The One and Only

by Doris E. Smith

  Of the two, Pat was the more easily dealt with.

  ‘You’ll be the death of me!’ she said bracingly to Kelly when they were alone. ‘You know it, he doesn’t, and yet you let him push you round. If he ever throws his weight about again you tell him off, do you hear?’ It was a vain hope. She knew only too well that Kelly never opened her mouth to boys unless under three or accompanied by a Pyrenean mountain dog. Graham MacAllan with his judicious air would have terrified her.

  ‘Are you angry with me?’ Kelly faltered now.

  Oh dear, oh lor’, there were tears in her eyes.

  ‘Of course not,’ Maggie reassured her. ‘But you must stand up for yourself. Now fetch Cream Cracker, will you? Jane will be here in a minute for her lesson.’

  The Fairley Hall ponies were kept in the open and consequently had to be caught when they were needed. It never took Kelly long. Now she bobbed off like a red elf and inside ten minutes had ridden back into the yard. She was quite used to doing without saddle or stirrups, bridle too if needs be, and to see her on horseback no one would think she had a care in the world.

  Jane Collins, for whom Cream Cracker was now being saddled, was a very different proposition from Pat Roche. She was so promising a pupil that Maggie looked forward all week to the lesson. Today as usual it went well. Jane went successfully round a course of obstacles which Cream cracker cleared with ease.

  ‘Very good,’ Maggie approved. ‘We might have a competition next time. Would you like that?’ This child had the makings of a show jumper. It would be good for her to perform against others.

  ‘Oh yes’ Jane said, beaming. ‘Can I go round again?’

  ‘Let’s see.’ Maggie glanced at her watch. Jane had a distance to travel and must not miss her bus. ‘Yes, I think so. And this time watch legs. When you’re coming down try to feel you’re stuck to him.’

  Jane went over the first obstacle obviously remembering legs and Cream Cracker good-naturedly let her think she was boss. He was a Connemara pony, dun in colour, compact, deep-bodied, standing on short legs and like all his breed a fine jumper. His companions in the paddock, Blue Boy the grey and Black Beauty, were equally good on conformation—Charles had a keen eye for horseflesh—but not on heart. Cream Cracker loved people, especially children, especially Kelly.

  ‘Maggie.’ Kelly herself had slipped eel-like under the fence. ‘There’s a man in the yard.’

  ‘Did you ask what he wanted?’ Maggie enquired not very hopefully.

  Kelly had. ‘You,’ she said as though that settled everything.

  Probably a booking. Someone had telephoned the other day about hiring Red Seal for the season. ‘Yes, all right. Tell him I’m just finishing a lesson. Explain nicely, mind,’ Maggie warned as Kelly went back to the fence.

  Half past five. As soon as Jane went, she must wash up those two lots of dishes, get supper, bed down the horses, see Kelly to bed and, if her legs were still functioning, tidy the flat. Well, not to worry. It was better to wear out than rust out. And meantime Jane was over the last obstacle, quite beautifully, with a forward lean from the hips and a straight-backed stuck-to-the-ribs descent.

  ‘That was fine, Jane, just fine,’ Maggie approved as the youngster reined in beside her. ‘And now, away you go. The bus may come early.’

  She turned to see her pupil off the premises and froze. A man was leaning on the fence. Maggie Campbell, you are off your rocker...

  It was like a camera rushing in. He straightened. She saw his face, broad hewn and unsmiling with creases along the eyes. Only one person looked like that, one and one only. And named to match it. I don’t believe this, she thought dazedly, walking forward, but if that’s not Angus MacAllan it’s his walking double.

  When she got within speaking distance he settled the matter.

  ‘Yes, it is me,’ he said bluntly. ‘I want to talk to you.’

  ‘Will you come inside?’ It was annoying that her heart should thump.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said briefly.

  ‘I’ll just have to—’ Shock was making her sound Ineffectual—the last thing she wanted. ‘Kelly, you take Cream Cracker.’ She called briskly.

  How deplorably soft and silly to have felt sorry for this man! In fine suiting, pure silk tie and gold-linked shirt cuffs he looked every inch the baron of industry he might one day become. He had not as many inches as Derek, but like Cream Cracker he knew who was boss.

