‘I hope no one appears now.’
‘So do I.’
Slowly, he took her into his arms, and they kissed, at first gently, gradually more fiercely, until their mouths meeting seemed to be all that mattered and they clung together under the trees as though they would never part. They had to part, of course, and stood staring into each other’s faces, murmuring each other’s names, taking breath before they kissed again. And then Torquil was unzipping Monnie’s anorak and she was unfastening his shirt, as they sank to the grass, caressing and fondling, never letting go. Until Torquil suddenly sprang away, leaving Monnie bereft.
‘Oh, God, this grass is wet, sweetheart – can’t let you catch pneumonia. Up you come, up you come . . .’
‘Oh, Torquil, Torquil . . .’
He was helping her back into her anorak, shrugging himself into his own jacket, glancing at his old watch.
‘Hell, we’d better go!’
‘Go where? Torquil, go where?’
‘Back to Conair. I said I’d take you to my mother’s. She wants to see you.’
‘Your mother’s?’
A great cloud was descending over Monnie, blanketing her rapture, blotting out the sunlight coming through the trees.
‘I don’t understand, Torquil, why does your mother want to see me? It’s not as though—’
She stopped, but he swiftly took her meaning.
‘Not as though we were engaged? No, we are not, but we are going out together and she just wants to be friendly. You are not from the village, so she’d like to get to know you.’
‘To see if I’m suitable?’
‘Suitable? Are you joking? A lovely girl from Edinburgh? You are suitable, all right.’ Torquil took Monnie’s arm and they began to retrace their steps to his van, Monnie glad to have his support, for she felt dazed, as though she were struggling up from some dream. ‘And then Tony’s coming over this afternoon. I thought you’d like to meet him.’
‘Tony? Your brother? Yes, yes, I would.’
But back in the passenger seat of the van, Monnie smoothed her hands over her face, and ran a comb though her hair, frantically trying to make herself look as though she hadn’t just been passionately kissing Agnes MacLeod’s son in the local woods.
‘I wish you’d told me about this before,’ she murmured. ‘I could have worn something smarter.’
‘Come on, you know my mother’s not one to care about smart clothes. You look beautiful, anyway.’
The words tripped easily from his lips and glancing at him it seemed to her that their first real kisses had not had the effect on him they’d had on her. Perhaps they didn’t mean as much? Don’t, don’t, she told herself, don’t go down that road. He cares, he does. And he was taking her to see his mother . . . She would soon find out what that meant, if anything.
‘Here we are!’ he announced jauntily. ‘The home of the MacLeod’s, Lords of the Isles, ha, ha! Our cottage, at least, and there’s Tony’s old jalopy at the door. Not to mention my mother, all ready and waiting. Come meet my folks, Monnie.’
And she was being welcomed in.
Twenty-Nine
‘Come in, my dear, come in!’
Agnes MacLeod, her yellow hair drawn up with combs and her good-looking face filled with excited curiosity, was drawing Monnie over the threshold of the cottage with all the delight of an angler catching a prize fish. Not only that, was enclosing her, too, in a warm, soft hug that sent a great burst of lavender over her hair and made Monnie move guiltily aside to free herself.
‘It’s really nice to meet you again, Mrs MacLeod,’ she said politely, as she tried not to be too obvious in looking round Torquil’s home.
The low-ceilinged room was small, with one tiny window and an old fashioned kitchen range, roaring away. A table laid for tea stood against the back wall and a settle, piled with cushions, papers, knitting and pieces of sewing, took up most of the floor space. Staring at her with suspicious eyes from a basket by the range was a large ginger cat, who eventually slid away and disappeared through a door to what looked like a scullery.
‘Yes, off you go, Toffee!’ Agnes cried merrily, and moving some knitting from the settle invited Monnie to sit down.
‘Oh, ’tis lovely to meet you properly at last, Miss Forester, or may I call you Monnie?’ Agnes’s clear eyes were busily going over Monnie’s flushed face as she sat beside her. ‘I first saw you on the bus, with your family – do you remember? How you all looked so worried! And then I’ve seen you around the village, but not really to speak to, so I am looking forward to a nice talk. Give me your coat, dear, and we’ll hang it up. There are pegs behind the door.’
