Rapture of the Deep

by Margaret Rome

  When he raised his head and slid his arm from around her shoulders she remained still, expecting a spate of condemnation, but he surprised her with the sighed acceptance,

  'You're right, Kate, it's neither the time nor the place. To achieve an act of perfection the stage must be properly set, with a musical prelude to set the mood, comfortable surroundings, dim lighting to create an atmosphere of intimacy and a locked door to act as a barrier against an intrusive world. We never seem to manage more than a quick grope in a dark corner, you and I,' his grin widened at the sight of her scandalised expression. 'My fault entirely, I admit. Take a memo, Miss Dunross,' he teased, totally unrepentant. 'From Casson to Casson— chicks hatch quicker inside a feathered love nest!'

  Wishing that Nature had indeed provided her with a pecking beak and scratching talons, Catriona turned her head aside as he drove on, too angry to look at, much less speak to the hard-core chauvinist who seemed to regard her eventual submission as a foregone conclusion.

  They arrived at the cottage just in time to see her aunt waving goodbye to the occupants of an ancient Morris being driven by a neighbouring farmer. Catriona noticed immediately that the wrinkled face beneath her Sunday-best bonnet was looking un­usually grim and that instead of smiling a welcome her aunt's mouth pursed tightly as she waited for them to join her outside the cottage door. Alert to all the signs and signals, she knew that trouble was brewing when in place of a greeting her aunt nodded downwards, indicating an iron scraper at the edge of the doorstep, then snapped tersely to Leon,

  'Clean your boots before you set foot inside!'

  To Catriona's amazement he meekly obeyed before following them into the small living-room with curtainless windows and furniture still pulled away from the walls.

  'This is a fine state to leave a body in!' she waved an encompassing hand, then spun round to accuse Leon. 'You said you'd be away for only half a day, promised you'd both be back in time for dinner!'

  'I'm sorry, Miss Dunross.' Although he had been given leave to address her as Aunt Hanna, even Leon seemed wary of taking liberties when the old lady seemed in such an obviously aggravated mood. 'You must have gone to a lot of trouble yesterday prepar­ing a meal, but owing to bad weather our flight was delayed, so we had to spend the night on the rig.'

  'I know you did!' Beneath a black alpaca dress her frail figure seemed to bristle; the knuckles of her hands protruding white through paper-thin skin as she tightened her grip on an ivory-backed prayer-book. 'Also, once gossip has had a chance to circul­ate, so will half the residents of Shetland! You realise, young man,' her eyes levelled angry accusation, 'that, fiancé or not, you have put my niece's good reputation in doubt?'

  'Aunt Hanna!' Catriona protested, appalled. 'That's a ridiculous statement to make!'

  'Ridiculous, is it?' Furiously she rounded upon her. 'In that case, it's not me you should be trying to convince but those charitable souls who were cir­culating the news among the kirk's congregation this morning! I'm casting no doubt upon your morals, child,' momentarily her expression softened, 'nor on yours either, Leon.' Her show of simple trust sent a tide of colour running under his tan. 'You are a true gentleman, I knew the moment you set foot inside my house that Catriona would be safe anywhere with you. Nevertheless,' she continued briskly, 'the word is being spread— its source supposedly some person who was present in the radio room when your mes­sage was received at base—that the pair of you have spent the night together! In a community such as ours, the merest whiff of scandal spells death to a girl's chances of marriage. What I want to know,' she swung round to direct her challenge towards Leon, 'is whether you intend taking the only course likely to stop tongues wagging.'

  Catriona wanted to shrivel with embarrassment as she waited to see Leon's lips curl upward, to hear him respond with words of mocking ridicule. But a gasp became lodged in her throat when the solemnity of his expression deepened and he responded to her aunt's question with grave courtesy.

  'As you so obviously consider me responsible for ruining Kate's reputation, and as I would be deeply upset at the thought of losing either your respect or your friendship, Miss Dunross, I give you my word that I shall willingly follow any course of action you'd care to indicate in order to right what you so obviously consider a grave wrong. What is it that you wish me to do?'

  Announce the date of your wedding, and make it as soon as possible!'

