by Flora Kidd
He lit the Tilley lamp for her and then disappeared into the cockpit, saying he would empty the fuel tank and fill it with fresh petrol from the spare can.
Nancy knew from her previous visits to the yacht that the food locker was well stocked with canned goods and she soon found a tin of evaporated milk which she poured into a pan, added water and placed on the Primus cooker to heat through. When it was hot she poured the liquid into two mugs and spooned powdered chocolate into them.
By that time Logan was back in the cabin and trying to start the engine again. It did not start. He accepted the mug she offered to him and sat on a settee berth to drink it. He sat in silence staring all the time at the casing which covered the engine. When he had finished his drink he thanked her absently and handed her the empty mug, then began to remove his oilskins. He opened a locker and brought out a tool box, then pushing back his sweater sleeves he began to remove the engine casing. He worked silently, completely absorbed in what he was doing examining parts of the engine. And Nancy sat on the settee berth behind him watching and waiting, wondering why it was she could sit so patiently doing nothing, saying nothing.
Eventually Logan fitted the last piece back on the engine, replaced the casing and pressed the starting button. The engine started at once. He turned round and grinned at her.
‘A case of patience being rewarded, I suppose,’ said Nancy.
‘And knowing a little about engines,’ he replied, stopping the engine and coming to sit beside her on the berth. ‘It was the distributor which was sooty and so the electrical parts were not working properly. There was water in the petrol too.’
‘You seem to know such a lot about so many different things—sheep, and bees and how to milk cows, and now how to repair engines,’ commented Nancy.
‘My knowledge is all the result of a misspent youth and no shortage of money, of which I’m sure you really disapprove,’ he said facetiously. ‘I expect your intended is much more knowledgeable than I am, and he’s probably better educated too.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t call him that,’ retaliated Nancy. For the last few hours she had forgotten Rod.
‘It’s what he is ... your intended husband.’
‘I know, but you say it to make fun,’ she accused.
‘There are times when I have to make fun, to make life bearable,’ he murmured obscurely. ‘You realise, I suppose, that our absence from Lanmore to-night is going to cause consternation?’
‘You mean that your sister-in-law won’t be pleased?’
‘No, I wasn’t thinking of Anya particularly. After all, if she had come with me to find Neil and to look after him, she would have been here with me instead of you, so she has only herself to blame if she’s worried,’ he remarked.
And he probably would have preferred Anya’s companionship to hers, thought Nancy.
‘She’s very lovely,’ she said, speaking her thoughts aloud.
‘Yes, she is,’ he agreed. ‘More lovely now than when I first met her eight years ago, when she was an unknown actress in repertory.’ There was a brief silence and then he added, ‘I wish I’d never introduced her to Angus, my brother.’
‘But he would have met her anyway.’
‘Not necessarily. I didn’t introduce everyone I met to him.’
‘I suppose if you hadn’t you might have married her yourself.’
He turned to glance at her.
‘Might I? Whoever put that idea into your head?’
Nancy flushed at the implication that she had been gossiping about him.
‘Mary has really gone to town when she has talked to you, hasn’t she?’ he said dryly. ‘I wonder what it is about you, Nancy Allan, that makes people want to confide in you?’
‘Well, I certainly haven’t inspired you to confide in me,’ she retorted defensively. ‘How can you expect anyone to understand you if you never say anything about yourself?’
His mouth tightened and he looked away from her. ‘What do you want to know that you haven’t learned already?’ he asked in a low voice.
‘Why do you feel so responsible for Neil?’
‘I’ve told you, I’m his guardian.’
‘That isn’t the only reason,’ she persisted, thinking of the way he had flinched at Anya’s cutting remark that afternoon.
’It’s because I was to blame for Angus’s death. I killed him. Isn’t that reason enough?’
He turned on her as he spoke and his voice was harsh. Nancy swallowed and asked quietly,
‘How?’
For a moment he looked at her as if he hated her and she would not have been surprised if he had refused to answer her question. Then he leaned against the back of the berth, folded his arms across his chest and began to speak in a cold flat monotone.
‘Someone suggested to my brother that Anya was having an affair with another man, and implied that the man was me. The suggestion was made just before the start of a Formula One race at Silverstone over two years ago. Angus and I were competing as team-mates in cars designed by Stan. He came to me and accused me five minutes before the race was due to begin.’
‘Was there any truth in the suggestion?’ Somehow it was important that she should know the answer to that question.
He shrugged as if he couldn’t have cared less.
‘There might have been ... but the man wasn’t me.’
‘Did you tell your brother that, or did you look at him and through him as if he was a fool?’
He turned to look at her again and surprise widened his eyes.
‘Have I done that to you?’ he asked curiously.
‘You often do it ... to everyone. It’s ... it’s infuriating!’
‘Possibly I did because I didn’t see why I should have to deny such an accusation. He should have known me well enough to have realised that I wouldn’t have an affair with his wife. As it was I said nothing because I wasn’t going to argue with him just before the race. He was worked up enough as it was, and was too emotionally disturbed to race. I said as much to Stan, who tried to stop Angus from participating ... without any luck.’
