She paused, and he obliged with an alternative.
“I think I understand. Rhona did mention about your aunt being ... difficult. Could I meet you somewhere quiet where we could have a bite of supper?”
“It’s such glorious weather,” Christine pointed out. “We could walk through the park and perhaps get a coffee there. Do you know your way out to Rouken Glen?”
“I went there once as a small boy to sail my model yacht!” he laughed, “but I can find my way. Where will you meet me?”
“I’ll wait at Eastwood Toll.”
Christine was conscious of her aunt hovering in the background, passing between the dining room and kitchen on various little errands she would not normally have made.
“I hope you haven’t invited anyone to supper without asking me,” Flora remarked tentatively when she entered the dining room.
“I haven’t,” Christine assured her. “But I have promised to go out. You don’t mind, do you? I’ll be out for supper, but I promise not to be too late getting back.”
“You know I like the door closed by eleven, but with Douglas rushing off to the coast the way he has being doing lately,” Flora fretted, “one doesn’t seem to have much say in the matter.”
“I do promise to be back before eleven,” Christine assured her, “and Doug won’t be so very late if he went straight from work. I hope you won’t feel lonely,” she added on a sudden impulse, aware that her aunt was very often alone these days.
“I can keep myself employed,” Flora assured her, “and that is a certain cure for loneliness. I don’t suppose I should expect you to worry about me, Christine, when my own family so obviously doesn’t.”
Christine bit her lip, wondering what she could possibly say to such an unfair accusation, and came to the conclusion that it was perhaps best unanswered altogether. She slipped into her coat and tied a bright kerchief around her hair.
Soon she was walking briskly toward the Toll, with Flora and her unpredictable ways forgotten as her thoughts sped to her coming meeting with Nigel Kilbridge, who would bring her news of Kinaird.
In her heart she knew that it was not only her family she wanted to hear about, but Huntley Treverson. She wanted Nigel to tell her that Huntley had settled down at Kinaird and was already breaking through the barrier of reserve the villagers had erected between themselves and the stranger; she wanted to be told that the force of his strong personality had won Kinaird’s liking in spite of a bad start; and, above all, she wanted to hear that he had gone to Kinaird to stay.
She found herself hurrying, her feet eager to cover the distance to this unexpected rendezvous that she could not even have dreamed about an hour ago. She was at the crossroad ten minutes before Nigel jumped lightly off a bus and came swiftly toward her.
Her flushed cheeks and bright, sparkling eyes brought a good deal of the old vitality to her smiling face as she greeted him, so that he told her she had not changed a bit and that Glasgow did not seem to be doing her any harm. It was in the nature of an opening to a conversation that he had planned on the long train journey south, and he was still unsure of what he was going to say next.
“This is a nice section of Glasgow,” she told him. “One shouldn’t look pale and city stained when one lives on the edge of the moors!”
“Are they compensating for Lochaber, then?” he asked with some surprise, saw the sudden pain in her eyes and knew the truth without waiting for her answer. “Nothing ever will, will it, Chris?” he added softly. “Your heart’s there and that’s why you will have to go home.”
She took his arm, leading him along the road toward the park. “It will be so much more worth while for having waited.”
They turned in among the trees and he said slowly, “But if there is no need to wait any longer, Christine?”
She felt her heart turn over and then throb on painfully, realizing that he knew. Somehow he had guessed the truth. Somehow he had stumbled up against the fact that she had gone away because of him and now he had left and all her planning and sacrifice had been in vain. She thought of Rhona and felt heavy with disappointment and pity.
“Where are you going?” she asked, unable to pretend that she did not understand his meaning.
“To Edinburgh. There’s a post-graduate course in surgery that I have always wanted to take and your father has agreed that now is as good a time as any. He’s got a locum in, but he will need you too, Chris—now more than ever, I think.”
She was trying to grasp all he was telling her, to sort out the surge of events in her mind so that she could think clearly again.
