Return to Oban

by Ruth Hay

  Ashley was not responding to his calls and that was worrying. Had he said or done something to upset her the last time they were together? He called the farmhouse line and Anna reported Ashley was well but had some kind of work deadline to meet.

  The one positive note in the week was that Fiona Campbell agreed to his request to start renting the cottage immediately and she took on the task of contacting the services to make sure everything was in order for his occupancy. He would have been happy to forego water and electricity if only he could vacate his present miserable apartment over the store on the High Street. As soon as he had known there was an alternative, what had previously been less than attractive living conditions, suddenly became unbearable and he packed what little he possessed ready to move out at a moment’s notice. The envelope with his last month’s rent was already waiting for the landlord.

  In the meantime, he contacted his mother and brought her up to date with recent developments.

  “Ed, this is good news about the cottage. It will give me a better idea of your surroundings since I can imagine exactly what it is like. How are you feeling regards staying in Oban? Don’t you want to work closer to home now?”

  “Mum, I am nowhere near making a final decision. There’s a lot to think about. I’ll talk to you more when I come home for Christmas. I do like it here, however. I’ve made some friends and you know how difficult it is to do that when I have the doctor label on me. Nearly everyone I meet is either a patient or someone who wants free medical advice.”

  “Well, I must say you sound more cheerful than the last time you called. What’s changed things?”

  His mother was far too intuitive about him. She always had a sixth sense about what he was feeling.

  He thought of trying to distract her by referring again to the cottage, but he had a sudden notion of inviting Ashley to meet his mother over Christmas and if that were to happen, it would be better to prepare the ground now.

  “I will say I have met a lovely young woman here. She’s related to one of my patients. Her name is Ashley Stanton, but please don’t pester me for more details. It’s very early days yet and I don’t want to jinx the whole thing by giving you unrealistic expectations. She lives in Canada, by the way.”

  Christine Jansen had to damp down her excitement but some of it leaked across the phone line in spite of her best efforts. For some years she had thought her Edmund would never find a girlfriend and she would never be a grandmother.

  “That is good news Ed. I look forward to meeting her someday but I will wait for an invitation of course. Don’t you worry about that. Call me again when you get settled into the cottage and do try to get some sleep. You know you work too hard, just like your father did.”

  So, she played the ‘father’ card although she knows I can’t say anything more now. I may have set off a firestorm of curiosity but it felt like the right thing to do. Right; but not safe. I am jumping the gun here and I must remain cool if I want to build on Ashley’s interest. I really need time to figure out my next move. Turning up uninvited could be a mistake, especially if she is busy. I wonder what kind of work she is involved in? Obviously something she can do from home.

  A knock at the office door signaled the end of his lunch break. As soon as he exited he could hear the cacophony of noises in the waiting room. Everything from strenuous nose blowing to deep hacking coughing could be heard. It was going to be another very busy afternoon at the surgery.

  * * *

  Christine Jansen put down her phone and sat down immediately to take full measure of the news her son had conveyed. This Ashley person was a surprise and yet, if she lived in Canada, was there much hope of a steady relationship? She chided herself for old-fashioned ideas. These days, couples lived and worked all over the globe and many seemed to be able to make a marriage, or other serious partnership, work for them.

  She was also concerned about Edmund’s situation in the medical field. This was an old worry and she sighed in frustration as she thought of it. She had tried to discourage her son from following in the footsteps of his father; a path that had led to his early death from what she insisted was overwork and not any real ailment. A part of her heart was always in fear her Edmund might succumb to the same dire fate.

  But what could a mother do? He was a talented, hard-working man who wanted to make a difference in the world by applying his many skills. She could not stand in his way, despite her fears. He was his father’s son all right. The way it seemed now, both her men, in different ways, had left her too soon.

  A hot tear slid down her cheek. She sent up a silent prayer. Whoever Ashley Stanton was, a mother’s hopes lay in her hands.

  As the days went by, Ashley was aware of, and grateful for, her aunt’s absorption in the care and feeding of Sylvia. Bev was a second nursemaid for the cat and Ashley could hear them discussing food, water, bedding, and when they would be able to let the creature roam further than the kitchen.

  There had been one angry call to the vet, and his excuses accepted, but he kept away, which pleased Ashley greatly.

  She was deep into the book’s structure now and was keeping her publisher at bay by forwarding a chapter a day to his editor. She had no time for interruptions of any kind and barely finished the food left for her in the lounge. It took every ounce of her strength and concentration to forge a chapter each day and ensure it was worthy of the ones that had already been sent.

  To her great relief, Warren Brady had not pointed out anything objectionable thus far. He was content to let her speed ahead as fast as possible with an eye to the lucrative Christmas book sales market and had already begun the process of designing a suitable cover, using the title and sketch she had suggested. He remained positive about the possibility of producing the memoir before the Christmas deadlines and remarked how fortunate it was that digital printing technology allowed him to make electronic copies of Ashley’s chapters as soon as they were received and edited.

  Naturally, Ashley did not indicate how frantically she was working to keep up with the punishing schedule. The writing was progressing well, so far, but if she faltered it would have serious consequences.

