Which reminded her – how was Monnie coping?
Thinking of her sister, Lynette fell asleep.
Forty-Eight
Monnie, acting as senior warden for the first time at Conair House, was pleased with the way she was managing. She hadn’t felt nervous at all. In fact, having to rely on herself, had given her confidence. Of course, she had to admit, laughing a little on Saturday afternoon, she’d only been on her own for two days. Well, to be honest, one and a half so far, but for one of those – Friday – she’d had to accept advice from Mrs Duthie, which had not made things easy.
Lord, how tactful one had to be! How did her father cope, then? Monnie herself was soon tired of Mrs Duthie telling her what to say to those laddies who left wet towels on the bathroom floor, and shouting ‘door’, when Monnie could hear the bell perfectly well and had already come running. Then there was the perpetual problem of the hostellers’ kitchen and the way they left the stove . . .
‘Now if I was you, Monnie,’ Mrs Duthie announced, ‘I would start fining ’em. Yes, I would. Anybody leaves grease on the stove, or in the frying pan – did you see it this morning? – they pay a shilling into a fines box. And in no time, you’d have money to do all sorts of things, you mark my words!’
‘I really don’t think the young folk would be willing to pay a shilling for not cleaning the frying pan.’
‘Teach ’em a lesson. You tell your dad what I said, my dear. I’m surprised he’s not thought of it himself.’
Monnie, rolling her eyes, hurried off to her father’s office, where she settled down to some typing and accounts work he’d left her, and after Mrs Duthie had completed her usual whirlwind of cleaning and departed, everything was beautifully peaceful and orderly. Until, of course, the hostellers came back and then it was action stations again and time went flying by.
No Torquil, though. Although it was Friday, he had not brought her any fish. Strange. Perhaps he’d thought she didn’t want any because she was on her own? Still, he might have looked in, anyway.
All had gone well on Friday night, though she’d felt a bit worried in case any of the young men decided to visit any of the young women after lights out, which, of course, was strictly forbidden. Her father had, in fact, given her specific instructions to watch out for it, reminding her that as wardens they were standing in for parents.
‘They don’t usually disobey the rules like that,’ Monnie had pointed out, and Frank had agreed, that no one had tried it on when he was around. But with only Monnie – well, who could say what they might do?
She’d hardly slept after that sort of warning, but as far as she could tell, there’d been no nocturnal visits and when morning came, her confidence had returned. Once everyone was out for the day, she’d had time to tidy up, check the awful frying pan and so on, and think about seeing Torquil again.
Here it was, though, Saturday afternoon and she hadn’t seen him, and she’d felt so sure he’d come. Thinking back, though, to last Sunday, she wondered if maybe she should have been so sure. She hadn’t told Lynette, but there’d been a change in him recently, since their quarrel. A change that was hard to describe. Even to be sure was there, maybe. But he had seemed curiously watchful. Watchful of her.
She sat in the office, still working on the accounts, trying not to watch the clock, or listen for the ring of the front door bell.
Suddenly, the bell did ring and she jumped to answer it, but it was only two young people wanting to book in. She took all their details, went through all the motions, then gave them a bus timetable and pointed them on their way to Glenelg.
Peace again. Back to the office. Another ring at the bell.
And it was Torquil.
They clung together, kissing, for so long, she wondered that she had ever thought him different. This was the old Torquil, wasn’t it?
She drew herself away at last, studying his handsome face.
‘This won’t do, you know, I’m supposed to be working.’
‘And here am I thinking you are going to offer me a cup of tea.’
‘Oh, well, I can do that. I’m due one anyway. But I’ll have to make it in the hostel, so I can hear the bell if anyone comes.’
Making the tea in the large kitchen she’d just tidied, Monnie felt at ease, as though seeing Torquil again had freed her from her suspicions.
‘You didn’t bring me any fish yesterday,’ she told him, setting out cups. ‘Did you forget?’
‘No.’ He was lounging back in one of the kitchen’s shabby chairs. ‘I thought you wouldn’t want any, being on your own.’
