Spirit of the Island

by Joan Fleming

  ‘Don’t you dare,’ Elsa said. ‘If you put it in a safe place, that will guarantee it’ll never be found again.’

  Adam followed Charlie through to the kitchen to clean up the bottles.

  ‘At least that clears up the mystery of the disappearing whisky,’ Elsa said to Kirsty. ‘And it also takes the young diver out of the frame.’

  Kirsty’s stomach gave a lurch.

  ‘He came here looking for you after you left, you know,’ Elsa said.

  ‘Did he? What did you say to him?’

  ‘I made it clear you weren’t available, as far as I knew. I left it up to him put whatever construction he chose on that. I rather liked the lad. I’m so pleased he had nothing to do with the disappearance of the whisky.’

  ‘I liked him, too. We got on well together, and if circumstances had turned out differently… but that’s water under the bridge now.’

  ‘And you’re happy?’

  ‘I’m happy.’

  Chapter 42

  ‘You’ll never guess what we found when we went to look at Benview today.’ The two couples barely had time to settle at their table in Lochside’s dining room before Kirsty told Amy and Sandy of their find. ‘Charlie’s Politician whisky.’

  ‘What? At Benview?’ Amy’s brows wrinkled in surprise.

  Kirsty enjoyed telling the story of how she and Adam had found the whisky in the cache on the outside wall of the cottage.

  ‘Mary Benview. She’s the last person in the world I would have suspected of stealing the whisky. Maybe she was planning to make some potion with it…’

  They laughed. Rumours of Mary meeting the devil when she roamed the countryside in the middle of the night were a source of humour in the area. Although no-one took them seriously… or did they?

  ‘It’s so different here from dinner at Gretna Green,’ Amy said. ‘It was a wonderful day–I’ll never forget it, but it’s as if the island is giving us its seal of approval here.’

  ‘I’m beginning to understand better what you mean about the magic of Mull,’ Kirsty agreed. ‘There’s a spirit abroad here that filters into your very bones, convincing you that all’s well, and all will be well.’

  ‘That’s a profound observation for this time of the evening,’ Elsa said, pulling up a chair to join the two couples. ‘Has Kirsty told you our news, Amy? About Charlie’s whisky?’

  ‘She has, Elsa, and I’m really happy for you and Charlie.’

  ‘And Amy and Sandy have some news to pass on to you,’ Kirsty said, desperate to see Elsa’s reaction.

  Amy felt the heat rise to her face. She glanced at Sandy, who was smiling broadly. ‘Will you tell them, or will I?’

  In reply, Sandy simply lifted Amy’s hand, which had been below the table, and placed it so that Elsa could see her shiny new rings.

  The older woman looked from one to the other, clearly unable to speak, then darted up from her chair and embraced the newlyweds, tears in her eyes. When at last she found her voice, she said, ‘Congratulations! You are my favourite couple on the island. I wish you all the happiness in the world.’

  Charlie opened a magnum of champagne, and the small group toasted Amy and Sandy.

  ‘Are you going to have a party?’ Elsa asked them. ‘We were really disappointed we had to cancel ours.’

  ‘We thought we could celebrate your silver wedding, Kirsty and Adam’s new start, and our wedding–all three events together,’ Sandy said.

  ‘I’d like that,’ Kirsty said. ‘What kind of party? Where would we hold it?’

  ‘Charlie and I have been talking about our anniversary party,’ Elsa said. ‘We’re thinking of an open-air event in the field behind the inn. Why don’t you join us?’

  ‘Great idea,’ Sandy said.

  ‘But what if it rains?’ Amy asked, ‘You can never trust the weather here.’

  ‘We’d need a contingency plan…’

  ‘We could come into the inn…’

  ‘Depends on numbers…’

  ‘What about the community centre?’

  After much discussion, the six made a decision: they would hold an open-air event in the field behind the Inn and engage Duncan to organise it.

  ‘He’s casting around for something to do with himself now that the Mary Benview business is over,’ Elsa said. ‘All we’ll have to do is let him know what we would like.’

  ‘First off, let’s set a date,’ Sandy said.