  Catriona froze, stunned by words ringing tri­umphant as a peal of bells. She tried hard to swallow, but her throat was so dry that when she eventually managed to force a protest the only sound that resulted was an incredulous croak, a croak that turned into a choke when after a startled pause she heard his slowly dragged out reply.

  'So be it, Miss Dunross. I've already given you my promise, and although my faults are many I take pride in the fact that I've never gone back on my word.'

  During the following hour Catriona carried out her tasks in a dazed trance, mechanically laying the table for lunch, listening to sounds of hilarity issuing from the kitchen where her aunt was happily follow­ing instructions being given by the stand-back, take-charge guy with a hint of Texas drawl on how to prepare his favourite salad, while he demonstrated the art of making a brand of omelette fit, she heard him assure her giggling aunt, for King Oil and his merry oilmen.

  As she sliced and buttered a bannock baked the previous evening—because her aunt insisted that only necessary chores should be undertaken on the Sabbath—she tried to unravel her tangled thoughts, to pinpoint the motive behind Leon's promise which, surprisingly, she did not doubt he was prepared to carry out. Although an undeniable bond of rapport had been forged between himself and her aunt she could not bring herself to believe that his affection for an old lady who had possibly begun to represent the mother he had never known, could be the reason that had prompted him to put his jealously-guarded bachelordom in jeopardy. Again, the notion that he could possibly be concerned about her own reputa­tion being ruined in the eyes of a censorious, sternly moralistic community was dismissed the moment it was born. Such a situation was more likely to enter­tain his sense of the ridiculous rather than prick his rusty, run-down conscience! No, more than likely, she finally decided with a frown, the insufferably cocksure, been-everywhere, done-everything Texan had become bored with his placid existence and decided to employ her aunt and herself as a form of amusing diversion.

  Having concluded that his intentions were strictly dishonourable, Catriona found it hard to join in the conversation that developed into a game of verbal ping-pong between Leon and her aunt immediately they all sat down at the table.

  'Where did you learn to cook like this, my boy? Such a delicious omelette!'

  'Oh, in ranch cookhouses, and platform galleys, but mostly over campfires set as far apart as Texas, Mexico, Alaska and the Arabian Gulf,' he told her in a lazy drawl.

  'What a shame, I thought I detected a woman's guidance behind your expertise.' Aunt Hanna sounded slightly disappointed. 'I began teaching Catriona to cook when she was a mere child, and now I'd defy anyone in Shetland to better her soused herrings or cream crowdies,' she boasted, obviously anxious that he should be made fully aware of his future good fortune.

  'I'll look forward to sampling some of Kate's cooking.' Catriona kept her gaze concentrated upon her plate, but knew from his deep-throated chuckle that he had noted her slow rise of colour. 'You must invite me to supper soon, darling,' he teased in a much more gentle manner than she had come to expect of him. 'I enjoy trying the local delicacies in whichever country I happen to be working.'

  She struggled to overcome her confusion, consci­ous of her aunt's puzzled stare, and felt almost grateful towards Leon when he made a deliberate bid for her aunt's attention.

  'I've tried kangaroo soup in Australia; sautéed lizard in South America; bear steaks in China—'

  'Leon, stop,' Aunt Hanna pleaded, covering up her ears, 'before you ruin my appetite! I'd imagined that your culinary inclinations would run along
the lines of barbecued buffalo steaks.'

  'No, ma'am,' smiling broadly, he shook his head, 'there's still more beef eaten in Texas than any other state, but the huge herds of buffalo that once roamed the West are a long time gone and the few that sur­vive are protected by law.'

  'But do cowboys still make camp under the open sky, with just a blanket, a rifle, a coffee pot and a handful of hard biscuits?' she asked eagerly. 'And do they still ride the range and have heifer roasted whole on a spit for dinner at sundown, as they did in a film I once saw in a picture house in Lerwick many years ago?'

