by C. Litka
Chapter 13: Friday 5 July
01
'Say?'
I was at the sink, washing dishes. I turned to see Nesta at the screen door. Blinked, and she was still there. Amazing.
'Nesta! Come in, come in. I'm just finishing washing up,' I said, hastily drying my hands on the dish towel.
She hesitated a moment – undecided – before opening the screen door and stepping in.
'Have all your aunts, uncles and cousins arrived safely? I saw the estate Rover and a couple of motorcars arriving this afternoon.'
'Yes, they're all here now. Everyone is bustling about getting settled and reacquainted,' she replied quietly, taking a couple of steps into the dimness of the cottage. 'They know their way about and Flora's there to look after everything, so I'm slipping out for a ride. They know me, and father won't be up until morning, so I can get away for a while.'
'Too much commotion?' I ventured.
She gave a little shrug. 'Not that, so much... Well, anyway, I'm sorry just to drop in like this, I'd have called first, but I don't have your number.'
'You're always welcome to just drop by. The Groom's Cottage is yours to use as a hideout... Though I guess it is yours, anyway, isn't it?'
She just shrugged.
'As for calling ahead,' I continued taking a seat on the corner of the kitchen table, 'Seeing that your father will not register my watson on the estate exchange for security reasons. You'll just have to drop by to get a hold of me...'
'Oh, father! I'll do something about that...' she said wearily. 'I'll talk to Maude and see that you're signed on. Father has no business being so vindictive.'
'No, don't, keeping my work secret is a mania with him and I don't want to make trouble. I get by just fine. Fewer distractions. I just catch up with everyone when I go to market or ride out to Maryfield.'
She gave a small shake of her head. 'Father,' she sighed, looking tired and preoccupied. 'I'll think of something,' she added and trailed off.
'Is something wrong?' I ventured. 'You seem rather down.'
She gave her head another little shake. 'No... Nothing really. I find, well, unexpected feelings....' She drew in the reigns, so to speak, and continued in a more matter of fact voice, 'You see, three of the aunts are my mother's sisters... And, well, in a hundred different little ways, a movement, a look, the sound of their voice or choice of words, they remind me of mother. For some reason it hit me rather hard today. I hadn't expected that. I thought I was over it. It has been two years. Perhaps having finally achieved my goal, and her not being here...' she paused.
'I'm sorry,' I muttered, searching for something more to say.
'Oh, it'll pass. Nothing, really. Just unexpected, ' she said briskly. 'I just need to escape all the hubbub for a while to get my composure back. A bike ride up the glen should do the trick. And well, if you don't really mind riding mostly in silence, I thought you might like to come along and keep me company. That is, if you have the time.'
'Of course, I'm more than happy to keep you company. Any time,' I added with a dart of concern for Lady Nesta.
'My bike's outside the door,' she said 'Whenever you're ready.'
'I'm ready now,' I said, stepping over to the cupboard by the door to grab my cap and held open the door for her. 'My bike's around back, I fetch it.'
'I doubt I'll have much to say tonight...' she said as we stepped out.
'I understand. You need to be alone with your thoughts, but not alone. Just tell me what I can do,' I said.
'Oh, I'll be fine,' she said, seeing the concern on my face as we stepped out. 'Grieving is a progression of steps. I thought I was further along than I'm feeling tonight. I just need to work through some sadness, that's all...'
'Right. Just a little quiet company. My bike's on the back porch and we can walk them up to the lane. There's a path...' I said as we stepped out into the still warm and bright evening. As sorry as I was to see her so sad, I was happy she'd thought of me when she didn't feel like being completely alone.
If you'd asked me a fortnight ago, I'd have told you that all I've done this past year was work on my thesis night and day. But having spent a fortnight in Glen Lonon, without close friends, and only a few casual acquaintances, I've come to realize how big a role friends must've played in my life, even when I was so focused on my thesis. I never felt this alone – this lonely since my first days at the uni. Nesta was not my dear Penny Lee and not likely to be more than an acquaintance, but she was my age and well, we had some ties – ah, we both knew Renny Lonsdale, for one. And could be called “doctor” for another, and well, we both rode bikes... I'm grasping at straws, here, but at least she seemed like someone I'd like to be friends with. But I knew too, I'd have to be very careful not to try too hard. I was on trial and being functionally alone with was likely my shining talent...
