A Trick of the Light

by Ali Carter

  Was Jane letting on her eldest daughter hasn’t had a child and is struggling to conceive? Poor her if so. I have friends going through IVF and I know from them how unbelievably expensive it can become if it fails with the NHS and one has to go private.

  Felicity grinned at Fergus. ‘Your mother must be very happy,’ she said, and then, taking hold of Zoe’s hand, she added, ‘I do hope you don’t have the trouble I had.’

  ‘Caesarean I bet?’ said Jane, rather crudely.

  ‘Did you too?’ said Felicity, letting go of Zoe’s hand and turning to her friend.

  ‘Only with my second. Enough to put me off for life.’

  ‘It’s simply dreadful,’ said Felicity, ‘you can’t walk for at least a week.’

  ‘We don’t want to frighten Zoe at this stage,’ said Fergus. ‘So, moving on then…’ He went silent; he clearly couldn’t think of anything to say, so helped himself to a handful of nuts instead.

  Felicity let out a sympathetic moan. ‘Dear me, if twins run in the family, caesarean might be your only option.’

  Cough, splutter, cough, splutter. Fergus was choking. Zoe rushed to his side and whacked him on the back. In the commotion, I think I was the only one who noticed Ewen’s fingers curl tighter round his glass. His knuckles went white, his face scrunched and he literally cracked it in front of my eyes.

  ‘I’ll get the water,’ he said and scurried out of the room.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine,’ croaked Fergus, but Ewen had disappeared.

  ‘Golly,’ said Felicity as everyone flopped back into their seats. ‘I thought you were going to keel over for a second.’

  ‘That’ll teach me not to be so greedy. Something my mother never got through to me.’

  ‘Where does your mother live these days?’ said Louis.

  ‘Hampshire. Have you met her?’

  Jane jumped in and put Fergus on the spot. ‘Hampshire? Do you have family ties there?’

  ‘No, she’s, she’s…’

  Zoe finished his sentence. ‘She’s living with her boyfriend.’

  Fergus’s eyes dipped as Zoe, in a refreshingly straightforward manner, told us, ‘Fergus’s father had a terrible drink problem, it’s no secret. And angel, I think your mother deserves to have found happiness again.’

  ‘I completely agree,’ said Felicity.

  Rupert’s head appeared round the door. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt but I can’t get any blasted reception on my mobile and I must give Jules a call.’

  ‘Here,’ Zoe immediately stood up, ‘let me show you where the landline is.’

  Then, remembering I’d forgotten to thank Mhàiri for getting her husband to look at my flat tyre, I got up and explained where I was going.

  ‘She’ll be in the kitchen,’ replied Fergus and I left the room.

  The kitchen smelt of lamb and there was a great big cast-iron pot bubbling away on a greasy Aga. The windows were steamed up and Mhàiri’s grey fringe was stuck to her forehead.

  ‘It smells delicious.’

  ‘Lamb casserole. So many of youse I could nee fit the pot in the oven. Wee bit moisty in here.’

  ‘Thank you very much for getting Donald to look at my tyre. I see he’s fitted the spare one, so kind of him.’

  ‘No trouble, Susie. I’m afraid he said the old un’s slashed and you’ll need ta get a new one fitted. Don’t you go worrying tho, there’s a local manny and he’ll fix it for yous.’

  ‘I should probably call him then and hope he can order it in.’

  ‘There’s no need for that, they’ve got them all there.’

  I doubted they had every kind of tyre but as my modest car isn’t some flashy indulgence, not that I could afford such a thing, I was hopeful they would have a fit.

  ‘Enjoying yourself?’ she said. ‘You can be honest wee me.’

  Mhàiri and I were staff, two peas in the same pod as far as she was concerned, and this made me smile. ‘Yes. I’ve never taught on a residency before but it seems to be going okay and Zoe couldn’t be more welcoming.’

  ‘All right for some,’ she said, and the sting in her tone worried me. We all know the cliché that Scots dislike the English; I’ve always had a good time up here, but did it stretch to Zoe? Have I slipped up and am I about to lose Mhàiri’s trust?

  ‘You having a hard time?’ I asked, but she didn’t reply, instead grabbing a dish cloth and furiously polishing an already clean surface. I now knew she wasn’t going to tell me what was on the tip of her tongue.

