by Sally Graham
But I must let you know this: There was a child. With anguish in our hearts we gave her up for adoption. I entrusted her to the Lord.
My daughter’s adopted family - I discovered later - emigrated to New Zealand, but when she was twenty-two years old, circumstances transpired for her to discover that she had been adopted. She wanted to know who her real parents were. It was possible, due to changes in the law, for her to obtain the legal documents.
Three years ago, just after I left Dundrennan for this wretched nursing home, I had a visitor. I was expecting David. But the young woman who came to my bedside looked like him, but beautifully different.
She bore no grudges. We talked about her future. She wanted nothing from me or David. Given her love of the land, her passion for the environment, and her experience of sheep husbandry, we wanted to help while she found her feet in this country and started her new life. And so she decided to accept our offer and live at Dundrannan.
The shepherd - my beautiful shepherd - is, as you will now have realised, our daughter. Blake.
Carrie stopped reading when she heard the door open and heard David Trelawney’s footsteps on the wooden parquet floor. He moved to his desk and sat down.
Carrie looked up. “I don’t know what to say.”
“There is nothing to say.”
“But what would have happened if I had decided not to sell the house?”
The lawyer cleared his throat. “Your godmother was quite clear. If you decided to sell - and I repeat, she always understood it was an option - I was under her strict instructions not to show you this letter and its contents. She realised that Blake did not have the financial wherewithal to take over the estate, nor the business acumen that will be required. I was to forward a small bequest, and she would be able to live in Scotland, or elsewhere.”
“But… but she is your daughter,” Blake murmured, still absorbing the news she had just received. “Surely she has rights? I mean,” she added quickly, “Doesn’t she inherit anything?”
The lawyer sighed. “You’re right, of course. She could. She should - ”
“So?”
“I don’t know how much you saw of Blake on your visit,” David continued. “She’s very independent. Very forthright. She has her own ideas.”
Carrie smiled, remembering her conversations with the shepherd.
“Your godmother and I were desperate to straighten things out,” the lawyer continued We wanted to ensure that she was recognised for who she was. Our rightful heir. But Blake was adamant. Insistent, in fact, that it did not become public knowledge that she was our daughter. In fact, she felt so strongly about it that she asked me to draw up a Deed of Instruction to that effect.” He pulled open a sliding drawer beneath his desk and took out a folder. “I have it here.”
“It’s very direct and straightforward: like Blake,” he added, with a shy smile. He reached across the desk and handed the single sheet to Carrie.
It was a two paragraph document to the effect the the signatory, Blake Davies, renounced any claim to the Dundrannan estate that she might be entitled to, whether by birth or entitlement. It was dated two years previously.
Carrie looked up. “I can’t absorb all this,” she managed to say before the lawyer’s cough cut across her thoughts.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked. “That sounds really painful.”
“No - it’s just something I’ve had for years. Asthma’s a wretched thing, you know,” David gasped taking a thin silver box from his waistcoat pocket and gulping down a white pill. “I’ll be glad to be leaving this place. Retirement has always been ‘just over there’. Well, now it’s here. And I can’t wait!” .
“Does - does Blake know that I know who she is?”
“No, she doesn’t. There would have been no need had you decided to sell.”
“But what’s the difference now?”
The lawyer leaned back. “Your godmother, as I said, was very perceptive. Hazel knew - at least she said to me - that she didn’t think you would ever marry.”
Carrie started to speak but the lawyer interrupted her. “No - please - I don’t want to trespass on your privacy. I think she hoped, perhaps, that you and Blake might get to know one another.” He paused. “And, as Blake’s father, that would give me enormous peace.”
He leaned back in his chair and looked at Carrie. “Hazel and I allowed social convention to prevent us from living the life we loved. I hope you will never make the same mistake.”
Chapter 16
“Good morning, madam - just your hand luggage?”
Carrie nodded her head and checked through security before heading to the First Class departure lounge. The exchange of emails between her and Marc Delaney had been brief, swiftly followed by a longer one from the bank’s HR department confirming her resignation with immediate effect, requesting the return of any documents in her possession pertaining to the bank, the closure of her email account and a lock-down of her computer files. She would need to be be accompanied by a security guard to collect any personal possessions before she was escorted from the FMJ headquarters.
As the plane’s undercarriage thudded down the runway at Glasgow and the engines screamed to bring the aircraft to a halt, Carrie felt her heart pounding. In the space of a few hours she had moved from being the bank’s rising star to a woman with no job, no clear idea what lay ahead of her, and uncertain about her relationship - if any - with Blake.
“So if you can sign here…. And here…. And here, please?” Why was everything in triplicate, Carrie wondered, as she walked down the line of hire cars until she reached the bay with the identification number on her key fob tag.
But at least she was now familiar with the tangle of roundabouts and junctions that ringed the airport perimeter and she quickly joined the highway leading south and west to Galloway, and Dundrannan.
A couple of hours later Carrie was following the road she had taken with Blake previously, climbing quickly through the ribbon of forestry that covered the lower part of the hills around much of Galloway. She hoped she might see another deer but today the woods were dark and deep with no sign of any wildlife.