While we walked our bikes up the path we talked about the arrival of her relatives, but on reaching the road and setting out, conversation dwindled. The day had started cool and misty, but had become quite warm by mid-afternoon, and that warmth lingered. She assured me that this was very unusual weather for these parts, but added nothing more, and taking the hint, we rode side by side in silence into the greater stillness of Maig Glen.
Nesta's sombre mood dulled some of the pleasure I'd have taken in riding with her, still, it was nice just to be with someone, though it would've been nicer if I was out with Penny. Penny and I didn't have to talk either, though we often did, if only to talk shop, exchanging ideas about our studies and projects. Realizing I needed to shake my regret and not let Nesta's melancholy mood infect me, I turned my attention to the glen and its rugged beauty, now softened by the warm evening light, only to find that it, too, in this golden evening seemed tinged with melancholy – likely just a reflection of my self-pity.
We crossed the bridge over the Maig where we'd met yesterday and continued on without a pause, following the narrow, dusty lane deeper into the evening shadowed glen, putting the last string of inhabited cottages known as Minton behind us.
We rode for over an hour and a half, without a single word, following the narrowing glen, passing the occasional abandoned cottage that had been converted to storm shelters for the sheep, each with a lightning rod on a tall pole. Eventually we left even the sheep behind. We had the world to ourselves by the time Loch Bennerain, enclosed by steep hills and pine forests came into view. I'd only been this far once, on the first Sunday.
I couldn't help but thinking, as I glanced to Nesta beside me, that she's a little, well, fey may be the word I'm looking for. It seemed strange that we'd ridden almost twenty kilometres into the glen without a word. I glanced at her again and realized she may well have forgotten all about me, she was that lost in thought. Perhaps fey, certainly quiet, but still nice. Though she was a girl on an entirely different key than my Penny.
As we reached the loch, she coasted to a halt.
'If you don't mind, I think I'll go down and rest for a few minutes,' she said quietly as she walked her bike to the edge of the road.
'Of course,' I said, and realizing that she'd not said alone, but had implied it, let her start down to the rocky shore alone.
It struck me, watching her make her way down and select a large boulder to sit on, that she was either rather bold, foolish, or an excellent judge of character to ride this far from civilization with a fellow she hardly knew. Oh, I look harmless enough, and came with good credentials, but still, how can you be certain on so short of acquaintance? You shouldn't assume a person is, well, a gentleman on looks alone. Or, for that matter, that he wouldn't take this as some sort of invitation... Or perhaps I may've missed something, seeing that Penny is the beginning and the end of my experience with women. I doubt it though. I wanted Nesta as a friend, so I vowed to be extra guarded in what I said, so as not to give her any wrong impressions.
I looked about. Above the road, all but hidden in the tall grass, bracken and young birch trees, stood a crumbling roofless c
ottage and a few rusty outbuildings. Beyond them, old pines marched up the steep hill. I found a semi-soft spot in the tall grass on the steep bank above the road to sit and take in this lonely, rugged beauty. Steep, rocky, heather clad hills rose all around us. Dark pine forests fell to the shores of the clear waters of the loch which mirrored the distant translucent blue mountains. The sun was already behind the hills at my back and the valley in shadow. The hills opposite glowed in orange in the light of the leisurely setting sun. The scent of the pines, mixed with the rich aroma of the wet earth, came in puffs that stirred up whispers in the pines. Across the loch I could see the faint glow of St Elmo's fire on the tips of a dead pine. Common enough, but it still gave me a dart of concern. The sky was clear, but we were deep in Maig Glen and the nightly storm would likely brew up sooner or later.
Well, if the legendary Rhymer's Gate to the Otherworld was anywhere about, it was well hidden, I saw nothing out of the ordinary, rocky, rugged hills clad in bracken, heather and pines. But then, on the flip side, there was nothing to suggest that a gate to a faerie land could not exist either. The glen looked to have never been brought into the 21st century in the first place.
I glanced down to the shore. Nesta was perched on a rock and hadn't moved, so I lay back and closed my eyes to just take in the peace of the place.
