Winds from the Sea

by Margaret Pargeter

  “I’m not in any hurry,” Sara demurred quietly, feeling a somewhat alien desire to assert herself. Irrationally she felt she was being pushed around, first by Hugh Fraser, and now Biddy.

  Deliberately, she thought, he chose to misunderstand as his glinting eyes met hers. “You can talk to Biddy later, and she’ll show you around. In the meantime I think you would be wise to do as she suggests. You’ve certainly had a long day.”

  “Mr. Hugh’s right.” Biddy nodded her silver-grey head, smiling approvingly. “And you’ll feel much better tomorrow after a good night’s rest. Then you’ll find there’s plenty to do.”

  “I’ll certainly try to be useful.” Sara looked quickly away from him, addressing Biddy. “If there’s anything I can do to help ...?”

  Her voice trailed off uncertainly and she didn’t have to look at Hugh Fraser to see his derisive expression. An uneasy surge of rebellion shook her as she smoothed a hand rather wearily across her forehead. Biddy clearly hung on his every word, but he couldn’t expect her to do the same.

  Biddy, not aware of undercurrents, nodded again and said soothingly, “Katie won’t be a minute, Miss Winton. Sometimes, I’m afraid, she seems to get lost.” Feeling it futile to say more, Sara smiled and waited silently for the absent Katie. She gazed around with renewed interest as Biddy turned to discuss with Hugh Fraser a man who had called earlier while he was out.

  She had never lived in a place as old as this before, and she wondered, faintly apprehensive, how she would like it. The castle must be literally hundreds of years old, seventeenth century, most probably, and there must surely be a ghost or two lurking around those shadowy passages. But someone at some time had carefully modernized the interior of the building, cleverly combining the old with the new. In this spacious hall everything was in the best of taste with solid comfort everywhere. All designed for perfect living, she thought wryly, as Katie came and whisked her up the next flight of stairs to her room.

  Her bedroom, she found, was in one of the round towers. Not in any sense modern, but unusual and charming. Her feet sank into a warm, rose-coloured carpet, and there was a rose-patterned chintz bedspread and armchair to match. On a small table beside the chair lay a pile of books and magazines, and an electric radiator spread a welcome warmth. Somehow, in spite of the difference, it reminded Sara of her mother’s guest room at home.

  Katie glanced down at the table. Like Biddy she had looked Sara carefully over and seemed to approve. “You might like to sit here sometimes,” she grinned at Sara cheerfully, “so I left some magazines.”

  Sara, hastily swallowing a twinge of nostalgia, thanked her gratefully. Although no one had actually said so Katie was obviously the maid. Sara liked her round merry face, the bright intelligent eyes and gay friendly smile. She disappeared, but returned almost immediately with a tea-tray laden with a steaming pot of tea and hot buttered toast.

  “Biddy sent this,” she said breathlessly. “And I’m to tell you that dinner is at seven.”

  Later, after she had bathed and rested a little, Sara put on a soft afternoon dress and went downstairs again.

  Dinner, she found, was served in a small dining room just off the hall, but she ate in solitary splendour. Hugh Fraser was nowhere to be seen. As she sat alone at the long polished table she wished, rather belatedly, that she had asked for a tray in her room.

  Afterwards Biddy came to see if Katie had brought her everything she needed and lingered while Sara drank her coffee in the hall.

  “Mr. Hugh’s dining with friends,” she told Sara, who had wondered but not liked to ask Katie. “He often goes out. There’s not much company for him here at the moment, but of course it will be different when Miss Jill arrives. I hope you don’t mind, miss?” Sara didn’t. On her own she had felt a sense of relief which was hard to explain. In any case she could scarcely object as to how her employer spent his time. But perhaps Biddy wouldn’t realize this. She had probably never had to deal with a secretary before.

  Tactfully she tried to change the subject. “I expect I’ll soon get used to living here,” she said, smiling. “I suppose you’ve lived here a long time yourself?”

