A Summer in Amber

by C. Litka

  Chapter 22: Wednesday 24 July

  01

  Nesta, neatly dressed in the riding outfit I'd first seen her in, was walking out of the stables as I rode down the lane in the bright Monday morning sun. I called out a 'Good morning' and pulled up on the lane in front of the Groom's Cottage to wait for her.

  'There you are, Say. Good morning,' she replied cheerfully. 'I'd called earlier to see if you wanted to go riding, but you didn't answer. I thought you might be sleeping in after your long weekend.'

  'No such luck. I was up early, and finding my cupboards bare – having missed the market on Friday – I was on road to Strayfeller after breakfast to pick up bread and other critical supplies,' I relied, adding with a grin, 'But I'll count missing you this morning as a bullet dodged.'

  'What? Don't you ride?' she asked with a mocking smile.

  'I'm not overly fond of horses,' I admitted. 'In my youth, I had to muck out our firm's stables. The horses were big and paid me no mind. Luckily, by the time I was old enough to make deliveries we had an electric dray so I could leave the horse drawn ones to the old hands.'

  'We have several very mild mannered mares in our stable...' she said.

  'Thanks, but I'll pass. Breaking my neck is not high on my to-do list. Would you care for a cup of tea? That's what's next on my list. I've picked up fresh buns, several cheeses and some home-made preserves as well.'

  'That sounds delightful. It was next on my list as well,' she replied.

  As I filled the kettle, I said, 'I meant to ask you yesterday how Renny took your suggestion? Did he faint, or did he simply sit down, call feebly for a glass of water and some eau de cologne to dab on his temples?'

  'I'll have you know that my dear betrothed merely swayed a bit, and then, on his third try, got out “Sure, why not.” which set my poor heart a ‘fluttering,' she replied, gaily.

  'Bravo, a splendid display of the true British bulldog spirit,' I laughed. 'There's good stuff in that Renny of yours.'

  'I think so. I'm marrying him, aren't I?' she replied smugly. 'In any event, he'll have plenty of time to reconsider since he's leaving this afternoon aboard the British Air Services Cloud Ship Thames for India. He'll be floating in the clouds for the better part of three days with nothing else to do but reconsider, plenty of time to come to his senses.'

  'Ah, yes, he did mention that he'd be off to India on a long sales and cross licensing mission when he stopped by. He didn't mention he'd be flying aboard a cloud ship, though I suppose that's the way to travel if you can afford it.'

  'It's a business expense, Say. Just the price of promoting British and Scottish exports so that you can enjoy your cup of Indian tea,' she replied and added the well-worn slogan, 'Trade must be balanced.'

  'Then it's well worth it,' I laughed. 'I'm happy to see you in such a fine mood this morning. You seemed so worn and exhausted last night.'

  'I'd a solid night's sleep, and awoke today to find that setting the date has set me free. It must have been weighing on me far more than I realized. Plus, last night, I freed myself of Flora's nagging as well.'

  'Oh?'

  'She started in on me about driving you home, going on about how inappropriate it was for me to be seen with you, mere hours after my fiancée left. What would they think?'

  'Does it matter?

  'Exactly. Even if they think the worst, there's nothing to be done about it. But I got mad and told her that she wasn't really concerned about my reputation and that I'd set the wedding date so I could be free of being badgered. But if that wasn't going to do the trick, well, not only would I cancel the wedding, but I'd scrap the whole engagement, and never, ever marry. Not ever!' she exclaimed in mock anger, and laughed, adding, 'She seems to believe that's a real possibility, so for good measure I mentioned again that I thought I'd be perfectly happy as her children's favourite aunt, the one who did everything with them,' she laughed again.

  'That did it. She may have even turned a little pale, so I told her I didn't want to hear another word about who I see or what I do. Not a word or even a look. Hopefully I'll be able to enjoy the next few weeks without being lectured by my little sister, or my father.'

  'I know your sister wants you married before she sets her date, but that almost seems like guilt. And I seriously doubt that anyone would believe you have to get married,' I said. 'They may mention it in jest, but I know you're held in high regard with the staff.'