  She allowed Anna to field all phone calls and take messages. She could not dare to break her concentration for any reason. It was at the end of her long day when she finally took time to read the messages. Four were from Edmund and she put these aside with a sigh. He would have to wait.

  One was from Warren giving her the name and authority of an art dealer from Edinburgh who was to arrive in Oban within three days. She was instructed to gather the new Drake sketches for a Gregor Mackintosh’s perusal. This task she immediately passed on to her aunt then dragged herself up to bed before she could be inveigled into any conversation about her progress. Only by getting a few hours of restful sleep could she continue at this frantic pace and the thought that she might break down or lose focus was a constant fear.

  As instructed, Anna Drake returned to the cedar closet the following day to look for more evidence of Lawren’s sketches. This was a pleasant task; something of a treasure hunt. She had opened all the boxes without finding more of Lawren’s work than Ashley had originally uncovered. She did find an unexpected legacy of her beneficiary, Helen Dunlop. In a small ivory container she found a selection of very beautiful antique hair clasps. Anna vaguely remembered seeing these years before, but as her own hair had been cut in a short style for a long time she had put the collection aside. Now the box had turned up between two books on the shelves she had begun to look through. Many of the books had belonged to Helen Dunlop and were initially in the garage in large storage boxes but Anna hoped to find something else of Lawren’s that had been put away for safekeeping when the estate house was rented.

  She piled up several gardening reference books for Fiona’s new garden including one large tome with full-page illustrations of the kind of perfect plants only seen in such publications, when some pages fell out. Tut tutting to herself about such carelessness
with a book, she picked them up to deposit on top of the pile and stopped as she caught sight of the pencil drawings. At first these did not look anything like the full-size sketches Ashley had uncovered. The pages were smaller and the drawings were crowded onto the paper in haphazard order. It took a moment to recognize Lawren’s style on a much smaller scale and then another moment to understand that she was the subject. It looked like he had been watching her from their bedroom window while she planted herbs, or hung out washing, or fetched fuel from the shed in the rear garden. These were everyday activities and would be of no interest except that he had managed to imbue the simple outlines with the magic of his emotions.

  Anna felt a sob rise up from her chest at the realization of how much Lawren had loved her. It was clear in every line and every mark of the pencil. She had been given a gift by finding these now. It felt as if Lawren was approving of the plan to reveal more of their life to the world in Ashley’s book.

  Immediately after she had concluded this, she knew what to do. She ran downstairs to the office with the pages in her hand and called out to Ashley to warn her to stop typing.

  “Look, Ashley! Look what I’ve just found!”

  Ashley turned with a frown on her face at this alarming noise. She was transcribing from her recorder and hated to stop in mid-sentence, but her Aunt Anna was definitely excited about something. Hopefully, it was not the cat escaping to rampage around the house!

  Anna thrust the pages onto Ashley’s knees. “These were hidden inside a book. They are quite domestic and could be the ones you need to illustrate your book. What do you think?”

  She turned the pages over and saw they were all about Anna in the house and garden in Oban.

  She knew immediately these were perfect for the book. They lacked the finished detail of the larger drawings but their scale was exactly what the personal story needed. She debated whether or not she should keep them from the art expert and decided he was not likely to want them when he saw the larger, more significant, finished sketches. She would be happy to add these to the text she was currently writing. They gave insight into the daily tasks Lawren had shared with Anna in their Scottish hideaway and, as they had never been seen before, they were an added incentive for art lovers to purchase the book.

  As if on cue, the phone rang in the kitchen and Anna ran off to intercept the call, returning a minute later with the news that a Gregor Mackintosh would be arriving within the hour to peruse certain sketches.

  “Oh, darn! What does he sound like?”

  “Well, rather a ‘stuffed shirt,’ as they say; a very British Public School type, from his voice. He said he was in a hurry and needs to see everything at once.”

  “Oh, dear! I had better prepare the exhibits and take the chance to grab something to eat then I must get back to work. I can’t afford to fall behind.”

  * * *

  Gregor Mackintosh arrived on the dot of three o’clock, precisely one minute less than the hour he had predicted on the phone. Ashley and Anna awaited him in the kitchen with the sketches arrayed across the kitchen table and Sylvia confined to her cage in the larder out of sight.

  Ashley had managed to eat a sandwich and gulp a cup of tea after taking scant time to change her clothes and tidy her hair, pinning the length back with one of the lovely clasps her Aunt Anna brought to her. She chose a heavy, gold-coloured, oval-shaped one with a crimson stone under a tracery of gold metal patterns in the hopes it might make up for the lack of adornment in her other clothing. She had not taken time to bathe or shower in the last few days and had grabbed the first clean item she found in her bedroom wardrobe.

  As soon as she beheld the splendour of Gregor Mackintosh, Ashley felt unkempt, unprepared and uncouth. The Highland gentleman, for that was who he gave every evidence of being, could not have been more formally dressed. He wore the kilt of his clan with sporran and knee socks and even a skean dhu tucked into the folded-over cuff. His double-breasted black velvet jacket with resplendent silver buttons concealed a white, starched, dress shirt. All of this was revealed when he removed his long dark overcoat.

