Anne Douglas

by The Wardens Daughters

  ‘Yes. Goodnight, Ronan.’

  ‘Goodnight, Lynette.’

  He watched her running up the drive and round towards the warden’s flat, but had driven off, of course, before she’d reached her father’s door. Didn’t know that her father was still up, in the kitchen, waiting for her, or that all her fears for Monnie had been realized.

  ‘Monnie’s very upset,’ Frank told her. ‘She’s not asleep, she’ll tell you all about it. But she doesn’t want to see Torquil MacLeod ever again.’

  Until well into the small hours, the sisters talked, with Lynette soothing and comforting, and Monnie alternating between tears and stony-faced misery.

  ‘You’ll see, Monnie, it’ll all be for the best,’ Lynette kept saying. ‘Torquil was never right for you, everyone agreed.’

  ‘Some people thought that. Not everyone.’

  ‘I bet his mother was the only one to approve.’

  ‘His mother.’ Monnie’s lip curled. ‘I see now that he cares a lot more for his mother than he does for me. Look how he caused all the trouble, just by wanting gulls’ eggs for her! Left me alone, terrified he wasn’t coming back.’

  As tears welled into her eyes again, Lynette touched her hand. ‘He was being very thoughtless, anyone would say that.’

  ‘You think I’m exaggerating? Behaving like a baby? You don’t know what it was like at the time, you weren’t there. When I heard the boat roaring away, what could I think?’

  ‘It all proves my point that he isn’t right for you. No girl wants to be tied to a fellow who can’t see how things might be for other people. I’m just glad you’ve decided not to see him again.’

  ‘Sounds so easy,’ Monnie whispered. ‘But it hurts so much.’

  ‘I know, I know. Look, let’s try to get some sleep now. Things will look better in the morning.’

  Monnie’s great eyes rested on Lynette as she switched off her light and settled into bed.

  ‘I didn’t ask – how was your evening with Ronan?’

  ‘Very nice. Well, wonderful.’

  ‘Strange, how you’ve changed towards him.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  Lynette was trying to decide whether or not to tell Monnie that Ronan had asked her to marry him. In the end, she decided not to say anything, to Monnie, or to anyone. It would be best kept a secret, until she’d decided what to do.

  ‘I just understand him better, that’s all, and he understands me. Goodnight, Monnie. You will feel better soon, I promise you.’

  ‘Maybe,’ sighed Monnie.

  Forty-One

  On Monday, Frank, agreeing to Monnie’s request, was preparing to make a trip into Kyle to buy paint for the redecoration of the common room. Their grant for the new bookcases and snooker table had been approved, and Monnie had decided that she would do the painting before these arrived. First, though she would have to wash the walls and woodwork down with sugar soap and complete all the preparation work, which meant she had plenty to do.

  ‘And that’s what you want, I suppose?’ Lynette had asked over the cornflakes. ‘Well, it’ll take your mind off things, but just don’t kill yourself, that’s all.’

  ‘Get Mrs Duthie to help you,’ Frank advised, but Monnie’s brow darkened.

  ‘I do not want Mrs Duthie anywhere around me, so don’t you dare suggest it. She’d probably want to know why I’ve been crying, and I’m not saying.’

  ‘As though you would!’ Lynette said roundly. ‘But she isn’t in today and you’ve already stopped crying.’

  ‘Have I?’ Monnie jumped up and put her dishes on the draining board. ‘Think I’ll make a start. Just leave the washing up, Lynette, I’ll do it later.’

  When she had hurried out, toting a pail of water with mop and scrubbing brush, Lynette sighed. ‘Oh, Lord, I see difficult days ahead. She’s not going to settle down for some time to come.’

  ‘At least she’s doing useful work.’ Frank stood up, shaking his head. ‘Poor lassie. We all know what heartbreak’s like.’ He turned his gaze on Lynette, who was clearing the table. ‘I suppose I don’t have to worry about you, do I? Your Ronan seems a very reliable chap.’

  ‘Oh, yes, he is,’ Lynette agreed. If also unpredictable, she added, to herself. Who would have thought he would have proposed to her, for instance, when they scarcely knew each other? Although she did feel a certain guilt over not telling Frank or Monnie about that, she was still convinced she was doing the right thing in keeping it to herself. Better not to tell anyone yet, as she was still no nearer knowing what her answer would be, even though her heart was alight at the thought of seeing him again that morning. Oh, poor Monnie, she thought, running for her bus, if only she could be as happy as I am!

