The Last of the Kintyres

by Catherine Airlie

  “Shona tells us that we have an invitation to Ardlamond,” Stephen said, getting to his feet as Caroline approached. “Are you sure you can cope with us, old boy?”

  “One bachelor establishment can’t be any worse than another,” Hew decided. “I’ve phoned Mrs. Malcolm, so she will be expecting us. She’s eager to see the boys,” he added, ruffing Donald’s mop of straw-coloured hair. “She can’t believe that they are growing quite as fast as I described!”

  He had not included Caroline in the invitation to Ardlamond, and one quick glance at Caroline’s flushed face and hard eyes told Elizabeth that the omission had rankled, to say the least of it.

  “I hope you’re not going to be too late coming over to Dromore, Hew?” she mentioned as she sipped a cup of tea without eating anything. “This is more or less a joint affair, you know—the first social function attended by the new laird!”

  “I don’t think I want it put over like that, Carol,” Hew said tightly. “It’s no more than a week since my father’s death.”

  “But—you’ve come to the Trials!”

  “That was quite different. My father was to have presented the cups. He has been at the Dromore Trials for forty years. I was taking his place.”

  “Oh—” Caroline appeared to be momentarily nonplussed, and then she said with a thin little smile: “I suppose I must consider it a compliment that you are coming to the Castle at all?”

  “You were good enough to invite my guests,” he said. “We won’t be late.”

  Shona rose to her feet.

  “I think we’d better make room for someone else,” she suggested, to break the awkward little silence which followed. “There’s been quite a turn-out in spite of the weather. It’s brightening up now,” she added, reaching the marquee doorway. “A good omen for your party, Caroline.”

  “I hope so.” Caroline looked as if she might have a bone to pick with Hew at a later date. “If it rains we can have something in the library and dance in the hall,” she added. “I’ll make provision for any emergency. I don’t like leaving anything to chance.”

  They parted, and Hew followed Elizabeth towards the car park.

  “Well,” he asked, “what did you think of your afternoon?”

  “I—it was a wonderful experience.” She turned to him impulsively. “I wish Wraith had been able to compete, though. I should have liked to have seen you on the hill.”

  He gave her an odd, one-sided smile.

  “I wonder why?” he asked.

  Her heart caught in a little tremor of excitement and she answered truthfully:

  “Because I think you and Wraith would have won again and—and it would have been interesting to have seen you in your role of shepherd.”

  He smiled quite openly at that.

  “You saw me at Whitefarland,” he reminded her.

  “That was different,” Elizabeth said, not wanting to be reminded too vividly of Whitefarland. “You trained Wraith. It would have been wonderful to have seen you both competing for the cup.”

  “If I had won it might have been awkward, considering that I was helping with the presentations,” he pointed out.

  “Caroline would have passed it over to you.”

  The words had slipped out, because always Caroline and his duties as the new laird seemed to be linked.

  “Or I could have asked you to do it,” he suggested. “It would have been a nice departure from the usual run of things.”

  “But—I don’t belong. It wouldn’t have been the same.”

  “You ‘belong’ for the moment. As far as the local people are concerned you are part of Ardlamond— part of my household. It would have been accepted.” His tone had been matter-of-fact, his words entirely impersonal. In some odd way, however, they had made her feel part of Ardlamond, part of its wonderful tradition, if only for the time being.

  “It’s a very precious heritage, Hew,” she found herself saying. “I know it can involve all sort of personal sacrifice, but—but it’s worth it.”

  He held the door of the Daimler open for her to get in.

  “I wonder if you would still say that,” he mused, “if you were deeply involved.”

  “Of course I would!” Her answer had been completely spontaneous. “This lovely country and this grand old house! It would be worth anybody’s sacrifice.”

  He smiled again.

  “You’re the complete romantic!” he chided, but his eyes were quite kind.

  Stephen was packing Shona and the boys into his shooting-brake.

  “Can you cope with Imogen and Tony?” he asked rather deliberately as the two young people came up. “I’ve got the dogs in the back.”

