by C. Litka
Chapter 12: Thursday 4 July
I headed out the back door, grabbed my bike and walked it up the hill along the path through the woods to the Glen Lonon road and then rode west to the Maig Glen, now a daily ritual. After breaking for supper around six I'd cook, eat, wash up, take a bike ride until nine, and then have a cup of tea outside in the twilight before doing a bit more work.
Yesterday had been mild, raining off and on, a good day to work. Today the weather cleared, so I needed to force myself to ignore the cheerful chatter of birds and the sun pouring in through the screen door, bringing with it the scent of pine and heather, to get my work done.
I'm starting to read TTR's handwriting, picking out words and phrases, as I mount the pages and I hope that by the time I'm done with the prep work, I'll be familiar enough with his handwriting to read it just as readily as a printed page.
It was quite still in the Maig Glen. Once past the old dam, there's only two tiny hamlets, so I've usually left people – and indeed, civilization – behind. Loch Maig sparkled in the warm golden sunlight of the low sun. The hills on the far side fell to the loch shore in blue green shadows. Riding deeper into the glen, the loch reverts to a twisting, shallow river gurgling over rocks which winds its way through paddocks and fields. The fields are filled with the cheerful life. Birds soar overhead, chasing bugs or foraging in the fields dotted with sheep or cattle grazing contently in the stone fenced fields. At times, the hiss of the gravel under my wheels is the only sound I hear. This is my reward for the day's tedium and I believe I'll miss it when I'm back riding through the flat farm lands around Cambridge.
Today, on reaching the long stone bridge that carries the road across the river and into the blue shadows of the north side of the glen, I pulled up and dismounted to sit on the bridge's low stone rampart to listen to what the tumbling river had to say. I absently took in the wide view, the rocky river stretching deeper into the glen, the scrub trees that lined it and far beyond, the bald peaks of several mountains, thin, almost transparent against the glowing blue green and yellow of the western sky far ahead. I let myself fall into the Maig Glen evening...
Which is why, when she said, 'Evening,' I started and nearly did fall into it, or at least the portion of it that included the river below me. I had to grab hold of the parapet to keep myself from slipping into the rocky river.
I swung around to see Lady Nesta Mackenzie astride a bike that had pulled up, unnoticed behind me on the bridge.
'Sorry to frighten you,' she said, politely, though not quite sincerely.
'And good evening to you too, Lady Nesta. You nearly sent me into the river,' I replied, cheerfully.
'Damn,' she said. 'It never occurred to me. If I hadn't been daydreaming. A small push and... if is always such a sad word, don't you think Mr Say?'
She seemed, a new, and I must say, vastly improved, Lady Nesta this evening.
I glanced back over the side of the bridge and back to her. 'Not this time,' I replied, adding, 'Though if turnabout is fair play, I suppose I'd have had it coming. Still, I'm glad the thought didn't occur to you, since a little shove would've indeed sent me amongst the fish, none the wiser. Though more likely I'd have broken a leg or something, since the river's only a foot or two deep here.'
'Damn,' she said again, with a shake of her head. 'Seeing that Father holds the office of Sheriff in this district, I'd have gotten off with only a mild warning from the bench.'
'More likely he'd have paid a bounty,' I said.
And she actually laughed. 'He probably would've...'
'You'd be in his good graces, that's for certain,' I said.
She was dressed mod in tan slacks, a sage green light weight jumper over a white blouse, a claret coloured beret and fawn gloves. It was late enough in the evening so the UV level was low enough to dress rather casually. Her dark auburn hair was tied in a ponytail and her round, thin tortoise shelled glasses were not underwater, for once.
'Oh, well,' she continued. 'Some other time. Besides, I'm in too good of a mood to do the job properly. I'd probably have repented and set your broken leg. And I can almost guarantee you'd walk without too much of limp... seeing that I'm now a fully qualified GP.' she added.
'A doctor?'
'Yes, finally. Received notice today that I passed my board exams and am now qualified to practice medicine in the kingdoms of Scotland and England,' she said with a happiness she couldn't hide.
'That's grand! May I congratulate you, Doctor Mackenzie,' I said, jumping to my feet and extending my hand. 'I'm very happy for you.'
She looked at my hand for a moment, at a loss, but then somewhat to my surprise, took it.
'Thank you,' she said.
There was a second of uncertain silence as to where this was to lead.
Then she spoke again, 'The real reason I stopped was to apologize for being so rude the other night. And, well, to thank you properly for your kindness and tolerance of my rudeness.'
'Since it turned into a three ringed disaster, I could hardly blame you for being less than gushing in your thanks,' I said, adding, 'I'm embarrassed to always be turning up at all the wrong places at all the wrong times.'
'No need,' she said. 'Why, you could hardly avoid it. I was making a fool of myself the whole week.'
'Well, Lady Flora said you were quite stressed, and now I know why.'