  I tried changing the topic. ‘It’s a pretty spectacular house this.’

  ‘Needs a fair bit of work doing to it but I’m awfully fond of the place.’ Mhàiri leant against the sink. I had her full attention again. ‘How are yous students doing?’

  ‘They’re a good group and worked hard today.’

  ‘That wee lad wee the spiky hair, he’s a one. Likes me flapjacks so he does. Coming in here filling his pockets, you’d think he was feeding a horse upstairs. And whit’s the upright gentleman called?’

  ‘Rupert.’

  ‘Well, he’s fair got manners. He pokes his head round that swinging door at every opportunity to thank me.’

  ‘How kind.’

  ‘Aye. It’s interesting the folk this week. We ain’t had such a varied group afore.’

  ‘What other groups have you had?’

  ‘Ta be honest wee yous, we’ve only had day courses afore. Garden open and what’s not. Chatty posh ladies who dinee pay the likes a me or yous any attention.’

  ‘I guess you see it all.’

  ‘I fair do, Susie, nowt passes me by. That woman wee the cardigan wee gold buttons?’

  ‘Jane?’ I said. I was looking forward to a bit of gossip.

  ‘Aye, that Jane. I swear she came here wee her folks when she were a bairn.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Unless it’s her mammy reincarnated that’s definitely the daughter of a woman who used to stay.’

  Jane is one of many indistinguishable ladies in the English county set. A type. A woman with a lapsed figure, a short fuse, a bossy manner, a string of pearls and a tendency to visit a supermarket in her Schoffel. Take her off her home turf, deposit her at Auchen Laggan Tosh and Mhàiri instantly recognises her as the daughter of someone who’d stayed many years before.

  ‘She hasn’t said she’s been here before?’

  ‘She’ll have forgotten, she were teeny weeny when they used to come. But I dinee forget, and that’s her mammy’s face for sure.’

  ‘We could ask Fergus. He’d know.’

  ‘Na, Fergus would nee remember, he was nee born.’

  Now I was confused. If Mhàiri is right then I have my ages all wrong. Mhàiri must be in her seventies; she looks great for her age and I’d have to knock a few years off Jane and put her at about fifty.

  ‘Hey,’ I said swapping our subject, ‘has Louis Bouchon been here before?’

  ‘The foreign one?’

  ‘He’s half English,’ I said, instantly sticking up for him.

  ‘Aye, but wee a name like that he’s gotta be a foreigner.’

  I laughed. ‘Has he stayed here before?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Visited?’

  ‘I canee remember. Over the years there have been a lot of people through this house.’

  Ah ha, I’d got her. How could she remember Jane’s mother from forty-plus years ago if she couldn’t remember a foreigner in the last seven?

  ‘Well, thanks again for the tyre and for all this delicious food.’

  ‘Oh hen, yous dinee need to thank me.’ Mhàiri touched my arm. ‘But while you’re here would yous mind giving me a wee hand and takin’ these plates to the Belling?’

  ‘Not at all, here.’

  ‘You’ll need a dish cloth, they’re awfully warm.’

  ‘It’s okay, my hands can cope.’

  ‘Surely not. Oh my. Look at that. Yous have a magic talent there.’

  I stretched out a foot to push
open the swing door and stepped carefully into the dining room.

  ‘Whoa, Susie. You gave me a fright.’ Ewen almost dropped the empty jug in his hand. A slight overreaction I’d say.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I’m just going to put these in there.’

  Ewen slid back the door of the Belling and I placed them in. Then swinging the jug in his left hand, he told me he’d been on filling-up-the-water-glasses duty.

  I giggled at the childishness of it and looked at my feet. There was a packet of pills on the floor. ‘Piriton, how odd.’ They were now in my hand. ‘It’s not really hayfever time of year.’

  ‘They’ll be Zoe’s I bet.’ He snatched them off me. ‘I’ll make sure they go back to the right place.’

  ‘What if they belong to one of the students?’

  ‘Nah, they would’ve said.’

  Haggis came racing into the dining room, ragging around shaking his wet coat. Fergus was close behind him with a large torch in his hand. ‘Here you two are,’ he said. ‘Ewen? Were you snooping at what’s for dinner?’

  ‘He was filling the water glasses,’ I said, laughing under my breath.