02
When I opened them again, sometime later, but not too much later, the hills across the loch had lost the last light of the setting sun and were taking on their blue robes of evening. The glen was deep in twilight, and the clear sky now had a few wispy clouds tinged in the orange light of sunset. I pulled out my watson, it was nearly 10:00. It'd be dark before we reached home, and well, the appearance of even innocent looking clouds made me a bit nervous, though I had to trust Nesta knew what she was doing. Though knowing how lost in thought she'd been on the ride, I had to wonder... So I climbed to my feet, crossed the road and made my way down the rocky slope to the shore. The bolder was big enough for both of us, so I sat down beside her without a word.
She glanced at me with a faint smile. 'Soon.'
'No hurry.' I assured her.
I could see the tracks of her tears glistening on her cheeks. I really didn't know what to say or what to do, yet I felt I needed to do or say something, but it couldn't be the wrong something....
'I have a shoulder, if you need it,' I ventured.
'Thanks. I'm fine, now,' she said, taking off her glasses and wiping the tear tracks off her cheeks with the back of her hand. And only then becoming aware of how late it had gotten, added, 'We should be heading home.'
'I'm thinking the same. It will be dark before we get home.'
'Yes. Sorry. I wasn't thinking. We might get wet as well,' she added with another glance to the building clouds.
'I must have dozed a bit, or I'd have called that to your attention earlier.'
'Oh, no need to worry. We're used to Glen Maig weather. Made a game of it growing up. There are sheds to shelter in all along the lane if it comes to a storm. We'll be fine,' she assured me as we picked our way through the rocks and up the slope.
We mounted our bikes and started back down the darkening, rather forlorn glen, leaving Loch Bennerain behind. The valley was narrow here, crowded by the steep hills. There were no pastures this deep into the glen, no sign, save the road, a mere cart lane, of the place having ever been inhabited. There was a sharp flicker of light, and then, an echoing rumble of thunder. Looking up I saw storm clouds rolling overhead and we lost the last light of day, the valley grew ever darker and the hills lost their features to become velvet walls to the low sky. Lightning flickered again over head.
'Damn,' I muttered.
Nesta glanced around. 'I am sorry. If I'd been paying attention we would've started back earlier and likely outrun the storm. Don't worry, there's a shed a kilometre or three ahead that we can ride out the storm in. Can't avoid it now, but we've plenty of time to reach it.'
Don't worry indeed. I may not have scars from my last brush with highland lightning, but if I had, I'm sure they'd be tingling. There was no trace of concern in her voice which I found only slightly reassuring. Indeed, I couldn't be certain, but she may have been actually enjoying this. She certainly hadn't picked up our pace...
The lightning continued to streak and branch through the clouds overhead, with an occasional rumble of thunder. I was growing a bit optimistic when the road was lit in a bright flash of light, followed in a few seconds by a rolling crack of thunder that you could feel and which was seconded by a second flash ahead. That was enough for me.
'Perhaps we might pick up the pace, a bit,' I suggested. 'The lightning's getting rather sharp.'
'I'm counting seconds, it’s still more than mile off...' she replied with a sidelong grin, but did pick up the pace, a little.
'A mile behind us and a mile ahead of us,' I replied. 'We're being bracketed.'
'I take it you're not fond of lightning.'
'I like lightning well enough, when it's not targeting me. But Glen Lonon lightning seems to regard me as a target.'
'Really, Say?' she asked grinning at me in the flickering darkness. She seemed to have recovered her spirits, and indeed taken on a little of the wildness of the storm. 'It's getting closer, but hardly targeting you.'
'Well it did, the first day I was here. I'll tell you the story after we've reached those sheds of yours. If we do. Meanwhile I'm sticking close to you. I don't think they'd risk hitting you...' I replied, attempting humour to cover my real unease.
'They?' she asked.
'The glens, or Mother Nature, or the Otherworlders, or whatever... I haven't worked that out yet.' I replied, keeping an eye on the flickering road and the sky.
The vertical lightning became more frequent – though no closer – but the cloud to cloud lightning constantly arched overhead through the low, rolling clouds. I tried to follow her lead, and tried not to be in – too – much of a panic as we followed the road around a bend and then another, my eyes straining for a sight of our port in the coming storm. It was dark enough now that we had our bike lights on, though the flickering lightning made them mostly unessential.