She left the shadows of larch and pine trees behind her as her car jolted over the rough track. The tufts of grass in the middle of the road scraped the chassis. Here and there a sheep had lain down square in the path of any approaching car, and Carrie couldn’t help but laugh at their irritated expressions before they slowly lifted themselves up and scrambled so safety.
After another couple of miles Carrie stopped to look at her map. She was expecting to reach a fork in the road where she would take the track leading to the shepherd’s bothy, and worried that she might somehow have missed it. The track was clearly marked as heading away and down into the glen around the hill. A covey of grouse clattered away from her, flying low over the bracken.
She drove cautiously around the next couple of bends and sighed with relief when she saw a track leading to her right. She hoped her hired car would survive an inspection when she returned I to the rental office as she splashed though small burns that tumbled across the track.
Carrie held her breath. She was higher up the hillside now, and the firth glittered far below her; Dundrannan looked like a doll’s house, and above her, two eagles were circling, hunting for prey.
She stopped the car and watched them, spellbound, for ten minutes; now and then they would call to each other, their piercing shrieks echoing off the rocky hillside before they swooped towards the heather. As far as Carrie could tell they did not have any luck, and they rode the thermals unhurriedly to regain their height. She didn’t want to leave them, but she was anxious to reach her destination, and started the car. As if on cue, suddenly aware that there was an intruder, the two great birds swung away and soared high around the curve of the glen.
Blake knew someone was coming even before she saw the car. She had heard the sudden distress call of an eagle and looked up as two birds swept high ove
r the bothy. Something or someone had disturbed their isolation, which meant that her solitude was about to be broken too. She watched them until they became small specks and disappeared.
Moments later she saw a swirl of dust as a vehicle she didn’t recognise appeared around the curve of the hill. She narrowed her eyes. A rental car. Had to be. Too clean to belong to anybody around here. And it was being driven carefully. Someone who didn’t know the area. Then she saw that it was a black sports car. A Porsche, for heaven’s sake. Her breath quickened. She knew who would be driving.
Blake looked quickly around the yard. Everything was in good order. She had just finished painting the small barn door where she kept the jeep and quad bike; Romy was asleep in her kennel: they had finished a long hike up Ben Ruachan earlier to check on some sheep.
She turned back as the visitor’s car rattled over the cattle grid at the entrance to his house. I hope the suspension is OK.
Rain started to spatter the cobblestones in the small courtyard as Carrie parked. She got out of the car and saw Blake, framed by the white doorframe. She was wearing faded jeans and working boots. Checked shirt. Denim jacket. The blonde hair. Those faint freckles. Hands on hips. Looking at her.
How could she never have recognised the clear blue eyes, the cheekbones, the quizzical smile, or the lean limbs that so clearly mirrored her godmother?
Blake raised a hand and half-smiled as Carrie got out of the car. “Are you lost?” she asked. “This is private property, you know!” She paused and looked at Carrie, and then her face broke into a cautious smile. “Good to see you.”
“I did try to text, but I don’t think you’ve been getting them?”
Blake didn’t answer, but then shrugged her shoulders. “You know what reception is like up here.”
Carrie looked around. “So this is what a bothy looks like?” she said, trying to sound casual.
“It’s what it didn’t look like when I arrived,” Blake answered. “I had to do a fair amount to get it right.”
As Carrie walked into the small cottage the warm smell of the peat fire glowing in the hearth reminded her what she had been missing in London. There was a bark from behind a door. Blake opened it and Romy bounded into the room and nuzzled Carrie’s hand.
“She’s glad to see you, too,” Blake said.
Carrie took in the neat room. There was a tidiness that suggested Blake’s efficiency and practicality. A low polished table. A couch. A door that led into a kitchen area. Another door. The fireplace with cut logs stacked neatly on one side and slabs of dark peat on the other. The pale whitewashed walls were bare. There were two hurricane lights on a sideboard.
“Do you have electricity up here?”
“There’s a generator, but it’s expensive to run. To be honest, I’m normally pretty knackered by the end of the day. It’s an outdoor life.”
Carrie unzipped her fleece and handed it to Blake’s outstretched arm. For a moment her hand grazed the shepherd’s before Blake gathered her coat and hung it on a peg on the back of the wooden door.
“How about some tea?” She pulled open a cupboard door. “Or coffee?”
“That would be great. Tea, I mean.” Carrie felt uncharacteristically tongue-tied, her words sticking in her throat.
There was hardly enough room for both of them in the small kitchen, so Carrie stood in the doorway and watched as Blake picked two mugs off a scrubbed pine shelf and a teapot. “Not much choice, I’m afraid. There’s green, or camomile. Oh, and builders’ tea of course.”
Carrie laughed. “I thought you said there wasn’t any choice?”
Blake looked embarrassed for a moment, before filling a kettle and lighting the gas. “Which means you’d like?”
“Green tea would be great,” Carrie said. “It’s so civilised up here,”she joked. Then sShe paused, embarrassed by what she’d just said. “Oh - I didn’t mean that. I meant - ”
“It’s OK,” Blake smiled. “But I have to admit, I can’t think of anyone I meet at the sheep market who drinks green tea either.”
