Spirit of the Island

by Joan Fleming

Reality returned once they were outside in the sunshine, posing for the photographer under the lucky horseshoe arch. They would have to have photographs to confirm that they really were married–in the eyes of the locals in the Ross of Mull.

  The scent of her bouquet rose up in the heat of the afternoon. Freesia and roses intermingled to create a perfume that surrounded her.

  ‘That was a lovely ceremony,’ Kirsty said. ‘Thank you again for asking us to be with you.’

  ‘You’ll have to tell me all about it, because it’s a total blur to me,’ Amy replied.

  ‘And to me,’ Sandy said. ‘I’ve just married the most beautiful woman in the world, and I was scarcely aware it was happening.’

  ‘Careful, mate. One of the two most beautiful women in the world. I’m right beside the other one.’ Adam, who wore a dark-blue lounge suit with a sprig of heather in his lapel, put his arm around Kirsty’s waist and pulled her to him. ‘Let’s all go and sample some more of that delicious champagne. It’s really habit-forming.’

  Hand-in-hand once more, the two couples strolled across the gardens to the restaurant, where they toasted not only the new bride and groom, but also their witnesses, who had hopefully sent a fresh ray of hope into their own marriage.

  * * *

  ‘I don’t want this day to end now,’ Amy admitted, several hours later. ‘In fact, I would like to do it all again, so that I could enjoy every minute of it.’

  ‘You’ll probably find you’ll remember it all tomorrow. We can fill in any details for you,’ Adam said. ‘As we’re an old married couple.’

  ‘Hey you, not so much of the old–’ Kirsty managed to say, before Adam silenced her with a kiss.

  ‘I think it’s time we left this newly-married couple to their own devices,’ he whispered, but it was clear he wasn’t thinking only of Amy and Sandy. This was an important day for him and Kirsty, too.

  When they arrived at the door of the bridal suite, Sandy stopped. With an ease that surprised his bride, he lifted her off her feet and into his arms.

  ‘I have to carry you over the threshold,’ he said.

  ‘How are we going to open the door?’ she asked, through muffled laughter.

  ‘Can I help?’ The offer came from a man, his tie askew, who appeared to be walking aimlessly along the corridor. ‘I seem to have lost my new wife already,’ he said, as he opened the door for Amy and Sandy.

  ‘Thank you,’ Sandy said. ‘I hope you find your wife soon.’ Still laughing, he carried Amy over to the sofa, where he set her down gently. ‘Because I’ve found mine. And I’m never going to let her out of my sight,’ he said, his voice husky as he leant over her. ‘Well, Mrs McFarlane, are you happy?’ he asked.

  ‘Delirious,’ she said. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’m in seventh heaven.’

  He turned to close the door, but not before he looped the Do Not Disturb sign over the handle on the outside.

  That evening, they sat together on the sofa, enveloped in fleecy white dressing gowns, chatting from time to time, but also enjoying the silence together after the excitement of the day.

  Amy looked around their bedroom, taking in her surroundings for the first time. A fairy godmother could have been at work. All her belongings had been moved from their earlier room, as had Sandy’s. The curtains had been drawn, although it was not yet dark outside. Gentle light from lamps filled the room, and Amy became aware of the scent of flowers. Her bouquet was set in a silver-coloured vase, the heat of the evening sending the perfume all round their room. So many lovely touches–Sandy must have been in collusion with Kirsty when he’d made the arrangements at the hotel.

  ‘I love you, Amy,’ Sandy said.

  ‘And I love you.’

  Smiling, she leant over and picked up a welcome card from the small table beside her. It was addressed to Dr and Mrs A. McFarlane.

  * * *

  A few doors along the corridor, Kirsty and Adam prepared for bed. Kirsty carefully packed the wedding outfits into their suitcase, before joining Adam on the sofa. ‘I think we can call that a successful day,’ she said.

  ‘Yes. They both really enjoyed it. And so did I,’ Adam said, putting his arm round her shoulders. ‘I did repeat my wedding vows with them. How about you?’

  ‘Yes, I did. Silently, of course. This is a new beginning for Amy and Sandy, but it can be a new start for us as well.’

  ‘Have you forgiven me?’ he asked, pulling her in closer.