  Anna’s eyebrows were at full alert and Ashley was struck dumb until he began by apologizing for his appearance.

  “I received an urgent call from an overseas contact and as I am on my way to a wedding in Fort William, I thought to combine the two events in one trip. I hope you ladies do not mind.”

  He had one of those mesmerizing, soft Scottish accents that imbues even the simplest words with an intimacy and sincerity that cannot be denied. Anna emerged from the fog of amazement first, and assured him she was not in any way objecting to his outfit. She offered a cup of tea which he accepted, provided he could drink it without any water or other liquid approaching the table. His eye had lighted on the sketches within seconds of being shepherded into the kitchen.

  Anna retired to the larder to make the tea while Ashley tried valiantly to compose a sentence to indicate she was not mute. He was certainly a sight to behold; quite enough to strike any female speechless.

  “Tell me about the sketches,” he asked, as he patrolled the perimeter of the large table. “Where were they discovered, in what condition, and for how long had they been hidden from view?”

  Ashley scrambled to answer these questions to the best of her ability. She must have satisfied his curiosity because he nodded happily when he discovered the location had been in a cedar closet, not a musty cellar or damp attic. She followed him around the table feeling dwarfed by his height and the width of his velvet-clad shoulders but watching the delicacy of his long fingers as he carefully lifted and examined each sketch in turn.

  Gregor Mackintosh refrained from issuing an opinion until he had stepped back from the table and finished his tea. He was about to speak when his attention was diverted by a strange sound.

  “Good Lord! What is that? Is there a wild animal somewhere in your kitchen Mrs. Drake?”

  Anna and her niece exchanged glances but there was no way to conceal the truth. Anna embarked on the tale of Sylvia and they saw his amazement grow with every word.

  “You mean an actual wildcat kit is living here with you?”

  “Well to be accurate, it is a hybrid and immune from the Scottish wildlife laws. We suspect the mother was a large domestic cat and the father a true wildcat.”

  “Indeed! May I see the creature? It is a rare experience to catch sight of one anywhere these days, never mind in a kitchen!”

  Anna invited him to follow her into the larder where he promptly went down on his knees to peer inside the cage.

  Sylvia reacted with predictable animosity, growling at the stranger’s smell and baring a set of remarkable sharp teeth. Gregor Mackintosh was not put off by the display of aggression. He seemed to be familiar with the ways of cats. Anna counted that in his favour.

  “Why, she’s a beauty all right! Does she get out of the cage at all? I would appreciate a look at her on the move, as it were. Of course, the sketches would have to be safely removed first.”

  Anna was intrigued enough to attempt a meeting between Sylvia and this stranger but both she and Ashley needed to hear his professional opinion about the sketches before they went any further to please Mr. Mackintosh.

  “We could arrange that for you, after you give us your assessment.” She gestured toward the kitchen table and he immediately stood up and brushed off his knees, straightening his velvet jacket and standing tall.

  “Excuse me, ladies. I was distracted from my purpose here. The provenance of the Drake sketches is not in any doubt whatsoever. Therefore, they are of great value in the art world. I will report to my dealers in England and in Canada that they are authentic, and previously unseen, examples of his work. These will be added to the catalogue that already contains many other remarkable sketches Lawren Drake completed on his journey in Wiltshire some years ago.

  In due course, a conservation expert will arrive here to take charge of the sketches and arrange for their transport to Canada for pub
lication. He will bring a photographer to record them for insurance purposes. Here is his card. I hope I don’t need to tell you to replace these sketches in the cedar closet and to protect them.

  In time, you, Mrs. Drake, as the owner, will be receiving a rather large sum of money.”

  He stopped short and a look of distress passed over his craggy face.

  “Forgive me! I am presuming you do wish to sell them?”

  Anna felt a fleeting sense of parting as she thought of losing the sketches but they had been in her possession for such a short time that she had not developed an attachment to them. She looked over at Ashley and considered her role in the publication of the art book as well as the biographical book she was now immersed in. At some point, Anna figured she could get copies of the sketches to keep and in the meantime she would be content with the smaller, less-grand poses she had found upstairs. There was, however, one exception.

  “Mr. Mackintosh, would you please note that, as the owner, I must have in my possession a full-size photocopy of Lawren Drake’s self-portrait before any of these sketches could leave my hands.”

  “My dear lady, it is well within your rights to require this. Duly noted. I can promise it will be done.”

  Anna nodded her approval. “As to your enquiry about selling my husband’s sketches…. “

  She stopped.

  The Edinburgh art expert berated himself silently for not establishing the lady’s intentions earlier.

  Two pairs of eyes watched Anna Drake’s face as she deliberated her answer to Gregor Mackintosh’s question. Ashley knew it was her aunt’s decision exclusively, but one that would affect her own future career.

  “I am an old lady now, Mr. Mackintosh. It is in my best interests to secure my late husband’s legacy while I am alive. I believe we can trust your advice and your integrity in this matter.”