Thirty-Six
Sweet though Lynette’s life had now become at the Talisman, there was just one thing that hurt, and it was Scott’s attitude. Ever since the ceilidh, he’d made a point of treating her like a stranger, an unwelcome one at that, with no more friendly coffees being offered if she put her nose into the kitchen, no more chats or smiles, and certainly no more cookery lessons. In fact, she didn’t even dare to mention them, and soon learned to keep out of his way, taking her morning break alone in the grounds of the hotel, with coffee from the staff room and yesterday’s newspaper to read.
She was on her usual bench one morning, deep in the fashion page, when a hand touched her shoulder and she looked up to see Scott’s unsmiling face.
‘Scott! What are you doing here?’
He sat down next to her and took out his cigarettes.
‘Come to see you.’
‘To see me?’ She watched him light a cigarette, shaking her head when he offered the packet to her. ‘This is a change, isn’t it? You haven’t wanted to give me the time of day just lately.’
‘I know, and I feel bad about it. I’ve been behaving like a little kid throwing a tantrum.’ An uncertain smile crossed his freckled features. ‘Will you forgive me?’
‘Oh, come on, Scott! Let’s not talk like that. All I want is for us to be friends again.’
‘Aye, friends.’ He blew smoke. ‘I want that, too.’
‘Well, then.’
‘Thing is, it was hard for me, Lynette. Seeing you at the ceilidh with Mr Allan. I thought you didn’t even like him and there you were, dancing with him and having supper with him, looking at him all starry-eyed, like he was Santa Claus and Elvis Presley rolled into one. I couldn’t take it in.’
Lynette lowered her eyes, drank some cold coffee in an effort to do something, while thinking of what she might say.
‘Things have changed,’ she said at last, while Scott sat looking at her with hurt in his eyes and his cigarette smoke curling around him.
‘I can tell that. You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you? And anybody can see, he’s fallen for you, which is no surprise. But Lynette, for God’s sake, how did you come to change?’
With two spots of red burning in her cheeks, Lynette stood up. ‘I’ve got to go, Scott. I’m sorry . . .’
‘No.’ He stubbed out his cigarette and stood up with her. ‘I’m the one who’s sorry. I promised myself, I wouldn’t go on, wouldn’t say a word, but you see how I am, it’s all come out just the same.’
‘Never mind, I understand.’
He shook his head. ‘You’d have to be me to understand.’
‘I do, all the same.’
Their eyes met, and Scott put his hand on hers.
‘Maybe you do,’ he said quietly. ‘Look, can we no’ be as we used to be? You coming in to see us, doing a bit of cooking? Having a coffee?’
‘It was you who stopped that, Scott.’
‘I know, I know. But I was playing the fool. I’ve grown up since then. Now I’ll settle for what I can have.’
‘Oh, Scott!’ She reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘Welcome back!’
He managed a grin and gave a quick look round.
‘Hope there are no guests lurking in the shrubbery, eh?’
Or, a hotel manager, thought Lynette.
As she returned to Reception to relieve Fionola, she felt happier. Losing Scott as a friend, as had seemed to be the case, had upset her more than she could have thought possible. It was terrific, rapturous, to have a relationship with Ronan, something she wouldn’t change for anything, but Scott had become very dear to her, she couldn’t deny it. True, at one time she’d thought him very easy-going and now she’d found out he was not, but even so, it was good to have him back. Oh, heavens, yes, because she’d missed so much what they’d had together, and wanted it again.
‘Mr Allan was looking for you,’ Fionola told her, her lovely mouth curving into an impish smile. ‘Think he’d like to see you in his office.’
‘Oh, yes? Well, I can’t go till you’ve had your break, so you’d better scoot.’
‘I don’t mind waiting if it’s anything important.’
‘No, no, that won’t be necessary.’
Left alone, Lynette, in spite of her mind half being elsewhere, dealt competently with all she had to do, which was plenty, now that the better weather was bringing in more guests. Just the way she liked things, of course, except that the mention of Ronan’s name had set her pulses racing and she couldn’t help glancing at the clock and longing for Fionola’s return so that she might make her escape. And then Ronan himself appeared, lifting his dark brows at the sight of her, putting on a formal smile for the benefit of any guests at the desk, murmuring, ‘Miss Forester, could I see you for a moment?’