  ‘What about the second Saturday in September?’ Adam asked.

  Chapter 43

  ‘I’ve never seen so many kilts in one place in my life,’ Adam said, looking around at the guests assembling in the field behind Lochside Inn. ‘I didn’t realise there were so many different tartans.’

  ‘Lots more where they came from,’ Charlie said, chuckling. ‘Every clan has its own tartan. Some have several. Don’t they look fine in the sunshine?’

  ‘Are we going to have this weather all day, Charlie?’ Kirsty asked.

  ‘Aye, lass. I think so. It’s going to be a great party.’

  Kirsty could scarcely believe how different the field behind the Inn looked. A raised wooden platform stood in one corner. At the side nearest thei, on a long table, rows of glasses glinted in the sun, ready for the bottles of champagne which stood in silver ice buckets. Bunting was draped all over the bushes and the single tree that stood in the field.

  As people began to arrive in groups–from cars, or from the bus–the venue took on an air of excitement. Appearing as if from nowhere, a lone piper climbed the four steps onto the wooden stage, sending his music into the hills and glens of this part of the island. Cameras flashed and video recorders whirred as guests sought to capture the scene to enjoy again at a later date.

  ‘I love the sound of bagpipes played in the open air,’ Kirsty said.

  Adam appeared slightly overwhelmed by the gathering, looking round about him at all that was taking place: champagne glasses clinked; in small groups, people did an impromptu dance to the music of the pipes; a babble of conversation wafted over the scene; appetising smells filled the air from the barbecue that was now cooking local fish, sausages and steaks.

  ‘Who on earth was the mastermind behind all this?’ Adam asked.

  As if he had heard the question, Duncan Morrison climbed onto the stage.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of three couples–our VIPs–I’d like to welcome you all to the party. Today, we’re celebrating Elsa and Charlie’s silver wedding, Amy and Sandy’s wedding, and also welcoming Kirsty and Adam into our community here in the Ross of Mull.’

  Loud cheers and applause followed each pair’s names.

  ‘All three couples were determined that this would be an informal, happy event. They delegated all the arrangements to me and my team of helpers, so we have a few surprises for them.

  ‘I have defied their wishes in one respect. I couldn’t allow them to merge with the crowd without giving you the opportunity to give them all a cheer that’ll frighten the sheep on the hill. So, please, will our three couples join me here for a few moments.’

  Against a background of applause, mixed with some shouts of encouragement, the six threaded their way to the stage.

  ‘We said informal, Duncan…’ Elsa muttered when she arrived, cheeks ablaze.

  ‘Now Elsa’s wrapping my knuckles, but I don’t mind,’ Duncan said to the crowd of guests. ‘I know you want the opportunity to congratulate Elsa and Charlie on reaching the milestone of twenty-five years of married life.’

  A tiny girl in full Highland dress negotiated the steps, carrying a bouquet of flowers almost as big as herself, which she handed to Elsa. Tears streaming down her face, Elsa bent to kiss the youngster, who smiled, gave a bow, and ran down the steps.

  Following her, a young lad–only slightly taller–presented Charlie with a bottle bag, no doubt containing his favourite whisky.

  ‘Next, raise your voices (and your glasses!) to congratulate our newly-married couple, Amy and Sandy. They
’re starting out on married life, and we wish them many years of health and happiness.’

  Whatever Duncan was planning to say next was drowned out by the roars of the guests.

  The two little ones returned to the stage with flowers and a bottle for Amy and Sandy.

  ‘Lastly, I would ask you to welcome Kirsty and Adam Mitchell, who are the proud new owners of Benview. Many of you know Kirsty already: of course, she’s the granddaughter of Flora Donaldson. I’m sure it won’t be long before…’

  Once again, Duncan was not allowed to finish. A new young couple, even if they would not be based on the island all the time, met the approval of all the locals.

  Clearly enjoying their moments of fame, the two youngsters made their presentations once more, this time to Kirsty and Adam.