  ‘Really?’ said Fergus, raising his eyebrows, and Ewen’s matching ones rose in return. ‘A house full of people to impress?’

  ‘Quite right,’ nodded Ewen.

  ‘Susie,’ said Fergus, ‘I’m about to start a tour of the pictures. Everyone’s gathered in the snug.’

  ‘Marvellous,’ said Ewen.

  ‘It’s not compulsory,’ insinuated Fergus. ‘Perhaps you’d like to re-park your van instead?’

  ‘Ha, ha, very funny. Far too cold and wet to move it away from the steps and there’s no chance I’m missing your tour.’

  Ewen shadowed us both as we went to the library.

  ‘For those of you who haven’t met,’ said Zoe, ‘this is Fergus’s brother, Ewen.’

  ‘You don’t say,’ said Shane.

  ‘Absolutely bloody identical,’ shouted Lianne as both Ewen and Fergus shrugged their right shoulders.

  ‘Fergus,’ said Rupert, ‘is that a Cotman to the left of the door?’

  ‘That’s not Cotman,’ said Minty. ‘It’s too misty for one of his watercolours.’

  ‘It’s a nineteenth-century copy of an early Turner street scene.’

  ‘In Margate,’ added Zoe.

  ‘Has anyone seen that film with Timothy Spall?’ said Jane.

  ‘Yes,’ grinned Ewen. ‘Got the measure of Turner spot on; very good painter, very dull man.’

  Felicity giggled.

  ‘Our picture collection is limited, but in good condition,’ began Fergus. ‘If there’s something our father cared for it was paintings. He had a sort of eternal affection for the past and the Muchton collection tells a story. I’m going to take you round a selection and hopefully you’ll make sense of this.’

  Fergus crossed the room to the Victorian writing bureau, looked up at a trompe-l’oeil still life of a letter rack above it and turned on the torch.

  ‘That makes a huge difference,’ said Rupert. ‘I can see every detail of the painting now. What a clever idea of yours.’

  ‘Daddy always takes a torch when he goes to an auction,’ said Minty.

  ‘And mine,’ said Giles.

  Jane had a pair of spectacles on a string round her neck and as she forced them into an indent on the bridge of her nose, she held her face up to the painting and proclaimed, ‘1662.’

  ‘Jesus it’s old,’ said Shane. ‘And when did you take up wearing glasses?’

  She prodded his shoulder. ‘Some of us have to for reading.’

  ‘Righto,’ said Fergus, ‘I don’t want to spend too much time on this painting. It was bought by the 1st Earl and I only wanted to draw your attention to the overlapping playing cards in the bottom right. They allude to contemporary political issues at the time. Scotland with its lion and England with three lions…’

  ‘That’s because we’re three times mightier,’ Giles interrupted.

  ‘Do you go to Eton?’ said Ewen.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Who’s it by?’ said Minty. ‘I rather like it.’

  ‘Thomas Warrender.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of him before?’

  ‘He was mainly a decorative painter. This is one of very few oil paintings by him.’

  ‘Perfect place for it near your desk,’ said Rupert.

  ‘Isn’t it,’ exclaimed Felicity having only just twigged.

  Fergus turned off the torch and as he led us out of the room behind the staircase, Ewen took it upon himself to set Giles straight. ‘King James VI of Scotland unified the Scottish and English crowns in 1603. This is what the playing cards symbolise. Scotland was far mightier…and in charge.’

  ‘Angel,’ called Zoe from the back of the group, ‘I’m going to leave you to it if that’s okay.’

  ‘Of course, you’ve heard it all before.’

  Ewen caught my eye as he pulled the packet of Piriton out of his pocket and handed it to Zoe. Her brow ruffled, he whispered something in her ear and she slipped them into her pocket with a glance towards her husband. Ewen nodded at me. I smiled, he’d been right.

  The torch was back on and Fergus drew our attention to a painting in the most elaborate gold-leaf frame. ‘This scene painted by Allan Ramsay is of George III’s coronation in 1761.’

  ‘The original?’ said Rupert.

  Louis sneered at Ewen.

  ‘It’s one of many replicas. A very important marker for our family, as it was their loyalty to the King during the Jacobite Rebellion as well as their modest contribution to the cost of George III’s coronation that bestowed an Earldom on them.’

