A Pinch of Salt

by Eileen Ramsay

  ‘Keep right on to the end of the road.’ She could match him for silliness; he made her young and silly.

  ‘Is that a song or an instruction?’

  Kate laughed like a young girl. ‘Both.’

  ‘I’m five years old and Christmas and my birthday have come on the same day. Did you like your birthday when you were little, Kate? And Christmas? Did Father Christmas bring lots of presents?’

  Kate looked at him as he sat half bent over the wheel, his beautiful hands almost clenched on the steering wheel, and tried to memorize him. ‘He’s only just found me,’ she said and knew that no matter what the future held, this silly conversation in the car would always be among the happiest moments of her life.

  At the hotel Ian produced a ring; two rows of diamonds encircling a beautiful ruby. Kate had never seen anything so beautiful and she had never owned anything so valuable. Her hand trembled as he slipped it on.

  ‘I don’t mind if you keep your first wedding ring on.’

  Kate looked at the thin little circlet of gold and sighed. At last it was time to say goodbye to that part of her life.

  ‘No. I think I’ll keep it for Holly.’

  They stayed at the inn well into the early evening, making plans. They would marry as soon as the banns could be read. Ian would sell his house and move into The Toll House for the time being.

  ‘I really don’t want my wife working for a living; I want her looking after me. I’m going to teach you to play golf, Kate, and to sail, and to . . . just to learn to relax would be nice. Where will we go for a honeymoon?’

  ‘Holly’s tea.’ Kate started up in alarm.

  ‘I don’t know that one; a Caribbean island, is it?’

  ‘We must get back, dear. I promised to make a meal for Holly and her friend Grace.’

  ‘Aren’t they old enough to get their own meals?’

  ‘I promised.’

  Holly and Grace had already eaten. The bakery was, in fact, empty.

  ‘Holly must be at the bus stop. There’s a bus to Dumfries at seven-thirty.’

  ‘Then I shall scuttle away and leave you to make the announcement, or would you rather I stayed for moral support?’

  ‘It would be better if I see her alone.’

  ‘You haven’t done anything wrong. Will she want to be a bridesmaid? I’m joking. Come here and let me kiss you as an honestly engaged woman should be kissed and then I’ll go.’

  Kate gave herself up to him, but, fearing Holly’s return, pulled away quickly. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow?’

  ‘Probably not, my dear one. I’m on call and I now have important letters to write.’ They heard the front door slam. ‘Is that to warn you that she’s coming?’

  ‘Probably not.’

  Holly, dishevelled and with her red hair sticking up round her head like the crown of the Statue of Liberty, came into the room bringing a cold blast with her. ‘Sorry, Gran, the wind’s up. Hello, doctor. Had a nice drive?’

  ‘Yes, indeed, but your grandmother will tell you about it. Goodnight, ladies.’

  ‘We ate the pie, Granny Kate, with a salad,’ said Holly when Kate returned. ‘I hope you’re not hungry.’

  ‘No, I had a huge lunch but I think I’ll make some tea. I have something I want to talk to you about.’

  Holly was already at the door leading to the bedrooms. ‘I’ve got some studying to do for tomorrow and if it’s about you and Doctor Robertson, your engagement ring is blinding me from there.’

  Dear God, don’t let her be awkward and prickly, thought Kate. ‘Please, Holly, couldn’t we talk about it? I wanted to tell you first.’

  Holly turned away. ‘I have to study.’ Her face was stiff. ‘Congratulations on your engagement,’ she said politely but then added, ‘It’s a little embarrassing – you’re both so old – but I’m away at school most of the time and really it’s none of my business.’

  ‘We’re planning a quiet wedding, perhaps mid-term.’ Kate could hear the desperation in her voice. I’m begging again.

  ‘That’ll be nice,’ said Holly, and went out closing the door behind her.