  ‘Yes,’ Kirsty said. ‘I’ve taken a good look at myself, too, and I have to shoulder part of the blame for what happened. There were faults on both sides.’

  ‘I’m going to do all I can to put things right.’

  ‘And no more talk of plastic surgeons and trips to America?’

  ‘No, it’s a trip to Mull, to see if we can capture some more of that magic,’ he said.

  ‘I like that idea much more,’ she said, smiling as she looked into his eyes.

  He kissed her. ‘Can we put it in the past and look forward to our future together? Return to the way we were?’

  ‘I’d like to do that,’ Kirsty said. ‘In fact, there’s nothing I’d like more.’

  At last, she knew that was true.

  Chapter 41

  The following morning, after a relaxed breakfast together, the two couples prepared to set off on their homeward journey. The newlyweds planned to go straight to Mull, as Sandy was on call the following day, while Kirsty and Adam intended to spend a night at their flat, allowing Adam to check in at work. All being well, he and Kirsty proposed to go to Mull the following day to examine Mary Benview’s cottage.

  Returning to the island promised to be a new experience for both couples: Amy and Sandy were coming back married; Kirsty and Adam would arrive together–unlike her last visit, when she’d travelled alone.

  ‘We’re staying at Lochside,’ Kirsty said. ‘Why not come over for dinner tomorrow? I’m sure Elsa will be delighted to hear all the details of your wedding.’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if half of Mull have all the details already. I’m always amazed at how quickly information reaches the island. It’s as if there’s a special wavelength for the Isle of Mull,’ Amy said, shaking her head.

  ‘It’s probably the same on all the islands,’ Sandy said. ‘A kind of bush telegraph operating only for the locals. Anyway, we’ll soon find out. See you tomorrow evening–about seven o’clock?’

  ‘Thanks again for all you’ve done for us. You made yesterday really special.’ Amy held on to her friend’s hands for a moment, and focused on the three rings on her left hand. ‘All well?’ she asked.

  ‘All well.’

  * * *

  Amy hadn’t anticipated how different the journey from Glasgow to Mull would be. It was as if everything was highlighted in gold. The sky was bluer, the colours of the landscape more vivid, the sea a more powerful, but friendly, force.

  ‘You look as if being Mrs McFarlane agrees with you, my love,’ Sandy commented, as they joined the queue for the ferry in Oban. ‘Or is it the prospect of returning to the island?’

  ‘A bit of both. I’m seeing it all through newly polished lenses.’

  ‘And you like what you see?’

  ‘I do,’ she said, hugging herself with the sheer delight of the experiences of the last few days, with the prospect of more to come.

  ‘Would you like me to drive from Craignure to Fionnphort once we arrive on the island?’ Amy asked.

  ‘No, love, I’m happy to drive. Why don’t you relax and enjoy the journey through the Glen? It’s a lovely day, and the scenery is magnificent.’

  Once they’d disembarked in Craignure, they set off on the thirty-five-mile drive to Fionnphort. Passing Duart Castle, they made their way along the single track road.

  ‘It usually takes me about an hour,’ Sandy said. ‘Unless there’s an emergency.’

  ‘No emergency today,’ Amy said. ‘We can take our time.’

  As they headed in a westerl
y direction towards the tip of the island, they had to fold down their visors against the glare of the sun which was dipping in the sky ahead of them. Amy breathed in the air which filled the car through the open windows. She felt as if she was not only filling her lungs, but sending this pure, scented air to permeate every inch of her body. It carried the fragrance of the open country, with hints of heather and the all-pervading undertang of the sea.

  When they arrived at Hillcrest, Amy had a moment of panic. This was the first time she had ended her journey to Mull at a destination other than Columb Cottage. But this, she realised, was now the end stop of all her journeys home–for the time being, at least.

  Because everything had been arranged so hurriedly for the wedding, Amy had scarcely had time to familiarise herself with what was to be her new home. She had a slight tug at the heartstrings as she remembered that she might no longer be able to consider Columb Cottage her home, but surely being with Sandy more than made up for that?

  Leaving the luggage in the boot, they walked towards the front door. Amy held back–she didn’t have a key. But before she had a chance to ask Sandy, he made it clear he had his own ideas about his new wife’s entry into their home: as he had already done in the hotel at Gretna the day before, he whipped Amy off her feet and carried her over the threshold.