  “We’ll forge on ahead,” Hew said. He was nearer the exit. “See you at Ardlamond!”

  Tony settled Imogen in the back seat and got in beside her. They did not speak, and Imogen looked taken aback and nervous, not knowing what to say.

  “Look out!” Tony warned as they swung round towards the field gate. “There’s another car—”

  In the narrow lane Caroline had turned the big white Cadillac out of the opposite field, blocking their way. It seemed almost deliberate, a significant little gesture of defiance or even of warning. She shrugged and looked helpless as Hew wound down the nearside window and put his head out.

  “I can’t move it,” she explained. “You’ll have to come and see what you can do, or you’re going to be late back for dinner.”

  Hew got out, looking none too pleased at the unnecessary delay.

  “Can I help?” Tony called, winding down the window on his side.

  “Stay where you are,” Hew commanded almost gruffly. “This won’t take me a minute.”

  “It’s rather a big car for our narrow Scottish roads,” Imogen ventured shyly. “All the same, it’s wonderful, and so right for Caroline, too,” she added. “She can carry off a car like that, can’t she?”

  Tony smiled his approval.

  “I think so,” he said. “The red raincoat was the right idea, too.”

  Imogen glanced down sadly at her conventional tweeds, obviously hating their mediocrity.

  Hew turned the Cadillac in two locks, handing it over to its owner with a brief word, which they could not hear. He made no further comment as he got back into the Daimler and drove away, but Elizabeth carried with her a fleeting glimpse of Caroline, tight-lipped and angry, standing ramrod-straight beside her own car with a high colour in her cheeks and a narrowed look about her eyes.

  When they reached Ardlamond Elizabeth took Imogen upstairs to her bedroom to wash and change. Imogen had known about the barbecue and had brought an afternoon frock with her and neat court shoes to replace the serviceable brogues which had been more suitable for the hill. Shona declared that she must go to Caroline’s party as she was.

  “I only got a fiddler’s bidding,” she grinned, “so Caroline can’t expect me to turn up in my tiara. It’s locked away, anyway,” she added wickedly, “with my second-best emeralds and the sapphire rings!”

  “What should I wear?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Something warm,” Shona offered practically.

  “Something pretty!” said Imogen. “Something to make you look just right for Hew. He’ll be going in his kilt!”

  The words twisted in Elizabeth’s heart. Something to make her look just right for Hew! Imogen had taken it for granted that she would be going as Hew’s partner. Did she not know, then, about Hew and Caroline—that they had been partners long ago?

  Perhaps Imogen was too new to the glen—too newly returned—to have sorted out the pattern of its living. At the time of Hew’s broken engagement she must have been away at school, and she would have been too young to take much notice of the gossip that Caroline’s sensational volte-face had caused, too young to care or wonder very much about such things.

  She came to the wardrobe, waiting for Elizabeth to open the door.

  “There isn’t much choice.” Elizabeth’s voice was light and del
iberately controlled. “Just two!” She opened the long door with the mirror panel inside. “There you are. Which one?”

  “Oh!” Imogen decided without the slightest hesitation. “The yellow. It’s a lovely colour, Elizabeth— like sunshine! Not everybody can wear it. You’ll look lovely!”

  “Don’t turn her head!” Shona laughed, but she too came to inspect the dress, nodding her instant approval. “Wear it, Elizabeth,” she said.

  What did they want her to prove? That she was a match for Caroline? Elizabeth smiled wryly at her reflection in the long mirror. Even a golden dress that did all sorts of things to her eyes and hair could not accomplish that. She knew that the dress suited her, that the colour was “hers”, but Caroline had a flair for clothes which made them a challenge into the bargain. Whatever she wore would be dramatic and arresting.

  When they went down the staircase into the hall, Hew seemed to look at her with approval, although all he said was:

  “You’ll need warm wraps round your shoulders. The Castle is a draughty place, and most of the time you’ll be out of doors.”

  “It’s all tremendously thrilling!” Imogen exclaimed. “I can hardly wait to get there!”