The glen opened up into pastures and stone fences, and ahead, in the lightning flashes, I caught sight of the promised shed, which we reached a minute later. As I pulled up beside the gate in the stone fence, I looked back to see a black wall of rain swallowing the glen and the hills behind us.
I jumped off my bike and opened the gate in the stone fence alongside the road. We slipped in and closed the gate behind us. There were actually two buildings, one a derelict cottage and the other a stone shed. We were the last to arrive. The last of the sheep bounded in from pasture ahead of us, filling both the old cottage and the shed.
'We can watch the storm from the shed,' she said heading for it. It seemed filled with milling sheep, but I didn't argue. We hurried towards it, its wide door open to the world.
'But will they let us in?' I asked. 'There seems to be an awful lot of them...'
'Are you frightened of sheep as well?'
'Depends. Will they listen to a reasoned argument?' I asked. 'My only experience with large groups has been with undergrad labs and I never seemed to make all that much headway with them...'
'Oh, I'm sure sheep are far more biddable than undergrads,' she replied.
'If you say so,' I replied, unconvinced. But she was right. The sheep proved accommodating – willing to share their shelter with us as we slipped in along the edge of the churning flock. There was an old tractor smelling of oil and dust and a hay wagon further in. We stashed our bikes between the wagon and the wall to keep them out of the way of the milling flock after which she drifted back out to the open shed door and I followed.
Now safe – like all buildings in this glen, it had several lightning rods on tall posts around it – I was curious to watch the storm from the glen where local legends say it actually originates. If Guy was right and TTR's old lab is the source of the daily
storms, I might be able to get an idea of where the lab lay by watching the storm to see if lightning was concentrated in one place. Not, mind you, that I believed any of that nonsense.
'The cottage has a room just for people, but I like watching the storm from here,' she said as we slipped along the wall, steering the sheep aside.
She stepped out to stand against the building just outside the door and I joined her. We leaned shoulder to shoulder against the stone wall and watched the play of the now vertical lightning march slowly towards us – the vanguard of the black pall of rain that was swallowing the last light of the world behind it. Nothing struck me as unusual in the lightning or the storm.
'So, tell me about this Glen Lonon lightning that was out to get you. Or was Guy telling you some of his tall tales?' she asked after a while.
'No. it's one of my own. I don't know exactly when you arrived, but I rode in from Inverness on that Thursday evening the weekend you arrived. I was riding towards Glen Lonon when a storm poured out of Glen Maig. I'd reached the top of the hill, the one where the old power lines cross the road. The pylons were covered in St Elmo's fire and it seemed as if I could've reached up and touched the racing clouds...' I began, and spun my tale of my near encounter with death by three lightning bolts.
'I don't have the info-net, so I don't know how unlikely it was for three bolts to land within a minute along half a kilometre of road, but I'm assuming only their inability to precisely direct their bolts is all that saved me...'
'And who's this “they”,' she asked, grinning in the flickering light.
'You tell me, my lady. You're a creature of these glens.'
'A creature?' she said with a look of mock outrage.
'An intimate of these glens,' I amended, after giving it some thought.
She still gave me a look, but said, “I'd say you've a vivid imagination. I can't imagine the glens would've any reason to kill you, even if one assumes there's some sort of superstitious magic about...'
'Well, I hope you're right, though speaking of superstition, I've heard that these storms come out of the so called “Rhymer's Gate” your great grandfather built,' I replied, fishing a bit. 'Be it a gate to the Otherworld or something more mundane.'
'You should know more about that than I, you're studying his papers,' she replied without hesitation.
'I haven't gotten around to reading most of them. Just laying out the ground work. Even then, I'm only supposed to be transcribing them. Professor Blake will evaluate them for your father. I'm not to be trusted, when it comes to both his papers and his daughters,' I added with a grin.
She smiled, but made no comment.
'You seem to have already heard a lot of stories about these glens,' she said a little later. 'I've spent every summer of my life up here, and I don't think things are very much different here than anywhere else. This glen has more storms than one might expect, but I don't think there's anything special about them. They're often electrical storms, but that is the norm these days...
