Anne Douglas

by The Wardens Daughters

  They’d expected him to smile, to relax, but he still looked as though he was considering difficulties.

  ‘Dad, aren’t you pleased?’ Monnie ventured at last. ‘We know there’ll be things to sort out, but we can do that, eh? I mean, Lynette and me, we aren’t stupid. We don’t think we can just walk out of the door.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Lynette chimed. ‘We know we have to decide what to do.’ Her eyes went round the living room where they were sitting. ‘About this flat, for instance.’

  ‘Aye, you’ll have been thinking about that,’ Frank murmured.

  He took up the envelope he’d received from the Hostel Association and shook out its contents. ‘But let’s take another look at what we’ve got, eh? First, there’s this picture of Conair House. Looks pretty grand, eh? Built in what somebody called Scottish Baronial style, I believe.’

  The girls studied the photograph of the house that had become the hostel. Scottish Baronial was right. Built of solid grey stone, it was all turrets, cupolas, and narrow windows, with a great studded door as its entrance, and massed shrubs and lawn as its setting. The distant hills of Skye formed a backdrop, and in the foreground, groups of young people, some in climbing gear, were sitting on the grass, smiling into the camera.

  ‘Certainly looks grand,’ Lynette remarked. ‘At least, from the outside. I’d have thought they’d have turned it into a hotel.’

  ‘My thoughts, too,’ Frank agreed. ‘In fact, I made that point at the interview, but I was told there were already hotels in the area. Anyway, the owner had gone bankrupt, wanted a quick sale and took the association’s offer. Which pleased them no end, as you can imagine.’

  He took up another photograph, this time of the outside of a small modern building.

  ‘And this here’s the warden’s annexe where we’ll be living, attached to the back of the main house. Not too bad, eh? Got all we need, I think?’

  Two bedrooms, sitting room, kitchen, bathroom.

  Yes, sounded OK. There were no pictures of the interior, so the girls would just have to hope for the best, but at least they’d have their own place.

  ‘The main thing is, the rent’s very low,’ Frank said earnestly. ‘Practically what they call a peppercorn. That’s a key factor in taking the job. A real plus, like the car, eh?’

  ‘Oh, the car!’

  The sisters were all smiles. They’d never expected that the warden would be provided with a car, but as Frank pointed out, knowing what public transport was like in the Highlands, he’d certainly need it. It was only an old Morris, apparently, but a godsend, anyway, and if he had time he’d teach the girls to drive.

  ‘Did ask me at the interview if I could drive,’ he added, ‘and I was damned glad I’d learned, even though I never did manage to afford to run a car.’

  ‘Was it that guy who took you to the Highlands who taught you?’ asked Monnie, and Frank raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Fancy you guessing that. Yes, it was Bobby Gregor. He was a natural for anything to do with motors. Had us all driving in no time. Of course, it was easier then. So little traffic.’

  ‘Looks like Monnie and me will have to buy ourselves bikes, though.’ Lynette said with a sigh. ‘I mean, even if we learn to drive, we won’t have the car and we’ll have to get to work somehow. We are going to have to find jobs, you know.’

  ‘I know.’ Frank heaved a sigh. ‘That’s another reason for me feeling bad – you girls having to give up your jobs here. But seems there might be something going attached to the hostel.’

  ‘Some jobs?’

  ‘One job. I’ve just found the info about it. The assistant warden is leaving at the same time as the warden himself. They’re having local interviews for the post, and I thought one of you might apply.’

  ‘Assistant warden?’ Lynette pondered the idea for a moment, then shook her head. ‘Doesn’t sound my cup of tea. Monnie, how about you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind having a go. If they don’t mind that I’m your daughter.’

  ‘I’d have nothing to do with the interviews, and there’s a precedent already,’ Frank told her. ‘The reason the assistant warden is leaving with the warden is that she’s his wife. So, there you are. You’d be in with a chance, Monnie, if you apply. But Lynette, what about you? There may not be much call for shorthand and typing up where we’re going.’

  ‘Oh, come on, I might have to travel but I’ll find something I can do. No need to worry, Dad.’

  ‘You make life sound so easy, Lynette.’

  ‘It is easy! If you don’t make it hard.’

  ‘You’re like Ma,’ Monnie commented. ‘That’s just the sort of thing she used to say to me.’

