‘Could you sit still for long enough?’ asked Francisco, smiling at her, tugging at her plaits affectionately.
‘She cannot sit at peace for more than five minutes together!’ said Lilias.
‘I could try, Lily. I could try.’
‘Maybe so. But I certainly could. My father has often spoken of this, you know.’
‘Has he?’ said Mateo. It didn’t seem the kind of thing that McNeill would have cared about.
‘Oh yes. He used to travel more often than he does now, and once or twice he stayed in a fine big house, or so he told us, and he was very taken with the family portraits that were hanging on the walls there. There was a portrait of our poor Queen Mary that took his fancy. He was her admirer ever after. He said she was as beautiful and perilous as one of the fairy women.’
‘I’m told she was a handsome woman. But I’ve seen some who would compare with her.’
She chose to ignore this very obvious piece of gallantry. ‘We have no portraits, not even of the family. There are a few gloomy old woodcuts of I know not what, that have been here for ever, and a picture of the Virgin Mary and the baby Jesus that my mother brought with her and used to use for her devotions. But I think my father would like it fine if there could be portraits of the two of us.’
‘It’s not so easy. Where would we find the canvas, the pigments, the brushes?’ asked Mateo, seeing his cousin’s sudden enthusiasm. ‘Francisco has some skill at mixing his own colours, but at home we acquired whatever we needed from the peninsula and sometimes from Italy. Even then, it was expensive and difficult. It is a long way from Scotland.’
‘I think it could be done. Messages could be sent. Scotland still trades with many other countries and such things are to be found in Edinburgh. We are not the savages you think us, Mateo. My brother will be coming home from St Andrews for a visit when the season and the weather allow, but I know he has friends in Edinburgh, and if I can write a letter for my father, it could be sent to the mainland and might reach him. There are people who travel back and forth. And then he could bring whatever you need when he returns. It wouldn’t be an impossibility, believe me, if we were prepared to wait a while. And you’re not going away very soon, are you?’
‘No.’ Mateo shook his head. ‘We’re not going away, Lady.’
‘Well,’ said Francisco, ‘perhaps I could make a list and perhaps we could try to get something. I had thought of trying to find and mix what I could from plants. But it is all so unfamiliar and difficult. I wouldn’t know where to start.’
‘Like the dyes that we use for the wool? But that is a different matter and nothing turns out as you expect. There is a kind of magic in it! I’ll speak to my father. Portraits are very good ways of finding husbands, you know. Especially if they are flattering enough and can be shown to prospective bridegrooms.’
Mateo felt a pang of disappointment at the thought of prospective bridegrooms for Lilias, but said nothing.
Ishbel danced off and the dogs raced after her. ‘More shells!’ she called. ‘We need more shells.’
‘There are more in the next bay,’ said Lilias to Mateo, preparing to follow her sister. ‘Its name is Sligeachan, which means the shell place and so it is.’
‘Why does she gather them? These...’
‘Creachainn. Clam shells. Mostly because she likes to collect things, likes to squirrel things away. She hangs them in our bedchamber where they make a pleasant noise in the breezes that find their way inside. But they have other uses, especially for skimming the milk.’
Ishbel was already running towards the narrow headland that sheltered the bay and they followed her, climbing across the promontory at its lowest point.
Francisco was striding after the child, but Lilias lingered and Mateo hung back with her. ‘This was where I first saw you. You were standing near this tower. What is it? Was it a part of your house? A watch tower?’
‘Maybe. I don’t know for sure. It’s said to be very old. We call it Dun Faire, which certainly means the watch hill or fort. But we don’t build such round towers now, nor do folk even know how to build them, or so I’m told. They were made by people who were here before us. Long, long ago. A strange and monstrous people who came from the sea. Well, some say they were monstrous and some say they were beautiful beyond compare. Our threats have always come from the sea, you know. For hundreds of years. Long before you came in your big ships.’
‘In our big, bold and not very adequate ships.’
