‘Yes,’ she replied evenly. ‘I know you were only joking.’ About everything. She could not resist that one stab. How could he face her so innocently? What kind of man was he that he could deceive so easily without one twinge of conscience?
He scowled. ‘You’ll find out sooner or later that I’m not known for my patience, and I really don’t feel like sparring with you this morning. Now just what,’ he demanded, ‘do you think you’re doing?’
She resumed her bright facade. ‘I think,’ she replied, ‘I’m going to catch the ten o’clock ferry to Oban, where I’ll finish my assignment and be back in New York before the month is out. Now, I really don’t want to walk carrying all this luggage, so if I could impose upon you for the use of your car one more time—’
She thought his swarthy face might have paled a shade as he stared at her in patent shock and disbelief. Almost, seeing him like that, her own reserve broke, almost she gave way to her own hurt and disillusionment and screamed the ugly truth to him. Almost she would have forgiven him if he had given her a chance.
But he continued to deny it. ‘Oban ... New York ... What are you talking about? What’s going on with you? Last night—’
She laughed lightly, bitterly. ‘Oh, Byron, really!’ There, just the right touch of flirtatious sophistication. Just what he had always expected of her. Exactly what he had wanted. ‘It was great fun while it lasted, but we both knew we weren’t playing for keeps, didn’t we? A day, two weeks ...’ she shrugged. ‘What difference does it make.’
‘You said,’ he accused, ‘you would stay!’
And you said, she thought angrily, and almost lost that precious, cool, life-preserving composure, For ever! But no, he had not ever really said it. He had been very careful not to use that word.
‘Come on, Byron,’ she managed, though in a slightly tinny voice, ‘come off the games, already! Like I said, it’s been fun, but...’ she shrugged and smiled brightly, ‘the world beckons! I’ve got things to do, places to see, and ...’ she glanced at her watch, ‘if I don’t hurry I’m going to miss the boat! So, if you wouldn’t mind, the car...’
In two swift steps he was beside her, his grip so painful on her arm that she almost cried out, his face black and stormy above hers. ‘What the hell,’ he hissed, ‘kind of woman are you?’
Her bright facade broke under his unjustified wrath, all the anger and hurt of betrayal was written in her eyes, but she would not cry. She would not let him know. She said coldly, ‘Let go of my arm.’
For a moment longer he looked at her, loathing, contemptuous, and, yes—faint, but there—hurt. Then he released her so forcefully that she had to fling out her hand to keep from falling over her luggage, and he stalked away.
Shaking, Dawn stood there a moment longer, trying to find the courage to meet the next half hour before Falkone’s Acres, with all its hurt and longing and heartbreak, would be out of her life for ever. Then, sternly, she pulled herself together and went to find Maggie.
‘Leaving?’ Maggie exclaimed incredulously when Dawn told her. ‘But I thought it was all arranged. You were going to stay here, and—whatever you need, I’m sure we can work it out...’
Not this, thought Dawn. No one can work this out. ‘No,’ she explained patiently. It was a lot harder to keep up the front with Maggie than it had been with Byron. She was emotionally exhausted. ‘It really just wouldn’t work out. I’ve got to get this assignment in and be back in New York, and time is important. It will be much easier for me from Oban.’
‘But today?’ Maggie insisted. ‘Must you leave today?’
‘I’m afraid so.’ The muscles of her face were beginning to ache from the effort of maintaining that pleasant smile. ‘Like I said, time...’
Maggie’s disappointment was undisguised. ‘What a shame! I was hoping...’ She caught herself in a faraway look, and shook her head sadly. ‘Never mind what I was hoping. If you must leave today, I’ll drive you down to the dock. Are you all packed?’
‘Yes, but I don’t want to take you away...’ The castle was coming to life with the activity of those hired to clean up after the party, a dozen girls inside, a score of workmen and gardeners outside, dismantling tables and repairing the damage the festivities had done to the lawn. Maggie was busy and could not be spared, but that was not the real reason Dawn did not want her to go with her. She preferred to say her goodbyes to the castle and everything connected with it here.