  Hew’s eyes were still fixed on Elizabeth. The sconces above the chimneypiece shed little pools of golden light down over their heads, a deeper yellow than the soft folds of the chiffon dress Imogen and Shona had chosen for her, and they seemed to kindle their reflection in his sombre eyes, but she could not flatter herself that he was interested.

  What a fool I am, she thought. What a simple, deluded fool to believe that he would care what I wore!

  He had changed into a dinner jacket, and in the subdued light he looked more of a legendary figure than ever. The rich colours of his kilt and the gleam of silver buttons on his sleeve, reflecting back the light of the fire, drew her gaze towards him again and again.

  They had not dressed for dinner before, and they had not entertained. In fact, they had rarely sat down together to a meal since her arrival. It was all new, and for a devastating moment she wondered if she had over-dressed, but Imogen too, was wearing a gay floral frock, and Shona had removed her coat to reveal quite a smart little linen suit beneath it.

  Tony made a belated appearance at the head of the stairs, and Stephen came in from the garden with John and Donald as he reached the hall.

  Hew glanced at the grandfather clock in the alcove facing him.

  “Perhaps we’d better go in,” he suggested, leading the way to the dining-room door.

  Mrs. Malcolm had surpassed herself. In the short time at her disposal since Hew had telephoned, she had prepared an excellent meal. There was always salmon to be had at Ardlamond in the season, but she also offered them a superb main dish of chicken cooked in white wine, followed simply by fresh fruit and a selection of cheese for the men.

  Before their coffee was served the telephone bell pealed through the hall and Hew excused himself to answer it.

  “It’s sure to be for me,” he said. “Will you pour the coffee, Elizabeth? I won’t be a couple of shakes.”

  It was all suddenly so warm and intimate, so much like home, Elizabeth thought, with a small catch in her throat.

  “I’ll carry the tray through to the fire for you,” Jessie offered when Hew had gone. “Goodness knows how long the master will be on that telephone! They’re an invention of the devil!”

  “Here, let me take it!” Stephen relieved her of the tray. “We can pour Hew’s and let him drink it while he’s talking.”

  They filed out into the hall, Elizabeth close behind Stephen, and suddenly she was reminded of that other occasion when the telephone had rung and Hew had gone to take the message from Shona. He had come away from the alcove with a grim face and an unrelenting mouth, and now, as he came away from the instrument again, his expression was the same.

  “I’m afraid I shall have to go on ahead,” he apologized. “Caroline has run up against a number of snags. Apparently she needs my help.”

  “Oh—bad luck!” Stephen stretched out on one of the leather armchairs on the far side of the hearth, lighting a cigarette. “Do we have to follow?”

  “I think you could reasonably stay and finish your coffee,” Hew said. “I’ll come back for you before ten.” For the next hour Shona played the piano in the drawing-room, singing for them in her lovely, husky voice the Songs of the Hebrides, which she knew by heart. Every note came over perfect and crystal-clear, and by the end of that enchanted hour Elizabeth knew that she had truly come home.

  Here was the place of her heart’s longing; here the words of Shona’s songs took on an added poignancy. She knew nothing of the Gaelic tongue, but some of the songs had English words, and those she remembered, for her mother had sung them long ago. The years seemed to telescope, to fade away, and all the magic of her mother’s first loving came flooding back in the pearl-grey half-light of the Highland evening to fill her heart with longing and despair.

  Where was Hew? Had he been glad to be called away by Caroline, relieved to go?

  He did not return until just before ten o’clock. “What went wrong?” Stephen asked as Shona closed the piano.

  “Caroline got in a flap.” It was difficult to tell what Hew was thinking by his expression. “She had really plenty of assistance.”

  But she had wanted him there, wanted to break up this intimate little dinner-party to which she had not been asked.

  “Let’s go,” Stephen said. “Have you girls got warm coats? There’s a September nip in the air.”

  “We’re dancing inside, so it won’t really matter” Hew said.

  They set out in the two cars, but this time Elizabeth travelled in the shooting-brake with Stephen and the two boys, while Imogen and Tony and Shona went with Hew in the Daimler.