'And what about the Riders?' I asked. 'I've seen them too, you know.'
'Seen the lights or the Riders themselves?' she replied, watching me closely.
'I've seen the riders close enough to know they're only deer with St Elmo's fire on the tips of their antlers. And don't say...' I started to say, too late...
'Oh, those Riders...' with a sly smile. At least she seemed in better humour now.
'That's exactly what Guy said too. And I'm not buying that. I've found a solution to the mystery and I'm sticking with it,' I added.
'My, you've been busy here. It's a wonder you've any time for work at all, between saving me from drowning and discovering the darkest secrets of Glen Lonon... When did you meet the Riders?'
With a watchful, and wary eye on the approaching storm, I told her of Tuesday's adventure on the foggy road.
'So you didn't actually see the antlered deer with St Elmo's fire...'
'No, but I saw a deer and lots of deer tracks, and since that is, by far, the only reasonable explanation, I'm going with it,' I replied.
'Well, you see how it works, anyway. You can make something of just about anything that's not completely known. You chose a mundane explanation of the Riders, while others, might find a more fantastic one pleasing. Neither is actually proven, as far as I can see, and neither excludes the other.
'And that's how things are with all the talk about great grandfather,' she continued. 'Well, most of the talk centres around the changes in his personality after his motorcar accident. The thing to remember is that he was a brilliant man before his accident, an electrical engineer who was directly involved in designing the products his company made. He worked with scientists and engineers his entire life. It is hardly unreasonable to assume that he learned a great deal in those decades, and may have simply changed focus in his last years. As for his personality change, it may perhaps be attributed to a year of reflection while he recovered from his injuries. All in all, I see no need to invoke something miraculous to explain the last decade of his life. Of course, head injuries can cause unexplained brilliance but only in very rare instances. They're called acquired savants, and some people have suggested this was the case with great grandfather. However, in my opinion, given TTR's previously demonstrated genius, I don't think it's necessary.
'As for his association with Thomas the Rhymer, there's nothing in the family history to suggest that we, or he was ever associated in any way with Thomas the Rhymer. Well, except that TTR, for some reason, chose the title, Earl of Learmonte, when he was made a peer of the Scottish Kingdom... That's a little weird.'
I was about to ask why, when there was a brilliant flash and an immediate crack that had us both jumping. Without a word, we slipped around the edge of the door into the shed, as the first big drops of rain began to make craters in the dust. We pushed through the ranks of sheep to reach the wagon. It had been converted for use with horses, so it had a seat up front, on which we could both sit well above the press of sheep. I let her climb up first, and since she seemed to know what she was doing, let her do it without assistance, just to be on the safe side, and then climbed up to sit beside her.
'So why was choosing to be known as the Earl of Learmonte, weird.' I asked after we had settled in.
'Thomas the Rhymer's name was said to be Thomas Learmonth of which Learmonte is an alternate spelling.'
'Oh.' I said. Just what I wanted to hear.
The wind started to gust, blowing dust and big rain drops into the shed. And then the storm hit with its full force. The rain, when it came, fell in a torrent, slanting into the shed and pounding on the roof tiles like thunder, making it pointless to talk over the din. We sat and watched the rain come down in sheets, lit by the constant flickering and the always unexpected brilliant flash and bang of lightning, for perhaps five minutes. Then the rain stopped as suddenly as it had started, the silence after it had passed was almost as deafening, leaving the farmyard outside a gurgling maze of little rushing rivers.
'You see, we had plenty of time,' she said a with a sidelong glance.
'I'm happy to see you've gotten over you spell of the blues,' I replied.
'Yes,' she said with a slight shrug. 'It was really a case of those feelings coming out of the blue, so to speak. Unexpected. I just needed to be alone with my thoughts and knew that wasn't going to happen in the house. I suppose all my work and study these last few months tended to cover up the fact that I still miss her so much. So seeing my aunts today – and all the little things that remind me of Mother – brought those feeling suddenly to the fore. It was nothing more than that, really.
'Besides,' she added, glancing aside at me, 'it offered an opportunity to see if you actually could live up to your boast of being comfortable spending time alone with someone in silence.'
'I hope I passed,' I said.