‘You might still have come. I mean, bringing the fish isn’t the only reason for coming, is it?’
She turned, ready to hand him his tea, but as her eyes met his, her heart sank. It was there again. That watchful gaze. The sort of gaze you might train on someone you didn’t actually trust. Did he think that of her? That she was someone not to be trusted? That, perhaps, she was going to leave him again?
‘Here’s your tea,’ she whispered.
‘Any biscuits?’
‘Chocolate digestive?’
‘My favourite.’
He was so nearly the Torquil she knew, but, then, not quite. And she was sure now that she was not imagining it. There had been a change. Since the quarrel.
‘Are you worrying?’ she ventured. ‘You don’t need to.’
‘Am I worrying?’ He snapped his chocolate biscuit, ate half of it, still watching her.
‘I think you might be. Might be worrying that I’m going to leave you again.’
‘Well, you did leave me, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, but that was only because I was upset. And I won’t be getting upset again.’
‘You need not have got upset at all.’
‘You know how it was.’
He shook his blond head. ‘No, I do not. I only know that you walked away from me.’
Putting aside the remainder of his biscuit, he suddenly swept Monnie on to his knee, where she sat, still as a doll, while he played with her hair.
‘You must admit, that was hurtful,’ he murmured, close to her face. ‘Leaving me, when I had done nothing wrong.’
‘It was a misunderstanding, Torquil. I thought we’d agreed to say no more about it.’ With an immense effort of will, she pulled herself a little away. ‘And now you’ve brought it up again.’
‘You told me I was worrying.’
‘Please don’t worry, then,’ she said earnestly. ‘Oh, please let’s forget what happened and just be as we were. I won’t leave you again. I can’t.’
His face was still very close, his eyes never moving from her.
‘You mean that, Monnie?’
‘I do.
He gave a long sigh and smiled, one of his old sweet smiles. Anxiously watching, she felt him relax and knew, relaxing herself, that the storm was over.
‘I’d better get back to the office, Torquil. I haven’t finished the paperwork Dad left me.’
‘That’s all right, I have to go, anyway. Tony’s coming over.’
‘Shall I see you tomorrow?’
‘Sure. I will look in.’
They had reached the hall and were about to embrace when the front door bell rang piercingly in their ears.
‘More customers?’ asked Torquil. ‘Just let me kiss you.’
‘Quickly, then I have to open the door.’
The kiss was brief, only a token, but important. Meant things were all right again. But were they?
‘Hello, there!’ she called, finally opening the door to several newcomers. ‘Want to book in? Please come to the office.’
‘I’ll be on my way,’ Torquil said, easing himself round the young people and their rucksacks. ‘See you tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow,’ she cried, motioning her new customers towards the reception desk, and was not surprised to find herself trembling and sighing with relief, as though she’d just walked through a minefield.
Forty-Nine
Far away, in Edinburgh, Lynette was strolling with Scott on the castle esplanade, looking down at the crowds in Princes Street and the gardens full of summer visitors.
It was good to be back, she decided, even if some heartache still lingered. At least, the morning light had cleared the night’s sense of confusion, so that she’d felt herself again and up to visiting the neighbours and a couple of old friends. Her father had been seeing old cronies too, as well as arranging with the ex-colleague who was to take over temporary tenancy of the flat in the autumn. And Scott? He, of course, had been keeping his mysterious appointment, which he was still refusing to tell her about, while they stood together at the castle battlements.
‘All in good time, nosey,’ he laughed, shaking his finger at her. ‘If things work out, I’ll let you know.’
‘And we’re supposed to be friends!’
‘We are friends, more’s the pity.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’
He shrugged. ‘Just joking. I was sort of hinting that it would be better to be more than friends. Come on, you know that’s what I would have wanted, only I missed the boat, eh? You Know Who got there first.’
‘He does have a name,’ she said coldly.
‘Mr Allan? Or, do you want me to call him Ronan? That’s reserved for you.’
‘I think it’d be safer not to talk about him at all.’
‘Aye, I agree. Let’s go and have some tea.’