‘Mother, Monnie hasn’t met Tony yet,’ Torquil murmured, as he hung up Monnie’s anorak, along with what looked like all the coats of the household, on the back of the front door. ‘Tony, come and meet Monnie Forester. She’s assistant warden at the hostel.’
A tall blond young man rose from a chair by the kitchen range and shook Monnie’s hand, murmuring it was nice to meet her.
At first, she’d thought she was seeing a second Torquil and her heart had jumped a little, but she soon recognized the differences. Yes, there was the same colouring – yellow hair and blue eyes, and also the same look of Agnes – but there was a certain foxiness about this man’s manner that was missing from Torquil’s, and he seemed to make it plain that he was not out to charm. Still, he was handsome. Monnie could imagine him attracting the girls, especially if they liked a spice of danger.
‘How’d you like it here, then?’ he asked politely.
‘Oh, I love it, thanks. We all do. The Highlands suit us very well.’
‘Now, isn’t that nice?’ asked Agnes. ‘And you’ve got your own things in the warden’s flat, have you? That always makes a difference.’
‘Yes, they’ve arrived and we’ve made a very nice home of it.’
‘I’m so glad. Well, now we’re all here, we’ll have our tea.’ Agnes waved to her boys to pull up chairs. ‘I will put on my kettle and find a plate for my girdle scones. They’re just a touch caught on, but not burnt.’
As Tony and Torquil exchanged glances, Monnie asked if she could do anything to help.
‘Oh, no, dear, it’s all in hand. I’ve just the tea to make and Ishbel’s coffee cake to cut.’
‘Ishbel MacNicol, are you meaning?’ Tony asked curtly. ‘Why you patronize that woman is beyond me. She is nothing but a gossip and a troublemaker.’
‘Now, Tony . . .’ Agnes began, casting a hasty look towards Monnie. ‘I don’t like to hear you talking like that. Ishbel can be very sweet.’
‘Sweet at spreading rumours, I’d say.’
‘We are not meeting to speak ill of people, Tony, and Monnie’s father gives Ishbel a lot of custom, from the hostel, you know. They get on very well, don’t they, my dear?’
‘Do they?’ Monnie raised surprised eyes. ‘Dad just does his shopping at Mrs MacNicol’s. It is the only shop, after all.’
‘Of course it is, which is why I don’t want to open up old wounds, something Tony does not have to worry about. I mean, where else would I shop?’
‘All right, Mother, you’ve made your point.’ Tony’s face had settled into sulky lines. ‘Let us have this tea you said was ready.’
They moved to sit at the table which was covered with a linen cloth that made the MacLeod boys stare – clearly it had been brought out specially – and thick white china. Agnes seemed to be in her element, passing round her ‘caught on’ scones, all thickly buttered, and cups of strong, sweet tea, before handing out Ishbel’s coffee cake, which Tony, everyone noticed, did not refuse.
‘No point in wasting it, if you’ve bought it,’ he muttered. ‘I just wish you didn’t have to go to her shop in the first place. You could always get Torquil to run you into Glenelg.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Torquil asked. ‘And when would I have time to do that?’
‘Of course you have no time,’ Agnes declared. ‘No, no, Tony, you leave t
he shopping to me. I have to get on with Ishbel, whatever we think of her. And now, if we’ve all finished tea, what about you two laddies splitting some wood for me out the back? That stove just eats fuel, eh?’
‘Want us out of the way?’ Torqil asked, glancing at Monnie, who was feeling too hot and too full, and perhaps looked it. ‘Monnie and me should be moving on.’
‘’Twill not take you but a moment,’ Agnes said, whisking off the tablecloth. ‘I just want a nice little chat with Monnie on her own. Off you go, then!’
‘Perhaps I could help you with the washing up?’ Monnie asked faintly, but Agnes said she wouldn’t hear of it and led her back to the settle.
‘Now, dear, you will not be minding that I want to say a few words to you between ourselves?’
‘Not at all.’ Monnie sighed, as Agnes fixed her with her piercing blue eyes and for a moment laid a plump hand over hers.
