by M C Beaton
‘This hotel has central heating, hasn’t it?’ Amy Roth shivered. ‘Why doesn’t someone turn it on?’
‘Now I want you all to try to tie your leaders properly this time,’ came Heather’s voice. Everyone groaned and began to wrestle with the thin, slippery nylon.
Constable Macbeth had ambled over to an armchair by the window. Suddenly Alice saw him stiffen. It was almost as if he had pointed like a dog. He got to his feet, his tall, thin frame silhouetted against the greyness of the day.
Overcome by curiosity, Alice rose quietly and walked to the window. Whatever, or whoever, Constable Macbeth was looking at was absorbing his whole attention.
Alice looked out.
A slim, blonde girl was getting out of a Land Rover. She had a yellow oilskin coat and shooting breeches and green Wellington boots. Her beautiful face was a calm, well-bred oval. She was struggling to lift a heavy wicker basket out of the Land Rover.
The policeman turned around so quickly he nearly fell over Alice. He seized his cape and darted from the room and reappeared a moment later below the window. He said something to the girl, who laughed up at him. He leaned across her and wrested the basket from the Land Rover. The girl locked the car, and then they walked away, the constable carrying the basket.
I wonder who she is, thought Alice. Rich-looking with that cold sort of damn-you stare. Not a hope there, Lady Jane would no doubt say.
‘This goddamn thing has a life of its own,’ came Marvin Roth’s voice.
‘What we need,’ said Lady Jane, ‘is some useful slave labour. Some sweated labour, wouldn’t you say, Mr Roth?’
‘Watch that mouth of yours, lady,’ grated Marvin Roth.
There was a shocked silence. Oh dear, thought Heather, I should never have tried to cope with them alone. That dreadful woman. She keeps saying things which sound innocuous to me but which seem terribly barbed to the person they’re directed against. She’s got that mottled red about the neck which usually means high blood pressure. I wish she would drop dead.
‘And now,’ said Heather out loud, amazed to hear how shaky her own voice sounded, ‘I will pass round some pieces of string and teach you how to tie a figure of eight.’
To Heather’s relief, her husband came into the room. ‘We’re running a bit late,’ he said. ‘Better get them started. We’ll issue them with rods again, that is, the ones who want to rent stuff – I think only the major has brought his own – and then we’ll get them off to the Upper Alsh and Loch Alsh.’
Alice pulled on her waders in her room and checked she had everything tucked away in the pockets of her green fowling coat – scissors, a needle (for poking out the eyes of flies – artificial ones, she had been glad to find out – and for undoing knots), and a penknife. She placed her fishing hat on her head and made her way back downstairs, hoping the other guests thought she was a seasoned fisherwoman.
In the car park, John was passing out maps, explaining that Loch Alsh was some distance away. Water dripped from his hat on to his nose. Rain thudded down on the car park. ‘At least it will keep the flies away,’ he said. ‘Now, let me see – Jeremy, you’ll take Daphne.’ Alice had a sinking feeling in her stomach as John went on to say she was to come along with himself and Heather and young Charlie Baxter. Alice felt Lady Jane’s eyes on her face and angrily jerked her already sodden hat down on her forehead.
The journey seemed endless. The mountains were blotted out by the mist. The windscreen wipers clicked monotonously back and forth. Alice looked at Charlie. He was hunched in the far corner. Alice did not know what one talked to children about. ‘Enjoying yourself?’ she asked at last.
The child’s hard, assessing gaze was fixed on her face. ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘I hate that ugly fat woman. She’s cruel and mean and evil. Why doesn’t she die? Lots of people die in the Highlands. They get lost and starve and die of exposure. They fall off cliffs. Why can’t something happen to her?’
‘Now, now,’ said Alice reprovingly. ‘Mustn’t talk like that.’
There was a long silence, then, ‘You’re very silly, you know,’ said the child in a conversational tone of voice.
Alice coloured up. ‘Don’t be impertinent.’
‘You were being impertinent,’ said the maddening Charlie. ‘Anyway, you hate her just as much as I do.’
‘If you mean Lady Jane, she is very trying,’ said Heather over one plump shoulder. ‘But her faults seem worse because we’re such a small group. You wouldn’t notice her much in a crowd.’