‘And what happened?’
‘Don’t you know? I thought it was common knowledge. If Mary hasn’t told you surely someone else on Lanmore has enlightened you,’ he said bitterly.
‘Logan, please understand. No one has said anything about it. Mary and Don have only ever mentioned that there was an accident and that your brother was killed. You don’t have to tell me any more. I think I understand now about Neil,’ said Nancy gently.
‘No, you don’t. You can’t until I tell you the rest. I might as well go on,’ he answered flatly. ‘I was in the lead. After a bad start Angus came up behind me. I knew he would try to pass me, but I thought he would wait until we Were on the straight. Instead he pulled out to pass as we were going round a bend. Then he cut in in front of me too sharply. I couldn’t brake fast enough and the front of my machine hit the back of his, turned it off the track and down an embankment. He died on the way to hospital. I was with him and I think a bit of me died with him. He spoke to me once only and that was to ask me to take care of Neil.’
He paused and there was silence in the cabin broken only by the sputtering of the Tilley lamp.
‘It was my fault. I didn’t brake soon enough. I gave up racing because I’d caused an accident,’ he added in that cold flat voice.
‘But couldn’t it have been his fault? Didn’t he cut in too sharply? Isn’t it possible that his jealousy of you impaired his judgement?’ said Nancy urgently, suddenly distressed to realise how much the accident had affected him. Mary had been right when she had said he brooded about it. ‘Jealousy is a very powerful emotion.’
‘Is it?’
He was suddenly very remote and polite and she guessed he did not like her suggestion that his brother could have been at fault. So she said no more and stared at the Tilley lamp.
The boat rocked gently and waves lapped at its hull as a slight breeze disturbed the water. It wa
s a peaceful setting for the violent story she had just heard, a story which had opened another world up where temperament was an important factor and often meant the difference between life and death. Probably if Angus Maclaine had possessed a different temperament he would have been alive to-day and Logan would not have been the lonely aloof person that he had become.
She glanced at him. He was still leaning back. His eyes were closed and there was a smudge of engine oil on one high cheekbone. She had a sudden longing to put her arms round him and comfort him as she had often comforted Neil. Shaken by the urge, she looked back at the lamp quickly. The bright light hurt her eyes, so she closed them tightly. It was a good way to prevent the tears which had gathered from falling too.
The feel of a hand touching her hair made her stiffen slightly. The hand was removed immediately and Logan drawled,
‘Your hair is still very wet. If you’ll pass me the towel, I’ll rub it dry for you.’
Startled by his suggestion, she put a hand to her hair. It was wet, but it would not be wise to let him dry it. That would involve too much close contact and under the circumstances she didn’t think she could trust her own reactions.
‘Oh, no, thank you,’ she replied lightly. ‘I can dry it myself.’
He smiled sleepily at her, stifled a yawn, stretched his arms above his head and then without any warning leaned forward and placed a hand on either side of her face as he had done when he had taken the sting from her face. Held captive, Nancy could only gaze at him wonderingly.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he murmured.
‘That’s a tall tale, if ever there was one,’ she countered shakily. ‘You couldn’t have missed me. You went away with your friends.’
‘Even so, I missed you. Did you miss me?’
All she could see was her reflection in the dark pupils of his eyes.
‘That’s rather a leading question,’ she replied, still trying to keep the whole situation on an even keel. ‘You don’t really expect me to answer it, do you?’
He did not reply. His gaze went deliberately to her mouth and she guessed his intention.
‘No, Logan, I didn’t miss you,’ she said clearly, and saw his mouth quirk with amusement.
‘I think differently,’ he mocked. ‘And I still have to thank you for helping me to find Neil.’
Did he know that it was impossible for her to move when he held her that way?
‘I did very little.’
‘It was more help than I’ve ever received before from anyone, and so I must thank you properly,’ he said softly. He kissed her gently and briefly on the mouth, then moved away and stood up so quickly she had no time to respond.
‘Neither you nor anyone else could call that taking advantage,’ he observed mockingly. ‘Nor should it offend your principles. And to make sure you’ll be able to inform your intended quite truthfully that we observed the proprieties ... because I’ve a feeling he’ll want to know every detail of our nocturnal adventure ... I shall sleep up forward with Neil. Goodnight.’
It was the longest night Nancy had ever known. She tried to convince herself that her sleeplessness was caused by the fact that she was lying on a narrow bunk in the darkened cabin of a boat which possessed its own strange noises and movements. But she found that no matter how hard she tried to find a new position in which to relax, and no matter how hard she tried to make her mind a blank, the memory of the moment when Logan had appeared in front of her at the Games kept leaping into her thoughts.
Why had she been so glad to see him? What had the upsurge of happiness she had experienced meant? Had it been merely associated with the recognition of a friend in a crowd of anonymous people? Or was it possible that the spontaneous delight which she had felt on meeting him unexpectedly based on something deeper than friendship?
She hastily buried the betraying thought, reminding herself sternly that Logan did not belong to her normal way of life. He belonged to Lanmore, and after September Lanmore would be only the place where her brother lived and which she might visit occasionally in the future.
