Return to Oban

by Ruth Hay

  She found him busy with a large dog that had swallowed something nasty, but his receptionist directed her to the shelves where a variety of animal-related items were on display. She selected the main things she needed for Sylvia, then asked the receptionist about suitable foods.

  “Oh, the vet will advise you about that Mrs. Drake. You will be needing a specialty food for a wild animal’s digestion. Just take a seat for a minute. He should be finished shortly.”

  Anna sat down in the waiting room beside a woman with a tiny dog on her lap and a man holding firmly to the lead of a very large, very anxious, dog.

  Callum Moir emerged from the consulting room removing rubber gloves from his hands and reporting first to the receptionist. She whispered to him that someone was waiting to speak with him and he turned in surprise to see Anna. She was also surprised to see him. It had been many years since their short and unsuccessful attempt at dating. She remembered him as abrupt of speech and dark of gaze but time seemed to have softened both elements. His hair was now completely silver although his eyebrows retained some of their original brown. He had always been tall and yet there was a slight stoop to his shoulders that could have been the result of a recent strenuous dog operation.

  He reached out a hand to Anna and she thought there was a facial feature that had become more prominent if anything. His nose had always been rather large, narrowing at the bridge giving him a supercilious look. With age, this beak of a nose almost overpowered his face and Anna thought he looked even more ferocious. His voice, however, as he greeted her, had become mellowed and she saw a genuine smile light up his dark eyes.

  “Anna, it has been too long. I heard you were back but then came the word you were very sick and confined to the house. I am glad to see you much improved and I think I can guess why you are here.

  Excuse me for one minute. Please step into my office so we can talk.”

  He sent the woman with the tiny dog into the examining room and listened to the man’s request for dental work for the large dog. Then he notified the receptionist to schedule an appointment and soon followed Anna into his small office.

  Thus far, Anna had not been required to say anything in response. She decided to maintain her silence. Callum Moir seemed to have everything in hand.

  “So, I take it you have been to see Fiona and decided to take the wildcat kitten?”

  Straight to the point, as usual. Nothing changed there.

  “You take it right, Doctor. I seem destined to rescue kittens in distress.”

  “Well, I am certain Fiona would have taken on the responsibility had she not a new bairn to look after.”

  “Oh, I am not complaining. Our time with Sylvester was cut short. It will be a treat to see this one to maturity, God Willing!”

  “At the very least, you are familiar with the species, Anna, and with its peculiarities, to some degree.

  I am more than willing to advise you if there are any difficulties.”

  “That is most kind of you, Callum. I don’t recall you were quite this positive the last time.”

  He had the grace to blush slightly at the accusation and hemmed and hawed while he summoned a suitable response. “I plead guilty. I was considerably younger then. I hope experience has softened my approach somewhat.”

  “I am sure it has, as with all of us.

  Now, I have set aside a number of items for Sylvia’s comfort and safety. Could you glance over them and add anything you feel is needed?”

  This task was soon done but the items had accumulated into a pile larger than Anna’s shopping bag would contain. The vet offered to bring the bulky items when he conveyed Sylvia to her home in the estate farmhouse. Anna packed the rest into her bag, paid the bill and went on her way.

  As she walked along the pavement, filled with jostling schoolchildren recently released from school, she wondered if Callum Moir’s generosity regarding the kitten’s supplies had been an excuse to contrive another meeting with the kitten’s new owner.

  For goodness sake, Anna Drake! You know better than that. He gave up on you decades ago, for good reason. The whole episode was not one of your finer moments.

  * * *

  Ashley Stanton was perusing the shelves of baked goods and trying to choose between chocolate eclairs with real cream, and a strawberry strudel. It would be nice to have an extravagant treat now the basic shopping was resting safely in her cart.

  She reached out to take hold of both when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

  “This is a nice surprise!”

  Ashley quickly withdrew her hand and managed a crooked smile at Edmund Jansen, standing beside her with a bakery bag steaming gently in his hand.

  “I often come here for a hot bridie,” he explained. “It makes a change from sandwiches. My room has no cooking facilities.”

  “That’s ridiculous! Where is this room, anyway?”

  “Oh, it’s above one of the shops on the High Street. I do have a kettle, however. Tea and instant coffee are always available should you wish to indulge.”

  Ashley felt an unexpected pang of sympathy for the young man. His living conditions did not sound ideal for someone in a responsible position. She guessed money was tight. On a sudden impulse, she responded.

  “ Well, I can offer you a home-cooked meal if you come to the farmhouse soon for that hill walk I promised you.”

  His eyes positively brightened at the thought. She was not sure if the food or the company was the attraction but, either way, he deserved something better to eat, once in a while, than a rapidly-cooling meat pie.

  “I’ll let you get home with your supper, Edmund. I have to pay for this lot. Phone when you have spare time and we’ll do the climb.”

  He waved as she wound her way between browsing shoppers and headed for the checkouts.

  Well I got myself into that, all right! I hope I bought enough to satisfy a hungry man.