  Kate made her tea and sat down at the table as she had done for years and years in time of trouble. But this time she had Ian and his love to sustain her. Dratted child, she said to herself. I’m not going to worry about your prickles, Holly Inglis. You’re not going to spoil my wedding. She refused to think about her first wedding almost forty years before. I’m going to retire and be a full–time wife. I’ll sell this place and invest the money for little Miss Prickles. If she refuses to love me, that’s too bad. I’ll always be there for her if she ever wants me and if I’ve failed to earn her love then I’ll just have to accept that. Oh, Patrick, my dear son, I am trying with your little girl, but it’s been too late, I fear. If you can help or you, Mam . . .?

  *

  It was supposed to be a very quiet wedding. Ian’s partner and his wife, Kate’s lawyer who turned out to be Ian’s lawyer too, some elderly cousins on Ian’s side . . . and Margaret and Holly, neither of whom came. Margaret was out of practice at seeing her mother and Holly had gone on a school trip to London.

  Kate refused to acknowledge that her grand-daughter’s desertion troubled her and paid for her outing quite happily.

  They went to the Caribbean for their honeymoon. ‘Had Holly been around, Mrs Robertson,’ teased Ian on the plane to San Juan, ‘we would have had a weekend in Blackpool.’

  They spent a week eating wonderful food, exploring islands, getting sunburned, and walking along moonlit beaches to their private cabana. Sometimes it seemed to Kate that she was a different woman.

  How could she give herself up to pleasure like this, abandon herself nightly to loving and being loved?

  ‘Don’t knock it, Mrs Robertson,’ teased Ian. ‘Back in Auchenbeath I’ll be too tired to do anything, well almost anything but kiss you goodnight.’

  And Kate arched up to him and, holding him tightly, cried, ‘I love you, I love you.’

  They flew home, their cases full of gifts for Holly, Ian’s partners and the bakers.

  ‘I can’t believe you’ve never been on holiday before, Kate,’ said Ian. ‘We’ll holiday every year.’ He slipped a flat black box from a jeweller on the freeport of St Thomas on to her lap. ‘Happy Anniversary.’

  They had been married ten days and the box contained a pearl necklace.

  ‘You were so busy choosing her first ear-rings for Miss Holly that I was able to buy this without your even noticing. You are an amazing woman. It never occurred to you to get anything for yourself in that Aladdin’s cave of a shop.’

  ‘Oh, Ian,’ said Kate as she felt the smooth kiss of the pearls against her blouse, ‘you have already given me so much.’

  How was it possible to be so happy? Only Holly could spoil it.

  But she didn’t. Holly had made a pact with herself the night Kate changed her bedroom. She would live with her grandmother who, she decided, tolerated her only for her father’s sake. The fact that Kate tried endlessly to show her that she was wanted for herself meant nothing. Holly was living a real-life role to the full and she’d got so used to it that it became real.

  Life after the wedding settled down. Holly went to school on Monday morning and returned on Friday evening. Sometimes she stayed for the weekend with Grace or other girls from St Catherine’s. Kate encouraged her to avail herself of all the travel opportunities provided by the school.

  ‘Glad to get rid of me,’ thought Holly but confessed that she loved foreign travel. She went to Paris, to Rome, skiing in the Swiss Alps and, when she told her grandmother about her trips, she sparkled with animation and happiness. Then she would remember her script and the curtain would come down.

  Holly and Ian got used to it and referred to her as Sarah Bernhardt when she was away.

  ‘One day she’ll realize you’re the most important person in her life, Kate,’ consoled Ian. ‘Just be patient and wait to pick up the pieces when the great
actress falls off her stage.’

  28

  HOLLY WAS ACCEPTED at the university of Edinburgh and at the age of eighteen she was in the beautiful capital, delirious with excitement. Every moment was filled with promise; she covered the old town on foot, every day finding something new. New to her, of course, but old to history. She found herself wondering if Patrick had seen this or read that or felt as she did the first time she watched the sun rise from Arthur’s Seat. She felt she would never tire of the Edinburgh skyline or the beauty of the Georgian New Town or the wealth of the museums and galleries.

  Luckily, by the time the term really started, she had a working knowledge of the city and was able to settle down to lectures and classes. She liked the residence which was merely a grown-up version of boarding-school and was friendly with almost everyone. Boarding-school had taught her to protect herself from snobs; there were even more of them at the university.