  The day wore on for unhappy Monnie, cleaning away, quite alone in the house, with the hostellers out on their expeditions, her father away to Kyle, Lynette at work, but she didn’t mind. The way she felt, she didn’t want people around her; didn’t even want the radio on. Mopping, scrubbing, moving furniture, anything that involved physical effort, seemed to be the key to getting through the hours, and when Frank arrived home with the paint, she didn’t really want to stop, even for a late lunch.

  ‘Come on, I’ll make us a sandwich,’ he said cheerfully, when she’d inspected the paint and found it satisfactory. ‘You can’t work all day without a rest, Monnie.’

  ‘All right, I’ll have a quick bite and a cup of coffee, then I’ll crack on.’

  ‘I might go down to the shop afterwards, there are one or two things we need.’

  ‘There are always one or two things we need, eh?’

  Frank’s gaze met Monnie’s and dropped. He seemed on the point of speaking, but changed his mind, moved to the sink and noisily washed his hands, before setting out the makings for their sandwiches.

  ‘Cheese, or potted meat?’ he asked, clearing his throat. ‘It’s Ishbel’s potted meat and very good. Or, you could have tomato.’

  ‘Anything will do,’ Monnie answered. ‘Anything at all.’

  By four o’clock, the common room was smelling of soap and disinfectant, and looking wonderfully fresh. Frank said they could move the furniture back before the hostellers returned, but had Monnie thought what they would do once the painting was started?

  ‘Can’t have everybody in the common room when the paint’s still wet, you know.’

  Monnie frowned. ‘Hadn’t thought of that, I must admit. But if it’s a fine evening they can sit outside, I suppose, and it shouldn’t take long to dry.’

  ‘Maybe we should have got professional painters in. They’d have been quicker and better on ladders than you and me.’

  ‘Painters cost money and we’re trying to save it. No, I think we should do as much as we can ourselves. And who says I’m not good on ladders?’

  For the first time, she gave a ghost of a smile, and Frank was smiling, too, when their doorbell rang.

  Her smile fading, Monnie glanced quickly at her father.

  ‘It’s not fish day,’ she faltered. ‘It can’t be him.’

  ‘He’s not coming here on fish day or any other day,’ Frank snapped and strode to open the door, ready to do battle, while Monnie watched, her hand to her mouth, until she saw his shoulders relax and heard him cry, ‘Why, hello, Paul, it’s you!’

  It was Paul, only Paul, oh, thank God, thank God.

  ‘Come in,’ Frank was saying genially, but Paul said he mustn’t, he’d been out all day and must get back to write a stack of letters. Looking towards Monnie, he smiled.

  ‘Just called to see if you’d like to fix a time next week for our hill walk, Monnie? I’ve got one planned for a hill near Glenelg – not big enough for a Munro and not too difficult.’

  ‘That’s wonderful, Paul. Could we make it the end of the week? We’re going to be painting the common room.’

  ‘Sounds great, I’ll help you! How about Friday, then, or Saturday?’

  ‘Saturday,’ she answered promptly, and saw in his eyes that he knew some
thing was wrong, for when had she ever been ready to meet him on a Saturday? Saturdays were for Torquil, he’d always been aware of that. And then he must already have noticed her reddened eyelids, her look of strain; must have guessed there’d been a falling out. Not that he would ever comment.

  ‘I’ll call for you about eleven – if that’s all right? I think there’s a little place en route where we can get something to eat.’

  ‘Perfect.’

  ‘That’s fixed, then. But don’t forget, I said I’d help with your painting. When d’you want me to come round?’

  ‘Och, there’s no need for you to do that, Paul,’ Frank said easily. ‘We can manage and you’ve probably got plenty to do.’

  ‘No, I’d like to. I’ll look in tomorrow.’

  Paul was turning to go, when he halted, glancing quickly back at Monnie.

  ‘Why, you’ve another visitor coming. Is it fish day for you?’

  ‘Fish day?’ Monnie whispered, as a voice she knew well called out.

  ‘Hello, Mr Soutar!’

  And Paul, moving away, answered, ‘Hello, Torquil.’

