Down an English Lane

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Down an English Lane Page 44

by Margaret Thornton


  ‘Yes, something like that,’ she nodded casually.

  ‘Let me introduce the two of you,’ he said. ‘Maisie, this is Laura, an old friend of mine; Laura Drummond. She used to be our receptionist.’

  ‘Oh, I see…’ said Maisie, raising her eyebrows as though this was news to her. The two of them shook hands cordially and said ‘How do you do?’ ‘And are you still a receptionist?’ Maisie asked, ‘somewhere else perhaps?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Laura. ‘I’m working up in Inverness now, but I had a fortnight’s holiday due, so I decided to come back to Callander for a wee while. And Mr and Mrs Cameron kindly invited me to stay here…’ Maisie nodded politely.

  ‘This is my home town, where I was born,’ she went on. ‘But my parents have just moved to Glasgow. My dad’s a bank manager and he’s got a promotion, but it’s no’ a place I would choose to live. I shall go and stay with them, of course, but my roots are here… At the moment I’m looking for a wee place of my own.’

  ‘In Callander…?’

  ‘Aye, or somewhere near…’

  ‘So you don’t intend to stay in Inverness?’

  ‘I’ll finish the season, and then I’ll see,’ said Laura, smiling a little mysteriously. ‘I don’t know how things will work out, but I want a place to call my own, that’s for sure.’

  Maisie decided she must stop asking questions. It was really none of her business, although she was anxious to know why the young woman was thinking of moving south again. At least she had not exchanged knowing glances with Andy…

  She asked Maisie how she was liking Scotland and wanted to know all about the tour. They had coach parties to stay at the hotel in Inverness, but Galaxy had not yet ventured so far north. Maisie found that she could not help but like her. There was none of the instant animosity that she had felt on first meeting Christine, nor did she sense any possessiveness in Laura’s attitude towards Andy. Maybe there had been something between them in the past, but there was no sign of it now. He was behaving towards both of them as though they were good chums, not girlfriends, either past or present.

  Maisie sang ‘The Bells of Saint Mary’s’, an old-fashioned song which she enjoyed and the audience enjoyed too; Andy sang a selection of the Hebridean songs; and then, together, they performed ‘The Heather on the Hill’, which they always included at least once during the three night stay.

  ‘You sing well together,’ Laura told them; Maisie noticed that she had applauded enthusiastically at the end of the number.

  ‘Aye, we’re no’ so bad, are we, Maisie?’ Andy winked at her and grinned. ‘Now, I must tell you – well, ask you, I mean – about the new duets I have in mind for us…’

  The songs that he had chosen – and how could she do anything but fall in with his ideas? – could not have been less romantic. They were both by Irving Berlin; ‘A Couple of Swells’ from Easter Parade, and ‘Anything you can do (I can do better)’, from Annie get your Gun.

  ‘I thought it would make a nice change,’ he said. ‘A couple of wee comedy numbers. Shall we give them a try?’

  ‘Yes…why not?’ she said. ‘Judy Garland, eat your heart out. And… Betty Hutton, wasn’t she Annie Oakley?’

  ‘To say nothing of Fred Astaire and Howard Keel,’ laughed Laura.

  She stayed with them later that evening, when nearly all the other guests had retired, whilst they practised their new numbers with Jeanette.

  And so it was for the rest of Maisie’s stay there. It was as though they were a threesome, during the evenings at any rate. On the second day, of course, she was on her tour of the Trossachs, but she wondered if, on the final day, Friday, Andy might ask her to go out in the car with him as he had done on the last tour. But he did not do so. Maybe he had gone house hunting with Laura…? But she did not find out.

  On the Friday night she could not settle to sleep. She tried to read, but to no avail, and then she tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. And an extra glass of wine, which a man from the tour had insisted on buying her, meant that she needed to pay a visit to the little room along the corridor. She sighed and put on her dressing gown, easing her feet into her slippers, then crept along the passageway. On her way back she caught a glimpse of Laura, also clad in her dressing gown, disappearing down the flight of stairs which led to the first floor. Andy’s room was on the first floor…

  To her surprise she remained dry-eyed and even managed to sleep. She awoke with a sense of purpose, but not one that cheered her; she was sad at heart and her mind felt numb, but she knew what she had to do. She must forget all about Andy Cameron; she must put him right out of her mind. He was not for her. As it had been with Bruce, it was just an impossible dream.

