trees beside the car. He seemed to be watching her mouth. Alice’s heart began to hammer.
‘Did . . . did you buy this car in Scotland?’ she asked. ‘I mean, I thought you and Daphne came up by train.’
‘We did. My father had been using the car. He knew I was coming up this way and so he left it in Inverness for me to collect.’
‘You’ve known Daphne a long time?’
‘No. Heather wrote to me to ask me if I would join up with Daphne. She had written to Heather saying she did not like to travel alone.’
He suddenly switched on the engine. Alice sat very quietly. Perhaps he might have kissed her if she hadn’t kept on and on about stupid Daphne. Daphne was probably back at the hotel changing into some couture number for dinner. Damn Daphne.
‘I never thought indecision was one of my failings,’ said Jeremy, breaking the silence at last. ‘I don’t want to spoil things by going too fast too soon.’
Alice was not quite sure if he meant he had wanted to kiss her and had changed his mind. She dared not ask him in case he should be embarrassed and say he was talking about fishing.
But he suddenly took one hand off the wheel and gave her own a quick squeeze.
Alice’s heart soared. A huge owl sailed across the winding road. Down below them nestled the village of Lochdubh.
Busy little fishing boats chugged out to sea. The lights of the hotel dining room were reflected in the still waters of the loch. Down into the evening darkness of the valley they sped. Over the old humpbacked bridge which spanned the tumbling waterfalls of the river Anstey. Along the waterfront, past the low white cottages of the village. Out in the loch, a pair of seals rolled and tumbled like two elderly Edw
ardian gentlemen.
Tears filled Alice’s eyes, and she furtively dabbed them away. The beauty of the evening was too much. The beauty of money emanating from the leather smells of the long, low, expensive car and the faint tangy scent of Jeremy’s aftershave seduced her senses. She wanted it all. She wanted to keep the evening forever. Scenic beauty, male beauty, money beauty.
A picture of Lady Jane rose large in her mind’s eye, blotting out the evening.
If she tries to spoil things for me, I’ll kill her, thought Alice passionately.
And being very young and capable of violent mood swings, she then began to worry about what to wear for dinner.
When she entered the dining room an hour later, the rest of the fishing party, except for Lady Jane, Charlie, and the major, was already seated.
To her disappointment, the only available seat was at the other end of the table from Jeremy.
Jeremy was sitting next to Daphne and laughing at something she was saying.
Daphne was wearing a black chiffon cocktail gown slit to the waist so that it afforded the company tantalizing glimpses of two perfect breasts.
Long antique earrings hung in the shadow of the silky bell of her naturally blonde hair. Her usually hard, high-cheek-boned face was softened by eye shadow and pink lipstick.
Jeremy was wearing a well-cut charcoal grey suit, a striped shirt, and a tie with one of those small hard knots. He wore a heavy, pale gold wrist watch.
Alice wished she had worn something different. All her clothes had looked cheap and squalid. At last she had settled for a pale pink cashmere sweater, a tailored shirt, and a row of Woolworth’s pearls. She had persuaded herself in the privacy of her bedroom that she looked like a regular member of the county. Now she felt like a London typist trying ineffectually to look like a member of the county. The dining room was very warm.
Amy Roth was wearing a floating sort of chiffony thing in cool blues and greens. It left most of her back bare. At one point, Marvin slid his hand down his wife’s back, and Amy wriggled her shoulders and giggled.
Heather was wearing a long gown that looked as if it had been made out of chintz upholstery, but she managed to look like a lady nonetheless, thought Alice gloomily. John Cartwright was cheerful and relaxed, obviously glad that the rigours of the first day were over.
The hotel had contributed several bottles of non-vintage Czechoslovakian champagne, their labels discreetly hidden by white napkins.
The food was delicious – poached salmon with a good hollandaise sauce. Everyone began to relax and become slightly tipsy.
Emboldened by the wine, Alice decided to forget about Jeremy and talk to the Roths. Marvin, it transpired, was a New Yorker born and bred, but Amy hailed from Augusta, Georgia. Marvin was her third husband, she told Alice, very much in the way a woman would describe an expensive gown that had been a good buy.
Marvin was quiet and polite and very deferential to his wife, the way Alice imagined American men should be. She began to wonder if she had really heard him shouting earlier in the day, but the Roths did seem to be the only Americans in the hotel.
The party grew noisier and jollier.
And then Major Peter Frame came stumbling in. His eyes were staring, and his hands were trembling. He clutched on to a chair back and looked wildly around the group.
‘Where is that bitch?’ he grated.
‘If you mean Lady Jane,’ said Heather, ‘I really don’t know. What on earth is the matter?’
‘I’ll tell you,’ said the major with frightening intensity. ‘I went back up to the Marag this evening, just above the falls. And I got one. A fifteen-pounder on the end of my line. It was a long battle, and I was resting my fish and having a smoke when she comes blundering along like an ox. “Can I get past?” she says. “Your line’s blocking the path.” “I’ve got a big ’un on the end of that line,” I says. “Don’t be silly,” says she. “I can’t wait here all night. It’s probably a rock,” and before I could guess what she meant to do she whipped out her scissors and cut my line. She cut my line, the bloody bitch. The great, fat, stinking cow.
‘I’ll murder her. I’ll kill that horrible woman. Kill! Kill! Kill!’