  An appraising eye now rested on Kelly as she swung herself into the saddle.

  ‘Try him,’ Maggie reminded her, and knew she did the child an injustice. No part of the pony’s regime was ever forgotten.

  Kelly said yes, leaned forward to pat the dun-coloured neck and trotted off. She sat well and with such a straight back that she looked more than ever like a tube.

  ‘How old is she?’ Angus MacAllan asked.

  ‘Just seven.’

  ‘And she can be trusted to do what is necessary?’

  ‘Oh yes. She’ll water him, leave him some hay to pick at, off saddle and bring back the tack to be cleaned.’

  ‘And she’ll do that all on her own?’

  ‘She certainly will or I’ll know the reason why! Kelly and I are working women.’

  ‘I can see that. I watched the lesson you were giving. It impressed me.’

  ‘No thanks to me.’ Maggie found herself colouring with pleasure. ‘The pupil is exceptional, so is the pony. They do it themselves.’ She added the question which had been consuming her. ‘Do you come to Ireland often?’

  ‘No.’ His tone was absent, his eyes still on Kelly, who could now be seen leading Cream Cracker into the paddock. ‘I’m over for the Wool Bureau Conference.’

  Of course. The yellow signs she’d seen in town that morning and Mrs. MacAllan’s remarks about taking care of Graham.

  ‘Oh yes, I remember. Your son is staying in Bathgate.’

  ‘Er—not as it turned out.’ The face was straight as a poker. ‘Quite unexpectedly he got an invitation to stay with a school friend in Aberdeen and of course I was most anxious he should not miss school, so I thought it best to accept.’ To a fascinated Maggie crafty was the only word for the smile that flitted about his mouth. Their eyes met and his glanced away. ‘Do you have accommodation here?’ he asked as they reached the yard.

  ‘Yes. We have a flat.’ That was how they referred to it, it was really a bit of the stables. The bedroom had been the loft and Maggie had grown used to waking in the night and hearing Red Seal and Galleon snorting in their boxes underneath. It was companionable once she had stopped struggling up and thinking Kelly had developed bronchitis. The kitchen was companionable too. It must have been really jolly for Mr. and Mrs. Noah when they’d lived there. It had all their equipment still.

  If that was ungrateful thinking it was not meant as such. Charles and Phyl had given more important things than kitchen units.

  ‘Small but cosy,’ she added defensively, opening the door.

  Famous last words. In light of the busy day she had not bothered about the untidiness within. Now it seemed to blow up in their faces—a sink full of dirty dishes, a drain of spilt coffee, a ball of damp tea-towel.

  ‘Don’t mind the mess, please. I haven’t had a moment all day.’

  The living-room was hardly better. She tried not to see that they had left the tablecloth on after lunch, that there were crumbs on the carpet and that the roses on the mantelpiece were dropping and should have been thrown out. Why had he, of all people, to see this? she thought crossly, remembering Graham with not a hair astray and the silver coupe with even its wheel centres black and shiny?

  ‘Can I offer you a drink? I’m afraid I’m out of everything but sherry.’

  ‘Sherry will do nicely, thanks,’ he said politely.

  She had glasses, she was sure of it, but it must have been last Christmas or New Year since she’d used them. Rooting desperately, she found them, far in behind china she didn’t often use. Out they came, all two of them, the cheapest of ch
ain store glass and one with a piece like a bite broken out of it. Wretched thing! She pushed it out of sight.

  ‘You won’t mind my not joining you? I’m—on the wagon.’

  ‘Of course not,’ he said courteously, but the eyes, she was sure, missed nothing. ‘Thank you,’ he added, and lifted his glass. ‘Your very good health.’

  Weight and good tailoring gave him a lordly air. There was richness in the woody brown suiting and the figured bronze gold tie. She caught a sad glimpse of herself in the mirror, pale hair on a sun-scorched forehead, dog-eared check shirt, rolled-up sleeves.