  'Blackmail and bribes, Say, blackmail and bribes,' she replied with a laugh.

  'It's far more than that,' I assured her. I've not heard an unkind word about her in my conversations with my fellow staff members.

  We chatted over tea, buns and cheese for the better part of an hour. I mentioned that, pursuant to my policy of avoiding her father whenever possible, I'd made plans for the coming weekend as well. 'I've signed on for a boating expedition on Loch Lomond with Red and a couple of his friends. You wouldn't consider coming along, would you?' I asked on the spur of the moment, without thinking, hastily adding with a laugh to make it seem more of a joke then it had come out, 'I've gone on several of Red's boating expeditions before and having a doctor along would be a great comfort.'

  She smiled, 'Thank you, but my friends from college are coming up for a visit this weekend. They'll be arriving Thursday evening and staying to Tuesday morning, but thanks anyway...'

  'Then I'll just have to take my chances. I've survived them all so far...'

  'You might, however, be happy to know that Flora's planning to spend a fortnight with Ham at the Fraser family estate near Perth so I'll have Hidden Garden almost all to myself for almost a fortnight. Freedom to read, ride and fish with you without any sharp looks or words!'

  'That does sound grand,' I said. It did. But be careful, Say, I added to myself.

  I sat outside on the bench after she left, thinking. I decided that Glen Lonon was a very strange place. It seemed only vaguely connected to the real world. I felt that when I first arrived, and for a while there I thought it was just my imagination. But that feeling's back again, only this time I'm viewing its strangeness from the inside rather than from the outside. This morning's strangeness was how I reacted to Nesta. And maybe Nesta herself. For someone who was just a few days ago content to put off the wedding indefinitely, and who, even last night seemed more resigned than anything, well, her flowing good humour would seem to be a wee bit strange. I suppose her explanation made sense, still it seemed strange. And her happiness should've sparked a selfish hurt in me, if I was as infatuated with her as I'd thought I was. But it didn't. Instead, I was carried along with her dashing good humour, and even as I write this, I'm not bothered by the fact that she'd treated me as a friend (even though I know that's what we are) ignoring any notice of my growing fondness for her. I doubt I'm much of a Sphinx when it comes to hiding my feelings, and if she's anything like Sherlock Holmes, I'd have thought she'd seen that growing fondness and would've taken it into account. But she made no allowances and simply treated me like a dear friend. But was that really so bad? Shaking myself free of such useless thoughts, I went in and brought down the computer and got to work.

  But even the project presented its own little problems of the heart. I can read 90% of TTR's handwriting these days without much trouble. The other 10% can mostly be deciphered from context. If I really worked at it, I could probably finish transcribing the legible words by the end of the week. Professor Blake would likely expect more, but that could be done in Cambridge once he had a copy of my work. But summer in Glen Lonon had taken on a golden glow, and despite the real danger of making a bloody fool of myself the longer I stayed, I wasn't in a hurry to go. So I divided what remained into three weeks' worth of work – taking me to the last week I could stay at Glen Lonon. Seeing that it amounted to almost four hundred sides of handwritten notes, it was not an unreasonable amount of time. And with my watson not on the estate phone net, Learmonte would have to physically track me down to badger me to get finished, and I'd make sure I w
asn't around to be found...

  I spent the afternoon transcribing what I could easily read on the papers; mostly the top third of them. After dinner, Nesta called and we took a long bike ride in the soft evening with all the usual suspects, the sheep, the birds and insects darting in the blue green sky, the odd farm hand, and their dog in the lane. Strangely enough, the mysterious forces at the far end of the glen seemed to cast no shadow over the valley, life in the glen, or my present happiness. I've grown too close to it all. And though I know I'll pay, that doesn't seem to bother me either. I'm in that deep.

  Returning to Glen Lonon, we picked up our fly rods, boots and crossed the paddock to the river with Willy and Watt bounding ahead. And afterword, in the deepening twilight, we sat on the shore with the dogs and talked of this and that until we could see the flashes of lightning from Maig Glen.