  ‘So, your family didn’t support the Jacobites?’ said Louis, with a huff.

  ‘No offence,’ said Ewen, tapping his friend on the shoulder. ‘We were followers of John Knox, we’re Presbyterians, so the Jacobites didn’t hold any draw for us.’

  ‘Did you buy your title then?’ said Lianne.

  Fergus launched into a lengthy reply. ‘Our family were on the up, the Highland Clearances had gained momentum and, I’m not proud to say, the Muchtons moved away from loyalty and honour to profit, turning their back on the people who worked the land. Thanks to the union of the Kingdoms of Scotland and England in 1707 and the booming trade with the colonies they were well placed to capitalise on the sale of wool from their ever-expanding flock.’ The effortless spiel was rolling off Fergus’s tongue. ‘The farm was making good money and a title raised their profile in society. Being aesthetes…’

  ‘Eestheet?’ said Shane, much to the amusement of Minty.

  ‘Someone who appreciates beauty,’ explained Jane.

  Fergus continued: ‘Contributing to the coronation, securing themselves a title, casting off old ties and embracing the new life as part of the aristocracy was an effective way for our ancestors to gain access to the best art and architecture.’

  ‘Social climbing,’ said Ewen, ‘is what you’d call it nowadays.’

  Giles grunted.

  ‘I don’t understand?’ said Lianne.

  ‘Having a title,’ said Jane, ‘brought the Muchtons friends in high places and all these friends would have spent money furnishing their houses with fine art.’

  ‘But you don’t have to have a title to have good art,’ said Giles, I presume defending his own untitled although privileged family.

  ‘We’re talking about the eighteenth century,’ said Fergus. ‘In the midst of the Scottish Enlightenment, the best art collections belonged to those who could afford it, the rich aristocracy.’

  ‘Did you get this house with your title then?’ said Lianne.

  ‘In a roundabout way.’

  ‘For free?’

  ‘No.’ Fergus was amused. ‘The 1st Earl built it.’

  ‘It’s an Adam house,’ said Jane, ‘it was explained in the starter pack for the course.’

 
Fergus clapped his hands. ‘We’re going to run out of time for more paintings. I’ll tell you about the house another day.’ He flung open the door to the larger drawing room and his tummy gave an audible rumble. ‘Above the mantelpiece is a portrait of the 1st Earl’s brown-eyed wife Ruth painted by Ramsay in 1764.’

  ‘Gaw, she’s beautiful,’ said Giles.

  ‘Ramsay was an eminent painter at the time, which is why I wanted to point it out, but we must continue. You can come back and study this another time.’

  We were chivvied out and into the billiards room.

  ‘Are you all familiar with the concept of the Grand Tour?’

  ‘Rounding off the education for sons of the aristocracy,’ said Giles, proudly.

  ‘Exactly. Young men were sent to the Continent to…’

  ‘Sow their wild oats,’ Ewen interrupted.

  Giles sniggered.

  ‘More importantly,’ said Fergus, ‘to see first-hand the great paintings of famous artists such as Raphael and Titian, the cities of the Renaissance and the remains of classical civilisations.’ He gave a great sweep with his right arm. ‘All the watercolours hanging around this room were painted by the 2nd Earl under the tutorship of Gavin Hamilton.’

  ‘That’s the interior of the Pantheon, ain’t it,’ said Lianne pointing at one.

  ‘Yes,’ said Minty, ‘and look, here’s the temple of Athene – I love the Greeks.’

  ‘How do you know all about the Greeks?’ said Shane.

  ‘We had an art history trip there last year.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Giles.

  ‘What? Your school paid for that?’

  ‘No, Mummy and Daddy did.’

  ‘Fergus, did you say these were painted by your relation?’ I asked and he nodded.

  ‘So, are there still artists in your family?’

  ‘I’m an artist,’ blurted Ewen and I suddenly realised why Zoe had warned me he might want to join the course. Rupert, thank you Rupert, diverted our attention.

  ‘I like that painting.’ He was pointing towards a magnificent full-length portrait of a young man wearing the most beautiful blue silk and standing in front of a classical landscape.

  ‘That’s the 2nd Earl, painted by Pompeo Batoni.’ Fergus shone the torch at the horizon highlighting the towers of the Vatican in the distance.