‘That’s a brave admission, Mateo de Tegueste. Who am I, a mere woman, to say whether it’s true or not?’ She was laughing at him again, he saw, even flirting with him, and he began to laugh with her.
‘But all the same, there have been so many enemies. Interlowpers in the lowland tongue. The Gall-Ghaidheil, the foreign Gaels from the outer islands, and the fierce Norsemen before that. Pirates. Men from Ireland, or from the Scottish mainland too. That’s why we have our own big tower, back there, and why there are guards set on top of it during times of trouble. Looking out for the enemy.’ She smiled at him enigmatically. ‘But this tower was already a ruin when my father was a boy, and when his father before him was a boy too. It’s a curious place, though. Come with me and I’ll show you!’
All unexpectedly, she took his hand and pulled him along until they reached the tower. The short afternoon was almost done, the wintry sun sinking behind the island hills. Soon this coast would be in twilight. A mist was rising from the sea and starting to drift across the sand, making ghosts of the rocks. He had never been so close to the tower before. He could see that it must once have been very tall, a monumental structure, its stones fitting together beautifully without benefit of mortar or clay or any other means of fixing them.
‘Quickly, quickly, before they notice we’re missing!’
She took his hand and pulled him into the shadow of the building. He saw that there was a doorway in the stone, also well-constructed, and once through it, he realised that the walls inside were double, with a dark passageway between them. Peering along, he could just make out a stair. Still holding his hand, she kilted up her skirts and clambered up the precarious stones so that he couldn’t help but follow. The place smelled of damp and cold stone and the sea. There was a cell built into the thickness of the double wall – a guard room perhaps – and then they were in a completely circular upper chamber. The place was quite open to the darkening sky but he could see that there had once been more floors, joined by a string of galleries and stairs. Now they led nowhere. In this room, there were flagstones set upright, forming an enclosure of some kind, and others in the shape of a rudimentary flat-topped table or cupboard.
He stood still, intrigued and surprised. ‘Did people live here then?’ he asked.
‘We don’t know. Maybe. Maybe they lived here before Achadh nam Blàth was ever built. Although my father tells me that our Great Hall is very old indeed. Older than the tower at the end of the hall. And this is older still. But if they did live here, they must have been quite cramped. Maybe they kept the beasts down below. Who knows? I sometimes wonder if that was a bed. You could fill it with heather, and sleep there. Like Diarmuid and Grania.’
‘Who were they?’
‘They were lovers. They ran away together. She was meant to marry somebody else. He made her a bed of heather. Perhaps they used this as a lookout, the people who lived here, and if they saw the enemy approaching, they might assemble in here. It would be hard to breach this and a few fighting men could defend it.’
‘But wouldn’t the enemy have come from the west?’
‘Not always. And besides, there was once another tower just like this on the west side of the island. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes, back when my brother and I used to roam the moors beyond Dun Tarbh.’
‘Thank you for showing it to me.’
‘It’s a very private place,’ she said. ‘Nobody comes
here. Even from our house. They say that the fairy washerwoman can be seen washing the shirts of those who are about to die, down there beside the shore where the water from the burn gathers in pools. But I don’t think so. I think it’s just a little sad. Like you, my friend.’
She was standing so close to him that he could feel her breath on his neck, and she hadn’t relinquished his hand. All of a sudden, she stood on tiptoe and planted a lingering kiss on his cheek.
Then, before he could respond, she had turned and was pulling him after her, out of the tower. She let go of his hand. The space between them seemed vast. The dogs came rushing up from the beach, their coats sandy where they had been rolling on pieces of seaweed and other fouler things. They were followed by Ishbel with Francisco, the child still holding up her skirts, full of shells and small sticks, although Francisco had taken his share of the burden, as many as he could hold in his arms.
‘Where were you?’ Ishbel asked. ‘You didn’t come.’