  Laura was with him and his father as they stood by the coach to say farewell to the guests.

  ‘Goodbye; it’s been nice meeting you…’ Maisie waved to Laura as she stepped on to the coach. She did not give Andy the chance to even kiss her on the cheek. ‘Bye, Andy…’ she called.

  ‘Yes… Bye, Maisie,’ he repeated, rather bemusedly. ‘See you in three weeks’ time?’

  ‘Yes…see you,’ she said. But she was determined not to see him again.

  She was quiet on the return journey, as she usually was. The passengers did not want to hear any more stories or information about the scenery they were passing as they had heard it all on the outward journey. Bob, too, was quiet, concentrating on his driving, and Maisie did not attempt to talk to him until they had their lunchtime stop at a little wayside café near the border.

  ‘Well, Maisie, how’s tricks?’ he asked her.

  ‘Not too good,’ she replied, ‘if you are referring to what I think you are.’

  ‘Give the lad a chance,’ he remarked. ‘From what I could see of yon lass she was hanging on to him like a drowning man to a raft. Talk about a clinging vine…’

  ‘That’s what I’m not sure about,’ said Maisie. ‘I don’t know what’s going on there… But I’ve decided to give myself a break. I told you, didn’t I, that I made a fool of myself before over a fellow, and I’m not going to do it again.’ She paused, then, ‘I won’t be coming with you on the next tour,’ she said.

  ‘Now, Maisie love, you mustn’t be hasty. And I don’t see why you should run away…’

  ‘I’m not doing, Bob. I’m not saying that I won’t go back on the tour sometime…but for the time being I think it’s for the best if I give it a miss.’

  ‘Aye…’ Bob nodded soberly. ‘It might make that young feller-me-lad come to his senses.’

  ‘I doubt it, Bob.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve come to the conclusion that he likes me as a friend, somebody to sing duets with, but as far as anything else is concerned…’ She shrugged. ‘I can’t allow myself to get in any deeper… I told you how I feel about him,’ she added quietly.

  ‘I shall miss you, Maisie,’ he said. They were both in a pensive mood for the rest of the homeward journey.

  She rang Henry Galloway at his home on the Sunday; she was due to set off to Stratford the following day. He listened carefully to her suggestion that Sheila should take over the Scottish tour for a while.

  ‘She could do with the experience, couldn’t she?’ she asked, ‘and I don’t want to feel I’m hogging the tour. From what she has said to me, I think Sheila would like the chance to do rather more. And I can perhaps do relief work for a while. You did suggest that at one time…’

  If Henry felt there might be another reason for Maisie’s request he did not say so. He arranged to meet her in Leeds on the following Saturday, when she returned from her tour in the Midlands.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said,’ he told her, over their lunch table. ‘In fact, I have acted upon it already, and Sheila is willing to do the next Scottish tour; I might say she jumped at the chance. The trainee courier, Linda, is experienced enough now to take over Sheila’s work, so it should work out very well…

  ‘I don’t know if you had any ulterior motive to your re
quest, Maisie, and I am not asking. But it made Trixie and I come to a decision.’ He nodded at her in a satisfied way. ‘Now, this is what we have decided… You are not going to London on Monday; Sheila is going to do that tour as well. Instead of that you will be on a flight to Paris with Trixie…’ Maisie gasped, both with surprise and delight.

  ‘There are a couple of hotels that we want to “recce” there. And the following week you will be in Amsterdam. We want you to make the most of your time there. As well as assessing the hotels, I want you to get acquainted with the cities and the outlying areas. We will be needing experienced couriers when we start our Continental tours next summer…

  ‘Now, have you anything to say, or to ask me about it? I know you may feel you are being thrown in at the deep end, but you did request a change, didn’t you?’