“Nigel, is this the right way?” she asked appealingly at last. “Is it the only way?”
“I think so. It’s the only fair way to Rhona.”
“Yes, I see that now.” She knew that he liked Rhona, that he had always respected and loved her sister in a brotherly way, and though for the present he could not admit to any deeper feeling, the very fact that he wanted to go away for a time seemed to suggest hope. He must forget me, she thought, and now I see that he would never have been able to do that while he remained at Kinaird.
“It must be a question of adjustment, Chris,” he told her quite candidly. “I know you haven’t changed, I know I never even had a chance with you and I’ve been a blind, stubborn fool all these months to remain at Kinaird and not see what I was doing to you.”
There was just one thing she wanted to know. “Was it Iona who suggested this to you?” she asked.
“I’m not sure.” He hesitated. “We’ve talked a lot, and come to know one another very well, but Iona is too gentle to accuse me of spoiling anyone’s life. No, perhaps it wasn’t Iona altogether, though knowing what she thinks of you may have helped.” He stopped in his tracks, running a perplexed hand through his thick hair. “I’m hopelessly confused, I guess, and that’s the main reason why I must get completely away.”
“Yes, I see that,” she nodded, “but I think one day you will go back.”
“And, in the meantime, you’ll be there?”
“I can’t think,” she confessed. “I must have time to think.”
“You’ve been sure for months that you could never be happy away from Kinaird,” Nigel said firmly, master of the situation now in face of her uncertainty. “Why are you hesitating, Chris? It’s not like you.”
“I’ve never been so unsure about what I should do in all my life before,” she admitted unsteadily. “I wish there was some sign. Is it complete weakness, Nigel, avoiding an issue and hoping that you will be shown a way?”
“I don’t think you’re avoiding anything here,” he returned decisively. “It seems to me that you are concerning yourself far too much with other people’s affairs when you should be doing something about your own.”
“I’ve thought about myself quite a lot, too—more than you imagine.” She drew a deep breath. “But—there’s my aunt. I couldn’t just walk out on her at a day’s notice ... not just at the moment. I almost believe she needs me at present.”
He frowned impatiently.
“You have to go back to Kinaird,” he said. “So many people need you there, too.”
Her eyes were suddenly vitally alive. Was he trying to tell her that, apart from her own family and perhaps Iona, someone else needed her? Was he trying to say that her presence in Lochaber was necessary to Huntley, too?
“I do want to go back, Nigel,” she confessed, her voice quivering over the admission. “Even if nobody needed me there I need Lochaber. I’ve only been half-alive these past few months, living my life in a sort of vacuum.” They had walked down the river and the water falling gently over the stones filled the silence as they stood looking down at it. “Is ... everything the same at home?” she asked with a tremendous effort at last. “No changes?”
“None that I know of, except that Treverson seems to be stirring up strife for himself at the quarries.” He could not quite control the harsh note in his voice prompted by the little fiend of jealousy he
had yet to drive out of his secret heart. “He has all old Ben’s ways, apparently, and they are working the old face again.” Christine flushed scarlet.
“But surely they know that it’s dangerous?” she protested. “Surely Huntley must realize that it is worked out?” And then, almost angrily, “Old Ben knows it! He’s known it for years, but he’s so stubborn he’ll persist in his own way until there’s trouble.”
“I’ve heard it said that Ben Treverson isn’t giving the orders at the quarry any more,” Nigel returned, “but I wouldn’t really know.” And then, ashamed of the jealousy which had prompted the ungenerous remark and the smallness of his criticism, he added swiftly, “But there’s no point in judging a man before he’s proved himself. Young Treverson has some new ideas that he would probably work out quite successfully but for the old man.”
“And probably the village knows nothing about them,” Christine said bitterly. “Huntley will continue to be judged by what his pig-headed old uncle doesn’t do!”