‘I would,’ said Charlie, putting an effective end to that bit of conversation.
Alice began to feel carsick. The big estate car swayed on the slick macadam surface of the road and cruised up and down over the many rises and bumps.
At last the car veered sharply left and lurched even more over a dirt track where clumps of heather scraped the side of the car.
When Alice was just about ready to scream that she was about to be sick, they lurched to a halt.
She climbed out, feeling stiff and cold.
A rain-pocked loch stretched out in front of her and vanished into the mist. All was still and silent except for the constant drumming of the rain. Heather and John began to unload the rods as the others drove up.
‘Now, who wants to row the boat?’
‘Me!’ cried Charlie, showing rare animation.
‘Then you can be my ghillie,’ said Lady Jane, a ghillie being a Highland servant. ‘Too many bushes around here. I’d be better in the middle of the loch.’
‘With a stone around your fat neck,’ muttered Amy Roth. She caught Alice staring at her and blushed like a schoolgirl. ‘She’s such a lady,’ thought Alice, amused. ‘I bet she feels like fainting any time she says “damn”.’
Heather hesitated. Charlie was looking horrified at the idea of rowing Lady Jane. On the other hand, Charlie seemed to be the one member of the party that Lady Jane had so far not managed to intimidate. And he could be rescued after an hour.
‘Very well,’ said Heather. ‘The Roths and the major can go with John further up the loch and fish the river. We should get good brown trout or small salmon so you will only need light rods.’
‘What about me?’ asked Alice.
‘You come with me and I’ll start you off,’ said Heather. ‘Jeremy, you go along to the left and Daphne to the right. Keep moving now. We’ll only fish for a little bit and then we’ll meet back here in two hours’ time.’
Alice kept looking hopefully in Jeremy’s direction while they assembled their rods. Daphne had caught her fly in her jacket, and Jeremy was laughing and joking as he wiggled it free for her.
Alice shivered. The rain had found its way inside her collar.
‘Come along,’ said Heather. ‘No, don’t carry your rod like that, Alice. You’ll either spear someone or get it caught in a bush.’
Jeremy waded off into the loch, and Alice watched him go until he was swallowed up in the mist. Lady Jane’s petulant voice sounded over the water, ‘Can’t you row a little harder?’ Poor Charlie.
Alice waded along the shallows after Heather. ‘Just here, I think,’ said Heather. ‘Try casting here.’
Wet and miserable, Alice jerked her rod back and caught the bush behind her. ‘No, like this,’ said Heather patiently, after she had extricated Alice’s hook. She took Alice’s arm in a firm grasp and cast the fly so neatly that it landed on the water without a ripple. ‘Good,’ murmured Heather. ‘Now again. And again.’
Alice’s arm began to ache. She cursed and stumbled and slipped on the slippery boulders in the water beneath her feet. ‘I’ll try a little bit further on,’ said Heather placidly. ‘You’re doing just grand. Remember to stop the rod at the twelve o’clock position. The loch’s quite shallow for a good bit, so if you move slowly out from the shore, you might get a bite and then you don’t have the risk of getting your hook caught in the bushes.’
Why don’t I just say I’ll never learn how to fish and I don’t care, thought Alice
wretchedly. Jeremy’s not interested in me. I don’t belong here. But somehow she found herself wading slowly out into the loch, casting as she went.
Then the line went taut.
Alice’s heart leapt into her mouth.
It was probably a rock or a bit of weed. She began to reel in, feeling with growing excitement the tugs and shivers on the line. A trout leapt in the air at the end of the line and dived.
‘Help!’ screamed Alice, red with excitement. Would Heather never come? What if she lost it? She could not bear to lose it. Seized with a fever almost as old as the hills around her, Alice reeled in her line.
‘That’s it,’ said Heather quietly, appearing suddenly at Alice’s side. ‘Get your net ready.’
‘Net. Yes, net,’ said Alice, scrabbling wildly about and dropping her rod in the water. Heather bent down and seized the rod.
‘Get the net ready,’ said Heather again. Alice wanted to snatch the rod back but was afraid of losing the fish. Forward it came, turning and glistening in the water. Alice scooped the net under it and lifted it up, watching the fish with a mixture of exultation and pity.