  ‘Indeed I did,’ she said. ‘I’m pleased that you think I’m capable of going abroad. Gosh! How wonderful…’ Her personal problems were receding further back in her mind, as she had been trying to make them do for the past week, as she thought about the exciting times that lay ahead. ‘Trixie will be with me, though, won’t she?’

  ‘She will at first, but not all the time. We both know, Maisie, that you are capable of doing anything that you set your mind to, and we want you to start finding your feet on the Continent as well as in our own country. You and Trixie are booked on a flight to Paris with Red Rose Airlines, departing from Leeds airport on Monday morning. So off you go now and start packing…’

  Henry had insisted she should apply for a passport when she became manageress of the Leeds branch, just in case she might need it. She took it out of the drawer and looked at it wonderingly. Red Rose Airlines was the company that Bruce worked for. She wondered, in passing, if he might be the pilot, and if, on arrival in Paris, the hotel they were to ‘recce’ might be the one he had mentioned, near to the Tuileries Gardens? But coincidences such as that were unlikely.

  She knew it for a fact when she sat in her aeroplane seat with the safety belt fastened and heard the pilot’s voice over the intercom.

  ‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is your captain, John Whitfield speaking…’ He promised them a smooth flight with no turbulence ahead.

  In a few moments, after the deafening roar of the engines and whizzing of propellers, during which time Maisie kept her eyes tightly closed, they were airborne. From her window seat she watched the houses and factories growing smaller and smaller, and the cars on the roads looking like Dinky models, almost topsy-turvy for a moment as the plane turned. Then they were soaring above the clouds.

  She was glad of Trixie’s expertise when they arrived, in dealing with the luggage and the taxi to the hotel. Of course it was not anywhere near the Tuileries Gardens, but in a suburb to the east of Paris. Trixie explained that the hotels on the outskirts of the city – in fact, of any city – were far more reasonable in price than those in the centre, an important consideration to the tour managers and to the travellers as well.

  They stayed for two nights in two different hotels, and then decided on the first one. It had a more friendly ambience, well cooked food – a simple evening meal as well as the inevitable rolls and butter for breakfast – and a pleasant leafy locality. It was convenient, too, for the excursions that they planned as part of the tour: a visit to Versailles, the palace of the Sun King, Louis the Fourteenth; and another to the chateau of Fontainebleau; as well as the city tour of Paris itself.

  Maisie, with Trixie as her guide, became familiar with the metro – a quick and easy way of getting around, although the coach passengers would be driven to most of the sights by courtesy of Galaxy – and the familiar landmarks. The Eiffel Tower; the Champs Élysées and Arc de Triomphe; the cathedral of Notre Dame and Sacré Coeur; the river trip along the Seine… So many sights and impressions there were to take in on her first visit. But she would need to know them all thoroughly if she intended to conduct a tour in this glamorous city.

  The following week found Maisie and Trixie in the Netherlands, investigating a farmhouse type hotel in the rural Friesian area, to the north of Amsterdam. They agreed that it was perfect. They explored the places they intended to include on the tour; the city of Amsterdam with its tree-lined canals and bridges, cobbled streets and colourful flower markets; the fishing village of Volendam; the picturesque villages of the Iselmeer – once known as the Zuider Zee – Marken, where the elderly people still wore national dress, and Edam, famous for its round red-coated cheese.

  This was the week, of course when Maisie would normally have been in Scotland…

  Andy Cameron was looking forward to seeing Maisie again. He had known at once, on first meeting her, that he was attracted to her, but as was his wont, he had proceeded with caution. She was a travel courier, here for a few days, and the next week somewhere entirely different. How did he know but that she had male friends – a regular boyfriend, maybe – elsewhere?

  The more he saw of her, the more he liked her. He knew it would be easy to fall in love with her; maybe he had done so already? She was friendly – not at all shy – and fun to be with. The coach passengers, each time, obviously took her to their hearts; she was always agreeable and ready to do anything she could to help them. He was even more delighted when he discovered that she could sing, and how harmoniously the two of them sang together… And, apart from all that, she was a stunning looking girl…

  Maisie had given him no inkling, however, that she regarded him as anything other than a friend. Occasionally he thought he might have seen a specially tender look in her lovely brown eyes; but then it had changed to one of amusement as the two of them had laughed together at something or other. She was full of fun, and Andy, more accustomed to the dour Scottish outlook of some of his friends and family, found her happy personality was a refreshing change.