‘Nonsense,’ answered Maggie, going for her keys. She glanced at her one last time. ‘I just wish you would reconsider—’
Dawn shook her head, once, firmly.
The ferry was already boarding as they arrived, and that was best. It meant no time for long goodbyes.
‘Now are you sure,’ offered Maggie, ‘that you don’t want me to drive you? It will be a lot easier, finding a hotel.’
‘No, I can take a cab.’ She passed the last of her luggage to the captain’s assistant, who carried it on board, and then she paused at Maggie’s window, smiling with genuine regret. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘thanks for everything.’
‘It’s been our pleasure, Dawn,’ she replied sincerely. ‘Remember, we open the first of next month. Maybe ... maybe you’ll come and visit us again.’
Her smile faded into vague sadness. Maybe, years from now, she would come back, alone, as a guest, and remember a time when a young girl very much like her had learned a lot about love and life beneath the ancient walls of the castle.
The warning horn blew deafeningly loud in her ears, and she was glad to have to hurry. ‘Goodbye!’ Maggie called, and she waved back to her as she ran quickly up the boarding steps.
The ferry was not very crowded that morning; few of the islanders had yet recovered from last night’s revelry, and, as it was Saturday, there was little transaction with the mainland. There were two or three cars, and perhaps half a dozen passengers on foot. As she moved towards the back to stand with the other passengers, she was surprised to see the door of a little red M.G. open, and hear someone call her name.
It was Hilary, uncurling her long legs from their small confine, tying a green print chiffon scarf over her hair as she rose and came towards her. ‘Hello,’ she called over the noise of the motor. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’
Of all people, Dawn had not expected to meet her. Over and over the scene played in her mind—Hilary’s arm about Byron, her provocative gown clinging to her body, going into the bedroom ... But the anger she felt was not towards Hilary, the pain was not because of her. It could be expected of her. All was fair in love and war ...
The smell of diesel engines and salt water was lost in the subtle, alluring scent she wore as Hilary came to stand beside her. ‘You’re not leaving, are you?’
‘Yes,’ Dawn replied stiffly, turning to look out over the rail. ‘I have another assignment.’
‘Imagine that,’ drawled Hilary, and with a great effort Dawn restrained herself from turning to look at her face. ‘And I thought...’ She laughed lightly. ‘Well, it just goes to show you, doesn’t it?’ She came to lean on the rail beside Dawn, and at that moment the spires and-towers of Falkone’s Acres floated into view over the misty treetops. Her last view of it wrenched painfully at her heart. ‘Pretty, isn’t it?’ said Hilary. ‘Really makes you sad to leave.’
Dawn could not help turning to stare at her. ‘Leave? You’re leaving?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Hilary replied. ‘I’m moving to the mainland. Of course it’s not as though I’ll never be back—for a visit now and then, perhaps—but life on an island can get to be rather of a bore, you know.’ After last night ... and she was leaving! What had it been, then—for old times’ sake? Or was that the way people like Byron and Hilary preferred it, a series of one-night stands, no ties, no promises. She shuddered at the sudden thought that if she had stayed, unaware, and married Byron, every time Hilary came back for those ‘visits’ there would have been more of the same ...
Hilary glanced at her through narrowed
, sea-darkened eyes. ‘Did you hear? Byron decided to forgive me, after all.’ She laughed lightly, straightening up. ‘I knew he would. He’s too smart a man to let something like this ruin his business.’ She started to wander away, then glanced back. ‘If you need a lift at Oban, just let me know.’
Dawn only shook her head numbly, too shocked to speak.
Yes, she had learned a lot about love and life at Falkone’s Acres.
She checked into a small hotel near the waterfront at Oban. From her window she could watch the dingy little fishing boats leave every morning and look out over the pier as their hauls were brought in at night. Her room was cramped, though clean and rather quaint. It was nothing like the splendour she had enjoyed at the castle.