  ‘Won’t you sit down?’ she invited, and he smiled. She realised he would continue to stand like a monument of propriety until she herself was seated. A man who in every way caused you to feel lacking.

  She grabbed the chair nearest her and plumped down on the magazines it already held. Angus MacAllan let himself with more dignity into the armchair. Surprise crossed his broad features but not a drop of sherry spilled. His glass changed hands and he fished up from underneath him Kelly’s little horse.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Maggie stretched out her hand with a flush of anger at Kelly, at herself, at life in general. ‘I really am.’

  ‘It’s quite all right.’ He looked at Zebedee with mild interest. ‘We had one of those. We bought ours in Austria—in Innsbruck. Do you know it at all?’

  ‘Only in pictures,’ Maggie said regretfully. She recalled beautiful designs on the walls of houses and hotels.

  ‘That’s right.’ His tone warmed. ‘It was a lovely holiday. My wife was always talking about going back. Well,’ the voice brisked. ‘I’ll come straight to the point, Miss Campbell I’m here as an emissary. The stables at Strathyre. Will you reconsider?’

  Maggie knew a second of disbelieving joy and relief. Then she killed it. ‘I’ve said no.’

  The green eyes flickered slightly. ‘Could we at the outset be honest with each other? Would I be right in thinking that was because you overheard me on Sunday? Please be frank,’ he urged as she hesitated. ‘Then we can get this over with quickly.’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow.’

  ‘It’s not very difficult. If I offended you I’m here to apologise and, as I’ve said, persuade you to reconsider.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Troy’s in a spot, a real one this time. She spoke to Mac on Monday and he won’t stay. He’s got a better offer and he wants to leave as arranged next Tuesday.’

  Maggie drew a steadying breath. ‘I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that.’

  ‘Not as simple?’ He looked astonished. ‘I’ve apologised. What more do you want?’

  ‘Facts are facts, Mr. MacAllan. An apology may make you feel better, but it can’t change the position. You don’t want me at Strathyre and I couldn’t live and work, much less bring Kelly up, where I’d know we were resented and disliked.’

  His jaw dropped. ‘That’s a strong way of putting it.’

  ‘Your words were strong,’ Maggie said quietly. ‘And I sympathise.’

  ‘You accept I’m right to dislike you?’ His face was comic in its amazement.

  ‘I accept your right to privacy. If you see me as endangering that right the situation for both of us would obviously be untenable.’

  ‘Yes.’ He sighed, rose and walked restlessly to the window. The silence was heavy, as heavy as the smoothly tailored shoulders. ‘Could we get over that, I wonder? She really needs you.’

  It seemed that here was the key to his coming. He was doing it for Troy, the girl he hoped to marry. He was not credited with wanting her for her own sake, but, looking at him now, Maggie was not sure. He had come to an interview which must have been distasteful and he had disdained the loophole she herself had given.

  ‘But you don’t, so why not take no and be thankful?’ If the green eyes had been fixed on her instead of the stable yard she probably would not have been so bold.

  ‘Let’s say it’s a little less positive than it was last Sunday.’ He turned round. ‘I don’t want anybody—I’ll not insult your intelligence by pretending otherwise. Or by pretending that I haven’t tried to persuade Troy to sell. But she was fond of my uncle and on that account there’s sentimental value.’

  ‘You were badly treated,’ she said it without thinking, and his face changed.

  ‘Have you mentioned that part of the conversation?’

  ‘Of course not. I was sorry I overheard any of it.’

  ‘Good. I like a woman who can keep her mouth shut.’ He smiled suddenly and walked back across the room. ‘Miss Campbell, I suggest we forget you did overhear—any of it. Grant brought you along to say yes, didn’t he? I gather he thinks it time you returned to Scotland.’

  It seemed as though he was in fact asking another question, perhaps with a good deal of point to it. An unattached female might get ideas about him and make a nuisance of herself, one already half settled was less likely to do so. ‘We are old friends,’ she said evenly. ‘And good ones.’

  ‘Then I think we probably understand each other,’ Angus MacAllan summed up. ‘So what about it? With my apologies for all that’s gone before.’