‘Quite a big one,’ said Heather. ‘Three pounds, I should think. It’ll make a good breakfast.’ She led the way to the shore after removing the hook from the trout’s mouth.
‘Can’t you kill it?’ asked Alice, looking at the panting, struggling fish. ‘Oh yes,’ said Heather, slowly picking up a rock. All her movements were slow and sure. ‘We’ll just put it out of its misery.’
How abhorrent the idea of killing things seemed in London, thought Alice, and how natural it seemed in this savage landscape. Heather slid the trout into a plastic bag. ‘Put that in your fishing bag,’ she said to Alice. ‘It’s about time for lunch. I think I hear the others returning.’
Alice was the only one who had caught anything and received lavish praise from everyone but Lady Jane and Charlie Baxter. The child looked exhausted, and Heather was fussing over him, helping him into the front seat of the car and pouring him hot tea.
‘You’re a marvel, Alice,’ said Jeremy. ‘Did you really catch that brute all by yourself?’
‘Yes, did you really?’ asked Lady Jane.
Alice hesitated only for a moment. Heather was a little bit away, hopefully out of earshot. ‘Yes,’ said Alice loudly. ‘Yes, I did.’
‘I’d better keep close to you this afternoon,’ grinned Jeremy. ‘Seems you have all the luck.’
Alice’s pleasure was a little dimmed by, first, the lie she had told, which she was now sure Heather had overheard, and, second, by the fact that Jeremy and Daphne were to share a cozy lunch in his car while she herself was relegated to the back of the Cartwrights’ estate car.
Lunch tasted rather nasty. Great slabs of pâté, cold and heavy, and dry yellow cake and boiled eggs. But the fishing fever had Alice in its grip, and she could hardly wait to try her luck again. Somehow, Alice felt, if she managed to catch another fish all on her own then the lie would be forgiven by the gods above. For the first few moments after they climbed from the cars again, it looked as if the day’s fishing might have to be cancelled. A wind had risen and was driving great buffets of rain into their faces.
‘It said on the forecast this morning it might dry up later,’ yelled John above the noise of the rising wind. ‘I say we ought to give it another half-hour.’
Everyone agreed, since no one wanted to return home without a fish. If Alice could catch one, then anyone could, was the general opinion.
‘I’m all right now,’ Charlie said, after Heather had towelled his curls dry. ‘It was that woman. Row here. Row there. And then she said . . . she said . . . never mind.’
‘Slide along behind the wheel, Charlie,’ said Heather firmly. ‘I really think you ought to tell me what Lady Jane said to upset you.’
But Charlie would only shake his drying curls and look stubborn.
Heather was determined to have a word with her husband about Lady Jane as soon as possible. But the roar of an engine told her that John was already setting out with the major for the upper beats of the river.
‘Would you like me to run you back to the hotel?’ she asked the boy.
He shook his head. ‘As long as I can fish alone,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait with the rest and see if the weather lifts.’
Alice was oblivious to the slashing rain as she waded out into the loch again with Jeremy at her side, deaf to the sounds of altercation from the shore as Heather told Lady Jane firmly that she was to leave Charlie alone and drive to the upper beats to join the major, the Roths, and John.
‘Brrrr, it’s cold,’ said Jeremy. ‘Where did you catch your trout?’
‘Just here,’ said Alice. ‘I’ll show you.’ She cast wildly and heard the fly plop in the water behind her, then clumsily whipped the line forward. ‘I’m tired,’ she said defiantly, ‘and my arm aches. That’s why I can’t do it right.’
‘Look, it’s like this,’ said Jeremy. ‘Keep your legs apart –’ Alice blushed – ‘with the left foot slightly forward. Bring the rod smartly up towards your shoulder using the forearm and hold your upper arms close to your body. When you make the back flick, the line should stream out straight behind, and when you feel a tug at the top of the line, you’ll know the back cast is completed, and then bring it into the forward cast.’
Alice’s line cracked like a lion tamer’s whip. ‘Are you sure you caught that fish yourself?’ laughed Jeremy.
‘Of course I did,’ said Alice with the steady, outraged gaze of the liar.
‘I’ll try further down,’ said Jeremy, beginning to wade away. ‘I wonder if Daphne’s had any luck.’