Almost, as she sat at the window and looked out over the clear sea, she could imagine she saw the point of a lush green island bobbing up and down among the waves. Almost, if she closed her eyes, she could see a majestic tower of stones rising above the trees ...
She did not go out that day. She broke down and let herself cry.
She filled the days from first light until dusk travelling about the islands, using the ferry for major excursions, going on foot or by pony around the rugged mountain cliffs, looking for something worth photographing. At any other time it would have been an exciting, adventure-filled time of her life, she would have seen magic in every crevice and corner and captured it on film. She would have seen character in the craggy face of a peasant farmer, simplicity in a children’s game, beauty in the slim bodies of the island girls. All she saw was endless green meadows, dirty brown sheep, flat lakes and foreboding mountains. She took her pictures, but nothing which might have been better portrayed on the back of a postcard. The islands were all the same, each thatched cottage very much like the next, and not one of the farmers, all placidly tilling their rows, was after all very different from another.
In the middle of the week she called her editor long-distance. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘this thing is just not working out. All I’ve got is a bunch of junk. Is it O.K. if I wind this thing up and catch a plane home this weekend?’
The silence on the other end reflected surprise. ‘What’s the matter?’ he taunted. ‘Homesick? Or just can’t take the pressure?’
‘Pressure!’ she laughed mirthlessly. ‘This place is as dead as a tomb. Really, Joe, there’s nothing to shoot.’
‘I don’t understand,’ he objected. ‘How can there be nothing to shoot? The stuff I got on Falkone’s Acres was terrific. You were on a roll. What happened?’
Dawn hesitated, then sighed. ‘Maybe that’s what happened. I peaked too soon. Anyway, I’ve got some stuff you can use as background if you want, but I’m afraid what you already have is the best you’re going to see. I’m just wasting your money staying here.’
Another pause. ‘I’m disappointed in you, Dawn.’ She didn’t care. She almost said it out loud.
‘All right, then,’ he said at last, ‘do what you have to. We reserved the whole next issue for you, you know that? The people in layout are going to be plenty mad!’
The phone call had depressed her, for more than the obvious reasons. It brought back too poignantly the reality of New York, back to the darkroom to wait for another chance which might not be so soon in coming this time—her bright little apartment with its chic furnishings, plants which needed to be watered, dinners for one, her temperamental grey cat now in the custody of a girlfriend, the endless round of dates, hoping that each one would be that one, very special man ... And it never was.
The grey, misty day was no consolation. She could not sit at her window and stare at it all day, but she did not feel like donning her outdoor togs and braving the weather for a few more dull photographs. She decided to go down to the small dining room for a cup of tea.
It was empty, and the girl who served her obviously resented her midday break being interrupted. She sat at the window and once again looked out on to a relentless day, trying to remember if life had ever looked so bleak from her tower room at Falkone’s Acres.
Then, in the midst of her reverie, there was a voice, startling her so in its familiarity that she spilled some of the tea on to the saucer as she turned.
‘Dawn! How perfectly lovely! You know, I thought I might run into you here, this being the only decent hotel in town.’ It was Maggie, slipping off a grey wool coat as she crossed the small room with purposeful, clicking steps on the linoleum. ‘As a matter of fact,’ she confided, as she slipped into the chair across the table from her, ‘I was going to look you up before I left. I just had to see how you were getting on.’ She clasped her free hand on the table warmly. ‘And how are you?’
Dawn was flooded with relief to see again her strong square face with its boyish cut of grey hair, to clasp her firm brown hand which brought back memories of good times, warmth, and—home. Maggie had become like a mother to her, or an older sister, and she had not realised before how sad she would be not to see her again. But mostly she brought back memories of Byron, in those good times when her days were filled with hope, and the wonder of discovering love.
‘It’s good to see you,’ she beamed. ‘I never thought we’d meet again!’ And then her gratification faded into something more intense, like trepidation mixed with dreadful excitement. ‘Is Byron—?’