  ‘Welcome home, Mrs McFarlane,’ he said. Setting her down in the front hall, he folded her in his arms, and kissed her. ‘Thank you for making me the happiest man in the world.’

  Taking her by the hand, he led her into the sitting room. The minute she entered the room, Amy was enveloped in the scent of roses. Vases filled with the blooms in different shades of pink, yellow and red, stood on tables around the room. Amy felt her eyes grow moist. How thoughtful of Sandy to arrange her welcome in roses.

  ‘Will you share this home with me, my love?’ he asked, as she looked around. ‘You can do anything you like with it, to make it your own.’

  ‘Of course I will. But what about Columb Cottage? Can we keep it?’

  ‘Of course. Maybe you would like to do your work there?’

  ‘I’ll probably do that. Besides, if I fall out with you…’

  ‘I’ll lock you in the bedroom till we’re friends again,’ he said. ‘Since we are friends, let me take you on a tour of the house, Mrs McFarlane.’

  Laughing like teenagers, they climbed the stairs.

  * * *

  The following day, Kirsty found it strange to walk through the door of Lochview Inn with Adam. She had come to associate the inn with thoughts of planning a new life without her husband. Now they were a couple once more, she was eager for the Fergusons to see them together. At no time had Elsa passed judgement on Kirsty’s status, so that should make it easier for Adam to be accepted.

  She needn’t have worried. Elsa and Charlie welcomed them as if the separation had never taken place.

  ‘Are you having a couple of days’ holiday?’ Elsa asked, while they shared a pot of tea.

  ‘Yes and no. We have an ulterior motive. We’re going to take a look at Mary Benview’s cottage. We’ve expressed an interest, and we’re thinking of buying it if Adam reckons it can be modernised,’ Kirsty said.

  ‘Of course. That’s the business you’re in, Adam, isn’t it?

  ‘Yes. That’s what we do–modernise and upgrade properties. We’ve never tackled a building on an island before, but I’ll be able to judge if that’ll be a problem once I see it,’ Adam explained.

  ‘It’ll be good to have something done to it before the winter. You know what can happen to empty properties here,’ Charlie said, nodding his head sagely.

  ‘Yes,’ Kirsty said. ‘My granny’s cottage was destroyed by fire. It would be a pity if that happened to Benview.’

  Although there was a chill in the air, the sun was still shining when Kirsty and Adam arrived at Benview Cottage. The door was unlocked.

  ‘Do they never lock doors on this island?’ Adam said. ‘I know we told Duncan we were coming, but I didn’t expect to walk straight in.’

  ‘Some people don’t lock doors–they just don’t see the need.’

  ‘That’s one of the contrasts with the mainland, I suppose,’ Adam said. ‘There can’t be much crime on the island.’

  ‘I don’t know the exact statistics, but I’m sure there’s very little.’

  Once they were inside, Adam looked round with a critical eye. He knocked on walls, looked under surfaces, and assessed dimensions with a tape measure that bleeped.

  ‘Don’t you have to pull out the measuring tape?’ Kirsty asked.

  ‘No. It’s electronic.’

  ‘What do you think of the cottage?’ Kirsty asked. ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘It certainly has potential. The walls seem sound enough, but it needs a lot of work on it,’ he said. Cupping her face in his hands, he looked into her eyes. ‘You’d like us to buy it, wouldn’t you?’

  Kirsty nodded. ‘I’d love to have a foothold here on the island. A place to remember my granny and all the good times I had with her. Also… if we have children… this would be a wonderful place to bring them.’

  ‘We’ll have children, I hope,’ Adam said. ‘But even if we don’t, I’d like to buy it just for you. For us.’

  She buried her face in his chest, where the rough surface of his tweed jacket hid her tears.

  He eased her away, and took her hand. ‘Let’s take a look at the outside,’ he said.

  As they walked round, Adam again became the businessman, weighing up the implications of developing the property. He spotted a small wooden door on one side of the building.

  ‘I wonder what that is?’ he said.

  ‘The meter cupboard?’ Kirsty suggested.