  ‘What they see is what they get,’ Holly had decided. She was herself and would be the same to everyone, liking people for what they were, not for what they had. She threw herself wholeheartedly into undergraduate life and revelled in the joy of joining everything. At Christmas she found, to her horror, that she had done very badly in her examinations.

  ‘How could I fail? I never had to work hard before and I’ve always done well?’

  She crawled back to Auchenbeath where she spent most of the holidays in her room trying to work out the puzzle.

  You’re being taxed, Holly Inglis, for the first time in your life, she told herself with her habitual brutal honesty, a trait she shared (but this she would never acknowledge) with her grandmother, and you can’t hack it.

  Christmas with Ian’s part of the family was like being a little girl again with Patrick. Ian pretended to believe in Father Christmas and he insisted that everyone around him believe too. They hung stockings by the fireplace and Santa visited while Holly and Kate were at Midnight Mass.

  ‘And you saw nothing, Ian Robertson?’ asked Holly.

  ‘Cross my heart, Holly. I saw no one strange in this house.’

  They were all early risers, Kate and Ian from a lifetime of habit and Holly from anticipation; she wanted to see what Santa had left. A tangerine, an apple, a small box of raisins, a bar of apple soap, everything just as Patrick had done it, and for that Holly was grateful; she could not have borne too much largesse. There were expensive gifts from her grandmother, not too many, a heavenly sweater, a tailored skirt, and books, books, books. The whole day was a delight. At bedtime Kate handed Holly a small package and inside was her thin old wedding ring on a fine gold chain. Holly stared at it without saying a word.

  ‘I thought you might like to have it, Holly. It’s a direct link with your grandfather; he held you asleep once in his arms.’

  Holly looked at her grandmother, her heart too full for speech. Something more than the ring had passed between them; a warmth that Holly had never experienced with Kate before.

  All too soon it was time to return to Edinburgh with New Year’s resolutions to work hard. Her mind, however, was soon full of more important things. Holly fell in love.

  His name was Ruaridh and she bumped into him – literally – at the library. The wind, one of those winds for which Edinburgh was renowned, had plucked the huge doors from her hands as if they were matchsticks and she and her books went flying down the steps to collide with a man who was being blown up them.

  He picked himself up and then picked her up and together they rounded up the books.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Holly looking up, up, up into the bluest of blue eyes.

  ‘Not at all,’ he said politely and his voice warmed Holly down to the tips of her toes. He was still holding her and for a lifetime they looked at one another and he smiled and Holly was lost. ‘Must go,’ he said as if he really regretted leaving, ‘can’t have them throwing me out.’ He ran up the steps and disappeared, without a backwards glance, into the library.

  She was halfway up the steps after him before she came to her senses and, blushing furiously, hurried round the corner for her bus. No one would throw you out, she said to herself as the bus chugged up the Bridges, you’re too big. There was more too. It was an aristocratic voice, a public school voice. People with plummy voices didn’t get thrown out of anywhere if they were late. The proletariat waited politely until they were ready to leave.

  Can’t abide that kind of nonsense, Holly assured herself. I’d spit in his eye, and at that reversal to childhood she giggled wildly and had to leave the bus two stops before her own for fear of being thrown off. And they’d throw you off, nae bother, she told herself.

  She was back at the library two days later only to change a book and she only stayed in the entrance hall reading until closing time because it was quieter than her residence. In fact, she decided that it would be much better academically for her to do all her studying at the library. She was despondently leaving the library three weeks later when he left with her. How had he got in without her seeing him? He must have been there before she got there. Who cared. He was here walking beside her as if they were old friends.

  ‘A night for nefarious deeds,’ he smiled down at her as they struggled against the wind. ‘May we drop you somewhere?’ He had stopped beside an expensive dark-green car. ‘My brother,’ he explained, nodding towards the distinguished-looking man in the driving seat.

  ‘No, no thank you . . .’

  ‘Ruaridh,’ he said, ‘Ruaridh Granville.’