‘Oh, no,’ Maggie said briskly, with a dismissing wave of her hand. ‘I’m here for Hilary, you know, and even the most broadminded person couldn’t expect him to come—despite the changes!’ There were several points in that simple sentence which Dawn would have liked cleared up, but Maggie continued without giving her a chance. ‘But you didn’t tell me. How are you doing here? About ready to reconsider and come back to the island for a while?’
Dawn shook her head, trying to maintain a smile even though she lost eye contact. ‘As a matter of fact, this whole idea isn’t working out too well. I’m going home this weekend.’
‘What a shame!’ Then Maggie made a very astute statement. ‘I suppose once you’ve seen Falkone’s Acres nothing can compare, can it?’
‘Yes,’ Dawn agreed. ‘That’s right.’ Then, as conversation lapsed, she said, ‘You mentioned you were here because of Hilary. I met her on the ferry coming over, but she didn’t mention ...’
‘Her wedding,’ explained Maggie. ‘Didn’t you know?’
Wedding! But only moments ago Maggie had said Byron was not here, was not expected ... Her wedding!
‘But then,’ Maggie was continuing, ‘how could you know, if no one ever mentioned it to you? It’s going to be a quiet little affair here in Oban, but I felt as though someone should come to represent the family, especially since we’re going to try to keep up good relations with the Manns. Naturally, it was out of the question for Byron to come, so I was elected. I don’t particularly care for the girl myself ...’ she shrugged, ‘but I have nothing against her father, and we can’t let this feud drag on for ever ...’
Dawn had to interrupt, though she knew her question was stupid, even to her own ears, and so was her numb tone of voice. ‘But—I thought Hilary was going to marry Byron.’
Maggie stared at her. ‘My dear, I thought I explained all that to you! Yes, I know I did. She’s marrying that young man from Mountain Distilleries—Russell Douglas! Yes, I’m sure I made that clear...’ she frowned, and then suddenly her brow cleared with an exclamation. ‘Unless you thought there’d been a reconciliation between Hilary and Byron!’
Dawn flushed, but would not reveal to Maggie what she knew. There was no need to hurt this kind woman with it, and one did not go carrying tales to the maligner’s sister, and it was simple pride which would force her to keep her counsel. Above all, she did not want anyone feeling sorry for her. So she only defended, ‘Hilary did— mention something about—a reconciliation on the ferry.’
‘Oh!’ There was relief in Maggie’s laughter. ‘For a moment I thought you might have got the wrong impression, and that was why you left ... No,’ she explained, ‘Hilary must have b
een referring to the business reconciliation, which we were all glad to see happen!’
Dawn supposed that, after having slept with the daughter, Byron could hardly hold a grudge against her father. Yes, she had supported a reconciliation, too, but not on those terms.
Suddenly Maggie became serious, and she lowered her tone a fraction. Dawn thought that perhaps this was the closest she would ever come to seeing that stem woman look uncomfortable. ‘Dawn,’ she said in a moment, glancing down at the tablecloth, and then up again, ‘do you mind if I speak with you about something—personal?’
Dawn shook her head, and could not imagine what she could be referring to. ‘No, of course not. Go ahead.’
Maggie leaned forward, clasping her hands on the table. ‘You came to mean a great deal—to us all—while you were at Falkone’s Acres. You changed our lives, in a way. You were able to get to Byron when no one else could. First, it was his attitude about opening the castle, and then ... well, I hold you entirely responsible for the continuance of the partnership.’ Dawn looked surprised, but she went on, ‘I think—it was through you that he found the grace to forgive Hilary, and because of you he found his perspective on the entire situation. Now, Dawn,’ she took a breath, ‘I know I’m speaking out of turn, meddling in my brother’s affairs, and getting very personal. But he was in love with you, Dawn.’
She turned her face away quickly, so that the other woman might not see the pain which streaked across it. She did not want to hear. It was over, if it had ever really been, and Maggie did not know how cruel she was being by bringing it all up again.
But she continued imperviously, ‘I’ve never seen him—as affected by anyone as he was by you. I’ve never seen him change so. And I know you felt the same way about him because ...’ She took another breath. ‘Well, because I’m a woman, and I just know.’
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