by Valpy, Fiona
As Ruaridh and his date approached, Alec stood and shook his hand.
‘Hello, Alec. Mairi. Bridie.’ Ruaridh nodded towards the girls. ‘This is Wendy. And that’s my sister, Flora. Wendy’s a Wren, too.’
‘Pleased to meet you all,’ she beamed. ‘I’ve heard lots about you.’
Flora wondered briefly when the pair had found time for such discussions. Ruaridh seemed to have been very busy of late, at his post at the signal station on the hill beyond Tournaig Farm at all hours, relaying directions to the mass of ships manoeuvring in the loch below.
‘Wendy’s a meteorologist,’ he explained. ‘She has to take the weather readings up at the signal station. That’s where we met.’
Flora smiled, the penny dropping.
The band struck up a dance tune and Alec held out his hand. ‘Would you honour me with the first dance, Miss Gordon?’
‘Why, I’d be delighted to, Lieutenant Mackenzie-Grant,’ Flora replied, laughing at his formality.
They joined the general surge on to the dance floor, which was quickly packed with couples. Flora smiled over at Mairi and Bridie who were dancing with a pair of officers. Following her glance, Alec bent close to her ear and whispered, ‘Good. Now I don’t have to be polite and ask them, too. I’d much rather spend the evening only dancing with you.’
Flora hoped that the flush on her cheeks would be attributed to the dancing and the heat in the crowded hall. She’d found herself thinking about Alec a great deal lately, looking out for him at the camp when she was ferrying personnel back and forth to the jetty and hoping that one day he might turn out to be the passenger she was collecting. There was no one else she wanted to dance with, either. He held her hand a little more tightly as the current of the dance carried them along in its flow.
The noise and the heat reverberated in the tin-roofed hall as the evening wore on and midnight approached. Then the band leader stopped the music and everyone shouted out the countdown as the hands of the clock ticked towards 1940. And then there was cheering and kissing as a piper joined the band and struck up ‘Auld Lang Syne’.
‘A good new year,’ Flora whispered to Alec.
Without a word, he drew her close, his arms a quiet haven in the midst of the voices raised in song and celebration, and for a moment she imagined them to be alone, the pair of them marooned on their island of silence in a sea of sound.
‘Come and look at this!’ came a shout from the door, and the partygoers tumbled out from the loud lit interior into the frost-stilled night. Out beyond the shore, on the darkness of the loch, lights flashed from every ship moored there. It was a fleeting display – they couldn’t risk giving away their position, even on New Year’s Eve – but a brilliant one.
Although it needed no deciphering, Ruaridh translated their message. ‘Happy New Year.’
In the hall, the band continued to play and some of the revellers went back again to dance on already tired feet. Others began to drift away.
‘Would you like to stay on?’ Alec asked Flora.
She shook her head. ‘I can’t. I promised Dad I’d be home. I know he’ll be waiting up so I’d best be getting off.’
‘Come on then, I’ll drive you back. I know, let’s first-foot him together!’
Flora laughed. ‘He’d love that. But we have neither cake nor coal nor whisky so it’ll not be much of a first-footing.’
‘We’ll stop off at my house on the way past and pick some things up. We’d better do it properly if it’s to bring luck to Keeper’s Cottage for the year ahead. Come on, let’s go!’
Ruaridh, Bridie and Mairi all declined the offer of a lift home, preferring to stay on at the party, which was showing no signs of ending just yet, and so Flora and Alec climbed into his car and sped along the empty road to Ardtuath House.
Even though the gates to the big house were rarely closed, their formal grandness was a stark reminder that it stood apart from the whitewashed cottages that were its nearest neighbours. Towering pines lined the drive, blotting out the night sky with a darkness of their own, concealing the house from the community surrounding it.
At the top of the drive, Alec killed the engine, glancing up at the windows, which to Flora’s eyes seemed to brood behind their blackout coverings. ‘Best not wake my parents if they’re in their beds already,’ he whispered.