  “Now that the estate belongs to Mr. Hugh some of us might not be here much longer,” Biddy retorted sharply. The words seemed to escape her lips accidentally, almost as if they had been bottled up too long. “Of course,” she went on hastily, looking intently at Sara, “we do understand that he might have to sell Lochgoil, or even employ younger workers. Some of the employees are getting old, I’m afraid, and one or two, like myself, are plagued with rheumatism.” Unconsciously emphasizing her point, she rubbed her hands over her narrow hips with a sigh.

  Sara put down her coffee cup and stared at her, startled. She had hoped to steer the conversation away from Hugh Fraser, but it bounced back at her like a rubber ball. Surely he wouldn’t think of depriving these elderly people of their homes, even if his uncle had foolishly made no provision for them? Frowning, she considered Biddy’s fragile bones, feeling strangely at loss for words.

  “Mr. Fraser must spend a lot of his time abroad,” she said at last, making a rather groping effort of reassurance. “Wouldn’t it be better if you were here to look after the house while he was away?”

  “Maybe he’ll get married and his wife will do that!” Biddy refused to be comforted. “He’s very popular with the ladies, you know. And there’s one in particular who is in France at the moment. She likes him very much indeed.”

  Sara digested this in silence, unable to account for the little tremor that ran through her nerves. “Perhaps Miss Jill will be able to help?” Diplomatically she tried to ignore Biddy’s cryptic remarks, putting them down to the woman’s over-anxious state of mind. Hugh Fraser’s matrimonial plans couldn’t possibly concern his secretary, as Biddy must know very well. She was in no position to offer an opinion, even if she had one, but surely there must be someone to whom Biddy could turn for advice? It seemed strange and not a little puzzling that Biddy should have to confide in a comparative stranger.

  But it appeared that Biddy was already regretting her impulsive remarks. She turned quickly away, picking up Sara’s empty coffee cup as she went. “I would not like to bother Miss Jill,” she muttered. “I’ve no doubt that Mr. Hugh will settle all our difficulties, given time.”

  With that she disappeared through the green baize door into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder that Sara was to ring for Katie if she required anything further. She had apparently forgotten that she was to show Sara around the castle. That, Sara concluded as she gazed at the gently swinging door, must obviously wait until another day.

  Sara was surprised to find she slept dreamlessly that night, and when she awoke it took her some time to gather her senses and realize where she was. The knowledge came to her with a sense of shock. Lochgoil Castle. Those thick, grim stone walls! But her bed was comfortable and sunshine poured in through the half-open window. Thrusting back the sheets, she ran over to look out. The view was magnificent from her round tower; on this side the sea was a vast shimmering expanse of blue. Looking down, close to the shore, she could see small bays and inlets with white sandy beaches. It all looked very inviting.

  Quickly she splashed her face with cold water and hurried into her clothes, choosing her old jeans again and a matching slim-fit shirt. Hugh Fraser had sent a message via Katie late the evening before that he would see her in the library after breakfast. It was still very early, barely seven o’clock. Sara glanced at her watch. She had plenty of time to explore.

  On the outside corridor she slid her feet into a pair of light sandals and ran down the twisting stairways. There wasn’t a soul about. The huge castle was silent; Sara thought she could have heard a pin drop. Ignoring the imposing front entrance, she went to the back of the hall, finding without much difficulty the long stone passage which she had traversed with Hugh Fraser not so many hours ago, and let herself noiselessly out into the courtyard.

  Here again nothing stirre
d. She felt she had the whole world to herself as she stepped out into a perfect, spring morning. Finding her way around the corner of the castle, she walked to the cliff edge and stared down on to the rocks below. The tide was well out and between ribs of black rock lay deep green pools, but less sand than she had thought from her bedroom window. This must be Loch na Keal, she decided, gazing across the sun-flecked waters to where the slopes of Ben More fell gently into flat strips of ground by the farther shore. At this side she hadn’t realized that the cliffs would be so high, but there must be a way down to that enticing shore.