  Forty-Two

  He appeared nervous, standing on their doorstep, turning his cap in his hand after Paul had left them. Nervous, yet so heart-rendingly handsome. Although she knew his face as well as her own, Monnie seemed to be seeing it afresh, after a long, long absence. Much longer than two days. Had it only been two days? Though her father’s arm was strong around her, Monnie felt herself trembling, dissolving almost, losing all that had kept her strong since she had said goodbye. It was too much. Too much, to see him again. She couldn’t take it.

  ‘Torquil MacLeod,’ Frank said curtly. ‘Just what the hell do you think you’re doing here?’

  ‘I came to see Monnie, Mr Forester.’

  ‘She doesn’t want to see you. I think she’s made that plain. Please leave now. And don’t bother bringing any more fish.’

  ‘You do not want my fish?’

  ‘No, we can do without your services.’

  Loosening his arm from Monnie, Frank took a step towards Torquil. ‘Are you listening to me, Torquil? We want you to go. My daughter has nothing to say to you. You’ve upset her too much.’

  Torquil’s eyes rested on Monnie, who had not been able to take her own gaze from his face, and he smiled. ‘Monnie,’ he said softly, ‘what do you say? Do you want to talk to me again?’

  ‘No!’ cried Frank.

  ‘I-I don’t know,’ said Monnie.

  ‘Just to give me the chance to explain?’ Torquil murmured.

  ‘How can you explain?’ Frank asked desperately. ‘You left her alone, she didn’t know where you were—’

  Somehow, it didn’t seem so bad, did it? All right, Torquil shouldn’t have done it, he had upset her badly, but had she made too much of it? Monnie’s eyes went to her father.

  ‘Dad, I think – maybe I should talk to Torquil. I mean, I want to be fair—’

  ‘Oh, Monnie, Monnie!’ he groaned. ‘Don’t. Don’t get involved again. You’ve done well, you can come through. Just don’t leave yourself wide open for more heartbreak!’

  ‘There will be no heartbreak,’ Torquil said quietly.

  He stretched out his hand to Monnie, who, after a moment’s hesitation, took it, feeling such shameful relief she dared not look at her father.

  ‘It’s all right, Dad,’ she said in a low voice, moving slowly towards Torquil, still clinging to his hand. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll just . . . hear what he has to say.’

  ‘You do that,’ Frank cried. ‘You do that and take the consequences. I’ll certainly say no more. If you want to run headlong into trouble, I can’t stop you, but just remember, when the wheels come off the cart, I warned you it would happen. Now, I’ve things to do.’

  Turning sharply, he left them, banging doors behind him, which they didn‘t even hear, for already they were in each other’s arms.

  ‘You know I never meant to upset you,’ Torquil was whispering. ‘I was a fool, but it was a mistake, that’s all, a genuine mistake. Tell me you believe me.’

  ‘I believe you, Torquil.’

  And it was true, she did believe him. She had to, but then, she wanted to. Just believing him took away all the pain, the great jagged waves of misery that had consumed her since their parting, and though she felt guilt that she was making herself happy at a cost she couldn’t calculate, she knew she couldn’t help it. Torquil called, and she answered. All her intentions of never seeing him again seemed now to count for nothing; she was helpless to resist.

  ‘Will you come out for a little while?’ he asked, smoothing back her hair from her brow. ‘Away from this house?’

  ‘Time’s getting on, people will be back soon, I’ll be needed.’

  ‘Just for ten minutes before they come, then.’

  ‘All right. I’ll just get my jacket.’

  ‘You won’t need your jacket. It’s warm, it’s like summer. Come on, give me your hand.’

  She gave him her hand and together they ran down the drive, while watching from his office window, Frank shook his head and groaned.

  It was evening. The hostellers had had their meal and were sitting about in the sparkling common room, saying, ‘Wow, will you look at this’ and ‘Hey, wonder where we go when the painting starts?’ Collapsing into giggles, when somebody answered, ‘Out on the town in Conair, of course!’

  Meanwhile, Lynette had just arrived home early from work to be met by Monnie, flushed from cooking, who wanted to get a word in before her father.

  ‘You may as well know,’ she said quickly, ‘I’m back with Torquil. He came round today and we made it up.’

  ‘Made it up?’ Lynette’s blue eyes were glassy with surprise. ‘I don’t believe it. After all you said? How can you have made it up?’