They crept in through a side door, stepping from the crispness of the clear night air through a darkened boot room and into the warmth of the vast kitchen. From across the hall, the faint sound of music made them both pause. Putting a finger to his lips, Alec beckoned Flora to follow him. She hesitated before stepping through the doorway into the more formal part of the house. It felt strange being there with him now that their relationship was changing. He was so confident, so self-assured in his grand home, while the ornate cornicing and heavy antique furniture in the hall seemed to press in on her from all sides, stifling and constraining her usual sense of ease. But she took a deep breath and crossed the divide, the green baize door swinging shut behind her with a soft thud.
He pushed open the library door and the strains of a Debussy nocturne drew them across the threshold into the room. In an armchair beside a fire whose embers burned low, Alec’s mother sat with her hands folded in her lap, her head resting against one wing of the chair as she listened to the gramophone.
‘Hello, Ma,’ said Alec softly.
She turned to face them, the distant – and rather sad – look in her eyes transforming into a smile at the sight of her son.
‘Alec? And Flora too – how lovely.’
‘A good new year, Lady Helen,’ Flora said, feeling she had intruded on a private moment. In the firelight, she noticed a few strands of silver gleaming in Lady Helen’s hair, smoothed back into its usual elegant chignon. There had been a look of loneliness in her dark eyes that had surprised Flora. Surely she must be feeling less isolated now that her husband had come back to Ardtuath House?
‘And to you both too, my dears. How was the dance?’
‘It was fun, thank you,’ replied Flora politely.
‘Is Father in bed already?’ asked Alec.
His mother nodded. ‘He was tired. He’s been so busy in London since Christmas, closing up the house there.’ She turned to Flora. ‘I’m sure your father’s told you my husband has decided to stay up at Ardtuath now, which comes as a big relief to us all. London’s such a target for the Germans. What a luxury it will be for me, having both my menfolk home. At least this dratted war has one or two advantages.’
Alec crossed the room to his mother and stooped to kiss her cheek. ‘I’m just going to take Flora home. But we thought we’d stop off here on the way to collect some of the Christmas cake and maybe a dram of whisky for first-footing Iain.’
‘Good idea. Help yourselves; the cake’s in the larder.’
The record ended, the needle crackling faintly, and she reached to switch it off. From upstairs came a series of heavy footsteps crossing the floorboards. At the sound, Lady Helen froze for a moment. Then she stood, lowering her voice as she said, ‘Don’t disturb your father though, Alec. You know how he can be. I’d better be getting off to my bed, too. Good night, Flora.’ She hesitated, then stepped across to a side table where bottles and glasses stood on a silver tray. ‘Here,’ she said, picking up a bottle of whisky. ‘Give this to Iain. He’s certainly earned it, with all the extra work he’s been doing around the estate. Heaven knows how we’d be able to manage without him now we’ve no factor.’
Flora whispered a thank you and then Lady Helen quietly ushered them back into the kitchen, softly closing the door behind them. They heard her making her way upstairs and then the low rumble of Sir Charles’s voice, questioning, followed by the soft, placatory tones of her reply.
Alec cut a generous slice of fruit cake and put it in a wicker basket, then added a lump of coal from the scuttle next to the range, wrapping it in a piece of newspaper. Flora nestled the bottle of whisky in alongside the cake and nodd
ed as Alec gestured silently towards the door.
Stepping outside, their breath hung in white clouds on the cold night air. They got into the car and Alec let off the handbrake, freewheeling down the drive beneath the canopy of dark pine branches, only starting the engine once they were almost at the road.
As they emerged from beneath the trees, turning northwards, both of them gasped in astonishment. For while their backs had been turned, the black of the night sky had been draped with curtains of light that billowed and surged above the far horizon.
Alec pulled in to the side of the road. ‘How’s that for a Hogmanay show?’
