Anne Douglas

by The Wardens Daughters

  Twenty-Two

  As his three assistants looked up with interest from their chopping, peeling and stirring, Scott Crosbie grinned and poured a strong black coffee from a pot on the stove.

  ‘Here, this’ll sort you out,’ he told Lynette, who took the coffee gratefully. ‘But what’s up, then? Has one of the guests been causing trouble?’

  ‘No, just the manager. Listen, would I be allowed a cigarette in here?’

  ‘A cigarette?’ Lanky young Fergus laughed. ‘Are you joking?’

  ‘No ciggies,’ Scott said firmly. ‘How about one of the breakfast croissants?’

  ‘With butter and jam? Oh, yes please!’

  ‘So what’s misery guts Allan been up to, then?’ asked Hamish, as Brigid left her chopping board to bring Lynette a large flaky croissant with butter and jam. ‘We all know what he can be like if he’s in one of his moods.’

  ‘Trouble is, we never hit it off from the start.’ Lynette was buttering her croissant with a sigh of pleasure. ‘This looks delicious – thanks very much. No, he seemed to take against me, just because I’m from the hostel. I ask you, why would he be like that?’

  ‘Do you not know?’ Brigid’s sweet Highland voice was becoming a squeak. A round-faced and apple-cheeked girl, with short black hair and dimples, she was clearly bursting now to tell Lynette all she knew. ‘He used to live at Conair House! It was his family home.’

  ‘Conair House was his family home?’ Lynette, brushing crumbs from her mouth, was incredulous. ‘You mean, he’s one of the folk who shot all those stags stuck up in the hall? I don’t believe it!’

  ‘No, no, it was the people who built the house did that and they were the MacDonalds. But they’d no heir and when old Miss MacDonald died in the thirties, Mr Allan’s father bought the house.’ Brigid, delighted to be the centre of attention, nodded her dark head.

  ‘I know all this because my mother used to be parlour maid at the house before she married, and she remembers Mr Allan’s family moving in. ‘Course Mr Allan was only a laddie then. Later on, he went away to school.’

  ‘But what happened?’ asked Lynette, deeply interested. ‘I mean, how did the house come to be a hostel?’

  ‘Why, Mr Allan’s father went bankrupt!’ Brigid answered. ‘Lost all his money in the war when his business went under. Think it was something to do with exporting stuff – or, was it importing? Anyway, he had to sell the house, and that’s when the hostel bought it.’

  ‘And Mr Allan’s had a dirty great chip on his shoulder ever since,’ Hamish remarked, returning his attention to a pan of stock bubbling on the stove. ‘Hates even to think of young folk tramping round his old home. So, I’ve heard.’

  ‘Aye, but what’s all this past history got to do with you?’ Scott asked Lynette, when she rose, dabbing her lips and preparing to leave. ‘Has Mr Allan said something today?’

  ‘Has he not!’ Lynette was flushing again, remembering her grievances. ‘Only told me I oughtn’t to wear this red suit, but dress for a funeral like everybody else. Well, wear dark colours, I mean, because that’s the dress code. As though it was 1909 instead of 1959!’

  ‘Told you not to wear that lovely suit?’ Brigid cried. ‘Why that’s ridiculous. I was just thinking how nice you looked!’

  ‘Very nice,’ Scott said seriously. ‘Very nice, indeed.’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ Lynette murmured. ‘All I know is that I’ll have to do what he wants, or kiss my job goodbye, eh?’

  ‘It wouldn’t come to that. I’m sure he’d never sack you.’ Scott’s craggy face was still serious. ‘You’re too efficient.’

  ‘And how do you know that?’ she asked, laughing a little.

  ‘Och, I can tell. I can always tell. And so can Mr Allan. If it came to a showdown, I bet you’d win.’

  ‘I’d better not risk it. There aren’t many jobs around for people like me.’

  ‘You any good at cooking? Poor old Fergus here has to do his national service pretty soon. We could do with some temporary help.’

  ‘Macaroni cheese is my speciality.’ Lynette was laughing again and the kitchen staff laughed with her. ‘No, but I wouldn’t mind learning how to cook. Give me a few lessons, eh, Scott?’

  ‘Nothing I’d like better,’ he told her cheerfully. ‘Feeling OK now?’