  * * *

  Anna decided they should forgo a late lunch in Oban in favour of a meal at home with some of the fresh items Ashley already had in bags in her cart.

  “I think we deserve a treat,” said Anna. “I believe they still have delicious real, fresh cream eclairs here. It’s something we can’t get in Canada. Watch out for Cameron and I’ll pop in and get them. The fast lane will let me through quickly.”

  Ashley sighed with satisfaction. Her Aunt Anna was in a good mood, supper was going to be easy with plenty to choose from and eclairs for dessert and there would be time afterwards for another chat about the book.

  * * *

  “Now that was delicious!” announced Ashley, as she wiped the last drop of cream and chocolate icing from her fingers. “Shall I make a pot of tea?”

  “Certainly! Let’s relax and you can ask me some more questions. I have been busy lately and I am sure you are getting impatient with me.”

  “Not at all, Aunt Anna, but you are right about the questions. I am still forming the shape of the book and I am wondering if you can remember any small incidents that defined Lawren for you. The kind of thing other people like to know about, if it’s not too private of course.”

  Anna waited and tried to remember the type of incidents requested. Ashley had poured the tea and fetched her recording device before she had any ideas in mind. It was easier to remember the big events than to delve into the daily things that are significant at the time, although often relegated to the back of the mind thereafter.

  “I will need time to think about this, Ashley. One thing does strike me though. Lawren always had a sketch book with him. He drew almost all the time for practice, I believe, and also because he was able to see things differently once he had committed them to paper.”

  “That’s interesting. What sorts of things did he draw?”

  “Many different things. I watched him capture tiny detail in a moss-covered stone wall or quickly outline the view of distant hills. He could not resist any statue we came across and would stand nearby and sketch it while people passed him a
nd looked curiously at his page.”

  “What happened to his sketch books? I might get a cover picture for my book from one of Lawren’s drawings.”

  “The majority of the sketch books were in his studio in Ontario and those went to Museum London for their Local London Artists’ collection. Now that I think of it, there might be one or two upstairs in the locked room above the porch. Take the key from the larder hook, Ash, and take a look for yourself. I will stay and enjoy another cup of this excellent tea. Let me know if you find anything useful.”

  Ashley did not need a second invitation. She was off up the stairs with key in hand. This was a great opportunity to see inside a private space in the house. She knew her aunt stored seasonal clothes in there but there might be more interesting items she had forgotten about.

  The first sensation was a blast of fragrant air from the cedar wood planks lining the room. The clothes rail occupied the back wall and underneath she saw two suitcases and a number of boxes. One of these was open and held winter scarves, hats and gloves. The others had lids. On the wall opposite the door were shelves stacked with books and a few ornaments and also a tin can filled with an assortment of brushes and spatulas. She went immediately to these and picked out one or two, rubbing the handles as if she could sense the artist from these tools of his trade. This was a good sign. If brushes were here, there was a chance sketch books were here also.

  She glanced along the shelves for something longer and slimmer than books but found nothing. Then she turned to the lidded boxes and in the second one she struck gold. Heavy art books weighed down the bottom. On top she found two large sketch books with Lawren’s signature on the front and dates signifying their use over a period of three or four years.

  She carefully flicked through the pages and was not surprised to see exactly what her aunt had described. Lawren Drake sketched everything he saw. Children at play on the beach, the hills of Mull emerging from the clouds, a sign above a shopfront, a beautiful, tinted rendition of Iona Abbey that caused Ashley to catch her breath and another completed drawing of three soldiers, labelled ‘The Commando Monument.’

  At once, she began to rethink the approach to her book. If she got permission to use some of these, it would elevate what had been a memoir to the level of a coffee table art book. The format would have to change to allow for full-page illustrations. This would mean a much more expensive production which her publisher would strenuously resist unless she could guarantee a readership with deep pockets.

  A combination of anecdotes, personal revelations and never-before-seen artwork could bring in buyers both male and female.

  Her excitement grew. Could the second sketch book reveal more spectacular finds? She could scarcely hope for more.

  With trembling fingers she opened the pages and immediately saw that this folio was about the McCaig Estate Farmhouse. Morag slept peacefully on her window seat in several sketches and the painted bench outside was drawn in detail against the stone wall of the house with a pot of daffodils blooming at ground level. The wooden garage interior was featured, including a family of owls on a high rafter blinking in the light from the opened door, and a number of trees on the property at various seasons of the year were carefully rendered.

  The second half of this sketch book was devoted to Anna. Ashley recognized preliminary drawings of the portrait that hung in the upper hall as well as Anna at work in the kitchen and in the garden. There was one compelling drawing of Anna asleep by the lounge fireplace with her book on her lap that seemed to shout Lawren’s love for her in every delicate line.

  Ashley slid down onto the floor under the south-facing dormer window with the sketches open on her knees. This was so much more than she could ever have hoped for. She was almost afraid to turn the pages to the last entry but again, she was astonished at her luck. At the very end was a self-portrait of Lawren Drake.