“The stubborn streak seems to run in the family!” Nigel tried to laugh the Treversons aside. “Huntley’s as determined as they make ‘em, I should think, but,” he added, torturing himself more, “you’ll be able to sort all that out for yourself once you get there.”
“I haven’t made up my mind to go.”
He turned impatiently, taking her by the shoulders and forcing her to meet his eyes.
“Do you owe more to your aunt than you do to your own family?”
“Oh, no! But it feels rather like deserting ship—”
“Nonsense. Your aunt will soon find other interests, and surely Douglas can look after himself?”
“Quite definitely!” She smiled at the memory of Douglas as he had made ready to go to Largs. “No, I don’t suppose I need worry about Doug!”
“Then go home. Promise me you will do that!”
“All right, I promise.” Unimaginable relief surged through her as she made the decision. “Nigel, I can’t thank you enough.”
“Don’t try.” He was looking down at her, still holding her and forcing a smile. “Just be happy, Chris.”
Deliberately he bent and pressed his lips against hers, not excusing the action.
“I’ll write to your father,” he said when he had released her. “He’s always wanted to take this course himself, but never had the time. If I can make some sort of showing and take my extra degree, I’ll be repaying him in a way for all he has done for me since I went to Kinaird.”
“He has always been very fond of you, Nigel,” she told him huskily. “He ... won’t want to lose you altogether.”
“I don t want to lose touch.” He was not looking at her now because he could not promise to go back to Kinaird with all its bittersweet memories even at the end of a six-months’ course. “I’ll write,” he repeated, “and ... the locum is a decent sort of chap. Your father will get used to him in time.”
Christine found herself at a complete loss for words, and they walked on beside the river in silence until it was time to retrace their footsteps.
“Will you come in and meet my aunt?” Christine asked when they reached Merrivale. “She would have asked you over the telephone, probably, if you had told her who you were.”
“It was a daft sort of thing to do,” he acknowledged, “but I did want to surprise you. I suppose you guessed, though, when you heard it was someone from Kinaird?”
She could not tell him that it had been Huntley’s name which had leapt instantly to her mind when her aunt had mentioned Kinaird; she could not hurt him in that way because she knew that he was still in love with her and that he guessed her heart had been given to Huntley long ago.
“The very word ‘Kinaird’ is enough to scatter all my thoughts so that I can’t think at all!” she smiled. “But it has been grand seeing you, Nigel, and I know everything is going to come right for you in Edinburgh. We’ll be hearing of you doing so well in the future that you won’t even have time to remember Kinaird,” she added wistfully.
“I’ll always remember,” he answered not quite steadily. “Always! One doesn’t forget kindness and companionship—and love,” he added deliberately.
Her heart contracted with pity and understanding as she held out her hand to wish him goodbye.
“We don’t want you to forget, Nigel,” she said. “Goodbye, my dear and ... good luck.”
“Goodbye, Chris!” He held her hand for a minute longer, looking at her as if to imprison that vision of her in his mind forever, and then he repeated softly: “Goodbye, my dear.”
With tears in her eyes, Christine went into the house conscious that one cannot inflict a hurt on another soul, however unwillingly, without sustaining some of that hurt oneself. She stood in the darkened hall for a minute to calm her perturbed thoughts before she took off her scarf and coat and went in to her aunt.
The murmur of voices pierced her mind as she hung up her coat, but she was not quite prepared for the scene that met her eyes when she opened the dining room door. It was normal enough in so much as Douglas sat at the table over a belated meal, which he appeared to be enjoying immensely, but what struck Christine as strange was the complete change in his mother’s demeanor. The drooping, injured woman who had been the Flora Lamington of two brief hours ago had undergone a complete metamorphosis and in her place sat an animated creature who bore absolutely no resemblance to the woman whose children had so bitterly disappointed and wronged her. She looked up sharply as Christine came into the room, but she was smiling.
“Ah! there you are, Christine,” she observed. “You’re alone, I hope?” she added, on the verge of a frown that her niece’s brisk nod quickly banished. “You won’t have had your supper. There’s some pie in the oven, or a salad and bread and butter.”