He belonged to an entirely different world from hers; a world of large estates, of wealth, of fast cars and beautiful actresses. And if it hadn’t been for a child who persistently lost himself she would probably have never come into close contact with him.
CHAPTER FIVE
Eventually sleep claimed Nancy and she slept deeply. It was the throbbing noise of the engine which awoke her. For a while she lay with her eyes closed, reluctant to face a day which she knew would be complicated by explanations and suspicion. How lovely it would be if she did not have to return immediately, if she and Logan and Neil could cruise amongst the islands for a few days. She let her imagination roam and saw herself with Logan walking hand in hand on the white sands of some remote Hebridean beach. She saw them diving into the cool shadowy underworld of the sea where the tall weeds were wafted by currents and the silver fishes drifted by.
She opened her eyes and sat up. Whatever was the matter with her? Such imaginings were pure escapism, romantic fantasy in which she never normally indulged. She left that sort of thing to Linda. Noticing that the sun was shining brightly, she struggled out of the sleeping bag and pulled on the skirt and sweater she had been wearing the day before, thinking how peculiar it was to be on a boat wearing a skirt instead of trousers.
Going forward, she used the small washroom and then pushed open the door which divided the boat into two cabins. Neil was still fast asleep, flat on his back, his arms flung out on either side of him, his blond hair tousled. Moving quietly, Nancy went back into the main cabin and looked through a porthole. Under a blue sky the sea shimmered with rose-dappled golden light and she could see high mountains, the Cuillins of Skye glowing pink against the sky beyond the green of island of Raasay.
The urge to see more made her hurry up the short companionway into the cockpit where Logan greeted her with a cool, polite good morning.
‘What a lovely morning,’ she replied, gazing round at sea, island and mountains. ‘Oh, we’re almost home!’
Ahead of the boat she could see Lanmore Bay and the white of the Lodge nestling against the dark green trees.
‘Home,’ echoed Logan. ‘Is that how you think of Lanmore?’
She turned to smile at him.
‘While I live there I do. Shall I wake Neil?’
‘No, leave him. He had quite a tiring day yesterday.’
‘You should have wakened me when you wanted to set off. I could have helped,’ she said.
‘I didn’t wake you for the same reason that I didn’t waken Neil—you were sleeping soundly. Only children and those with a clear conscience sleep like that.’
The thought that he had observed while she was sleeping made her glance at him sharply to see if he was making fun of her. Above the turtle neck of his dark blue sweater his chin was dark with stubble. There were lines under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept much and his hair needed brushing. His appearance was not exactly prepossessing and yet she would not have preferred any other companion on that serene morning. It seemed to her that they were the only two people alive and awake in a colourful, beautiful world.
‘Are you ready to face the storm which is bound to break about our heads?’ he asked, with an ironic twist to his mouth.
‘What storm?’
‘I may be mistaken, but I think your fiancé might be a little displeased by your nocturnal absence, and the fact that you spent the night aboard Vagabond with me.’
‘He might be worried,’ conceded Nancy, ‘but he can hardly be displeased. Once he realises that it was accidental, that we couldn’t help being delayed, he...’ A sudden thought occurred to her and she broke off abruptly, then asked an urgent question. ‘It was accidental, wasn’t it?’
‘It was,’ he agreed gravely.
‘And I hope,’ continued Nancy, her mind at ease once more, ‘that Rod knows me well enough to know that I wouldn’t...’ she hesitated.
‘To know that you
wouldn’t kiss another man while engaged to him,’ Logan put in with a mischievous grin. The grin faded and he remarked seriously, ‘Complete trust. Is that what there is between you? I hope so, because:
‘In love, if love be love, if love be ours,
Faith and unfaith can ne’er be equal powers.
Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.’
Nancy looked away over the dimpled water. They were passing a small rocky islet, one of a string which guarded the entrance to Lanmore Bay. As they passed she noticed the heads of several grey seals bob down under the water, and on the rock other seals basked and played in the sunshine.
What would Logan say if she told him it was she who was beginning to have doubts about her relationship with Rod, and that already a rot had set in and she was beginning to wonder if she knew what love was?
But she said nothing of her thoughts. Instead she commented idly,
‘You seem to like poetry. Who wrote that?’
‘Tennyson. Not one of my favourites, but he sometimes provides the right word at the right moment. Poetry is so often the quintessence of thought or feeling. Don’t you know any?’
‘A little. I haven’t had much time to read any. I wouldn’t know where to start.’
‘Then when winter comes ...’
He didn’t finish the sentence. The wheel turned under his hands and Vagabond altered course slightly. Nancy waited for him to continue, but he did not speak, nor did he look at her. He seemed to have forgotten what he was going to say and she was just about to question him when he said tersely,
‘Wake Neil now. We’re almost there.’
Puzzled by the brief conversation and even more puzzled by his withdrawal, Nancy went and woke the boy, who was full of questions and who seemed quite disappointed when she told him they were almost at Lanmore.
‘I wish I could stay on the boat for ever and ever. I like being with you and Uncle Logan. He isn’t cross when you’re with us,’ he said.
‘I’m sure he’s never cross,’ said Nancy.