  ‘Much better. After all the chat and that terrific croissant. Many thanks, all. I’d better dash.’

  ‘Gorgeous girl,’ Fergus murmured. ‘Bet she doesn’t stay. You can tell old Allan really puts her off.’

  ‘It’s right what she says, though, there aren’t many jobs around for people like her,’ Scott said quickly. ‘I think she’ll stay.’

  ‘You hope,’ Brigid told him, smiling, at which spots of red appeared on Scott’s freckled cheekbones.

  ‘Finished slicing those julienne carrots?’ he asked shortly, and, still smiling, she obediently went back to her chopping board.

  Back home that evening, Lynette had plenty to say, not only about her battle with Mr Allan, but also about his connection with Conair House. Naturally, both Frank and Monnie were indignant over the manager’s veto of the red suit, though fascinated to learn more of the history of the hostel.

  ‘I think your manager’s nothing better than a tyrant,’ Monnie exclaimed. ‘Telling people what to wear, indeed! As long as you look smart and neat, why shouldn’t you wear what you like?’

  ‘Does seem hard,’ Frank agreed. ‘Though it’s true, firms do have dress codes, sometimes you’ve just to go along with them. Though I can’t see any harm in a receptionist wearing a bright outfit, I must admit.’

  ‘The kitchen folk were saying Mr Allan has a tremendous chip on his shoulder because his family lost this house,’ Lynette muttered. ‘But why should he take his troubles out on other people? Really annoys me.’

  ‘You won’t leave though?’ her father asked, and she shook her head.

  ‘Not while there are so few jobs around. I’d better stick with it and get some experience for the future.’ Lynette suddenly smiled. ‘And it’s not all bad news. I get on well with everybody else and really like the work.’

  ‘That’s the spirit!’ cried Frank.

  ‘Guess who I met in the village again,’ Monnie said to Lynette as they were preparing for bed. ‘One of the chaps we saw on the bus – Paul Soutar.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I remember. You met him at the shop, too, didn’t you?’

  ‘Well, he lives here now, and it’s a pretty small village. You know what he asked? If I’d like to go for a walk with him.’

  Lynette paused in hanging up the rejected red suit, and turned to give her sister a long look of surprise.

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I didn’t know what to say. I mean, I couldn’t tell him I’d better not, because I was going out with someone else. That would have sounded as though – I don’t know – as though Torquil and I . . . well, you know how it would have sounded.’

  ‘So, you said you’d go?’

  ‘Yes, I thought it would be nice, anyway, to get to know the countryside. We’re going out on Friday afternoon. Dad says I can take it off.’

  ‘Monnie, I’m pleased. I’m really pleased.’

  ‘I can’t think why. I’m going to tell Torquil about it and if he’s not happy, I’ll say I can’t go again. That’d be only fair.’

  ‘Oh, what a piece of nonsense!’ cried Lynette.

  Twenty-Three

  Monnie wasn’t exactly disappointed that Torquil appeared not to mind about her going walking with Paul Soutar. No, disappointed would be the wrong word. Surprised, maybe. Surprised that when she told him about it on Tuesday evening, he should just fix her with his limpid blue eyes and say, ‘Fine.’

  ‘So I won’t be here on Friday when you come,’ she went on carefully. ‘You won’t mind?’

  ‘Well, of course, I would like to see you, but I shall understand.’

  ‘Understand I’ll be out walking with Paul Soutar?’ She felt she soun
ded rather desperate, but still heard herself adding, ‘And not with you.’

  ‘Sweet Monnie, do you think I should be jealous?’ He put his hand to her cheek. ‘Mr Soutar – he’s a nice guy, eh? What you’ll have with him will be a walk, and that is all. I think you will enjoy it.’

  And with that they exchanged a hurried kiss on the doorstep, before he handed over their fish as usual and then was away, touching his cap and smiling. Clearly, he regarded Paul Soutar as no rival, which did still surprise her. And, yes, why not admit it – disappointed her, too.

  Early on Friday afternoon when she went to meet Paul at the front of the hostel, she was relieved that the weather was fine. Still cold, of course, but bright, and she was really looking forward to the afternoon, until with a sinking heart, she found Mrs Duthie busy sweeping at the open main door.