Flora’s eyes shone as the sheets of colour turned from green to silver and back again. ‘Even the blackout can’t stop the Northern Lights.’
Still looking straight ahead to the northern horizon, she slipped her hand into his, and his fingers curled tight around hers as they sat in silence, watching the display. The ethereal glow bathed the landscape, transforming the familiar hills into a mysterious otherworld surrounding the waters of the loch, which reflected the swirling colours in their depths.
At last the dancing swathes of light began to fade, becoming fainter as the night stars reclaimed the sky, and the final reflections of the coloured strands sank into the darkening water.
Alec turned in his seat to look at Flora, watching as she gazed on the last of the pale green glow as it died away.
‘Would you come out with me? The next time we both have a day off? We could go to the beach at Firemore, or Slaggan Bay perhaps, if it’s fine. Do you remember when we walked there with your dad all those summers ago?’
She nodded. ‘It was August, I think,’ she recalled. ‘Just before you were about to go away to school for the first time. Ruaridh fell in the burn and was soaked. We’d to spread his things on a rock to dry. But then we all ended up in the sea anyway. It was a warm enough day that it didn’t matter.’
‘Well, we won’t be swimming at this time of year, that’s guaranteed, but we could take a picnic if we wrap up well.’ He was silent for a few moments, lost in thought. Then he asked her, ‘Do you still have the wee china horse?’
‘Of course,’ said Flora. ‘I keep it on the mantelpiece.’
There was no need to say more, although she remembered clearly the day all those years ago when she’d gone to collect pine cones for the fire in the wood above Ardtuath House. She’d heard a noise, a stifled sob, coming from the stables, and had peered in to find him sitting with his back against the rough boards of the garron’s stall, his face buried in his hands. It was the day he was to be sent away to a prep school in the south, the local primary no longer being deemed suitable for the son of the laird.
As she approached, the white pony had hung its broad muzzle over the half-door, as if trying to comfort the sobbing boy. Wordlessly, she had sat down beside Alec and put a hand on his shoulder. He’d raised his head then, dragging the back of his hand across his eyes to dash away the tears that stained his face, angry and embarrassed at having been seen.
‘It’s never going to be the same again, is it?’ he’d asked her, his anguish fraying the edges of his voice. ‘Everything’s going to change.’
‘Maybe some things will change. But this will always be here,’ she’d said, pointing to the view beyond the stable door. ‘The loch and the hills. And we will always be here, Ruaridh and the garron and me.’
He’d nodded slowly, then swallowed hard and squared his shoulders. ‘Please could you not say you saw me here?’
She didn’t speak, just reached for his hand and squeezed it by way of a reply.
He’d stood up then, brushing the straw from his jacket, and summoned a watery smile. ‘See you at Christmas?’ he said.
She’d nodded. ‘It’ll fly by, you’ll see.’
When he’d returned for the holidays, he had indeed changed. He seemed more assured, chatting happily about his new friends at school, the trials and tribulations involved in having to learn Latin and French and his hope that he’d be selected for the Second XV rugby team. Neither of them had ever mentioned the encounter in the stable again. But on that Christmas morning when Flora went to bring in a handful of sticks for the fire, she’d found a small pile of clumsily wrapped gifts on the doorstep. There was a wooden bootjack for Iain that Alec had sweated over in his woodwork classes at school and a neat horn-handled penknife for Ruaridh. And for Flora, there was the little white china horse with a blonde mane that she’d treasured ever since.
Now, he brought her hand to his lips, kissing it gently before drawing her to him and kissing her more deeply. Then, with a sigh that was a strange, shuddering mixture of joy and regret, he restarted the car. ‘Better get you home, or Iain will be out looking for you with his shotgun. I wouldn’t want to be the man in his sights!’
She laughed softly. ‘I think you’re probably the only man he wouldn’t shoot at. He trusts you.’
‘And you, Flora? Do you trust me, too?’