‘As soon as Miss MacLewis comes back,’ she answered coolly. ‘Oh, and here she is!’
As Fionola sauntered up, still with her knowing smile, Lynette gathered up a handful of papers and followed Ronan towards his office.
‘Won’t be long,’ she called. ‘Just have one or two things to discuss.’
‘That’s all right,’ Fionola called back, and as she moved to busy herself with a new arrival’s signing of the register, Ronan opened his office door for Lynette, who slid around it, closed it, and went into his arms.
Only for a moment, before both pulled away, desperate still to be together, yet not at ease to be in Ronan’s office, the manager’s office, the last place they could display their feelings.
‘Crazy,’ Ronan whispered. ‘That was crazy of me, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to see you so much, wanted to be with you . . .’
‘You think I don’t feel like that?’ She stroked his cheek. ‘Out there at Reception – so near, so far – trying not to mind Fionola’s smile.’
‘I suppose she’ll have guessed why I asked you in?’
‘Anybody would’ve guessed.’
‘After the ceilidh, most people will know there’s something between us.’ Ronan straightened his shoulders. ‘But we’ll have to be more careful – I will, I mean. Wait till we’re really alone.’ He drew her to him once again and held her close. ‘But, oh, God, it’s hard, Lynette, it’s just too hard.’
‘Let’s think about Saturday.’ She straightened her hair, trying to look businesslike; the perfect receptionist who had only been with her boss to discuss work. ‘It’s not far away.’
‘A lifetime.’
‘A lifetime,’ she agreed, giving him one last swift kiss. ‘Do I look all right now, to face Fionola?’
‘You look wonderful,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Facing Fionola, or not.’
‘Till Saturday,’ she said softly.
‘Till Saturday.’
At Reception, she was lucky. There was so much activity, Fionola was too busy even to look at her until a lull came, by which time Lynette was her usual cool professional self.
‘I’ll take first lunch, shall I?’ she asked, collecting her handbag. ‘Might go down to the kitchen, cadge something nice.’
‘What, from grumpy old Scott? Thought he wasn’t speaking to you?’
‘We’re friends again, I’m glad to say.’
‘What a charmer you are, Lynette. Wish I had your secret.’
‘You’ve mentioned my secret before, as though I had one. But you don’t need any help from me, Fionola.’ Lynette was beginning to walk away. ‘Think you know that, eh?’
Thirty-Seven
Saturday came and it was special, not just for Lynette, but for Monnie, too. As they were getting ready in the morning, she could hardly stop smiling, for today was the day.
‘For my boat trip,’ she reminded Lynette. ‘I can’t wait for this afternoon!’
I don’t understand, what’s so wonderful about a boat trip?’ Lynette asked, studying her sister’s radiant face. ‘Even if it is with Torquil?’
‘It’s hard to explain. I think, perhaps it’s because I know being in his boat means such a lot to Torquil.
Being on his own, I mean. He just likes to be there, alone, on the water, not having to talk, which is why he doesn’t share the fishing with anyone. Doesn’t take anyone with him at all.’
‘But he’s taking you?’
‘Yes!’ Monnie’s eyes were shining. ‘He’s taking me. And I know that means something. I’m different, you see. I must be, don’t you think?’
‘I suppose so.’ Lynette was slightly frowning. ‘But if he’s such a loner, he’s probably—’
‘Probably what?’
‘Difficult.’
‘He’s not difficult!’ Monnie cried. ‘And he’s only a loner for his boat. People are attracted to him, aren’t they? They don’t think he’s a loner.’
‘OK, but take care, eh? There’s just going to be you and Torquil in this boat.’
‘And on the island,’ Monnie corrected. ‘Don’t forget, we’re going to visit an island.’
‘Well, take care, anyway. I mean it, Monnie.’
‘And how do I do that?’ Monnie was all smiles again. ‘I’ll have to leave everything to Torquil – and that’s just the way I like it.’