  Ensnared by so much beauty, she turned and walked until she came to a narrow cleft in the rock, where what appeared to be a track, now almost overgrown, descended on to the beach. It had obviously not been used for years.

  Without stopping to think Sara pushed determinedly through the undergrowth, thrusting aside the dead briars, trying to get a foothold on ground made slippery by recent rain. All at once, perhaps because she sensed that time was getting on, it seemed imperative that she should reach the beach. A thorn caught painfully at her hair, snatching the ribbon she had used to tie it back, so that it clouded her face and she could scarcely see where she was going. She slid the last few yards, but to her dismay when she picked herself up she still had some way to go. She was caught on a narrow ledge! Above her the path hung almost vertical, while below was a drop of several feet down a smooth cliff face.

  Bewildered, Sara pushed back her unruly hair with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. This wasn’t turning out exactly as she had planned. Glancing upwards over her shoulder, she saw that it would be impossible to get back the way she had come, and equally impossible to lower herself down on to the rocks below without probably breaking a leg. In her imagination she saw herself being packed off home in an ambulance and gulped convulsively with a shudder of dismay. Her behaviour this morning would be put down as inexcusable if Hugh Fraser had anything to do with it!

  Panic swept inevitably through her. The ledge was both narrow and uncomfortable and provided little shelter against a cool rising wind off the sea. A coldness penetrated her thin shirt, finding her bare skin, and she huddled against the rock in an effort to keep warm. Nearer the water-line she could see some small duck-like birds and a few black guillemots diving amongst them, but there was no sign of any human inhabitant. She tried shouting, but no one came. If there was anyone around they would never hear, Sara thought dismally, above the pounding of the waves.

  Taking three deep breaths, her parents’ own personal remedy for panic, she tried to change her cramped position. Someone was sure to come, she told herself firmly, it was ridiculous to feel so frightened, but all she could see was Hugh Fraser’s sardonic face. What on earth would he say if he ever heard about this? She could imagine his scathing remarks!

  To her utter consternation she hadn’t long to wait. She heard the thunder of hooves on the sand seconds before she saw him coming and jumped wildly to her feet, almost losing her balance as she shouted to attract his attention.

  Hugh Fraser curbed the big bay horse he rode sharply as he turned his dark head and saw her waving high above him. For one long withering moment he stared at her narrowly before pulling curtly at the reins and trotting over to stop just below her. “What the devil are you doing up there?” he shouted tersely. “I thought I’d hired a secretary, not a circus act!” His eyes plainly registered his disgust.

  Sara’s own eyes blazed as she looked down at him, and she clenched her fists, feeling the tell-tale colour creeping under her skin. She’d never felt so stupid in all her life, but couldn’t he understand her predicament? Need he be so sarcastic? “I’m sorry,” she shouted back indignantly, “I only tried to use the path.”

  “Didn’t you see a notice or realize how high these cliffs are?” His eyes held hers, glinting impatiently. “That path hasn’t been used for years, even a blind man could see that!”

  “I didn’t know... With a viable effort Sara bit back a hastier retort, reforming her words into an almost reluctant plea for help. Why hadn’t someone else come along? She would have welcomed anyone but Hugh Fraser. As her polite request for assistance floated sullenly between them she stared stonily down into his upturned face.

  “If you twist around and lower yourself carefully over the edge I can reach you.”

  The arid tone of his voice was not lost on Sara, but she knew better than to argue. To get such an ordeal over as quickly as possible might reduce it to minimal proportions; besides, she was in no position to do other than follow his instructions. Drawing another deep breath, she did as she was told. For one awful moment as her feet swung into space she closed her eyes and her heart nearly stopped beating. Then just as her hands began to slip from their hold on the rock he caught her in a steel-like grip and swung her on to the front of his horse.

  Sara shuddered uncontrollably and pushed back against the lean, powerful frame of the man who held her. His arm around her hurt with the strength of his grip as the big horse reared with the impact of her body and her eyes flew open. “Please put me down, Mr. Fraser,” she cried, her breath coming strangled in her throat as unconsciously, with agitated fingers, she tried to unravel the tangled strands of her hair.