She looked into the ink-black depths of his eyes and replied, ‘Always, Alec. I have always trusted you.’
Lexie, 1978
On my next walk to the shop, I make a point of stopping in at Bridie’s. She looks a bit startled to see me standing at her door. I’d been hoping she might ask us in, fussing over Daisy as usual, and sit me down so that she could tell me her recollections of the war years – and my mum and dad’s story in particular – over a cup of tea. But my suspicion that she’s avoiding that particular cosy chat crystallises a little bit more when she doesn’t do so. Instead, she reaches her coat down from the hook beside her front door, saying, ‘What good timing! I’m just away to the jetty to see if I can catch Davy before he takes the boat out. He’ll put out a line for some mackerel if I ask him. We can get some for you, too, if you’d like? And wee Daisy, would you like a nice fresh fishy for your tea? You’re growing so fast, so you are, so you are!’
I get the sense again that this is not just her usual chattering. It’s not at all like Bridie Macdonald to pass up the chance to find out more about the sorry set of circumstances that have washed me back to the shores of Loch Ewe. So my interest is piqued even more keenly as to what it is she’s hiding from me.
Up until now, I’ve felt a bit like a limpet when in her company, clamping down hard on my own sense of shame as she’s tried to prise more snippets out of me. But she is, apparently, equally adept at clamming up. It’s going to take a little more patience to coax information out of her, I can see. I am shamelessly prepared to use my daughter as bait, if need be. So, as we walk along to the jetty, I make my move.
‘Bridie, I’d love to bring Daisy to yours one afternoon. She gets a bit bored stuck in the cottage when it’s an indoor day.’
‘Well, we’ve certainly had a few of those this past week,’ she replies. ‘What a gale it was blowing at the weekend! I didn’t set foot out of my front door.’
Refusing to be deflected so easily with talk of the weather, I plough on determinedly. ‘Yes, so could we come over sometime? Just say whatever day suits you – I have nothing going on. You were so kind as to offer. And it would do me good to have some grown-up conversation for a change.’
Pinned down now, and unable to resist the thought of time with Daisy, she bites. ‘Och well, I’d love to see the pair of you, of course. What about Thursday? You could come over about three, once this wee one has had her after-lunch nap?’
‘Thursday at three would be perfect. Thanks, Bridie.’
‘Good, that’s settled then. And here’s Davy, look. We’re just in time.’ She waves energetically to catch his attention as he prepares to cast off from the quayside. He stands on the deck of his boat, whose name I now see is the Bonnie Stuart, dressed from head to toe in a serious-looking set of oilskins topped off with an orange life jacket.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ he greets us, with a shy smile.
The boat tugs at the rope, which he holds taut around the mooring bollard, as if the vessel is impatient to get going ou
t into the waves tossing their white heads beyond the lee of the island.
The brisk breeze smells of seaweed and the recently passed rain; it blows Daisy’s curls every which way where they escape from beneath the woollen tammy that I’ve pulled down firmly to keep her ears warm. She chuckles and reaches her hands towards the boat, enthusiastically repeating her favourite word: ‘Bat.’
‘There’s the clever girl,’ Bridie coos. ‘D’you hear that, Davy? She’s starting to talk now.’
He reaches to shake her hand, her fingers looking like a tiny starfish as they clutch his broad, weather-worn thumb. ‘Well, one of these days when the weather’s a bit gentler I’ll take you out for a turn on the water, maybe. If you’d like to?’ He glances at me, uncertain.
‘We’d love that.’
‘Lexie was just telling me she’s longing to get out a bit more now that she and Daisy are settled,’ Bridie chimes in enthusiastically.
I try to refrain from shooting her an irritated glance at this rephrasing of my recent admission to her that cabin fever has been setting in up at Keeper’s Cottage.
‘Aye well, there’s surely nothing like an hour or two out on the loch to blow away the cobwebs,’ Davy says. ‘I’ll let you know when there’s to be a calm window in the weather.’