'Still, that's no excuse, and I don't want to make it one. But I feel I should to offer you, well, offer an explanation of sorts anyway.'
'Not at all necessary...'
She shook that off, 'It is for me. A chance to explain without excusing my actions.'
I shrugged, and she continued, 'You see, after a very demanding term, with my studies, working at the clinic, and studying for, and taking my board exams, I was looking forward to coming to Glen Lonon to simply unwind, do nothing, say nothing and have nothing to do or say. I wanted stillness and time to think, read, walk, fish and have time for myself. The last thing I wanted to do was to entertain company – even my dearest friends –the moment I arrived.
'However, unbeknownst to me, and I'm sure out of his best intentions, Father invited my cousins and friends to celebrate my accomplishment, and – as you know – expected me to play the hostess. You're a witness as to how badly I took that. All I can say is that at least they know me well enough to take my ill temper like a duck's back takes water.'
'I understand completely,' I said. 'All I did this spring when I finished my doctorate was go home and sleep to noon for weeks on end. And when I did get up, I just mucked around our greenhouses doing all the boring jobs I tried to avoid growing up. If I had all those people showing up, I'd have been grouchy too. Don't even think about it. I'm just glad to meet you when you're, well, not wet.'
'By wet, I believe you mean as angry as a wet hen,' she laughed, adding, 'I was under the impression that you were a grad student, but I take it you're not.'
'Your father ordered up a grad student, but Professor Blake thought he was doing him a favour by offering a newly minted Ph.D. And, I might add, when he found out otherwise, passed me off as next best thing to a grad student. But I can add “Ph.D.” behind my name now. So I really do have a good idea what you went through, and how you're feeling now. Why it's been two months and still, whenever someone – even Professor Blake – calls me “Doctor Say”, it gives me a little jolt of joy. So, Doctor Mackenzie, I give you the joy of your accomplishment.'
'Thank you, Doctor Say.' she replied, 'Congratulations as well. Though in truth, I've been called doctor for the last two years, but now I don't have to see that unsaid “Junior” in front of my title. Hopefully, this will finally dispel my foul mood.'
'Well, I understand,' I assured her. 'And really, you'd every excuse to treat me, as you did, so no apology is necessary.'
She gave me a small smile and then having said all she had meant to say, looked off into the distance, likely looking for some way to escape my company without being rude. Again.
I couldn't think of a thing more to say to keep the conversation going.
'I've had a long day, so I think I'll say good evening, Dr Say, and head back home' she said, stepping through her bike frame to mount it. 'I'll leave you to your deep thoughts.'
An unexpected and sharply felt dart of loneliness drove me to ask rather desperately, 'Would you mind if I rode back with you? I should be heading back as well.'
She glanced across to me for a moment and hesitated before answering rather reluctantly, 'If you like.' But don't expect to make a habit of it, was left unspoken.
'I've not forgotten what you just said. You're looking for time to be alone to think and unwind,' I added, hastily. 'So if you'd rather go on alone, I'll not take any offence or consider it rude.'
'No, that's okay...' reluctantly.
'Then don't feel any need to entertain me or play the hostess. I'm far from the world's greatest conversationalist, so I'd be quite content just to ride along and leave you to your thoughts. I've years of spending hours in the company of a woman in monkish silence. For the last three years I've shared a small office with Penny Lee and we'd often work and study together all day without saying more than I'm going for a cup'a tea, one for you too? So riding with you in silence will be no great strain for me. You could be functionally alone.'
'Is being functionally alone in your company one of your shining points?'
'It was for Penny. At least on some days,' I said.
She considered that for a moment and nodded. 'Right. Let's head back, and I'll not hold you to strictly monkish silence, but I'll warn you that I'm reviewing today's house calls before sending off my report to Dr Caulie in the morning,' she replied. 'So don't expect a lot of brilliant conversation.'
'House calls? Are you working already?' I asked. I swung my bike around to face the bright hills and mounted up. The shadow of night had been creeping across the river valley floor and the last lush light of the day lingered only on the hills now on our right as we set out.
'I'm helping Doc Caulie again this summer by holding his Wednesday clinic in Ordmoor and making house calls on Thursdays. This fall, I'll start working full time in the Glasgow North Clinic. I'll still be under instruction for my general practice speciality for a few years yet...' she said as we started back for Glen Lonon.
I asked a few more questions and we talked for a while about her job and she asked a few questions of how I came to be in Glen Lonon as we rode.
'Professor Blake is an old family friend,' she said. 'He'll be up in September for a week. He's so proper, but such a sweetheart. His son and daughter were part of our clan when they were up.'
'Oh, he's proper enough, but he's played the sweetheart part pretty close to his vest with me,' I replied. 'Still, well, he does see some promise in me, or says he does, but that may have been only to get me here...'