  ‘Well, you’re like Dad here. You worry too much.’

  ‘Can’t all be the same,’ Frank said and sat back in his chair, his eyes travelling round the living room. ‘But don’t tell me you haven’t been worrying about leaving here, eh?’

  Lynette glancing at Monnie, said softly, ‘We have, then. This is our home.’

  ‘Mine, too,’ said Frank.

  ‘What will happen, Dad?’ Monnie whispered. ‘To all the things?’

  Like their father, she and Lynette were looking at their surroundings. At their home. At the furnishings and possessions they’d known all their lives.

  Framed Scottish scenes their parents had been given as wedding presents. Books crammed into shelves. Cushions their mother had made; the hooked rug she’d worked during the war with any materials she could find; her jars and bottles, her pots and pans, cups and saucers, plates on the dresser, photographs . . .

  ‘Dad, where will everything go?’ Lynette asked. ‘I’ve been lying awake at night, wondering.’

  ‘Into storage?’ Monnie asked. ‘That’ll cost a lot.’

  ‘Can’t leave ’em for a new tenant, can we? And there’ll have to be a new tenant.’

  ‘Well, we’re not giving them up! Dad, we’re not doing that, are we?’

  ‘No, we’re not giving them up.’

  Frank took out his cigarettes and lit one, shaking his head at Lynette who had stretched out her hand towards the packet.

  ‘You shouldn’t be smoking, Lynette, it’s bad for you.’

  ‘How about you then?’ she demanded, tossing back her hair. ‘You’ve been smoking like a chimney lately.’

  ‘That’s just because I’ve had so much to think about. Once I’m away and settled, I’ll cut down.’

  ‘So what are you thinking now?’ Monnie asked, the look on his face suddenly making her feel hopeful. ‘About our flat?’

  He paused for a pleasurable little effect. ‘That I’ll keep it on. You didn’t imagine I could let it go?’

  ‘You mean, pay the landlord the rent, same as usual?’ Lynette asked. ‘But, Dad, you can’t afford it! When you’ll be paying out somewhere else.’

  ‘Didn’t I say the rent of the warden’s flat was a key factor for me in taking the job? It’s so small, I can afford to keep this flat on and, quite frankly, if I couldn’t have done that, I wouldn’t be moving. I want to make a new life, it’s true, but I’d never part with this place. With all its memories? No.’

  As the girls stared, too wrapped up in their emotions to speak, he drew strongly on his cigarette, his gaze far away. Then he brought it back, to fix on his daughters’ faces.

  ‘And then you have to think, as well, what would happen if something went wrong up there in the Highlands and we’d no home of our own.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m not stupid, either. We had to have a Plan B, eh?’

  ‘Oh, Dad!’

  The girls, laughing, ran to him and hugged him, tears stinging their eyes.

  ‘Makes all the difference,’ Monnie sniffed. ‘To know we’re not saying goodbye to everything here.’

  ‘All the difference,’ Lynette agreed, blowing her nose. ‘But will the flat be OK, Dad, with no one in it?’

  ‘Well, I thought of asking Mrs Logan or someone to come in from time to time and give it a dust etcetera, and th
en it should be fine in the summer. For the winter, I might get a fellow I know from work to come in as a sublet. I’ll have to get permission, but he’s a good careful guy, lives with his mother but wouldn’t mind a break. Don’t worry, we’ll sort something out.’

  ‘We can always pack some of the stuff away in our room, I suppose,’ Lynette suggested. ‘But we will be taking some things with us, eh? I mean, photos and pictures, Ma’s cushions, maybe?’

  ‘Oh, sure, we’ll want to make the new place homely. I’ll leave it to you to sort out what you want to take, and then we’ll send them on.’ Frank stubbed out his cigarette. ‘The main thing is that we’re keeping our home here and that you’re both happy. You are, eh?’

  ‘We are.’

  ‘And I am, too.’ Frank stood up, stretching. ‘So, what happens next is, that after I’ve said goodbye to my boys –’ the sisters rolled their eyes. His boys. So keen to see all his geese as swans, wasn’t he? Still, those laddies appreciated him and would miss him. Had to admit that – ‘I’ll have to spend some time at the headquarters on a course, learning my duties,’ Frank was continuing. ‘But then, with everything settled, it’ll be a case of Conair, here we come! Don’t forget, we move in at the beginning of March. Just pray it isn’t snowing.’