  Dromore Castle stood in a green clearing at the foot of the narrow glen. It was not very big, but like all Scottish baronial castles it had a most romantic look, with its twin turrets reflected in the silvery water of the sea loch and guardian mountains looking down on it on the other three sides.

  Tonight it was floodlit, a modern gesture which Elizabeth considered Caroline could very well have done without. The garish beam of the electric flood lamps singled out the two ancient stone towers, throwing them into bold relief against the darkening sky, and suddenly, as they approached, a bonfire crackled into life.

  “That would have been enough,” Stephen said, echoing her thought as they watched the flickering orange glow playing along the ancient battlements. “The floods are too theatrical. They’re out of keeping in a lovely old place like Dromore, and they’re swamped by the lulls.” It was true enough, and every other detail of Caroline’s party arrangements was over-accentuated too. The suggestion of unlimited wealth was not far to seek, and it was distasteful, like a bait set to capture Hew. Caroline knew that he was desperately in need of what she had to give, and she seemed determined to let him see what money could do. Quite apart from their former loving, there was the suggestion in everything she said and did that she was more than essential to him and to the future of Ardlamond.

  She had gathered about a hundred guests at the Castle, a cross-section of the community who were already enjoying themselves in full-measure by the time the Ardlamond Daimler drew up in the cobble-stoned courtyard, with Stephen’s brake following close behind.

  As if she had been watching for them, Caroline came quickly from the open doorway between the towers, tall and fair and splendid in a swinging black skirt gaily patterned with white Mexican hats and a scarlet blouse cut low across the shoulders to reveal her flawless neck and arms. The little theatrical touch of costume made everything complete. Caroline could afford her whims.

  “Welcome to Dromore!” she greeted them. “Everything’s going with a swing—thanks to you, Hew,” she added, taking his arm in a proprietorial way. “When the barbecue just refused to work I almost had a fit! I had visions of everything going flat, but now it’s all perfect. Come and have a lo
ok!”

  She led the way round the end of one of the towers to a sheltered spot in the old courtyard where the brick framework for the grill had been built and where most of her guests were congregated. Whole chickens had been skewered and lay ready beside the spit, and mounds of sausages and steaks were piled on trays just inside the open french windows of the library.

  The room was brilliantly lit and radiogram music poured out into the quiet, star-filled night.

  “This is completely barbaric!” Stephen reflected, looking about him. “It originated in Haiti, I believe, but now our nice, civilized world has adopted it as the very latest thing! I wonder how far we really have to go back or how deeply we have to dig to reach the primitive in us?”

  His eyes were on Caroline walking with her panther-stride beside Hew.

  “Not very far,” Shona answered. “That’s probably why this sort of thing catches on so easily—fire, primitive cooking, dancing, music!” She smiled a little ruefully. “But I’m getting old, I expect,” she added, “when it doesn’t appeal to me any more!”

  “Caroline makes the most of everything,” Stephen said.

  Mrs. Hayler was certainly an enthusiastic hostess, but she was also without a host, and quite deliberately she pressed Hew into the role.

  “You’ll have to come back into the general swim some day,” she told him. “People expect it of you. You’re the laird now.”

  Elizabeth found herself swept up in the general gaiety. In some ways it was a strange atmosphere for a Scottish glen, yet in others it struck back to the old primitive ways of living which had belonged here at Dromore centuries ago. When the drums and guitars had been laid aside, the bagpipe came into its own. The piper had wandered out a little way on to the hillside and his music came, as it should do, from a distance, all its haunting beauty and heart-stirring quality reaching them out of the darkness, with the echo of it flung back among the pines.

  Inevitably they formed into groups to dance a reel, and when that was over they gathered round the grill in the leaping orange light of the fire, holding out the long iron spits over the flames.

  Couples came and went, talking, eating, laughing. The gay spirit of youth and adventure trod everywhere, and Elizabeth saw Tony more than once with Imogen and was happy in consequence. If only he would be sensible, she thought, and realize that Imogen was worth a thousand Carolines!