‘Anton, can you fly Charlie’s plane?’ Lachlan’s greeting was imperative and Anton smiled ruefully.
‘I would be lying if I said I was completely at home in her, I’ve only taken the controls once or twice – also I do not have a current pilot’s licence which makes this a bit complicated.’
There was a short silence in which everybody looked deflated. Babbie glanced at her husband. On the journey to the cottage he had expressed his doubts over the venture, yet she knew he wouldn’t have put in an appearance unless . . . The determined jut of his jaw which she knew so well expelled her remaining fears.
‘Of course I will fly the plane. It’s an emergency after all and no one is likely to ask to see my licence on a windswept tidal runway such as they have on Barra.’ He turned to Ruth. ‘Will you trust me to deliver you safely, liebling?’
A smile lit her pale face. ‘Ay, Anton, I couldny ask for a nicer pilot.’
‘Then it is settled. We will get you into the back of your father’s old van. Bumpy I know, but at least you can stretch out. You will have to take it very easy, Lorn.’
‘Babbie will have to go in the plane with her,’ said Lachlan. ‘I don’t know if there will be room for you, Lorn.’
Lorn’s disappointment showed in his eyes. He swallowed hard and didn’t look at Ruth. Instead he rushed away to put pillows and blankets in the van, glad of the chance to do something useful.
The laird and his inebriated friend were waiting on the stretch of machair which began at the Burnbreddie boundary and ended up at the cliffs beyond Nigg. It was a belt of sweet green turf, stretching acre upon acre inland of the marram grass of the sandy shores. In summer, before the cattle were allowed to graze it, the green became covered in heartsease, clover, and great balls of bird’s foot trefoil, so that the whole effect was like a giant counterpane of sweet wildflowers over the land. Over by a grove of silver birch was parked a small, shining plane with a red flash on either side. When Anton saw it his face registered dismay and the watchful Lachlan wondered if there would be another unforeseen delay. Lorn had driven the van over the machair to draw up near the plane, followed closely by Babbie in the little Mini. She too had noted the look on her husband’s face and her green eyes were filled with apprehension as she got out of the car to follow his tall sturdy figure.
‘Burnbreddie – Charlie,’ Anton greeted them in some abstraction. ‘You have been up to your tricks again, Charlie,’ he scolded the moon-faced, glazed-eyed big man who was twirling his handlebar moustaches in some enjoyment, not the least perturbed by the severity in the younger man’s voice. ‘She isn’t the same plane I went up in the last time you were here.’
Charlie staggered and treated Anton to what the islanders would have described as ‘a glaikit grin’.
‘A beauty, isn’t she, old chap?’ Charlie eyed his new plaything with dazed fondness. ‘Felt like a change so I got rid of the Piper – couldn’t resist my silver beauty from the minute I clapped eyes on her.’
Anton went over to the Beagle and an exclamation escaped him. ‘Gott in Himmel! She is just like the Storch I did my training in. Single engine – unlike the Piper with its twin . . .’
Charlie gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder blades. ‘In that case you will have no trouble flying her. I’ll give you the lowdown before you set off – show you how the radio works—’
‘It wasn’t yesterday I flew the Storch,’ Anton reminded the inebriated Charlie grimly. ‘My main memories are of the Heinkel – no comparison to the likes of this.’
Lachlan was beginning to stamp impatiently, a sign Babbie knew well. It meant anxiety was getting the better of him and he wanted action – fast. She took her husband by the arm and said in an aside, ‘Anton, Ruth is getting worse. We must get her to hospital right away.’
Anton squared his shoulders. ‘Hush, liebling, I’m just playing for a bit of time.’ He raised his voice. ‘Right, Charlie, let’s get into the cockpit so that you can show me what’s what. There is no time to be wasted.’
With some difficulty Charlie wriggled in beside Anton. They were enclosed for some minutes, but at last Charlie slithered out and Anton called, ‘Right, everyone, action stations!’ Charlie looked back over his shoulder. ‘You will take care of her, old chap?’
Anton’s blue eyes twinkled. ‘The patient or the plane?’
Charlie grinned appreciatively. ‘Both – give as much to one as you give to the other and I will personally present you with a flask of my best malt when you get back.’