  Could this be the only one he had ever done? If so, it had immense value, not only to Anna herself, but also to other artists and collectors.

  As far as Ashley was concerned, at this moment, the value of these two sketch books lay in their immediate benefit to Anna’s memory. If this exceptional collection could not stimulate her to recall incidents with Lawren, nothing could.

  She was also keenly aware of the concomitant emotions these sketches might arouse in her aunt.

  With the memories might come the sharp pain of loss. It was a delicate balance and Ashley Stanton, journalist and hopeful author, must find a way to level the balance of Anna Drake’s emotions in her favour.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ashley returned all her finds to their original places in the storage room and locked the door behind her.

  It did not feel right to her to rush downstairs to the kitchen and regale her aunt with her exciting discoveries.

  These sketches were private, especially the self-portrait. It would be best if Anna saw them on her own without her niece breathing down her neck with questions and comments.

  This decision made, she was exceedingly glad to find Anna poring over her purchases for Sylvia and setting the supplies on a shelf in the larder. She seemed to have forgotten why Ashley had gone upstairs.

  “What do you think? Should we set aside this top shelf for cat food? It’s unlikely Sylvia would climb this high. The litter containers can be placed on the stone floor for now. Did I tell you the vet is going to deliver the heavier items when he collects Sylvia from Fiona’s new house?”

  “When do you expect that will be?”

  “Oh, she’s just a baby for now but much more sturdy than most kittens, of course. I’d say four weeks.

  I hope it won’t be longer. I do want to spend time with her before I need to go back to Canada.”

  “Did you have a return date in mind, Aunt Anna?”

  “Well, I have an open ticket but I thought it would be nice to spend another Christmas here and go home after the New Year’s rush is over. Will that work in with your own plans, Ashley?”

  “My time is yours. I’ll fit in with whatever you decide. I love it here now that my nursing duties are over.”

  “I do feel guilty about that. It was a huge imposition on your time, Ashley, and I apologize.”

  “Oh dear, I was not meaning to sound critical, Aunt Anna. It’s just that the house and the garden and the surrounding area as well as the town, are much more available to me now. It’s a very beautiful place.”

  The answer seemed to satisfy her aunt. She went back to stacking the shelf with cans and did not notice a frantic Ashley mentally counting the weeks until the New Year and revising her decision not to rush her aunt’s memories.

  * * *

  She began the next morning over breakfast.

  “Any special plans for today, Aunt Anna?”

  “Only one and I am thinking you should come with me to Jeanette’s house.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I think you need to see some of Lawren’s best work on this side of the Atlantic. Jeanette and George commissioned a painting of their children; a family portrait. If we time it right, you will be able to compare the children today with his view of them several years ago when they were just small.”

  “That’s an intriguing idea, Aunt Anna. Is Jeanette available?”

  “She called last night. She’s been bugging me to see her new house and advise about her arrangements for her mother Jean who’s about my age. She wants to finalize the décor and facilities for Jean before she arrives from Vancouver to live permanently with the family.”

  “I’d be delighted to go with you but, if we are not in a rush, I need to tell you what happened when I went up to the storage room last evening.”

  Her aunt’s face changed. She looked down at her plate and moved a few toast crumbs around with her finger. It was clear she was hesitating before answering.

  “I do want to hear about your discoveries, Ashley, but first let me tell you something I remembered last night after I went to bed. It was Cameron talking a
bout when Fiona saw Morag on Lawren’s knee that tweaked my memory. I have to warn you, Ashley, it’s a bit of a strange story.”

  “Go on. I won’t think it strange.”

  “Well, I saw Morag on Lawren’s knee several times and I, too, heard the purring. It was a deep, contented sound Morag never made with anyone else. Her quiet moments with me were never that blissful, I believe. The strange part of the story comes after Lawren was gone. Once or twice while I was here in the house and still in the dismal early stages of deep mourning, I heard that same, unmistakable purring sound coming from Morag.

  When I looked at her, she was staring past me toward the stairs as if waiting for someone to come down into the kitchen to join us. I hardly breathed, it was such a peculiar sensation.”

  “What did you think?” Ashley’s whisper was almost imperceptible. The hair on the back of her neck was standing up. Her hand went to the recorder in her pants’ pocket and she quickly pressed the record button.

  “I didn’t know what to think at first, but in time I had to conclude the cat thought she saw Lawren again.”

  “Oh, my goodness! That is extraordinary. Did it always happen right here?”

  “No, the last time was upstairs in my bedroom. I don’t know if I should be telling you this, Ashley.”

  Oh, please do! Tell me, whatever it is!

  A shiver of excitement went through her in anticipation of what was to be revealed.

  “You see, I was having trouble sleeping and I brought Morag upstairs with me for company. She would curl up beside me on the pillow that was Lawren’s, and sleep so soundly all night that I often was lulled back to sleep just because she was there as a comforting presence.

  It was the deep purring noise that woke me in the middle of the night. Morag was sitting upright on the pillow and then she jumped down and moved over to the chair by the fireside as if someone else had come to claim his rightful place in the bed.”