  Oh, trust her to be around when she was not wanted! And putting two and two together when she saw Monnie’s anorak trousers and stout shoes, and making more than four.

  ‘Going on another walk with Torquil MacLeod, Monnie?’ the little woman asked at once. ‘Is he finishing early from his fish round, then?’

  When her question was answered by Paul Soutar’s sudden appearance at the front door, it didn’t take her long to revise her guesswork and turn with glinting eyes to Monnie.

  ‘What a surprise then, ’tis Mr Soutar you are seeing, not Torquil! Now he is one of my clients, you know. I clean his house twice a week. And very tidy he keeps it. Oh, if only some of the young people here could keep their dormitories the way you keep your home, Mr Soutar, my life would be a lot easier!’

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Duthie,’ Paul said pleasantly. ‘Hope I’m not in your way. Miss Forester, shall we go?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll just say goodbye to Dad – he’s in his office.’

  ‘No, I’m here,’ Frank said, coming out with papers in his hand and giving Paul a smile of recognition.

  ‘So, we meet again – Mr Soutar, isn’t it? Haven’t seen you since we first arrived on that dear old bus!’

  ‘How are you, Mr Forester? How are things going with the hostel?’ As Paul and Frank shook hands, Mrs Duthie watched with interest while Monnie stood at the door, just wishing that she and Paul could be on their way. But her father was eagerly talking.

  ‘Oh, it’s going well. We’re really enjoying the life here, aren’t we, Monnie? My assistant, you know, Mr Soutar, and a great asset.’

  ‘I’m sure. But this is a wonderful part of the world, isn’t it?’

  ‘Absolutely couldn’t agree more. All we want is to get to know it better.’

  ‘One reason why I suggested your daughter might care to do some walking with me.’

  ‘Good, good.’ Frank spoke with genuine approval. ‘Monnie will love it, I can tell you. Well, mustn’t keep you. Enjoy your walk.’

  ‘Thank God, away at last,’ Monnie murmured, as she and Paul made their way down the drive. ‘With Mrs Duthie’s ears flapping over every word, I couldn’t wait to get away.’

  ‘Oh, she’s not too bad,’ Paul said cheerfully. ‘Sorts my cottage out pretty well.’

  ‘I’m not saying she isn’t good at her job, just too keen to live our lives for us.’ Thinking she might be complaining too much, Monnie suddenly relaxed. ‘Sorry, Paul, let’s talk about our walk.’

  ‘Well, we’re cheating a bit to start with.’ He laughed, as they came to the village street and he halted her beside his car. ‘Yup, here it is, my trusty wee Ford. Like to hop in?’

  Raising her eyebrows slightly, she took the passenger seat, and Paul, in the driving seat, assured her it was OK, they weren’t driving far.

  ‘I just wasn’t sure how many miles you were prepared to do, so I thought we’d go part of the way to Loch Hourn, then walk by the water. What do you think? Do you know Loch Hourn?’

  ‘No, but I’ve heard of it. Look, I’m prepared to do some walking. I’ve got suitable shoes, I hope.’

  ‘I noticed. Fine for today, but if you’re interested in hill walking, you’d need good, stout boots.’

  As they drove away, Monnie turned her head to look at him, as Torquil’s comments came back into her mind. ‘Mr Soutar, he’s a nice guy, eh? What you’ll have with him will be a walk and that’s all . . .’

  How right Torquil had been, how well he’d recognized the sort of man Paul was. Trustworthy, loyal, sincere – all those wonderful words would be right for him. Never in the world would anyone call him wild. Even though she’d spent hardly any time with him, she was feeling safe sitting beside him, safe, and tranquil, if that was not too strange a word to use. Certainly, it wasn’t one she’d ever use to describe the way she felt with Torquil. Oh, God, no!

  Perhaps feeling her eyes on him, he gave her a swift glance, before looking back at the road.

  ‘Monnie, mind if I say, I hope I’m not acting out of turn, asking you to walk with me? I didn’t know that you were . . . seeing young Torquil.’

  ‘Young Torquil?’ She tried to speak lightly. ‘You’re not much older than he is.’

  ‘I feel a lot older. But you haven’t answered my question.’