  ‘I’m Holly Inglis.’

  ‘Holly. How quaint. Goodnight then.’

  He lowered himself into the car and it sped away with scarcely a sound. He didn’t look back. Holly watched until the car was out of sight before she hurried to her bus stop.

  Fool. Just because Dad said never to go anywhere with people you don’t know. I know Ruaridh. She stopped. I know Ruaridh, she said again quite loudly this time so that anyone passing could have heard and a bubble of pleasure welled up inside her. ‘A night for nefarious deeds’. Did people really talk like that? Ruaridh did. Thirty minutes later when she was finally sitting on a bus heading up the Bridges she was wishing again that she had accepted a lift. But I could never have spoken to his brother. And then she remembered that she had been unable to say anything to Ruaridh either, except her name finally and that didn’t count.

  She tried to stay away from the library but students need books or so she told herself. She tried to banish Ruaridh from her mind but if she caught a glimpse of a very tall man she rushed forward, hoping against hope that it was he but it never was. His voice came unbidden into her mind at odd moments and his blue eyes came between her and almost every word she read.

  This will not do, she scolded herself. Anyone might think you . . . you what? God, Holly, you can’t lo . . . like him. You’ve only met him twice. And then she plummeted into an incredible abyss of despair for she realized that she did like him and she could see no way in which someone like Ruaridh could ever like her back. She thought of the few things she knew about him; public school accent, expensive cars, understated but very well-cut clothes. He’ll spit in your eye, Holly.

  The next two weeks were a mixture of pain and pleasure and Holly tried to attend to her lectures. She would never see him again; she would bury herself in her books and carve a wonderful career for herself. She felt better. God, what a relief. Obviously she was not in love because she felt nothing over the thought of never seeing him again. The next moment she felt as if she wanted to die. Oh don’t be stupid, you’ve seen him twice and all you ever said to him was your name and you’re escalating it into the love affair of the century. The king and Mrs Simpson. That cheered her up. Old Wallis caught him.

  She stopped looking for him at the library and so she met him at The Chocolate House on Princes Street late one Friday night. She was just about to dig into an enormous pile of ice cream and chocolate sauce that she had been saving up for for weeks when he appeared in front of her.
<
br />   ‘You can’t possibly eat all that.’

  She was so surprised that she dropped the spoon but for once her wits did not desert her. ‘Then why don’t you help me?’ And at her audacity she turned as red as a beetroot.

  ‘Done, hold that spoon till I dig up another chair.’

  He was back in no time. Where had he found the chair? The Chocolate House was always crowded but even worse at the weekends. Somehow she knew that Ruaridh Granville would always be able to find himself a chair.

  A waitress came over immediately. And he would always be able to summon up waitresses, probably even waiters.

  ‘Would you be kind enough to bring me a . . . spoon?’ He looked at the waitress who knew she should be cross but who couldn’t resist his charm. ‘My friend has a small appetite . . . but later we’ll have some hot chocolate.’

  Holly could hardly believe it was happening. Could this possibly be termed a date? He had been at the Usher Hall for the Scottish National Orchestra. They had this dynamic new conductor, Alexander Gibson. Surely she had seen him?

  Holly had never been in a concert hall in her life but she knew where she would be every Friday evening from now on. ‘Not yet,’ she stalled.

  ‘What about your friends?’ she asked later as they waited for their drinks.

  He looked around vaguely. ‘They’re here somewhere. Did you think me rude, Holly? It’s every man for himself in The Chocolate House, you know. They will have . . . yes, there’s Anne over there, and . . .’ He slewed around in his chair and waved wildly. ‘Gairn!’ he yelled, ‘Yes, everyone has found a seat. It’s a grand group of chums, you must meet them.’

  The hot chocolate was finished. There was no excuse for staying. She wanted to stay for ever just watching the play of light on his beautiful face, listening to the music of his voice. She stood up. ‘I really must go.’ She wished later that she had allowed herself to be talked into staying longer.

  ‘Gairn’s car is on George Street. We’ll all take you home later . . .’ He was already calling his friends over to take over her table.