  It was a pity that Laura had appeared when she did… He had made up his mind that he would say something to Maisie that week. He would find out, first of all, whether there was anyone else in the picture, and then he would know just where he stood. And if there wasn’t, then he would invite her out again, hoping that this might lead to more outings together, and then…who could tell? But then Laura had come to stay…

  He and Laura had been friends – in fact, more than just friends – for a while, although they had never become engaged. They had known one another since they were at Infant school; they had attended the same church, the same youth club, and then, on leaving the sixth form at the age of eighteen, she had come to work as their receptionist. They had come to a mutual decision, though, in the end, that they knew one another too well, if that were possible. They had begun to take one another for granted; there was no excitement, no mystery any more, and so they had brought their relationship to an end. Laura had sought a post elsewhere, ending up, finally, in Inverness. They had agreed, however, that they would remain friends. There was too much shared history and background between them for it to be otherwise.

  She had suffered an unhappy love affair a few months ago, and although her damaged heart, so she said, had more or less healed, she had still had a yearning to return to the Lowlands and the scenes of her childhood.

  It was a great pity that her visit had coincided with Maisie’s tour. The following week Laura had gone to Glasgow to stay with her parents. Whilst she was there, with their help and persuasion, she had decided to settle in Largs, a resort on the Firth of Forth, not too far away from them. She was now in the process of moving into her own flat, and she had already found another post in the town as a hotel receptionist. And Andy had felt obliged to wait until the next tour before speaking to Maisie.

  He decided not to go out to the coach to greet the new travellers. That had always been his father’s prerogative, but he waited anxiously for the familiar figure to come through the door. But the girl in the red blazer who eventually appeared was as fair as Maisie was dark, shorter too and slightly plumper; a very pleasant girl, seemingly, but she was not Maisie. He knew, howe
ver, that he must make her feel welcome. It would be most impolite to say, ‘Who are you, and where is Maisie?’ which was what he felt like asking.

  Bob entered the foyer and he hurried to the girl’s side. ‘This is Sheila,’ he said. ‘She is taking over from Maisie for a little while. Sheila, this is Andy, Mr Cameron’s son, and our esteemed chef.’ They shook hands cordially and Andy did his best to smile warmly at her. Bob edged closer to him.

  ‘I dare say you’re wondering where she is,’ he said in a low voice, ‘our Maisie?’ Andy nodded, with one eye on Sheila, who was now chatting amiably to Moira. ‘Well, right at this moment she’s in Amsterdam…’ Bob laughed, seeming to take pleasure in Andy’s look of shock and amazement. ‘Aye, that took the wind out o’ yer sails, didn’t it? Listen, Andy…’ He put a friendly hand on his arm. ‘I think it’s time you and me had a bit of a chat; OK?’

  ‘Yes…yes, we must,’ replied Andy. ‘Shall we meet in the lounge, later this evening?’

  ‘Aye, suits me,’ said Bob. ‘And don’t worry, lad. It’ll all turn out all right, believe me.’

  ‘You said that Maisie is in Amsterdam?’ he asked later. ‘What on earth is she doing there? Galaxy don’t do tours to Europe, do they?’

  ‘Not at the moment, but they will be doing soon, and Maisie’s gone to do a spot of – what’s it called? – reconnoitring.’

  ‘But why has she gone? I thought she was here for the rest of the season at least. Was it an order from above?’

  ‘More of a request, I think. She wanted a change; a break, she said, to sort herself out…and I think we can guess why, can’t we?’ He was looking meaningfully at Andy, who sighed and shook his head.

  ‘I was getting very fond of her. In fact, I was going to tell her so, this week… I couldn’t believe it when she wasn’t there.’

  ‘Happen you should have told her a bit sooner. She wasn’t to know how you felt, was she, if you didn’t say ’owt? And then wi’ that other lass turning up out o’ the blue…’

 

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