That seemed to give her pause, and she glanced at me again.
'Seeing that I pretty much forgot you were around; I'd have t
o say you did. I'm sorry, however, to have dragged you into all this,' she said with a glance around the shed and our fleecy fellow refugees, and then added, 'I can't imagine what type of girl you must think I am or wonder what I'm up to. You must think I'm rather... '
'Fey?' I suggested. 'Like just about everything in Glen Lonon.'
'Perhaps. But I'm glad you're a gentleman who doesn't jump to conclusions...'
'Oh, I'm as harmless as I look, though I'd hope you don't trust looks, Doctor Mackenzie.'
'You needn't worry. The clinic has introduced me to all sorts of people. However, it wasn't my intention to drag you that far into the glen or get you stranded in a sheep shed. I simply wasn't paying any attention to you. And while I'm apologizing, I might as well add, I'm sorry about teasing you with the storm as well – I must admit I could've picked up the pace earlier.'
'Well, between my initial reception and the glen's reputation I was a bit nervous... even with my belief that they couldn't get me without getting you. However, I think Glen Maig has accepted me now. Glen Lonon still feels a bit eerie, but I find I'm comfortable in Glen Maig.'
She rolled her eyes, 'You're becoming more superstitious than the natives. anyway, I admit to playing chicken with the storm, just like we used to do when we were growing up. We always dared each other to be the last person to take shelter to prove our bravado. At that age, we were all going to live forever, so the lightning may have frightened us, but never seemed a real threat. I guess I was playing the old game with you, though I assure you, I never won. Sorry about that. It's just that revenge is sweet...' she added with a smile.
'I suppose I had it coming,' I admitted. 'I'll not complain. I'm too homesick not to enjoy your company, even if it is rather nerve wracking at times.'
'Ah, yes...' she said quietly. 'About that...'
I hadn't a clue as to “that” and let it ride.
We sat in silence for a few moments in the alternating blackness and blue light of the storm, save for the thunder, now a low rumble and sheep “baaing” softly to each other.
'You knew Renny in Cambridge...' she began, tentatively.
'I knew who he was. He was a member of my college. I may've passed the salt or rolls to him once or twice in the hall, but otherwise, well, he was three years behind me and ran in an entirely different set.'
'Still, you must wonder about us...' she said. 'How we could be engaged while he had all his Cambridge friends... And why I'd put up with it.'
'I did wonder,' I admitted, but quickly added, 'but not only have I seen you two together and am struck by the great affection between the two of you, but your sister has already told me about your engagement and arrangement, so you don't have to explain.'
'And why was my dear sister going on about this to you?'
'She was warning me off. The sooner you marry Lonsdale; the sooner she can marry Hamilton. She apparently panics easily,' I added with a laugh.
'Poor Flora. It may be years. We live busy and separate lives. But I want to assure you that Renny and I are quite close. And I'm not a Renny.'
'I don't doubt that. As for Cambridge, I know only the gossip and rumours. You can't always go by that. Especially with someone like Renny who cultivated that type of image. Besides, until now, I've neither seen or heard of him since he went down a year ago, and he seems to have, well, matured.'
'He has. I believe he has turned out quite nicely, in fact. I've known Renny all my life, and there is not only affection, but a complete understanding between us. I want to tell you a little about Renny so you don't think ill of him, or that I've been ill treated by Renny. And I don't want you to think I'm a complete fool,' she added.
'I can't imagine you're any sort of fool,' I said. But I knew this was a warning of sorts. An unnecessary one, for I'd like to think I'm not a complete fool either. 'From what I've seen of Renny, an explanation is hardly necessary.'
'If we're to spend time together this summer – time like this, I'd like to make Renny's and my relationship very clear,' she replied, quietly.
If we're to spend time together caught my attention. I watched her as she continued.
'I've known Renny all my life. He spent every summer and most school holidays at our house even before his mother died when he was nine. He was always a brash and often a very annoying little boy, and still is. But he has his sterling virtues too. You'll not find a more loyal friend. He never forgets a kindness.