  At that point, Sandy snatched the microphone out of Duncan’s hand. ‘I think I’ll take charge of this before this rascal says anything else,’ he said. ‘I’m sure I speak for all of us up here, when I thank everyone for coming here today to celebrate with us. My wife,’ he paused for a cheer, ‘and I hope our marriage will be as happy as Elsa and Charlie’s, and we’re delighted to have our friends, Kirsty and Adam, making a home here in the Ross of Mull.’

  Once the noise had subsided, he simply said:

  ‘Now, let’s all enjoy the party!’

  The VIPs made their way down to mingle with the crowd.

  Duncan, having retrieved the microphone from Sandy, announced that the two children would come up onto the stage to perform the Highland Sword Dance.

  While the piper tuned up, Kirsty explained the Sword Dance to Adam and to her friend, Freda, who had come to attend the party.

  ‘It’s an ancient dance with all sorts of legends attached to it. They’ll perform over two crossed swords, which they mustn’t touch as they dance.’

  ‘What happens if they do? Touch them, I mean,’ Freda asked.

  ‘In ancient times, it was a bad omen for men going into battle. Nowadays, in competitions, the adjudicator deducts marks.’

  ‘What steps do they use?’

  ‘Only one, the pas de Basque with its three beats all the way through. I think these little ones will dance two slow movements in Strathspey time, then one quick one in reel time, separated with a smart clap of their hands.’

  ‘And is it special music?’

  ‘Yes,’ Kirsty said. ‘The pipe tune is called Ghillie Callum. That’s also the tune used for an ancient sweetheart dance, where a man substitutes a handkerchief for the swords, and dances round it if he’s looking for a sweetheart or a wife. That’s called Babbity Bowster.’

  ‘Babbity Bowster! That’s the name of that restaurant in Glasgow. I’ve been there with you, Kirsty.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right, Freda.’

  Pleased that Freda was enjoying the party–after all, she was the person who had persuaded her to come to the island all those months ago–Kirsty was about to introduce her to some of her friends when she became aware of something moving by her feet.

  ‘Bess!’ she said, looking down. ‘Hello, Bess, have you come to join the party?’ She stroked the dog, who wagged her tail and made soft, throaty murmurs of pleasure.

  ‘Bess was Mary Benview’s dog,’ she explained to Freda.

  ‘Maybe you’ve inherited her dog with the cottage,’ Freda said.

  ‘Who knows? Perhaps we have.’

  The two children didn’t look old enough to be dancing around swords.

  ‘I hope they’re not too sharp.’ Freda said.

  After a formal bow, the youngsters danced in unison round their swords. In the second movement they became more adventurous, placing their feet in the squares created by the weapons. At the sharp clap of the dancers’ hands, the piper increased the speed of the music to reel time, making the placing of their feet more of a challenge.

  The blue tartan of their swirling kilts and matching socks stood out against the background of the hedges that bordered the field. With arms rising and falling, fingers arranged like the extremities of the antlers of a stag, the pair reached the end of their dance without touching a sword. A collective sigh ran through their audience, many of whom had been holding their breath at times during the performance.

  ‘They were wonderful!’ Freda said, joining in the applause. ‘To dance at that level so young is amazing. They’re so sure-footed.’

  ‘Like the stag,’ Kirsty said.

  Once all the clapping and shouting had died down, Duncan made another announcement.

  ‘I’m sure by now, with all the delicious smells coming from the barbecue, you’ll have worked up an appetite. We’ll have a break for a while, then carry on with the rest of the entertainment.’

  Amy couldn’t believe the volume and variety of the food on offer to their guests. Duncan had rallied the troops of the Ross of Mull, maybe even of the whole island. And the result suggested each contributor had tried to outdo the others. The meats were the finest; the fish freshly caught; vegetables to suit every taste, potatoes cooked in various ways–boiled, mashed, baked, roasted. There was even a deep fat fryer to provide chips (for the youngsters, of course). The islanders had excelled themselves!

  ‘I’m so impressed,’ her friend, Rachael, said. ‘I’d never have believed the locals could run an event like this. And you, truthfully, had nothing to do with it?’