  ‘Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!’ sang Lynette, waltzing round the kitchen. ‘Come on, Monnie, let’s make a cup of tea!’

  Four

  There was no doubt that their father’s decision to keep on the Edinburgh flat made a great difference to his daughters’ feelings over leaving it. At least, for a time.

  As Monnie put it to Lynette, it was like having a mattress in the background. To break their fall, if things went wrong, as Dad had suggested.

  ‘Of course, he doesn’t really think things will go wrong,’ Monnie added. ‘But it’s as well to be prepared.’

  ‘I agree,’ Lynette declared. ‘What’s in my mind is that if we really can’t stick it—’

  ‘Oh, I’m not thinking that will happen, Lynette!’

  ‘No, but it might. You’ve just said we should be prepared, and if we find we absolutely hate it, we might just have to tell Dad and come back home.’ Lynette gave one of her brilliant smiles. ‘And here home will be!’

  ‘Might have to ask the tenant to move out, if it’s the winter.’

  ‘So, he can move out.’

  ‘Yes, well, let’s hope it won’t come to that. I’d hate to disappoint Dad.’ Monnie’s grey eyes were darkly serious. ‘And he does need us, Lynette.’

  ‘Oh, I know. I’m not saying it will happen, anyway. It’ll be like having insurance, eh? When you take out insurance, you hope you won’t need it.’

  ‘Aye, that’s the way to think of it,’ Monnie agreed with some relief. ‘And in any case, it’s grand to be keeping all the stuff, eh?’

  ‘Oh, we couldn’t have let it go. I feel so happy we don’t have to part with any of it. And we can take the best bits with us.’

  All the same, as the days of February melted away and the time arrived to pack up the flat, some of the girls’ euphoria began to fade. For now, in the strange bareness of their home, they could no longer escape the truth of the matter. Departing for a new life meant giving up the old. Keeping on their home as some sort of insurance in the background was good, was helpful, but it didn’t alter the fact that for now they were leaving it. For very good reasons, and as their own decision, but leaving it, all the same.

  ‘Talk about feeling apprehensive!’ Lynette said, shaking her head. ‘I don’t mind admitting, I’ve got cold feet!’

  ‘After all we said,’ Monnie murmured, laughing shakily. ‘But . . . me too!’

  ‘And I haven’t even handed in my notice yet.’

  ‘And I haven’t.’

  ‘I can’t think what Old Mr Couper will say to me.’

  ‘Or what Mr Bryce will say to me.’

  ‘Well, everyone can be done without,’ Lynette remarked cheerfully.

  ‘I sometimes wonder if that’s true,’ Monnie answered worriedly. ‘I’m sure Mr Bryce won’t know what to do, if I’m not there to tell him.’

  And Mr Bryce, a thin, grey figure of indeterminate age, was certain, too, that he wouldn’t know what to do if Monnie left him. Who would do the accounts, the ordering, the packing and unpacking, the reminding of which customer wanted what, and where everything was?

  ‘Oh, Monnie, are you really leaving me?’ he’d groaned when she had given him her news. ‘Going up to the Highlands? I can’t believe it. What am I going to do?’

  ‘You’ll soon find someone else to do what I do,’ she told him as confidently as possible. ‘You’re the one that matters, being the bookman.’

  ‘Yes, Monnie, my dear, but I can’t even tie up a parcel. Still, if you must go, you must, and I’ll have to grin and bear it. Where did you say you were going, again?’

  ‘Conair, a little place near Glenelg opposite Skye. My dad’s going to be warden of a youth hostel up there, and I might be his deputy. I’ve got an interview, anyway.’

  As Monnie reflected on her pleasure at being given an interview for the deputy warden’s post, Mr Bryce looked interested. But not about her possible job.

  ‘Glenelg? Now didn’t Dr Johnson and Boswell stay there on their travels round Scotland? A fascinating account. Could you just put your hand on that copy of Boswell’s Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides, do you think? Maybe I’ll read it again.’

  ‘Right away, Mr Bryce,’ sighed Monnie, wondering if she should draft out an advertisement for her replacement that very day.