‘Seeing as Tony has already spoken of Ishbel, you see, I wanted to make it plain that there are people in this village – and she is one – who talk against my boys with no justification whatsoever. No doubt, you have already heard the things that are said?’
‘Well . . .’ Having no idea how much she should say, Monnie paused, but Agnes was not waiting for any answers, only wanting to press on with her own case for the defence.
‘Now, what folk like to tell you is that my boys are wild, which of course they are not. A little mischievous, perhaps, when they were young, but you will know Torquil – there is no harm in him, eh? No harm at all.’ Agnes smiled winningly.
‘And Tony’s the same, but he is always blamed for that business with the foolish MacDonnell lassie, who was simply no better than she ought to be and led him on. I mean, can you blame him, if there was a baby in the end? He never said he loved her, he never promised to marry her, he told me so himself, and what I’m saying to you, Monnie, my dear, is that he was not to blame. You see that, don’t you?’
‘I heard that the girl had to move away,’ Monnie ventured at last. ‘That seems a shame.’
‘She only had to do that because her parents were so strict. Oh, terrible religious, they were – still are – and would not have her in the house. So, she went to a cousin’s in Inverness, but that was not Tony’s fault, was it? And things turned out well, for she met some man who accepted the baby and now she is happily married. So why has everyone got their knife into poor Tony?’
‘Seems strange,’ Monnie agreed.
‘And you do see, dear, that you’ve nothing to worry about where my boys are concerned?’ Agnes went on softly. ’Both Tony and Torquil are lovely laddies, very kind to me, who’s had to bring them up all alone, seeing as their dad died at sea.’
And again the plump hand was laid over Monnie’s.
‘Has not been easy for me,’ she whispered. ‘But I am proud of my boys and only want their happiness. That’s why I am talking to you like this now. For I think Torquil could be happy with you. I can tell, you see, I know him so well. And I think I know you too, my dear. You care for him, eh?’
Monnie, unwilling to answer, heard herself answering all the same. ‘Yes, that’s true.’
With a sigh of relief, Agnes sat back, her eyes alight.
‘Ach, I am so glad we had this little talk, Monnie. Everything will be all right now, you will see. I’ll just give the boys a call. They should have finished out there now.’
It seemed to take an age for Monnie and Torquil to get themselves out of his mother’s cottage. So many farewells, embraces, pressing of hands – heavens, Agnes was like a great feather eiderdown, wrapping herself so tightly round the leave-takers they could scarcely breathe, while Tony lay back in an armchair, smoking and grinning.
Finally, they were out of the door, waving to Agnes, who was crying, ‘Come again soon, Monnie! Torquil, be sure to bring her.’
‘OK, OK,’ he called back, then hooking Monnie’s arm into his, led the way down to the little jetty that lay behind the cottages.
‘You’re looking pale, Monnie. Like some fresh air?’
‘Oh, please!’
‘Mother’s place gets a wee bit warm, ’tis true.’ He gave an indulgent smile. ‘She likes to pile up that range with wood and get a real old heat going. Too much for most of us, even Toffee, our cat.’
‘Didn’t see Toffee again. Where did he go?’
‘Ach, he will be away mousing. Great mouser. And would not want to be with you, seeing as you are a stranger.’
‘I don’t think your mother wants me to be a stranger,’ Monnie said after a pause. ‘She made me very welcome.’
Torquil, studying her face, drew her gently towards a bench from where they could sit and look out across the Sound to Skye. Everything was very still, very beautiful, the water pale beneath the rise of the facing shore and the great dark silhouetted hills. No one was about.
His arm around her shoulders, Torquil suddenly held Monnie close. ‘What did my mother say to you?’ he asked, lightly. ‘While we were chopping the wood?’
‘It was more about Tony, really.’ Monnie’s eyes were fixed on a boat moored at the jetty. It was covered with tarpaulin, but she could see the hump of an outboard motor and, where the cover did not quite fit, a painted name. “Lord of the Isles”. She turned her eyes on Torquil.
‘How the things people say about him aren’t true, and the girl who had the baby was to blame for leading him on.’
Torquil sighed and loosened his arm from her shoulders. ‘I can tell from your voice you do not believe that.’