  Adam laughed. ‘There’s no piped gas or electricity, so it can’t be for meters.’ He bent down and pulled on the handle of the door. It came away in his hand, the wood rotted.

  ‘This is intriguing. Just a minute. I’ll fetch my toolbox from the car.’ Armed with a wrench, he prised open the door, covering his hands with shards of wood in the process.

  Careless of the splinters, Adam put his bloodied hand into the ‘cupboard’. It was impossible to see into the darkness there.

  ‘Oh, Adam, how can you do that? There could be spiders and all sorts in there,’ Kirsty said, moving back a pace from Adam’s kneeling figure.

  ‘Tarantulas and black widows,’ he said, as he pulled a bottle from the black recess. ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’

  ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘I think we’ve just unearthed Mary Benview’s wine cellar.’

  Kirsty screamed, making sure she was a safe distance away from whatever might accompany the bottle. Adam brushed the dust and stared at the amber-coloured liquid.

  ‘It’s not wine,’ he said. ‘It could be whisky.’

  ‘Whisky? Let me see…’

  Kirsty squealed, jumping up and down with excitement. Taking the bottle from Adam, oblivious now to the muck that transferred to her hands, she said, ‘That’s Charlie’s whisky!’ Her heart was thumping, fit to burst. ‘It must have been here all along. Is there another bottle?’

  ‘Just push your hand in…’

  ‘Adam! Don’t tease. This is important.’

  Smiling, Adam went down on his knees once again, and after a short time searching around with his hand, he pulled a second bottle from the depths of the recess.

  ‘Why all the excitement for a couple of bottles of Scotch?’ he asked.

  A quick examination of the other bottle and Kirsty confirmed they could be the ones which had disappeared from the cabinet in the hallway of Lochside Inn.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you on the way back in the car. I can’t wait to see the look on Charlie’s face when we walk in with these.’

  ‘You realise that these might not be Charlie’s bottles, don’t you? Maybe they belonged to Mary.’

  Kirsty’s excitement took a dive. Adam was right. There could be bottles of whis
ky from the Politician all over the island.

  ‘Well, we can at least discuss it with Charlie when we arrive back.’

  * * *

  When he saw the two bottles in Adam’s hands, Charlie’s eyes lit up. ‘You found them!’ he said. ‘Where? Where did you find them?’

  ‘In a spooky recess on the outside wall of Benview,’ Kirsty said. ‘Poor Adam has lots of splinters in his hands–the door of the alcove was rotten.’

  ‘Let me take a look at those hands,’ Elsa said. ‘We’d better get them cleaned up. Sandy can examine them when he comes–you may need an anti-tetanus injection.’

  ‘I had one a couple months ago,’ Adam told her. ‘I have to keep it up-to-date in my work.’

  ‘That’s a relief,’ Elsa said, as she bathed his hands. The smell of antiseptic filled the room, fighting with the odour of dank earth that came from the bottles.

  ‘Are they yours, Charlie?’ Kirsty asked.

  ‘I can’t tell,’ he said. ‘They could be, but I couldn’t prove it.’

  ‘No distinguishing mark on the stopper?

  ‘Nothing worth mentioning. There’s a scratch near the lip here which looks familiar. But I wouldn’t swear it’s mine.’

  ‘Have you no pictures of the bottles?’

  ‘Aye, I have a picture…’

  ‘Well, go and find it, Charlie, and put us all out of our misery,’ Elsa said. ‘That damn whisky has been more bother than running the inn here,’ she added.

  Charlie re-appeared, brandishing the photo of the bottles. Sure enough, one of the bottles had a shallow, zig-zag scratch on it.

  ‘They must be mine,’ he said. ‘That crafty old besom, Mary Benview, must have been on the prowl and found the key to the cabinet, which my good wife had left so conveniently on the dresser.’

  ‘But why would she want to steal whisky?’ Kirsty asked.

  Elsa cut in. ‘Certainly not to drink it; she was teetotal. It would be for the excitement of doing it. The buzz. She wouldn’t look on it as theft–probably forgot all about the bottles after she hid them.’

  Charlie looked as if his smile was permanently painted on his face. ‘I’ll just go and clean these up before I put them back where they belong. I’ll lock the door of the cabinet–I might even take the key and hide it.’