The laird climbed up beside Anton. ‘I took the liberty of phoning the airstrip at Barra and explained to them the pilot would be unfamiliar with this type of plane. They’re clearing the runway in readiness.’
Anton nodded his appreciation while his keen gaze swept over the instrument panel.
‘Wind direction – did you get that, Burnbreddie?’
The pair went into a huddle. ‘Sorry about old Charlie.’ The laird’s thin face with its aquiline nose and slightly receding chin, took on a fatherly look as he gazed out at his friend who was engaged in a loud, but earnest conversation with Lachlan. ‘He’s a good chap really – didn’t bat an eye at the idea of letting someone else fly his new baby – he must have a lot of faith in you, old boy.’
Anton was anxious to be off. Lachlan was organizing Ruth’s transfer from the van to the plane. The minister went forward to help, but Lorn had already swung her gently into his strong arms. She clung to him, feeling unreal and afraid now that the time for parting had come. ‘I wish you were coming with me, Lorn.’ She couldn’t keep a tear from her eye or a wobble from her voice.
Bending his dark head he kissed her eyelids. ‘Weesht, weesht, my babby,’ he murmured soothingly, fighting down the lump that had arisen in his throat. ‘There’s only room for three, but I’ll phone the hospital every chance I get and I’ll be over to see you on the next boat.’
She gripped his arm. ‘Rachel’s been wonderful, hasn’t she? She seemed only too pleased to take the responsibility of looking after Lorna and Douglas.’
‘Ay, she’s got a good heart under that glamorous surface. The wee ones like her.’
‘Do you – do you still love me, Lorn?’
The question caught him unawares. He stopped in his tracks to gaze down at her. She looked exactly like a little girl with her flaxen hair tumbling over the pink blanket which enclosed her. ‘Still love you? I’ve always loved you and always will. God, Ruthie, don’t you know how much I’m going to miss coorieing into you in bed tonight? I never dreamed anything like this was going to happen . . .’
‘Come on, Lorn, for God’s sake!’ Lachlan was waiting impatiently by the plane. ‘Get her over here quickly.’
Between them the men soon had Ruth settled across the two back seats, tucking blankets round her to make her as comfortable as possible. Anton climbed back into the pilot’s seat, the engine roared, revved. Babbie got in beside her husband, her red hair gleaming in a ray of sunshine. Twisting round she made a last check of her patient before take-off, her warm, reassuring smile flashed across her freckled face, comforting Ruth, making her feel a deep appreciation for the capable beings who surrounded her. Lorn’s hand was in hers. He smiled, a boyish, crooked smile. She smiled but winced as a vice-like pain gripped her innards. Anton revved the engine again, Lachlan shouted something Ruth couldn’t hear. Slowly Lorn withdrew his hand, reluctantly letting go of her slender fingers. ‘I love you, Ruthie.’ His lilting voice had never sounded clearer, sweeter. The music of it beat into her swiftly beating heart. He began to back away, his smile faltering a little.
Lachlan’s face hovered in the door aperture before it was blotted out by Lorn’s hard-muscled frame. He gave her one last, lingering look, then he was gone. The door shut, panic invaded her. She struggled to raise her head. Anton was taxi-ing, swinging the Beagle round. They passed the men in the field. Each face was just a blur, each one the same as the other. The aircraft gathered speed. Babbie turned again smiling r
eassurance, the plane lifted, gained height. Anton had made a perfect take-off, but even so Ruth’s stomach lurched sickeningly. She wanted only to lie back, to allow things to come as they would, but she had to have one last glimpse of Lorn. Pulling herself up on her elbow she looked down. Anton was circling, bringing the Beagle round so that her nose was pointing south-east. Five figures dotted the machair below. Ruth bit her lip. It was impossible to tell which one was Lorn. One of the figures broke away, began to run, a tiny white blob of a face was turned skywards. Ruth’s heart lifted. That was Lorn down there, looking up, watching the plane flying away. She raised her hand and waved though she knew he couldn’t possibly see it.
‘Are you all right, Ruth?’ Babbie spoke from the front.
Ruth tried to keep her voice steady. ‘Ay, Babbie, I’m fine.’