  He grinned widely, seemingly highly amused. 'That film must have been about the rough-and-ready frontier days, Aunt Hanna. Today, cowboys are more likely to be found riding herd in a car than on horseback. But I dare say there might still be a few of the old frontier customs such as hog-calling contests, square dances and cowboy-singing jam­borees still to be found. Tell you what…'

  Catriona's hackles rose when he bent his fiery head closer to her enthralled aunt as if to impart a confi­dence of extra special significance.

  '… how would it be if, once Kate and I are married, I take you both on a visit to Texas? I'd sure enjoy escorting you personally to a rodeo.'

  Catriona jumped to her feet, unable to bear an­other second of his deliberately cruel bolstering of an old lady's excited expectations.

  'Don't be tempted to expose your romantic notions to the cold chill of reality, Aunt Hanna,' she rebuked coldly, 'otherwise you'll risk the disappointment of discovering that your cowboy hero of long ago is one of a diminished species and that the legendary home of stetson-wearing cattle barons, round-ups, and flapjacks "rustled up" over open fires has been superseded by rows of ugly oil derricks pumping fluid gold out of stretches of barren wasteland!'

  Suddenly, for some indefinable reason totally un­connected with the quiver disturbing her aunt's downcast mouth, or the hard, warning glitter in amber eyes, she knew she was going to cry. Hurriedly she kicked aside her chair and rushed out of the cot­tage in search of fresh, clean air.

  A vigorous gust of wind knocked her breathless the moment she unlatched the kitchen door just a summer breeze compared to the gale force winter blows that swept the exposed islands treeless—yet powerful enough to rock her on her heels, forcing her to brace before continuing her headlong rush across the small cobbled courtyard harbouring a row of ramshackle outhouses once used as stables and cattle byres but which had been left empty and neg­lected for many years.

  Tears began pouring down her cheeks when, after gaining the sanctuary of a place filled with happy childhood memories, she sagged against a wall and closed her eyes, trying to blot out the present by recalling hours spent tending horses and cattle, crushing oil cake, mashing boiled 'neeps', carrying pails of water and humping bales of straw, watching fascinated while her aunt, seated upon a small, three-legged stool and with her head planted firmly against the flanks of a grateful milch cow, extracted a stream of rich creamy milk that had filled up a pail with amazing speed.

  For the first time ever she felt a yearning for the return of days of uncomplicated living when each morning she had been able to look forward to a placid undemanding routine devoid of fears and doubts, sudden shocks, and the sort of emotional upheaval that sent her spirits one minute soaring and the next zooming to zero, a happy state of euphoria that had been abruptly dispelled by the advent into her life of Leon Casson! What was he up to? she wondered, biting a fretful bottom lip. He had black­mailed her into agreeing to a bogus engagement, had forced her to submit to the indignity of being used as a decoy fiancé because he had become weary of being made the target of gossip, tired of having his love life analysed, and subjected to constant specula­tion. But what on earth had possessed him to allow the deception to go beyond the point of no return? Why had he agreed to settle a definite date for a bogus wedding, even going so far as to cruelly buoy up the hopes of her unsuspecting aunt with an in­vitation to America which he knew could never be implemented.

  '… once Kate and I are married!'

  Feeling pain so intense it forced from her lips a gasped sob, she sagged down in a stricken, be­wildered heap upon a mattress of discarded straw.

  She wept until her reservoir of misery had run dry, then rolled over on her back to lie staring up at the raftered ceiling, her eyelids red and swollen, her mouth a trembling, punished victim of woe.

  'I read once in the Bible that they who sow in tears shall reap in joy!'

  When Leon's shadow fell across her face she remained very still, resentful of his intrusion into a mood of resigned yet peaceful despair. Con­scious of his demanding stare, she responded woodenly,

  'From that monument of English prose one can always pick out a text here and there and make it serve our purpose. At this moment, I can think of one particular quotation that reads like a personal warning: "Be sober, be vigilant; because your adver­sary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour".'

  The straw rustled as he eased his fluid limbs down beside her. Tension tightened her nerves as she waited expectantly for him to exercise his satanic prerogative of always insisting upon having the last word.

  But the low, sober tone of his voice, the fact that he attempted no physical assault upon prey so wounded, so obviously at his mercy, took her by sur­prise, made her feel that an abyss had yawned at her feet, leaving her teetering on a rim of uncer­tainty.