Everywhere was crowded, but eventually they squeezed into a little café in the High Street and ordered tea and girdle scones. Scott, though, could not resist going over his loss again, in spite of Lynette’s obvious discomfort, which she overcame by much rattling of the teapot and hot water jug and passing of jam for the scones.
‘I know you don’t like me to talk about it,’ Scott said earnestly, ‘but it is important to me. I mean, we could have made such a great team, you and me, that’s the pity of it.’
‘A great team? How would we have been a team?’
Scott carefully covered his scone with jam. ‘I only meant we’d be companions, as well as . . . hell, I didn’t mean anything at all. Where shall we go for dinner tonight, then?’
‘Somewhere cheap.’
‘Are you joking?’ His brown eyes were glinting. ‘Look, I’m a chef. When I eat out, I like to try the menus other chefs are creating, right? Don’t forget, I trained at the North British.’
‘You’re not suggesting we go to the North British?’ Lynette looked aghast. ‘Dad would have a fit. We wouldn’t be able to enjoy anything, for thinking how much it cost.’
‘As though I’d let your dad pay the bill!’ Scott cried. ‘This was my idea, and it’s my treat.’ He nodded solemnly. ‘And I’ve got contacts here who’ll get us a fine meal that’d make your Mr Allan’s eyes pop out, I’m telling you!’
‘I thought we’d agreed not to mention Ronan. Maybe I shouldn’t be here talking with you, anyway.’
‘He’d be jealous?’ Scott laughed. ‘Don’t tell him, then.’
‘Of course I’ll tell him! I wouldn’t dream of keeping it a secret.’
‘I would,’ said Scott blandly.
The restaurant he chose for their dinner that evening was not one Lynette had heard of and didn’t look anything special from the outside, either, being in a small lane off a New Town square. As soon as she and her father saw it was French, however, they knew what to expect and rolled their eyes at each other, as a waiter fussed over seating them and Scott disappeared into the kitchens.
‘He knows the chef,’ Lynette whispered to Frank. ‘He’s a contact.’
‘Just hope Scott’s not expecting me to order. Have you seen the menu?’
‘He’s not expecting you to order, or pay. Don’t worry about it.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ Frank said grimly. ‘I’m not letting a young chap like that pay for my meal.’
‘Dad, he’s got contacts! This French chap is one.’
‘Why couldn’t we have gone to a Scottish restaurant?’ groaned Frank, leaning his head on his hand and looking, Lynette thought, more depressed than just being in a good restaurant should have made him.
‘Dad, are you thinking about Ma?’ she asked softly.
He raised his eyes and nodded. ‘Aye, it’s brought it back, being home again. I mean, losing her.’
‘I know. I feel the same.’
Touching his hand, she felt a glow of relief that puzzled her for a moment, until she realized it was to do with Ishbel. No need to worry, she told herself. Coming back home had made her father realize afresh what he’d lost. There would be no change to her mother’s place in his heart, and at that knowledge her own heart began to lighten, so that she was almost smiling when Scott came back, full of praise for the kitchens.
‘Grand stuff there!’ he exclaimed. ‘Have to hand it to Henri – I couldn’t have put together better food myself. Now, I’ve taken the liberty of ordering for us already, hope you don’t mind?’
‘No frogs’ legs, I hope,’ Frank growled, at which Lynette shook her head at him.
‘Oh, Dad, please! Scott’s doing his best for us, you know.’
Colour rose to Frank’s cheekbones and he looked apologetically at Scott. ‘Sorry, laddie, I’m really sorry. I’m just a bit of an old grump tonight. I’m sure anything you choose for us will be fine.’
‘Don’t you worry, Mr Forester—’
‘Frank, please.’
‘I know it can be a bit off-putting, being in a place like this, but all you’ve got to remember is that the aim here is to give you the best food possible.’ Scott gave an easy smile. ‘So, just enjoy it when it comes. And remember, this is my treat.’
‘No, no, that’s something I’m not happy about, Scott. I’m old fashioned, I think if I go out, I’m the older generation, I should pay.’