‘I don’t know what to believe.’
In fact, Monnie felt strangely unwell, as though she had fallen through a great hole and could not regain herself. For all that Agnes had said to excuse her sons – and it wasn’t possible to exclude Torquil – had seemed to have had the opposite effect from what Agnes had wanted. The more she described their virtues, the less Monnie felt convinced.
‘A little mischievous’, she had said of them when they were young. But how mischievous? There seemed nothing particularly mischievous about Torquil now, so perhaps it was true, he’d only behaved as boys do and had now become an adult and sensible. That was how Monnie had defended him already, but the odd thing was that when his mother defended him and his brother, it seemed to make it more likely that the two MacLeods were as wild as everybody said.
‘It may be true that the girl was partly to blame,’ she said slowly. ‘Who knows? But when the baby was on the way, Tony should have supported her. Don’t you agree, Torquil?’
‘Hell, I don’t know the truth of it any more than you do.’ Torquil was staring at the clouds streaking the evening sky, his fine mouth set in severe lines, his shoulders drooping. ‘But I am not going to run down my own brother. You would not be expecting that?’
‘No, of course not.’ She was beginning to feel she must salvage something of their evening together, must not go home on a low note that would ruin her days until she saw Torquil again.
‘Let’s talk of something else,’ she whispered, taking his hand. ‘I was wondering, is that your boat down there?’
His face lit up. ‘It is, then! I keep it here mostly, though there’s a boat house I could use further along the shore.’
‘I like the name,’ she laughed. ‘Suits you, eh?’
‘Sure, it does.’ He was laughing too. ‘But ’tis my little joke. No one believes Tony and me are the Lords of the Isles.’
‘Why haven’t you taken me out in the boat yet? The water’s so calm, it would be lovely, to have a trip.’
‘It is not always calm, and that boat – not like my van – does smell of fish.’
He was drawing her into his arms again, and she was surfacing from the dark hole where she had been trapped, finding solace from the thoughts that had been troubling her, melting into an embrace so exquisite she wanted it never to end.
‘But I will take you out in my boat,’ Torquil was whispering. ‘If you promise not to expect too much.’
‘As though
I would. But when shall we go? Next Saturday?’
‘Have you forgotten? Next Saturday is the hotel ceilidh.’
But she couldn’t really think of next Saturday while they clung together, kissing, exploring, not minding that the evening was darkening and growing colder, that the lights were coming on in little dots of brightness across the water, and the wind was rising.
‘Time to go home,’ Torquil said, releasing her at last. ‘And how I wish we could just stay here!’
‘Oh, so do I! Or, that we had places of our own.’
‘If I had a place of my own, I could never invite you back. And do not look so startled. You know why that would be.’
‘Why?’ she still asked, as they turned to leave their little haven.
‘You would be too much of a temptation, I would never risk it.’ She saw him smiling in the dusk. ‘I am not my brother.’
And afterwards, much later, when she could think straight again, she realized that that was the closest Torquil had come to telling her his true feelings about Tony. Oh, but who cared about Tony? Lying in her bed, listening to Lynette’s even breathing in sleep, only one man was in Monnie’s thoughts. And always would be.
Thirty
Lynette did not always sleep so soundly; sometimes, she lay awake, thinking against her will of Ronan Allan. Since that extraordinary day when he’d seemed to open his heart to her over his boyhood trauma, he’d said very little to her. Mrs Atkinson had returned from leave, there had been no need for Lynette to do secretarial work for him, and she had the feeling that he was keeping out of her way. Except, when they did meet, those unusual eyes of his never seemed to leave her face. While her own eyes kept looking away.
And now there was the ceilidh to occupy everyone’s minds. So much to do, Mrs Atkinson kept reminding them, to organize and plan.
‘And, oh, isn’t she enjoying herself?’ Fionola had sighed. ‘But we shall all be roped in.’
Lynette’s own problem was what to wear. She discussed it with Monnie over her usual hasty breakfast, the day after Monnie’s tea party with Agnes MacLeod, but took only a short time to decide that her sister was still half asleep.
Anne Douglas Page 14