'After his mother died my mother took him and his sister under her wing, treating them as her own children. So with the death of my mother two years ago, he's now lost two mothers, really. I know it affected him greatly, for he loved her as his own mother. So, as she slowly died, he'd have done anything for her. It was always understood in our two families that Flora and Renny would one day get married, not that we ever took it seriously. It was simply a joke we played along with when we were young. However, when Flora and Hamilton Fraser hit it off, my mother switched her dream to me marrying Renny instead of Flora. And knowing this was her fondest wish, he proposed to me, and I accepted, to please her. And he would have married me then and there for her sake too, but I could not, then. I am simplifying things, there are other reasons as well for Renny and me to marry, but it was for mother that he proposed.
'That was over two years ago while he was still at Cambridge, and I was staying with mother, taking a break from my studies, so we were simply not in a position to make a go of an engagement, much less a marriage. We love each other, but as it had always been as brother and sister, not as lovers. So between us we agreed that as long as we were not ready to be seriously engaged, we could go on with our lives just as before. It would have been cruel of me to insist that he give up his life in Cambridge, when I was not willing to give up anything...' she paused to consider her next words. 'So you can see that everything is not as strange as it might seem. Both our fathers are pushing us to set the date, and we will, but on our terms, when we are both ready... ' she trailed off, a little lost.
I didn't know quite how to respond, but she pressed on.
'You may have heard a version of this from Flora, but I wanted to tell you myself how things are between Renny and me, just to make it clear. For you see, with all my friends and cousins – we were a close knit little clan growing up – gone out into the world and unable to spend more than a fortnight up here it would be nice to share this last summer with a friend – one that would be only a friend,' she said, and adding, with only a darting glance, 'If you're willing, you can be that friend – an honorary cousin, perhaps. So you see, I've gone on like this because I don't want to send any wrong messages, especially since you knew Renny in college. I don't want to have to watch everything I do or say and calculate how you might take it. I'd like that settled now, and for the summer. Friends for the summer and then we go our own ways.'
'I'd like that, Nesta,' I said. 'Though I'd hope that we'd remain friends after this summer as well. Lonsdale was talking about me working for his firm the other day, and well, between you and your friends, you own half the companies I'd be interested in working for, so I don't think we'll lose touch entirely.'
'Then you'd better be on your best behaviour. And remember, I've spent every summer in Glen Lonon, growing up with my cousins and friends, “the Lonons” as we called ourselves. We knew each other so well, we never had to worry about being misinterpreted. I may come to treat you as an intimate friend, but you must always remember it is friendship, nothing more,' and then she added, 'Oh, I'm sorry to sound so egotistical, it's just that I really want to be as free as I was growing up and not misunderstood...'
'I understand. I'd be delighted to be your honorary cousin. And just so you know, I also have someone special, Penny Lee. I may have mentioned her, several times. I suppose I'm old enough to know that loving someone far away is never an absolute guarantee of not doing something stupid, but all in all, I think I'm just about as harmless as I look. And well, I have met your father...'
She smiled faintl
y. 'He hasn't been all that much of a deterrent, has he?'
'To friendship, no... We're both grown-ups,' I said, adding with a laugh, 'But he'd certainly loom much larger if I ever got romantic ideas...'
We were silent for a while with our own thoughts. I was quite content with our understanding. I couldn't ask for anything better.
'I believe we can be on our way now,' she said after a while.
I helped her down from the wagon and we wheeled our bikes out into the now cool air. The storm was still flickering in the clouds to the north and east, but it seemed safe enough to proceed, Nesta assuring me that from here on in, there would be convenient cover should things get unexpectedly threatening again, so we set out along the puddle dotted road.
We said nothing more of consequence on the way back to Glen Lonon – we just got muddy and wet. The storm had cooled and cleared the air, its electrical discharge extinguishing the blue specks of St Elmo's fire in the hills. The Riders were not out either.
It was near midnight when we arrived at Hidden Garden's doorway. We talked quietly in the darkness outside the door for a few minutes. She would be busy with her aunts, uncles and cousins, and her father would be up tomorrow as well. I shouldn't expect to see her for a few days. I told her I had my work to keep me occupied and out of sight. We said good night, and I stayed until she was met at the door by Flora. And then I rode the final quarter of a mile to the Grooms Cottage and dictated the rough version of this account until I grew tired and retired to the warm loft to sleep.