  Meanwhile, old Mr Couper was expressing his regret at Miss Forester’s departure from his law firm, Messrs Couper, Couper and Anderson, of Queen Street, Edinburgh. Just as young Mr Couper would have also liked to express his regret, only with young Mrs Couper to remember, it was better he didn’t look too downcast over the departure of the prettiest member of the clerical staff.

  ‘So efficient,’ old Mr Couper sighed. ‘So reliable. Our loss will be someone else’s gain, wouldn’t you say, Miss Millwood?’

  But Miss Millwood, stern-faced senior secretary, preferred not to say too much about Miss Forester, only remarking that she might find it difficult to find a post in the Highlands.

  ‘If anyone can find a post, Miss Forester will,’ old Mr Couper declared, at which Miss Millwood only shrugged.

  Not that Lynette minded. Who cared what Miss Millwood thought? It was well known that she believed Lynette to be far too full of herself – which was probably true, Lynette herself admitted – but that only made it more likely she would find a job. Confidence was what was needed, eh? And it rather pleased Lynette that old Mr Couper had such confidence in her. Young Mr Couper, too, though he never put anything into words. As for Mr Anderson, he was just a name on the letter headings, having been dead for years.

  How typical of a law firm that they should keep the name alive of someone dead, Lynette often commented. Maybe, now she had to look elsewhere, she might find somewhere more exciting to work? The thought helped a little – just a little – in making the move less apprehensive, to use Monnie’s word.

  ‘When we get there,’ she told her sister, ‘you’ll see, we’ll be OK.’

  ‘Think so?’ Monnie asked. ‘Just got to get there, then.’

  ‘Now that we’re definitely going, I can’t wait to leave, can you?’

  ‘It’s true, I wish we were on our way.’

  Some days later, after they’d done all that had to be done, they were – on their way. The flat had been cleaned and polished, and Mrs Logan had agreed to keep an eye on it. The packing cases had been sent off. Frank had completed his course. All farewells, to friends, neighbours, colleagues, and the ‘delinquent’ boys, had been made.

  There they were, then, locking the door, trying not to cry, climbing into the taxi they’d recklessly booked to take them to Waverley Station – well, they did have their big cases to carry – and hurrying out on to the platform to wait for the Invern
ess train. Oh, how cold it was in the draughty station! Enough to freeze the tears the girls were brushing away.

  ‘Here it comes!’ Frank cried, as their train steamed in. ‘Got your bags, then?’

  ‘Got the kitchen stove, it feels like,’ Lynette answered. ‘Monnie, did you put our sandwiches in?’

  ‘Sure I did. I’m going to have mine soon as we set off.’

  ‘Comfort food, eh?’

  ‘Could do with a bit of comfort.’

  Monnie was already hurrying down the platform after her father, looking for their compartment. ‘Found our seats, Dad?’

  ‘Aye, this is us. Give me your cases, then.’

  Settling into their seats, watching the platform slide past after the guard had waved his flag, the Foresters were catching their breath.

  ‘Goodbye, Edinburgh!’ Frank suddenly called out.

  But the girls seemed unable to speak.

  Five

  Leaving the train at Inverness, they were thankful they were booked in for bed and breakfast and needn’t travel on. Already the evening was growing dark and cold. Very cold.

  ‘Why so arctic?’ Lynette asked, as Frank led the way grandly to the taxi queue.

  ‘And are we really splashing out on another taxi?’ asked Monnie.

  ‘Questions, questions,’ Frank laughed. ‘Why so arctic? Well, some do think that Inverness has the coldest winters of any city in the UK, couldn’t say if it’s true. And are we taking a taxi? Yes, we are. This guest house I’ve booked is a fair step and we’ve cases to carry. No need to look so worried, Monnie, we’re not running out of cash yet.’

  ‘If you say so,’ she murmured, as a taxi drew up and they settled into its shelter from the chill of the wind. ‘But I’m just so glad you thought of doing this, Dad. Couldn’t have faced trying to get to the hostel tonight, could we?’

  ‘No, and we’d have been pretty late, meeting the outgoing warden. The other good thing is that this way we get to travel by daylight on the Kyle of Lochalsh line – and that’s got some of the best scenery in Scotland. Wait till you see it.’

  After booking into Mrs Danby’s comfortable little guest house, they went out for a fish supper and afterwards to the pictures. Monnie’s idea, though she admitted before the start of Hitchcock’s Vertigo that she’d never dreamed her father would come too.