The major’s voice had risen to a scream. Shocked silence fell on the dining room.
And into the middle of the silence sailed Lady Jane.
She was wearing a pink chiffon evening gown with a great many bows and tucks and flounces; the type of evening gown favoured by the Queen Mother, Barbara Cartland, and Danny La Rue.
‘Well, we’re all very glum,’ she said, amused eyes glancing around the stricken group. ‘Now, what can I do to brighten up the party?’
Day Two
Then as the earth’s inner, narrow crooked lanes Do purge salt waters’ fretful tears away
– John Donne
Alice fumbled with a sleepy hand to silence the buzzing of her travel alarm and stretched and yawned. Her room was bathed in a grey light. She had forgotten to close the curtains before going to bed. Fat, greasy raindrops trickled down the window.
Somehow the horrible first dinner had miraculously turned out all right. Lady Jane had carried all before her. Before the major had had time to round on her, Lady Jane had apologized with such an overwhelming blast of sincerity and charm, with such subtle underlying appeals to his status as an officer and gentleman, that the major’s angry colour had subsided, and, after that, people had begun to enjoy themselves. It was Lady Jane who had suggested that they should all get together in the lounge after dinner and help each other tie their leaders. It was Lady Jane who had kept the party laughing with a flow of faintly malicious anecdotes.
Alice remembered Jeremy’s well-manicured hands brushing against her own and the smell of his aftershave as he had bent his head close to hers to help her tie knots. He had seemed to lose interest in Daphne.
There was to be another lecture that morning before they went out fishing for the day. Alice got out of bed and went to the window and looked out. She could not even see the harbour. A thick mist blanketed everything and the rain thudded steadily down. Perhaps she would be lucky and would be teamed up with Jeremy again. Alice closed her eyes, imagining them both eating their packed lunches in the leather-smelling warmth of Jeremy’s car with the steamed-up windows blocking out the rest of the world.
After a hasty shower, she took out her pink plastic rollers and tried to comb her hair into a more sophisticated style, but it fluffed out as usual.
To her dismay, they were not all to be seated at the same table for breakfast, and she was ushered to a table where the major was already eating sausages. Jeremy was with Daphne and Lady Jane at the other end of the dining room.
The major glanced at Alice and then rustled open a copy of The Times – last Friday’s – and began to study the social column.
‘Wet, isn’t it?’ volunteered Alice brightly, but the major only grunted in reply.
Probably doesn’t think I’m worth talking to, thought Alice gloomily.
She rose and helped herself to cereal and rolls and juice, which were placed on a table in the centre of the room, and then shyly ordered the Fisherman’s Breakfast from a massive waitress who was built like a Highland cow.
When the breakfast arrived, she poked at it tentatively with a fork. Bacon, eggs, and sausage, she recognized, but the rest seemed odd and strange.
‘What are these?’ she asked the major. He did not reply so she repeated her question in a rather shrill voice.
‘Haggis and black pudding and a potato scone,’ said the major. ‘Very good. Scotch stuff, you know. Introduced to the stuff when I was first in the Highlands on military training.’
‘Were you in the SAS?’ asked Alice.
‘No.’ The major smiled indulgently. ‘They hadn’t been formed in my day. We called ourselves something else.’
‘Oh, what was that?’
‘Mustn’t say. Hush-hush stuff, you know.’
‘Oh.’ Alice was impressed.
> ‘Of course I was in the regular army for most of the big show.’
‘Which was . . .?’
‘World War Two. Can still remember leading my men up the Normandy beaches. Yanks had taken the easy bits and left us with the cliffs. “Don’t worry, chaps,” I said. “We’ll take Jerry this time.” They believed me, bless their hearts. Would have died for me. ’Straordinary loyalty. Quite touching, ’s matter of fact.’
Alice wished her mum could see her now. ‘Quite one of the old school,’ Mum would say.
‘Tell me more,’ urged Alice, eyes glowing.
‘Well,’ said the major happily. ‘There was a time . . .’
His voice faded away as a bulky shadow fell across the table. Alice looked up. Lady Jane’s pale eyes surveyed the major with amusement. ‘Telling Miss Wilson all your tales of derring-do? All those pitched battles around the tea tent on Salisbury Plain?’
Now what could there be in those remarks to make the major sweat? Alice looked from one to the other. Lady Jane nodded her head and gave a little smile before walking away.
The major looked after her, mumbled something, and went off mopping his forehead with his handkerchief.
Charlie Baxter, the Roths, and all the rest were already in the lounge. A cheerful fire was blazing on the hearth. The heavyset waitress lumbered in and threw a pile of old tea leaves, cabbage stalks, and old rolls on the fire, which subsided into a depressing, smoking mess.
Heather examined all their leaders and tugged at the knots. Several gave way. ‘I wish you wouldn’t say you can tie these things when you obviously can’t,’ said Lady Jane to the major.
‘You are supposed to tie them yourselves,’ pointed out Heather.
‘Like a bloody schoolroom,’ muttered Lady Jane. ‘Oh, here’s that wretched man again.’
Constable Macbeth lounged in, water dripping from his black cape. He removed it and squatted down by the fire, raking aside the sodden lumps of congealed goo and putting on fresh coal and sticks. Then, to Alice’s amusement, he lay down on his stomach and began to blow furiously until the flames started leaping up the chimney.