  ‘Not a single thing. Duncan organised everything. He must have been a brilliant soldier in the army. I only hope all this hasn’t taken too much out of him. He’s not in the first flush of youth.’

  Rachael smiled. ‘He looks as if he’s having the time of his life.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ Amy said. ‘Let’s go and sample some of that delicious-looking food. I might even find my…’

  ‘Husband?’

  Amy laughed. ‘Yes, my husband.’

  In the general movement around the field, Kirsty became aware of something thumping against her legs. Looking down, she saw it was Bess again, her tail wagging happily. From the crowd, a diminutive figure emerged like a rocket. It was Lizzie, the dancer of the sword dance, in pursuit of the dog.

  ‘There you are, Bess,’ she said.

  Kirsty looked down onto the little girl’s fiery red hair, scraped back into a ‘donut’ at the top of her head.

  ‘I really enjoyed your dance, Lizzie,’ Kirsty said.

  ‘Thanks,’ she replied, looking up with a broad grin on her face.

  Kirsty’s heart lurched when she saw the large strawberry birthmark that covered the little girl’s left cheek.

  ‘Come on, Bess,’ Lizzie said then disappeared into the crowd with a flash of the red Wellington boots she must have exchanged for her dancing shoes.

  Kirsty and Adam exchanged glances.

  ‘If Lizzie can cope with that…’ Kirsty said, her eyes moist.

  Adam squeezed her hand. He, too, looked close to tears.

  Some time later, although people were still wandering around with plates in their hands, Duncan returned to the stage.

  ‘We’re now going to watch a play by the children of the local drama group. They’ve been rehearsing this specially for today. I’ll leave them to tell you all about it.’

  A teenager took hold of the microphone.

  ‘This is the legend of Finn MacCool, the Irish giant,’ he began.

  ‘Many centuries ago, the giant Finn MacCool lived in the north of Ireland with his wife, Oonagh. Across the water in Scotland, there was a Scottish giant, named Benandonner, Finn’s sworn enemy.’

  The young narrator was silent while children from the group crossed the stage carrying large cardboard cut-outs of the two giants.

  ‘One day, Finn decided to challenge the Scottish giant, so he built a causeway across the sea to Scotland. He used the kind of stone that forms what is now known as The Giant’s Causeway in the north of Ireland.’

  Once again, the children walked across the stage with illustrations.

  ‘When Benandonner saw what Finn MacCool was
up to, ever ready for a fight, he walked across the causeway to Ireland. As he came into sight, Finn realised how massive Benandonner was, and took fright. What was he to do?

  ‘His wife, Oonagh, had the answer. She wrapped him up in a shawl and put him in the baby’s cradle. As soon as Benandonner saw how huge the baby was, he panicked. If the baby was as enormous as this, what size was Finn MacCool?’

  The audience roared with laughter when they saw the illustration of the giant in the cradle.

  ‘Benandonner took to his heels and ran back to Scotland, destroying the causeway as he went. All that was left were the two ends: one in Ireland, The Giant’s Causeway; and the other, Fingal’s Cave, on the Scottish island of Staffa–both formed by giant columns of basalt rock.

  ‘And that is the legend of Finn MacCool.’

  Once the narrator had finished his reading, the children came on stage to take a bow, each carrying one of the illustrations of the story.

  The audience applauded till their hands were sore.

  After the young people had taken several calls to return to the stage, Duncan was once more in possession of the microphone.

  ‘What some of you don’t know,’ he said, ‘is that Sandy proposed to Amy in Fingal’s Cave.’

  Loud laughter and wolf whistles followed this information. The couple coloured at the sharing of the information, although they were still smiling.

  ‘They should know by now that there are few secrets in this part of the island,’ Duncan chuckled. ‘That’s why I decided to set the subject of Fingal’s Cave to the drama group. From then on, it was entirely their own work.’

  Once again, cheers and applause rose in the air. It was cooler now, as the sun began her descent, promising one of the spectacular sunsets for which this part of the island was famous.

  At the mention of secrets, Kirsty stood rigid. Surely Duncan wasn’t planning to mention Finn Ericson? She hadn’t told Adam about the afternoon she’d spent with him.