As they left their room for their usual hurried breakfast, she gave her sister a quick, speculative look. ‘Have a good time tonight, Lynette. Perhaps I should be telling you to take care, eh?’
‘Me?’ It was Lynette’s turn to look radiant. ‘You couldn’t find anyone more trustworthy than Ronan.’
She did not add that if there were ever to be a choice between going out with Ronan to a good hotel and going out with Torquil in his boat, she knew which she would rather do.
By mid afternoon, she was still at work, her dress for the evening hanging in Fionola’s room, for in the end, she had given in and told her assistant where she was going that evening and who with. For what was the point in trying to keep her in the dark any more? It would just get more and more complicated. Besides, Lynette needed somewhere to change.
‘I guessed it would be Mr Allan you’d be seeing,’ Fionola had commented. ‘Aren’t you the lucky one?’
‘Though you won’t admit it, I bet you’ve got chaps queuing up to go out with you,’ Lynette had cried, at which Fionola had shrugged.
‘My next date, as a matter of fact, is with Mr Warner.’
‘Mr Warner?’ Lynette was hard-pressed to know what to say. ‘Well, I knew he’d booked to stay on another fortnight, but I never knew you were going out with him.’
‘Oh, we’ve had dinner out once or twice already – at the same hotel where you’re going, as a matter of fact.’
‘And you’re the one who asks me for my secrets!’
Fionola had only smiled, and after a few moments Lynette gave up trying to imagine her with stout old Mr Warner and let her thoughts drift to Monnie. How would she be faring in Torquil’s boat on her adventure that meant so much? Just as long as she was all right . . . But why shouldn’t she be?
Och, I’m an old fusspot, Lynette decided, and stepped forward to greet yet another new guest being ushered in by Barty.
Not so very far away, sitting in the boat that Lynette had been picturing, Monnie was certainly not worrying about herself, being, as she was, in seventh heaven. Everything was just as she’d always imagined it. Herself and Torquil, alone in his boat, skimming over the Sound of Sleat on a clear afternoon in May. No one around on the shores they were passing, no one to see them from the mountains of Skye, no sounds to disturb them, except, of course, the outboard motor on the boat that was carrying them so swiftly towards their destination which, in fact, Monnie didn’t even know. A little island somewhere off the Point of Sleat, Torquil had said, one of several so small they would hardly qualify to appear on a map.
‘Not as big as the Sandaig Islands there? We saw them before on the way to Loch Hourn, if you remember?’
‘I remember,’ Monnie told him.
‘Now you can see the Ornsay lighthouse – that’s on a tiny island too, not really on Isleornsay.’
‘Isleornsay’s on Skye?’ Monnie was turning her head to follow his pointing finger. ‘You know, I haven’t been over to Skye yet.’
Torquil raised his fair brows. ‘Not even with your admirer?’
She sat up straight. ‘You mean Paul? Why d’you call him that?’
‘Well, isn’t he?’
Sitting back again, Monnie was recalling how Paul himself had used the word, and thinking how astute it was of Torquil to use it too – because it fitted, didn’t it? Fitted Paul.
‘He’s my friend, Torquil. That’s all. And you know that, don’t you?’
He smiled and nodded. ‘I do. No need to worry.’
‘No need for you to worry, you mean.’
‘Ah, but I am not!’ He was looking ahead with his far-sighted blue eyes. ‘Because you are here with me and want to be, I think.’
She didn’t even answer him, for what could she say? He knew the truth of it, he could see for himself how happy she was.
Before long, they had finished travelling down the coast of Skye and Torquil had switched off the engine and moved to take the oars. ‘Here we are, then, Monnie, Gull Island coming up. My name for it, anyway. ’Tis too small, really, to have a name.’
‘Why, it’s not as small as all that,’ she remarked, looking in surprise at the piece of land ahead that appeared to have not only a strip of shore and a few stunted trees, but a sort of miniature cliff on which seagulls were perching and crying. ‘There’s certainly somewhere for us to sit.’
‘Sit? You can even walk.’ Torquil laughed. ‘Though ‘twill not take you very long. Now, I’ll just take us in and tie up and then we can have some of that coffee you made us, eh?’
‘Oh, yes. I’ve got the Thermos in my bag, and some chocolate.’