‘No. It’ll be getting dark soon, and I wanted to show Mateo the old tower. But we’d best be going home. Beathag will be fretting and wondering where you are, Ishbel. Here. Give me some of your sticks as well. Mateo can take some too. That way, we’ll go more quickly. Time for supper and then for bed.’
TWENTY-FIVE
At the Scoull Hotel, Daisy sits outside at one of the picnic tables with Hector’s lead tied to the wrought-iron table leg so that he won’t bother the other customers. Mrs Cameron is behind the bar, chatting to her daughter-in-law, who is serving a bevy of visiting yachtsmen and visitors to the campsite in the field behind the hotel.
‘Go back and sit down. I’ll bring a tray out to you,’ Elspeth Cameron says. She’s looking slightly flushed with excitement and she clearly has news of some kind.
When she brings out Daisy’s late lunch, Hector greets her like a long-lost relative.
‘I see you’ve borrowed Cal’s dog!’
‘I had no choice. He was foisted on me. But to be honest, I’m very glad of the company.’
‘You can bring him into the bar, you know. We’re dog-friendly here. Just not into the restaurant.’
‘It’s nice to sit out while the weather’s good.’
Daisy realises that she’s ravenous and falls on the prawn salad sandwich and coffee with enthusiasm. Elspeth Cameron has brought out her own drink as well, a tall spritzer. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’
‘Please do. I’ve only had the dog for company since yesterday. He’s lovely but it’s nice to talk to a human being. I’ve started sorting things out.’
‘Well, if you need help, just say.’
‘Don’t you have enough to do?’
‘Yes, but your place is more interesting. You could have a garage sale.’
‘I could have several and I probably will when I get things organised. I could do it in the old sheds at the front of the house.’
‘So where’s Cal? Has he gone back to Glasgow?’
‘No, I don’t think so. He said he had a restoration job to do down at Carraig. He’s working on a piece of furniture. An old Scots dresser.’
‘He’s a talented lad, that one.’
‘Is he? I wouldn’t know.’
‘He did a couple of pieces of nice old furniture for us. Made a good job of them and didn’t overcharge. Not like some.’ She glances around and lowers her voice. ‘Did he say anything about his father coming over?’
‘His father? No. Not at all.’
‘Have you ever met him, William Galbraith?’
‘Not to my knowledge. I’ve seen pictures of him online and occasionally in the press. Why?’
‘It’s just – he’s here. Arrived on the first ferry of the afternoon. He’s upstairs.’ Her voice sinks almost to a whisper.
‘In the hotel? Why is he staying in the hotel and not down at the cottage?’
‘He always does. Well, he never comes here at all now. Or almost never. But on the few occasions when he does, he books a room here.’
‘Maybe he thinks the cottage is too small.’
‘He used to come over when Cal and Catty were young. But even then not very much. It was Fiona who brought the kids to Garve for the summer. I’m told he came when they were courting, though. That was before we had the hotel. He did quite a bit of painting here back then.’
‘Cal doesn’t seem to rate his new work.’
‘Cal doesn’t rate his father at all. Or his work. But I liked those early pictures. Now he’s changed his style completely. Forgive me, my dear, I know very little about art, but they seem very bleak. Very heavy and grim.’
‘I’d agree with you. But Cal never said his dad was coming. I mean, he was out at Auchenblae yesterday. That was when he brought the dog. To keep me company.’
She thinks about the posy ring, but decides to keep quiet about it for the time being. The fewer people who know about it and the portrait of Lilias the better.
‘He didn’t mention William then?’
‘He never said anything about his father at all.’
‘I don’t think he knows he’s over here then. Oh dear.’
‘I don’t understand. Do they really not get on?’
She can’t imagine Rob arriving anywhere and not wanting to see her. Nothing would be more important. From time to time it occurs to her how lucky she has been to take for granted something that so many other people don’t have. Such unconditional love.
Elspeth leans closer. The windows in the upstairs bedrooms are propped open. Daisy wonders which one Cal’s father has checked into. But surely he can’t possibly hear from up there.