  'Do you really consider me to be such a son of a bitch that I'd find pleasure in baiting a very lovable old lady?'

  Catriona ought to have found it easy to respond with a prompt affirmative, but for some unaccount­able reason she merely twisted her head round and stared at the rangy, unsmiling Texan who deserved every scornful insult she ached to fling his way yet whose unguarded look of dejection had reminded her for one split second of the barefooted, freckle-faced urchin to whom Geoff had once likened him.

  'If so, you've got me all wrong, Kate,' he con­tinued plucking at her heartstrings. 'Just lately I've been coming around to Geoff's way of thinking, have begun wondering whether the chains of married bondage weigh less heavy than those of single loneli­ness. In any case, I've decided to give matrimony a try. I promised your aunt that I'd marry you, Kate—she's now making arrangements for the minister to call so that we can decide upon a mutually convenient date for the wedding to take place.'

  CHAPTER TEN

  'I'M so looking forward to tonight's jamboree, Catriona,' Sandra confided happily. 'The whole base is humming with excitement. We all love it when the American contingent arrange one of their special Country and Western dances, but the fact that we have all been invited to celebrate your engagement to Leon is a bonus that's escalated anticipation to fever pitch. Have you decided yet what you'll be wearing?' she prattled on, too wrapped up in en­visaging her own party outfit to notice Catriona biting nervously into her bottom lip, or to see a look in her eyes akin to despair.

  'I have a dress that might be appropriate.' Her struggle to eliminate all trace of bitterness from her tone resulted in a flat, even monotone far removed from the joyful response expected of a newly engaged girl delighted by the prospect of standing at the side of her fiancé accepting happy congratulations. 'A red and white gingham discarded years ago when it became unfashionable, that I've smartened up with a few yards of broderie anglaise so as to project the image of shy, wholesome womanhood reputedly favoured by Texas cowboys.'

  Sandra stopped sorting through a pile of invoices to cast a glance of amusement towards Catriona's regal head crowned by a flaxen coronet, bent closely over a typewriter.

  'I can't quite picture you wearing a poke bonnet and controlling a team of horses from the seat of a covered wagon,' she grinned, 'but Leon fits exactly my image of a gun-totin', hard-riding, early fron­tiersman who viewed uncharted territory as a chal­lenge, who fought hard and lived dangerously be­cause he was one of a unique breed of men who liked nothing better than to be given an opportunity to prove themse
lves capable of taming the untameable.'

  Heaving an exasperated sigh, Catriona abandoned a halfhearted attempt to clear up a backlog of items that had been pushed aside, left to gather dust during the past hectic weeks when they had been delegated relatively unimportant.

  'I suspect you read too many trashy Westerns,' she reproved the unabashed teenager. 'I refuse to sit here another minute listening to such drivel. In fact, I think I'll call it a day.' She glanced down at her watch, then rose to her feet with a look of decision. 'Since I've worked hours of overtime recently, I don't consider anyone is likely to object to my taking a little time off. If Leon should question my absence,' she told Sandra, who looked on astonished when she began shrugging on her coat, 'tell him that I decided to leave for home an hour early.'

  Defiance continued smouldering while she was being driven in a company car towards her aunt's cottage, staring out of the window at clouds banking dark and heavy as her mood, a dull grey blanket of depression lowering over a smooth sheet of sea that looked ominously calm in spite of a coppery tinge on the far horizon and an occasional low grumbling of thunder. But it was her own inner storm of temper that was holding her attention, the impotent frustra­tion of being made to feel used, of having had every vehement objection overruled by a man who had decided on an arrogant whim to 'give matrimony a try'.

  But this time he had stretched her patience too far. An impulse prompted by the shock of discover­ing, upon her arrival at work that morning, that in spite of her stated refusal to take him seriously he had deliberately spread news of his matrimonial in­tentions around the entire workforce and had even arranged for a celebration to take place that same evening, had developed during the day into a defin­ite course of action. The deception she had initially regarded as harmless was getting out of hand, so much so that she was now left with no alternative but to tell her aunt the truth.