'I take it you weren't very eager to enjoy the hospitality of the highlands.'
'To be honest, no. Not only did I have other plans – I had my own research projects I was ready do dive into – but it was clear from the beginning your father and I aren't kindred spirits. I was perhaps a bit rude myself at our first meeting...' I admitted.
'So I gather,' she remarked, and left it at that.
We talked a little more – nothing of consequence – and soon were riding in the warm scented twilight in silence. Which I didn't mind. I was content with only her company. And hoped, well, what? To be free to go out without fear of running into her and seeing her glaring at me for intruding? A little banter now and then, like I have with Lady Flora? And well, to be honest, someone riding beside me – even if she was ignoring me – would be rather nice. Clearly, I'm very lonely. Still, in light of what she said, I'd have to be careful not to push things. Monkish silence was indeed, the order of the evening.
The gloom deepened as the sun slipped behind the hills. We rode through pockets of cool air amongst the day's warmed air, those earth scented springs of the night in the deepening shadows. We passed the old dam and turned towards Glen Lonon, the lane, forest lined and deep in shadows. Passing the Factor's House, she turned down the drive to Hidden Garden. I followed her into the deep twilight. Ahead, through the black canopy of leaves, the northern sky glowed pale blue green in the sunset. The slightest of breezes shivered the birch leaves every now and again and carried the sharp, sweet tang of the pines. Lady Nesta was a slim shadow riding ahead of me down the twilit lane.
'I believe I've been neglecting you,' she said as she noticed me again as we coasted to a stop on the driveway alongside Hidden Garden.
'Not at all. I've enjoyed your company,' I said.
'What little of it I offered.'
'It was enough. Enough to have gotten you into trouble with your father. Flora was telling me I'm to be strictly avoided.'
'Ah, yes. But don't worry about me. I'm not sixteen any more. Look after yourself.'
'Oh, I've already given him enough excuses to sack me. One more won't matter. Still, I wouldn't want to make things unpleasant for you...'
'Let me worry about that,' she said with a shake of her head.
'I'll be selfish and will,' I said. 'I enjoyed the ride.'
'If you say so,' she said dryly, adding, 'Well, at least you've found me in a slightly better mood than our previous encounters.'
'Truth be told, I rather enjoyed your company on Saturday as well,' I replied.
'I rather suspected that,' she said with a half-hearted scowl.
'More company again this weekend?' I asked, just to postpone the parting.
'Aunts, uncles and young cousins, all people I'm close to and will enjoy seeing. The aunts will take charge, so I'm off the hook as far as providing entertainment. My mother had three sisters and three brothers, and their families have been coming to Glen Lonon since before I was born, so there's no need for me to look after them. My aunts and most of the cousins will be staying on for a fortnight or more, so it will be almost like old times.
'You'll find this hard to believe, but my father has always loved company. And since his immediate family is very small, a spinster sister, and my mother's very large, he embraced my mother's extended family, inviting everyone, sisters, aunts, uncles and cousins to come up to spend the whole summer here if they liked. I spent my summers surrounded by cousins and the children of some of my father's friends like the Lonsdales, Frasers and Blakes, mostly being dragged unwillingly along on all their activities, as you may have gathered, when all I really wanted to do was sit in my room or in the garden to read and dream.'
'Still, it sounds wonderful.'
She shrugged. 'Looking back, it was. But Glen Lonon is not Neverland. We've all grown up and most of us have moved on into the outside world. Most of my clan are now married and some have children of their own. All have careers that keep them busy. This will be my last summer here for ages. Until I have children of my own... maybe. Oh well, I must be getting inside or Flora will begin to worry.'
'Well then, thanks again for letting me tag along. And for not shoving me in the Maig,' I said, and growing bold (or desperate) added, 'And I hope we can ride again sometime, but I'll leave it for you to decide. I understand about wanting time to yourself, so I won't come a'calling. But if you ever feel in the mood for some undemanding company, don't hesitate to call. I work on my own schedule, and I've already put in some very long days, so you needn't fear you'll be dragging me away from anything more important than a bike ride with you.'
'I'll keep that in mind, Good night, Dr Say,' she said, turning away.
'Good night, Lady Nesta, or is it Doctor Mackenzie?'
'Dropping the “Lady” will be a good start,' she said as she parked her bike in the deeper shadows next to the stone house.
'Thanks, my friends call me Sandy.'
She nodded and entered the house.
I remounted my bike and drifted down the lane between dark woods and the twilit field dotted with pale sheep in a far better mood than when I'd set out. Not that it was
really justified. Lady Nesta had only been civil and tolerant of my company. Which, however, was an improvement. And well, it was nice not to have been alone, for once.
I returned to work and finished mounting the pages an hour ago. It's late. My tea mug is empty and while the ghostly blowing curtains of the aurora show no sign of fading, I think I'll call it a day. I might sleep in tomorrow.