Lorn was running, like a young buck, as if trying to keep up with the plane. Anton took her higher. The figure below was now a tiny dot. It halted abruptly and she knew he would be standing alone on the machair watching the Beagle growing smaller in the sky.
She watched Rhanna slipping away. The fields and moors were a green and brown patchwork, the blue-green fringes of the sea lapped the miles of dazzling white sand. Ruth stared and stared at the scene, hardly able to believe that just as recently as that very morning she had sat with Lorn on those selfsame sands, had laughed with him as they watched the antics of the children. Love for her son and daughter swamped her heart. They would have wakened by now, would be wondering where she was, what had happened to her. Lying back on her pillows she turned her head to the side and hoped and prayed that Rachel would manage them, would be patient with them, especially Douglas who was such a baby still. She started, remembering that she hadn’t told Rachel what to give them for tea – her brow creased – had there been anything in the house for the evening meal? She relaxed. Lorn had told her that Shona had said she would bring something over that first night till Rachel got the hang of things.
‘Oh, Shona,’ Ruth thought, ‘you’re so good, you always seem to be there when you’re needed, maybe someday I’ll be able to pay you back for all you’ve ever done for me.’ She propped herself up again and gazed below. The sea heaved, blue, endless, studded with tiny green islands that looked like emeralds scattered at random over the vast reaches of the Atlantic. Mostly they were deserted, inhabited only by sheep – Ruth turned her head – Rhanna had disappeared – swallowed up by the misted distance of sea and sky. She looked to where she knew it to be till her eyes grew hot and sore. She lay down again. Anton and Babbie were talking softly in the front – yet even so Ruth felt alone and somehow – desolate.
Lorn watched the black speck of the Beagle till it grew fainter and fainter and finally disappeared over the sea. Taking his hand away from his eyes he was surprised to find that he was trembling. He stood alone on the machair, trying to steady himself. Everything had happened so quickly he hadn’t yet taken in the full import of events. The wind blew his hair, tossing it over his brow, the sweet perfume of blown wildflowers sifted into his senses; the lapwings called; from somewhere in the tumbled sky a stonechat was pouring out its beautiful song. Lorn heard and saw it all, but didn’t take any of it in. To him it seemed impossible that Ruth was gone from the island when they had so recently shared the beauty of it. The thought struck him that this was the first time in their marriage they had been separated. It made him feel terribly alone and brought it home to him how much he depended on her for companionship – how much perhaps he took her for granted.
The other men were dispersing, the laird leading the unsteady Charlie over to his Land-Rover, Lachlan and Mark James walking to Lachlan’s ancient old Austin with its peculiar air of ageless dignity. Lorn started to wander towards Dugald’s old van feeling unreasonably deserted, but he had got no more than halfway when Lachlan drew up alongside him. His tranquil brown eyes searched Lorn’s face.
‘She’ll be fine, lad. We’ll hear from Babbie the minute she gets back and you can phone the hospital tonight.’
Lorn nodded. ‘Ay, I’ll do that.’
Mark James looked past Lachlan. ‘If you don’t mind, Lorn, I’ll come with you when you go over to Glasgow to see Ruth. I have some business to see to and I could pop into the hospital with you.’
Lorn felt immensely cheered. The undemanding company of the minister made the trip to Glasgow sound bearable, for it had been a long time since he had visited the city and he was never at ease in the hustle and bustle of such busy places. He began to move away. ‘I’d better go and let my folks know what’s happening – though I haveny a doubt Shona’s already done that for me. I’ll have to stay with them until Ruth comes home. I can’t stay under my own roof alone with Rachel,’ he added with a wry smile. ‘The cailleachs will have me on a second wife before you can blink an eye.’