Damn Daphne, thought Alice savagely. All her elation had fled, leaving her alone in the middle of a howling wilderness of wind and rain.
She simply had to get Jeremy back.
Remembering everything she had been taught, she balanced herself on the slippery pebbles under the water and cast carefully and neatly towards Jeremy’s retreating back.
‘Caught ’im,’ thought Alice. Aloud, she called, ‘Sorry, Jeremy darling. I’m afraid I’ve hooked you.’ Now, in the romances that Alice read, Jeremy should have said something like, ‘You caught me a long time ago,’ and then walked slowly towards her and taken her in his powerful arms.
What he did say in fact was, ‘Silly bitch. There’s the whole loch to fish from. Come here and help me get this hook out.’
Blushing and stumbling, Alice edged miserably towards him. The hook was embedded in the back of his jacket. She twisted and pulled and finally it came free with a ripping sound.
Jeremy twisted an anguished face over his shoulder. ‘Now look what you’ve done. Look, just keep well clear of me.’ He waded off into the driving rain.
Tears of humiliation mixed with the rainwater on Alice’s face. She felt hurt and lost and alone. Her face ached with trying to maintain a posh accent. Jeremy would never have behaved like that with someone of his own class.
She decided to turn about, give up, and go back and shelter in the car until this horrible day’s fishing was all over.
Alice stumbled towards the shore. Suddenly the water turned gold. Sparkling gold with red light dancing in the peaty ripples. She turned and looked towards the west. Blue sky was spreading rapidly over the heavens. Mountains stood up, sharp and prehistoric with their twisted, deformed shapes. Heather blazed in great, glorious clumps, and the sun beat down on Alice’s sopping hat.
‘Alice! Alice!’ Jeremy was churning towards her through the water, holding up a fairly small trout.
‘Marvellous girl.’ He beamed. ‘Knew you would bring me luck.’ He threw his arms around her, slapping her on the back of the head with his dead trout as he did so.
Transported from hell to heaven, Alice smiled back. ‘Come along,’ said Jeremy. ‘I’ve got a flask of brandy in the car. Let’s take a break and celebrate.’
While Jeremy got his flask, Alice took off her hat and her wet coat and put them both on the bushes to
dry. Jeremy sat down on a rock beside her and handed her the flask and she choked over an enormous gulp of brandy.
The liqueur shot down to her stomach and up to her brain. She felt dizzy with happiness. They had had their first quarrel, she thought dreamily. How they would laugh about it after they were married!
Elated with brandy and sunshine, they cheerfully agreed to return to the loch and try their luck again. And Alice did try. Very hard. If only she could catch a fish all by herself then she could be easy in her conscience.
But at four in the afternoon, Heather appeared to call them to the cars. They were to return to the hotel for another fishing lecture.
Even Alice felt sulkily that it was all too much like being back at school. Why waste a perfectly good afternoon sitting indoors in a stuffy hotel lounge?
But none of them had quite realized how tired they were until John Cartwright began his lecture on fly tying. Despite the heat from the sun pouring in the long windows, a log fire was burning, its flames bleached pale by the sunlight. A bluebottle buzzed against the windows.
While Heather’s nimble fingers demonstrated the art of fly tying, John discoursed on the merits of wet and dry flies. Names like Tup’s Indispensable, Little Claret, Wickman’s Fancy, Black Pennell and Cardinal floated like dust motes on the hot, somnolent air. ‘Sound like racehorses,’ said Jeremy sleepily.
Alice felt her eyes beginning to close. The major was asleep, twitching in his armchair like an old dog; the Roths were leaning together, joined by fatigue into a fireside picture of a happily married couple. Lady Jane had her eyes half closed, like a basking lizard, and Daphne Gore was painting her nails vermillion.
Suddenly Alice jerked her eyes open. There was a feeling of fear in the room, fear mixed with malice.
While John droned on, Heather had stopped her demonstration to flip through the post. She was sitting very still, holding an airmail letter in her plump hands. She raised her eyes and looked at Lady Jane. Lady Jane raised her heavy lids and smiled. It was not a nice smile.
Heather’s face had gone putty-coloured. She put a hand on her husband’s sleeve and passed him the letter. He glanced at it and then began to read it closely, his lips folded into a grim line.