  But it was several minutes before he reined in slowly, then instead of releasing her he tightened his hold as he pointed to where the cliffs and the beach reached a more accessible level. “If you’d gone a little farther,” he said drily, “you could have walked down to the sea quite easily and needn’t have finished up as you did.”

  She turned her head from him, her profile delicate with tremulous pleading. “How was I to know?—I only arrived yesterday.”

  The observation sounded trite, even to her own ears, and she wasn’t surprised when he retorted sharply, “All the more reason why you should have asked someone!”

  There was logic in what he said, but in her present position she couldn’t think straight. He was too close. She could feel the heavy beat of his heart against her shoulder, and the hardness of his body through the thin material of her shirt. She tried to draw away from him a little, but he seemed in no great hurry to put her down.

  He continued his lecture, refusing to let her escape so easily. “You must try to remember that parts of this coast can be very dangerous. The cliffs are extremely high in places, and often loose. When I first came here as a boy the path you found did go down to the shore, but since then a lot of the cliff face has fallen away and people who stupidly try to use it usually get caught.”

  “So I’m not the first?”

  “Nor the last, I suppose. People never cease to amaze me.” His dark brows drew together. “The coastline of Mull shouldn’t be likened to that of an English seaside resort.”

  Sara bristled. Did he intend to be insulting? He certainly believed in speaking his mind! Of course he did have every right to be furious. She had been extremely foolish and was wasting his valuable time. But he hadn’t even bothered to ask if she was any the worse, so he couldn’t accuse her of wasting his sympathy! A sharp twinge of self-pity smote her as she stared down at the horse’s reddish-brown mane, her blue eyes mutinous.

  As if he was perfectly aware of her resentment Hugh Fraser’s gaze fixed itself on her face with a hint of irony. “I trust you aren’t suffering from exposure?” She stiffened as his eyes went deliberately over her, noting her dishevelled appearance. Then, apparently satisfied that she was relatively unscathed, he went on before she could protest. “Do you realize that you’re due to start work in less than an hour?”

  “I can’t if you won’t put me down,” she choked defensively. But again he took no notice as he urged the big horse up the steep gradient from the beach. As she jerked back against him she could feel his breath warm on her cheek, and his fingers taut where they held her slim waist fast in front of him.

  Once on top of the cliffs she saw that the castle was farther away than she had thought. She felt the leashed impatience in him as he pointed towards it br
usquely. “You can see your way now, and when you do come down again watch the tides. You could be cut off quite suddenly and I might not be on hand to rescue you another time.” His fingers caught her bare nape as he brushed back her hair which the wind blew in his face, and the contact sent a million prickles racing down her spine.

  “I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Sara retorted, her cheeks scarlet at his controlled cynicism. “Perhaps it would be better if I didn’t leave the castle grounds.” A certain prudence warned her that she was being particularly ungracious to her boss, but for the first time in her life she found herself speaking without any discretion.

  He chose to ignore her outburst. There was only the painful jerk of his arm as he pulled to a halt, which might or might not have been intentional. “What sort of people did you work for previously?” he asked smoothly, as he lowered her to the ground. “I’m beginning to wonder.”

  “My parents,” Sara returned starkly, as she regained her balance and straightened carefully. It still hurt to mention them, and if James hadn’t explained about the plane crash—and there was no reason to suppose that he had—then she didn’t intend saying anything herself.

  Her eyes darkened as he observed drily, “Were they wise to turn you loose, I wonder?”

  Sara stared up at him, meeting his mocking gaze. His relaxed seat in the saddle belied his absolute control over the huge bay horse. Did he expect to control women the same way? She refused to answer his last question. Sympathy must not be allowed to pave the way for her, even if this morning’s escapade hadn’t already doomed her chances. Besides, ever since she had stepped off the boat he seemed to have been hinting subtly of her unsuitability. Did he already want to be rid of her?