That evening he walked over the fields to Fàilte to collect some of his things. He would have made do with what he was wearing and with what Fergus could lend him, but Kirsteen had caught him mooning about the house, and told him he ought to go and let Rachel know the news about Ruth and to find out how she was coping with the children. He hadn’t dared voice a protest, knowing how suspicious it would seem, so he went unwillingly to Fàilte, his hands dug deep into his pockets, his head bent low. It was a soft, gentle evening, the sky to the west was a sheet of flame with the black velvet of the hills silhouetted like sturdy sentinels; the liquid song of the linnet rang sweetly over the hushed fields, the music of it contrasting with the grating of the corncrakes among the flags at the edges of the meadows. Lorn breathed deeply of the clean perfumed air. He felt better than he did that afternoon. He had phoned the hospital and the news about Ruth was good, she had come through the operation well and was resting comfortably. He knew of course that she might feel less than well when she wakened from the anaesthetic but Lachlan had assured him that an appendectomy was a routine enough operation and that she would soon be feeling fit enough to be up and about.
Cresting a rise he saw the chimneys of the cottage nestling beneath the knoll. Smoke was spiralling lazily from them. The hens were preparing to retire for the night and were crooning to one another as they made their unhurried way homeward, pausing occasionally to snatch at the insects in the undergrowth. Ben was lying at the back door, his nose in his paws, one eye open, the feathers of his tail beginning to fan the ground as he sniffed his master’s scent; the cats were stalking mice in the long grasses, their tails waving as they pounced.
It was as it had always been, a picturesque scene of calm domesticity and for a moment Lorn was annoyed that it should be so, as if it didn’t matter whether he and Ruth lived there or not. Even the washing on the line was pegged out neatly, the way Ruthie did it, yet it hadn’t been there when she was taken ill – and the blue satin scraps of underwear certainly weren’t Ruth’s; she would never have been bold enough to purchase anything so – sensual. Quickly he switched his gaze, concentrating on the rising, stretching form of Ben by the door. The old dog trotted unhurriedly to meet him, quickening his pace as his master drew nearer and he could bury his greying muzzle in the outstretched caressing hand. After a short hesitation, Lorn went decisively indoors, bracing himself for any eventuality. The kitchen was clean and peaceful with a bright fire burning in the grate. It was obvious that Rachel had bathed the children. A tubful of soapy water reposed by the fire; a bottle of bath oil stood on the hearth, together with talcum powder and a hairbrush. On the couch where Ruth had so recently lain, the blankets had been neatly folded and were stacked at one end. The silence in the house bordered on the oppressive, then, from along the hall, he heard Lorna’s sleepy murmur of goodnight. A door closed softly, footsteps came across the passage. His first instinct was to turn and go but his feet were frozen into immobility.
Rachel appeared in the dark oblong of the door. He saw instantly that it was she who had used the tub – she was wearing a pure white bathrobe tied lightly at the waist. Her tanned skin glowed against it; her hair was da
mp and looked as if it had just been towelled; jet-black tendrils clung to her brow, caressed her ears, hung loosely about the white collar of the robe. Unable to help himself he stared at her. The realization struck him – he could easily have walked in whilst she was having her bath – anybody could have walked in.
Anger seized him. What was she trying to do to him? Had she perhaps hoped that he would catch her out in a compromising situation? His rage subsided as quickly as it had come. Of course she hadn’t known he was coming. He had left the visit late enough – she probably hadn’t expected anyone at this time of night. With everyone out of the house, the children in bed, she had seized the chance to bathe – privacy wasn’t such a common commodity in the house – and he remembered that he hadn’t offered once to remove himself from the kitchen in order that she could bathe before the fire . . . it was different with Ruthie and the children, but hardly the same for Rachel. He saw by the look in her eyes that she was startled at the sight of him and knew his surmise had been correct.
She came further into the room and in clipped tones he told her the news about Ruth. He knew that his only defence lay in a cool front, but he hadn’t meant to sound quite so cold. She was looking directly at him, mutely willing him to meet her eyes and he was reminded that the only way for her to be able to communicate was by a direct approach. Unwillingly he faced her, saw her hands signalling her gladness that everything was going to be all right for Ruth. She frowned slightly. She had had her hands full that day and was in no mood to cope with his sullenness. Douglas had managed to get into every sort of mischief and though Lorna had been co-operative, she had constantly asked when her mother was coming home. The arrival of Shona with a basket of foodstuffs had made things easier. Once the children had been pacified with fruit and buttered scones they had settled down better. Lorna loved her aunt and chattered happily while Douglas tired himself out playing with Ellie and the puppy on the drying green outside.
Song of Rhanna (The Rhanna series) Page 16