  The truth was, she didn’t know what to say. To tell Paul that Torquil had given his permission, so to speak, for her to walk with him, would not, she felt, go down well. Good-natured though he was, Paul would hardly want to be told that she’d felt the need to have another man’s OK. On the other hand, she couldn’t let Paul think there was nothing between herself and Torquil, for that wouldn’t be true. They might have had their differences, but there was that spark between them, that spark she cherished. The sort of spark she would never share with Paul himself, though why she was thinking he might want that when they scarcely knew each other, she didn’t know.

  ‘I am seeing Torquil,’ she said at last. ‘It doesn’t mean I can’t meet other people. Other . . . friends.’

  ‘Friends,’ he repeated, smiling. ‘I’d like to think we could be that.’

  ‘Well, why shouldn’t we be? After all, we’re neighbours.’

  ‘We are, aren’t we?’

  Still smiling, he drew up as the winding road turned east and they came to the shore of Loch Hourn, the long sea loch flowing out to the Sound of Sleat, with magnificent views to the Knoydart Peninsula.

  ‘See the land across there?’ Paul asked. ‘It’s what people call Britain’s last wilderness. Still unspoilt because it’s so remote and hard to reach, except by boat or a great trek over rough country.’

  ‘The last wilderness,’ Monnie repeated. ‘Nice to think there still is one.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly. If it weren’t completely impossible, it’s where I’d like to live. But, being in the real world, I’m looking for somewhere not too far from Conair.’

  ‘You’re going to buy a house round here? Sounds interesting.’

  ‘Not just a house to live in – somewhere I can make into a centre for my school.’

  ‘A school? You’re a teacher?’

  ‘No, a journalist – I write on climbing for Scottish papers and magazines.’ He grinned. ‘So, my school won’t be teaching the three Rs. My brother and I had some money left us by our parents and I’m going to spend mine on a school for mountaineering and hill walking. That’s why I’m here, looking for a property. Think it’s a good idea?’

  ‘A wonderful idea.’ She smiled. ‘Hey, I could be your first pupil.’

  ‘Perfect! Only I haven’t found my house yet. Want a bit of walking practice first? We’ll leave the car off the track and follow round the loch to Arnisdale. We can have a rest there.’

  As they began to walk around the shores of the loch, Paul asked Monnie if she’d already seen something of that area.

  ‘No, I haven’t. There are so many places we want to see, but the problem is finding time away from the hostel.’

  ‘I can imagine. I stayed there once or twice, when the MacKays were in charge. Always on the go, it seemed to me.’

  ‘It’s true, but Dad says we must try to organi
ze time off, and he’s been very good, letting me . . .’

  She hesitated, letting Paul finish the sentence for her.

  ‘Letting you come for a walk with me, not to mention Torquil. He’s quite right, you both need time off.’

  ‘Torquil doesn’t get much,’ Monnie said, after a pause. ‘But he told me that he keeps a rowing boat at Arnisdale – not the one with an engine he uses for fishing – and sometimes he just likes to row out on the loch by himself and enjoy the peace and the scenery.’

  Her eyes on Paul as she talked were serious, as though she wanted to press home the point that Torquil was not just an uncaring young man, but had a side to him that not many knew.

  ‘He’s not really wild,’ she finished. ‘That’s just what people say, you know, because of his brother.’

  ‘I didn’t know they said that of Torquil,’ Paul answered mildly. ‘He’s been very helpful with me, taking me fishing. Not that I’m any good at it.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘Don’t like taking the fish off the hooks.’

  ‘I’m the same,’ she told him. ‘But it’s a bit hypocritical, eh? When I eat fish twice a week caught by Torquil.’

  Laughing, they continued their walk to Arnisdale, which was really two tiny hamlets a mile apart, each with a few cottages overlooking Loch Hourn, and breathtaking views of mountains towering everywhere.

  Twenty-Four

  Surely, thought Monnie, sitting with Paul on a narrow shore at Arnisdale, there could be no more peaceful place than this? There were cottages behind them, smoke from their hearth fires drifting upwards, but their eyes were only for the waters of the loch, so unruffled in the pale sunlight, so unstirred by wind, they reflected every contour of the mountains around.

  This was where Torquil came, then, the Torquil no one knew, to sit in his boat and find the peace he seemed to seek. How right she had been, Monnie decided, to tell Paul that the young man some called wild had different sides to his nature.