  ‘How indeed?’ asked Frank, who was sitting at the table, waiting for supper, his face poker stiff. ‘Didn’t take him two minutes to make her take him back, all forgiven, all forgotten.’

  ‘I don’t know about forgotten,’ Monnie said quietly. ‘But I think now I might’ve been – you know – a bit hasty.’

  ‘You weren’t hasty, you were right,’ Frank said. ‘But there’s no point going over it. You’ve made your decision, let’s say no more about it and have our tea.’

  But Lynette was giving her sister a long direct look.

  ‘Are you happy about this?’ she asked shortly.

  ‘Yes.’ Monnie’s face was defiant. ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘OK, I’ll just go and wash before supper. What are we having?’

  ‘Gammon and baked potatoes, it’s all ready. Don’t be long.’

  The meal was good; in spite of all the distractions Monnie had done well, and looking at her sister’s face now free from strain, Lynette relaxed and thought, All right, she’s taken him back. Why not, if it makes her happy? She knows the risks now, it’s up to her to look out for herself. We can’t do any more.

  Her gaze moving to her father, she saw that he too had relaxed, was looking into space, half smiling, and she wondered, Was he thinking of Ishbel? No, she couldn’t really believe that Ishbel had become so important to him, even though something – or, maybe, someone – seemed to be making him particularly happy. But then he was happy anyway, up here in the Highlands.

  As for herself, she knew she was half smiling too, thinking of seeing Ronan again that day, meeting his eyes, remembering their lovely time together. True, she hadn’t decided what to do about his proposal, but for the time being that didn’t matter; it could go on hold while they just enjoyed seeing each other. Being happy.

  Seemed they were all happy, then, the three Foresters. Happy in their new life, even if the future was uncertain. Happy enough to have a drink and a toast, or at the very least, a cup of coffee.

  ‘Here’s to us and staying happy!’ she cried, leaping up from the table. ‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?’

  Forty-Three

  Real summer came to the High
lands the following weekend. No mixing with winter now, even if the locals did say you sometimes couldn’t tell which was which, even if there was still snow on some of the higher mountains. In Conair and everywhere around, all was fine and pleasant.

  ‘Just right for your hill walk with Paul,’ Lynette commented to Monnie on Saturday morning before she left for work. ‘I take it that’s still on?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Monnie answered, but the colour rising to her brow suggested that all was not as straightforward about the meeting as might have been.

  ‘Torquil not happy?’ Lynette asked sympathetically. ‘Saturday was his day, eh?’

  ‘Look, I’ve got to check the dormitories.’ Monnie jumped up. ‘See you this evening.’

  ‘No, wait. I just want to tell you that Dad says it will be fine if I bring Ronan round tomorrow afternoon. It’s time he faced up to seeing his old home again.’

  ‘Ronan’s coming here? I thought he didn’t want to set foot in the place!’

  ‘He’s just afraid of stirring up old sorrows, but I want him to see how much pleasure the house is giving to young folk now. I mean, it might make him feel better.’

  ‘And he’s agreed to come?’ Monnie shook her head. ‘You can certainly twist him round your little finger, can’t you?’

  ‘Think so?’ Lynette was not displeased. ‘But I’ve got to fly. Could you do me a favour and buy one of Ishbel’s cakes for tea on Sunday? I can’t get to the shop today.’

  ‘Sure, I’ll see what she has, but I won’t be here tomorrow myself . . .’ Monnie hesitated. ‘I’ve arranged to meet Torquil.’

  ‘I see.’ Lynette shrugged. ‘Oh, well, can’t be helped. I should have guessed, if you can’t see him today, he’d want to be with you tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes.’ Monnie, her face averted, was already on her way to the dormitories. ‘See you tonight,’ she called again.

  ‘Don’t forget the cake!’ Lynette called back, and hurried for her bus, a slight frown disturbing her smooth brow.

  ‘Can’t see him today’, were the words Lynette had used of Monnie’s not meeting Torquil, but it wasn’t strictly true. As she made her rounds, checking that all beds had been made, and all hostellers had departed for the great outside, Monnie knew that she might have seen him. Might have cravenly backed out of her hill walk with Paul to be with him, if he hadn’t said it didn’t matter, they could meet on Sunday.