‘They don’t. I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but they don’t get on at all. That’s one of the reasons why Cal spends so much time away from Glasgow. Fiona more or less runs the shop, or at least she does all the dogsbody stuff. She does as she’s told. I’ve occasionally seen them together, and my dear husband always remarks that if he ever spoke to me like William speaks to Fiona, he would find a saucepan fitted over his head, and it would probably be made of cast iron. And he’s right.’ Little Elspeth Cameron looks very fierce all of a sudden, her cheeks very pink.
‘I had no idea. He never said anything about it.’
‘He never does. Too concerned for his mum.’
‘He did say something about the restoration work. How he preferred doing that, but his dad said it was just craftwork and not worth bothering with.’
‘That’s the long and the short of it. But I wondered if he knew that William was coming over and now you tell me he doesn’t.’
‘He may know. He doesn’t tell me everything. In fact, I hardly know him.’ Why does she feel the need to stress this? Is she protesting too much?
‘He doesn’t lend Hector to just anyone.’
‘Doesn’t he?’
‘No. But I’m in a quandary. I don’t know whether to phone Carraig and tell him that his dad’s here, or whether I shouldn’t be sticking my nose into things that don’t concern me. That’s what my husband says anyway. That’s his advice. Leave well alone, Elspeth.’
‘Maybe he’s right.’
‘He’s not such a big fan of Cal, that’s the trouble. William’s booked in for an evening meal. I keep wondering what he’s going to do in between times. And why he’s here.’ She gestures towards the car park. ‘That’s his car. You’re parked alongside it.’
‘The big white Jag?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘Good grief. I was wondering who owned that. I don’t know whether you should tell Cal or not. I mean, he’ll know soon enough, if his dad turns up on his doorstep, won’t he?’
‘That’s what my husband says as well. Messengers have a habit of getting shot, though.’
‘They do.’
‘You wouldn’t like to tell him? Text him or something?’
‘No!’ She’s appalled at the very idea. Hector gets up, startled by her tone. She scratches him behind the ear and he sits down again. ‘No, I can’t. Mrs Cameron, Elspeth, I don’t know his dad from Adam, do I? If I text him, he’ll know we’ve been talking about him. And that’s awful.’
Elspeth Cameron finishes her spritzer with a sigh. ‘You’re right, of course. But I can’t help thinking it’s not going to be good news. He’s a...’ She hesitates, searching for the right description and finding something unexpectedly poetic. ‘He’s a vortex of negativity that man.’ Then she splutters with laugher. ‘God, will you listen to me?’
‘William?’
‘Yes, of course. Not Cal. Cal’s an angel by comparison. Well, perhaps not an angel, but he wouldn’t do you a bad turn. William could start a fight at a meeting of Quakers. And it’s worse than that. He can be incredibly charming when it suits him. But he also rubs people up the wrong way. He has this unerring instinct for their weak spots. He makes it seem all harmless and coincidental, but afterwards you realise he meant it, meant to be rude. Unless he thinks he can get something out of you. It’s calculated to make you feel small and insignificant. And he does that to Fiona all the time.’
‘I went out with somebody like that once. Just for a couple of months. Found myself thinking I was in the wrong all the time but I couldn’t figure out what I’d done. I kept finding myself apologising to him and then for him as well. He was rude to all my friends.’
‘Exactly.’
‘My dad told me to kick him into touch and after I stopped being angry I could see that he was right.’
‘Even when he stays here, there’ll be complaints. He’ll say nice things and then there’ll be a sting in the tail. The only person I’ve ever known get the better of him was Donal, one time anyway. Donal from Ardachy. William said something quite unpleasant about his wife’s jewellery, damning it with faint praise, you know, and Donal spoke to him in Gaelic. He has some of the language. From his father, Iain. It was Iain’s mother tongue, of course. I think William didn’t know whether it was an insult or a curse but suspected it was a curse, and it unsettled him. He always likes to be in control, that one.’
The Posy Ring Page 25