She waited, looking all about her, as Torquil skilfully beached the boat, then tied it to a wooden stump before sweeping Monnie up and carrying her to the strip of shore.
‘Your feet!’ she cried, as he set her down. ‘They must be wet.’
‘Sweetheart, haven’t you noticed, I’m wearing my boots?’
He was still holding her and looking at her, his gaze intense on her face.
‘Your first landing on my island,’ he whispered. ‘Like it?’
‘Love it,’ she answered breathlessly. ‘But is it really yours?’
‘Of course not. You must know by now that I do not own one thing, except for my boats. I think of this place as mine, and the other islands, too, as nobody else wants them, I’d guarantee.’ Releasing her from his clasp, he rubbed his hands together and looked up at the sky. ‘Come on, let’s have that coffee, then. The weather’s changing, it’s getting colder. We might have to make for the cave.’
‘Cave? What cave?’
‘It’s tiny – just an entrance in that bit of cliff there, but enough to shelter us. Give me your hand.’
They plodded up the damp sand toward the little opening he had pointed out, where Monnie set down her canvas bag and took out the Thermos flask of coffee.
‘Come on, it’s dry, you can sit down.’ Torquil patted space beside him. ‘Sit close to me, let me make you warm.’
‘Just let me give you your coffee,’ she murmured, her hand slightly shaking as she passed him his cup and sipped from her own. ‘Oh, that’s good, isn’t it?’
‘Very good, but finish it up and come to me.’
She needed no urging, and casting their coffee cups aside, they went into each other’s arms, sliding back against the sand, loosening their clothes, ignoring the cold air coming up from the Sound as they gave themselves up to bliss. Yet, when they paused to take breath from the passionate holding and kissing, Monnie suddenly drew away.
‘For God’s sake, what is it?’ Torquil cried, his face a mask, one she hardly recognized, but then, she supposed, her own must be the same. They were different people, just for that moment and she couldn’t help it, she had grown afraid – not of the different Torquil, but of herself. What might she not do in this incredible moment? What so many
girls did? What that girl had done, who’d had to go to Inverness?
‘Tell me what’s wrong?’ Torquil was demanding. ‘You are not worried, are you? You are not thinking I will make you do something you do not want?’
‘I’m worried because I do want it,’ she whispered. ‘And I know – it would be—’
‘Stupid? Crazy?’
‘Too much of a risk.’
‘And you are not one who takes risks? Monnie, neither am I.’ Torquil, now looking his normal self again, sat up, half-smiling, and fumbling in the pocket of the jacket he’d put on again, took out his cigarettes. ‘I am not Tony, you realize.’
For some moments, he smoked without speaking, and Monnie too was silent, as she fastened buttons and zipped up her anorak. The moment had passed, the moment of danger; she knew it had only increased her love for Torquil, who was so quiet now.
‘That’s it!’ he cried, suddenly leaping to his feet and dowsing his cigarette in the sand. ‘The weather’s closing in, I must go for the gulls’ eggs.’
‘Gulls’ eggs?’ She stared at him. ‘What gulls’ eggs?’
‘It’s the right time to find them and when I come out here, I always look for some for Mother.’ He pulled a cap from his pocket. ‘I can just put a few in this, they’ll be safe enough. Wait here for me, Monnie. I shall not be long.’
‘I’ll come with you!’
‘No, no, that would not do, sweetheart. I can manage much better on my own. Please, just wait here.’
‘Torquil, come back! Come back!’
But he was already climbing nimbly around the little cliff away from her and as she stood, searching for a last glimpse of him, uncertain what to do, the mist from the sea began rolling in.
Thirty-Eight
For some time, she stood, waiting, certain he must come back for her, but as time passed and there was no sign of him, she sank down at the entrance to the cave and wondered what she should do. With the coming of the mist, the temperature had dropped, the chill of the air beginning to penetrate her bones, and after tightening her anorak around her, she drank some coffee straight from the Thermos, her cup being full of sand, and ate a little chocolate. For a while, she felt better, or, at least warmer, but the effect soon faded and as Torquil did not return, panic set in.
Anne Douglas Page 18