‘Ah, but I’m getting a deal, Frank. It won’t be so much for me.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Certain. Now, I’m going to call for the wine list.’ Scott raised his hand. ‘Don’t even think about it, Frank!’
Both Lynette and Frank agreed, when they left the restaurant, that they had never had a better meal, and the wine – oh, Lord!
‘My head’s buzzing,’ Lynette cried. ‘I should never have had that extra glass. But it was a wonderful dinner, Scott. Can’t praise it enough.’
‘Aye, we’ll always remember it,’ Frank added. ‘And that chef, your friend, Henri, Scott, I thought it was really nice of him to come out and say hello to us.’
‘He’s a good chap. We got on well when we were cooking together.’ Scott was rattling coins in his pocket. ‘Shall we get a taxi back?’
‘Och, no,’ said Frank. ‘I need the Edinburgh wind to clear my head. Let’s walk.’
‘Just our luck, it’s not windy,’ Lynette laughed. ‘Why, even the weather seems French tonight. Come back with us, Scott, and we’ll have some more coffee.’
‘Black,’ said Frank.
When Scott left their flat some time later, Lynette went down the stair to see him off.
‘Want to thank you again, Scott. You did push the boat out, didn’t you, whatever deal you got?’
‘I’m just glad you enjoyed it, your dad as well.’ Scott laughed shortly. ‘Though I have to admit I feel a bit like a male Cinderella at the moment. You know, going home from the ball.’
‘Where’s the pumpkin?’ Lynette’s laughter was uneasy.
‘There’s no pumpkin. Or fairy godmother, either.’
‘Scott—’
‘No.’ He put his finger over her lips. ‘Don’t say anything, Lynette. And please don’t give me a little kiss on the cheek – I don’t need that.’
‘I wasn’t going to,’ she said quietly. ‘But I can say it’s been a good weekend, can’t I? For Edinburgh folk, seeing Edinburgh again?’
‘Aye, it has. Goodnight, then. See you tomorrow at Waverley, eh?’
‘At Waverley.’
Going back up the stair, she felt her h
ead had cleared. Maybe too well.
Fifty
‘Any problems?’ Frank cried, when he and Lynette arrived back very late at the hostel. Monnie, who’d been on the look out for them for some time, rushed to greet them.
‘No problems, Dad.’ At least, not with the hostel, she added silently. ‘Everything was fine.’
‘You get any new people coming?’
‘Oh, yes. I booked ’em all in, did all the paperwork. There’s no need to worry.’
‘Of course there isn’t.’ Lynette was collapsing into a chair in the kitchen. ‘Help, I’m tired! And stiff. Feel as though I’ve been packed in a sardine tin all the way from Inverness.’
‘Very good of Scott to drive us, though,’ Frank muttered, yawning and stretching. ‘Saved us having to spend the night somewhere.’
‘Too right, and I’m very grateful. Monnie, any chance of tea?’
‘I’m putting the kettle on now, and then you can tell me all about the weekend.’
‘It was lovely and it was sad.’ Lynette cast a look at her father, who was sitting at the table, seemingly lost in thought. ‘Wouldn’t you say that, Dad?’
‘What? Oh, yes. Very sad, at times. But, you know, useful. I got quite a bit done.’
He stood up. ‘Don’t worry about tea for me, Monnie. I’m for my bed. All quiet in the dormitories?’
‘They’ve been asleep for ages.’
‘Goodnight, then.’ He kissed both daughters, took his bag and departed. ‘See you in the morning, girls.’
‘Goodnight, Dad.’
Monnie, raising her eyebrows, made the tea, while Lynette shrugged and lit a cigarette.
‘Don’t ask me if he’s all right. I don’t know what to make of him.’
‘Seems a wee bit upset.’
‘Well, I think he is. We both were, seeing the flat again, remembering Ma, you know.’ Lynette set her cigarette in a saucer and sipped the tea Monnie gave her. ‘The good news is that I’m pretty sure we needn’t worry about him and Ishbel any more. Now that he’s been home, he’s only thinking of Ma. Said it had brought her back.’
Anne Douglas Page 23