  ‘I think perhaps—’ All at once she saw the absurdity of hesitating further. ‘Oh, very well. I’ll go.’

  ‘Good. Then I haven’t wasted my time. Do you think you could make it next week?’

  It was very short notice, but Charles and Phyl would be home and the two horses they had had on livery were being moved on Monday. From now on the work load would diminish steadily as the remaining stock was sold. She thought of Cream Cracker and stifled a pang of anguish. ‘Possibly. I’d have to ring my employer. She’s in London.’

  ‘And then advise my cousin or Grant?’

  As she nodded he took a step towards the door. It was after six and Maggie started to think—she had tomatoes, bacon, eggs. Should she? Would he? ‘We’re just going to have something to eat. Can I...’

  ‘Not for me, thanks. It’s very kind of you, but there’ll be a meal at the hotel. Unless—there is one thing—could I use your phone?’

  ‘Of course.’ She indicated it

  ‘Thanks. I’ll pay for the call, of course.’ She made a deprecating gesture which he ignored. ‘Naturally I will. It’s a trunk call, to outside Hawick, and I’m not sure of the number. Will they look it up for me?’

  Maggie expected they would, gave him the code for Directory Enquiries and left him to it ‘Bonnie Tweeds Limited,’ she heard him enunciate clearly as she closed the door between living-room and kitchen.

  ‘Not in there,’ she warned Kelly, who turned up at that moment, chores done and with a distinctly enquiring nose. ‘Mr. MacAllan’s making a phone call.’

  The unheard-of happened. Kelly, never known to say boo to a goose, pulled down the door’s high latch. At least Angus MacAllan was not speaking. One hand held the receiver, the other rested on his knee. Plain pale shirt cuffs flattered his broad wrists.

  ‘Hullo, what’s your name?’ he asked Kelly.

  ‘Kelly!’ Maggie hissed imperatively.

  It earned her a rebuke. ‘Why not let her answer?’ He smiled at Kelly, said encouragingly: ‘It’s all right. They’re still trying to connect me,’ and repeated his question.

  Ninety-nine times out of a hundred Kelly would have been overcome by shyness. This was the hundredth. ‘Kelly Gibson,’ she said clearly.

  ‘Kelly? That’s a rare name for a wee lassie,’ Omniscience pronounced. ‘Mine’s a funny one too, at least so you’d think over here. It’s Angus. It’s a Scottish name. Have you ever been in Scotland?’

  It was ‘talking down’, a thing Maggie eschewed on principle, but heavy as it sounded, Kelly seemed to find no fault with it. She confided her age, catalogued the duties she had just performed for Cream Cracker and on replying that she had never been to Scotland volunteered other facts. ‘Last week we were going there, but now we’re not, thank goodness.’

  The well-marked MacAllan eyebrows rose.


  ‘Because of Cream Cracker,’ Kelly explained. ‘I couldn’t have left him behind.’

  ‘That’s silly, darling,’ Maggie inserted desperately. ‘You know Aunty Phyl would have taken great care of him.’

  The straight brown eyebrows were still drawn together. ‘Could you not have brought Cream Cracker to Scotland with you?’

  He paused to answer the operator. ‘Thank you, yes. I’m holding.’

  ‘I never thought of that,’ Kelly announced.

  ‘Then don’t, sweet one,’ Maggie advised briskly. ‘We couldn’t.’

  ‘Zebedee!’ Kelly had now glimpsed her toy and darted to retrieve it.

  ‘Do you know what, Kelly?’ Angus MacAllan asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s time for bed!’ As a joke it had whiskers on, but as a tribute to Zebedee of Magic Roundabout fame its success was instant. Still laughing, Kelly allowed herself to be led from the room as Angus MacAllan at last got through to his number. Five or six minutes later he opened the kitchen door. ‘Thank you very much. I didn’t want to put that through the hotel switchboard. It was to a firm I’m hoping to merge with and there are too many interested parties who might get wind of it. Industry’s quite a jungle these days.’

  The car he had hired for his stay in Dublin was in the main drive. ‘That pony,’ he said, fishing out his keys. ‘Any reason why she can’t bring it to Strathyre?’