She turned and looked at Carrie and raised her eyebrows questioningly. “So - you’re here?” she asked.
Carrie paused, suddenly nervous. “I- I wanted to see the place again. Dundrannon, I mean. And, well, I had some holiday owing.” Surely Blake knew that she had come back to Galloway to see her?
The kettle whistled that the water was boiled. Blake poured the steaming water into the pot. “Straight off the hill,” she said, not responding to Carrie’s words. “Clean water from the burn. The spring is just above the house. We’ll let it brew.”
Carrie followed her back into the main room. She noticed the way Blake moved - confidently, like an animal at home in its own territory.
“Why don’t you sit on the couch?” Blake smiled. “It doesn’t often have company! You’re lucky that I was in,” she continued. “I had to go down to Kirkudbright - I normally go at the weekend - but I needed to collect some antibiotic from the vet.”
“Something serious?”
“No - but if a sheep can eat something that’s not good for it, or stick its foot into a hole and wrench it, or get stuck in a gate, it will!”
“Are they stupid animals, then? I’m such a townie,” Carrie said, uninterested in sheep, but wanting to keep hearing Blake’s voice.
“No - they aren’t stupid. They can be extremely intelligent when it comes to seeking shelter, or choosing pasture, but they can certainly be careless!”
She went back into the kitchen. There was the sound of china being stacked before she returned with the teapot on a tray, two small plates and a cake tin.
“Not a cake, I’m afraid,” she commented, noticing her glance. “But I did make some drop scones after lunch.”
“You’re very domesticated, aren’t you?” Carrie smiled.
“You learn to be a jack of all trades up here. But my cooking is pretty limited. Only the basics.”
Carrie watched Blake pour the tea. Her hand was rock steady as she handed her the tea cup, even though she had to reach out from where she was sitting.
“No jam, I’m afraid. Help yourself.” Blake held out a plate with the small flat scones, warm from the oven.
“Mmm - I haven’t had these since, well, since I was a child,” Carrie said, savouring the sweet taste.
“I did get your texts actually,” Blake said suddenly, her voice neutral. “I’m sorry I didn’t reply. I wasn’t sure how to answer them.”
“I know. I get it. I was - well, I was being pushy. I’m sorry. It’s - it’s the way I can be, I’m afraid.”
“It’s okay - I somehow guessed that you’d be back before too long…”
Carrie paused, suddenly not wanting to talk about her meeting in London, her resignation from the bank, or the decision she had made. She was enjoying the unexpected banality of their conversation and didn’t want to break the spell.
She took the envelope David had given her the day before out of her bag, and laid it on the table between them.
“I’m here because there’s something you need to know,” she began. “I went to King’s Bench Walk yesterday.” Blake’s expression changed fractionally. “As you know, it’s where David Trelawney has his offices,” Carrie said. “David Trelawney,” she repeated, “a lawyer.” She took a breath. “The man who is your father.”
Blake’s face changed; she pushed her chair back and stood up . “You have no right to know that! No-one was meant to know,” she said, her voice angry. “What the hell does it have to do with you? It’s my life and my decision.”
“I respect that,” Carrie answered. “And I haven’t come here to poke or pry. But you need to know why David told me who you were.” She leaned forward. “Please, don’t be angry with me, ” she implored.
Blake shrugged her shoulders and sat down again. “Go on,” she said, simply. “Say what you have to say.”
Carrie paused. “I left here with every intention of selling Dundrannan. You know that. I�
�d seen pretty much all of the estate and there was nothing that seemed viable.” She stirred her tea. “But on my flight back I found myself looking at this place from a different point of view. I decided to look at it as though it were a corporate asset, or an ailing company.” She sipped her tea. “Now, you can either break up an organisation like that, or sell, if there’s another option.”
“Like what?” Blake asked.
“You try to find out whether the company is undervalued, if it has hidden assets that can be exploited. And, the more I thought about it, I came to realise that Dundrannan falls into that category. It’s what bankers call a ‘sleeping beauty’, a company that needs to be woken up and realise its value.” Her voice quickened. “Think about it - there’s timber here, there is land, you have a house - ”
“Meaning?” Blake interrupted, her face impassive.
“I’ll come on to that,” Blake said. “What’s got to be done is to see if there really is an alternative use for the timber that the estate produces. Is there an alternative to sheep farming? And can a way be found to bring the main house back to life?”
Blake’s tea was untouched, he expression still stony. “Why are you telling me this? What’s it got to do with me?”
Carrie took a breath. “Because, like it or not, this place is yours. I don’t know why you didn’t want any part of my godmother’s plans, but she loved you.”
“My mother gave me away,” Blake said coldly.
“And she always regretted it. So did your father. He told me that yesterday. Times were different then They did what - what seemed for the best.”
Carrie took a breath and reached for Carrie’s hand. “Tell me, if you want to, why you said you didn’t want any part of this place?” She looked into Blake’s eyes, blue as a Siamese cat’s. “I don’t understand.”
Blake was silent. The only sound was the low crackle of the fire as a slab of peat crumbled into flame throwing golden-orange sparks up the chimney, and the pit-patter of rain gusting against the window pane.