  I've mentioned that I found Nesta a little fey, and I still did, but now there was an underlying happiness to her that I'd only rarely glimpsed before, and she was far chattier, relating stories about her time in college and her friends who'd be up this weekend, all of which reconciled me to her upcoming wedding. Given all the various pressures of these last several months, to pass her boards, to get married, to come to terms with leaving Glen Lonon, to start a new career, she now had found a degree of freedom by resigning herself to fate. And really, marrying Renny Lonsdale was hardly a fate to be avoided. I hope that sounds noble enough. I try, and mostly succeed. And then I'll glance at her and catch my breath.

  02

  Tuesday was another fine day, sunny and mild and Nesta decided to drop in for a spot of tea after a morning of fishing. She wore shorts under her hip boots and took the wet boots off on the bench outside the cottage. Women, of course, still wear short skirts and shorts, but either with long socks or in the evening and after dark, and mostly to the sort of places I haven't the time, money or the excuse to visit, so that having a pretty girl about the cottage with long, slim and bare legs was rather unsettling, pleasantly unsettling, but still... It's not like I never had a girl with bare legs about, but it's been too long. Far too long. So when a passing cloud dragged a thin veil of rain across the paddock as we were finishing our lunch, I suggested that the reading she planned to do next could be done in the Groom's Cottage so we spent the rest of the afternoon in the cottage, she, reading curled up in the leather club chair and me working at the desk, unfortunately with my back to her. Even so, somehow, having her around made working a whole lot more enjoyable. I don't even want to think about the piper's bill this reckless regard for my poor heart will come to when it's time to pay the piper in three weeks.

  Wednesday was a day of sun and showers. I spent the day putting pages in better order than I'd first put them in, now that I could read more of the text, fine tuning the jigsaw puzzle as I got to read TTR's hand more reliably.

  We went for our usual bike ride in the evening, starting earlier now to avoid the storm. Nesta said little, being a clinic day.

  After we returned to Glen Lonon, we gathered our gear and the dogs and walked down to the Lonon to fish. We'd only been fishing for half an hour or so, when we noticed the flashes of lightning on the trees along the far bank, and looking to the southwest, it was clear that the nightly Maig Glen was strong enough to come roaring out of the glen, so we waded out, gathered the dogs and crossed the paddock in the flickering light and rolling thunder and made for my cottage to ride it out with some tea and biscuits.

  She curled up in the club chair, and warmed her hands on the steaming mug I handed her. I settled in on the sofa.

  'I hope you understand, Sandy, that I'd have you up to the big house, but it would only make for more trouble. Aunt Regina, who runs Hidden Garden wouldn't care, but she'd likely mention it to Father, and Flora would probably kick too, since we were ordered to treat you as staff, not as a guest. I feel guilty, but I think it's for the best.'

  'I'm sure of it. To tell the truth, I've never given it a thought. I much prefer having you stop by like this,' (Far too much.) I assured her, which may have said too much, so I added, 'You have to remember, I'm a London green grower's son. Wholesale at that, so we didn't even deliver to the big London houses. The Groom's Cottage suits me just fine.'

  Indeed, the cottage in the dim golden light of the lantern on the kitchen table with Nesta curled up in the club chair, her long pale legs tucked under her, I couldn't imagine any other place I'd have wanted to be. It's only after she's gone that I recall that I should be far more thoughtful about these things. But only after she's gone.

  Oh, we had just talked of this and that – nothing important – between long, but comfortable silences, I told her about some of my previous boating excursions with Red and friends, along the North Sea shore and in rivers of the fen lands, and she, more stories of college and her good friends. It was nearing 10:00 when she decided it was time to go, so I walked her up the dripping lane to Hidden Garden.

  'Hope you'll have a lovely visit,' I said.

  'And I hope you survive Loch Lomond,' she replied. 'I've gotten used to having you around.'

  That touched my heart, I'll admit.

  'I like being around,' I said, adding, 'Still, I'm not likely to be back before Monday. We're likely to spend all of Sunday on the water and with your friends about, I won't hurry home. Tell your father if he asks, I'm just staying out of the way per his instructions.'