“I’ll have the salad, if you don’t mind,” Christine decided. “Is there sufficient tea, or shall I make some more?”
“I’ve just made some for Doug,” Flora informed her. “We have some very exciting news for you!” She smiled across at her son with rapt affection. “Shall I tell her, Doug, or will you?”
“You’ll make a much better job of it than I,” Douglas grinned, winking at Christine. “I wouldn’t make it sound half so important!”
“But it is important, my dear boy!” Flora insisted. “What do you think, Christine?” Douglas is going to marry Sheila Temple! You know—” she hurried on before Christine could register either surprise or incredulity and long before she could pretend to be impressed “—Lady Craig-Temple’s daughter! It’s such a surprise, and so very, very gratifying I really don’t know what to say about it!”
“Doug!” Christine turned to her cousin, her eyes shining. “You old frost! Engaged, and never a word to anyone! You certainly are a fast worker, but congratulations, and I hope you are going to be very, very happy!”
She rose impulsively, kissing him on the cheek, while her aunt beamed, waiting her opportunity to speak again.
“Doug wants to be married right away, in about a month’s time,” she began. “It’s all awfully short notice, of course, but I expect it can be managed, and there’s been a suggestion that Sheila and Lady Craig-Temple should come up to Glasgow while Sheila does her shopping. Of course I couldn’t let them go to a hotel—” Flora paused, her mental calculations made abundantly clear by her expectant look in Christine’s direction which said quite plainly, “I couldn’t turn you out, but...”
“You’ll need my room,” Christine obliged. “I’ve something to tell you, too,” she added with suppressed humor. “I’d like to go home.”
“But, Christine, I shall need you before the wedding,” Flora protested. “I shall need your help. I only thought we might arrange a hotel room for you in the meantime.”
Christine shook her head. “I’d like to be here for Doug’s wedding,” she said, “but I’m needed at home, too. Nigel ... Doctor Kilbridge has gone to Edinburgh to take his surgical degree and my father will need me, Aunt Flora.”
; “Just as you like.” Flora sighed benignly. It was evident that nothing could perturb her in face of the amazing thing that had happened in her family. “I certainly could have done with your help, and I really don’t know how I shall cope with all the extra entertaining I shall have to do before the wedding, but I expect I shall manage somehow.”
“There’s Iona,” Christine suggested quietly. “You have only to ask and she will come back willingly.”
There was a small, strained silence. Then Douglas cleared his throat and said calmly,
“Sheila rather expects Iona to be a bridesmaid or something. I told her, of course, that I had a sister and, since she is an only child she pounced on the idea at once, although I’m quite convinced a quiet wedding—”
“You know you can’t possibly have a quiet wedding!” Flora silenced him with a brief glance. “Lady Craig-Temple wouldn’t consider it, I feel sure. Her only child! The idea’s preposterous!”
“Then,” said Douglas placidly, “I can tell Sheila that Iona will oblige?”
Christine held her breath, knowing how much it would mean to Iona to be received back into her family before her own wedding and thinking that her cousin need never know the real reason for her mother’s change of heart.
“That’s for Iona to say,” Flora returned guardedly. “This, of course, makes a great deal of difference.” Her eyes traveled once more to her son. “Once she comes back, however, she may feel that she is letting the family down by marrying beneath her station.”
It was a forlorn hope, and Christine knew it, but at least Flora would ask Iona to come home, if only for the look of things.
“Iona won’t change her mind,” she said firmly, “and perhaps when you get to know Bob you will see how right she is.”
“I doubt it,” her aunt returned dryly, “but at least it will not look so strange if my daughter is present at her brother’s wedding, and there may even be ... compensations for Iona’s foolishness. She won’t be living in Glasgow if she does marry this man, and in time he may become a librarian. With a connection like Sheila in the family quite a lot might be done.”
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