by Flora Kidd
But supposing he didn’t approach her. Suppose he said merely, ‘Hello, Sally,’ then waved his hand and went straight into the hotel.
No, it would be better and more honest if she went to him as he stepped out of the Land-Rover and asked if she might speak to him.
But approaching him coolly and calmly after their last encounter was not going to be easy. His kisses had been an experience she had not been able to forget. For one reason, he had been right she hadn’t been kissed before ... not like that, anyway. And for another, she had enjoyed being kissed by him. Feeling as she did, how could she face his amused, observant eyes without giving herself away?
The Land-Rover thudded across the granite sets of the wide roadway and came to a stop by the wall. Sally started to walk towards it slowly, tensely telling herself that if she wanted to help Maeve she must speak to Ross.
The door of the vehicle swung open and a man got out, a man wearing a yellow construction helmet and a short dark donkey jacket. He was tall but slim and slight, and when he slammed the door shut and turned Sally saw that he was Mike Searle. Tension rushed out of her, leaving her feeling strangely flat and disappointed.
A pleasant smile revealed Mike’s even white teeth and narrowed his long-lashed dark eyes.
‘Hello, Sally. Looking for me ... I hope?’
‘N ... no. Well, I mean I thought Ross might be with you. I have something to tell him.’
The corners of Mike’s mobile mouth turned down in mock- disappointment.
‘That reprobate! Why is it all the girls want to see him, when he has such a reputation for inconstancy?’
‘Oh, I didn’t really want to see him. I just have something to tell him,’ said Sally, confusedly. It would never do to let Mike think she was disappointed because Ross hadn’t turned up, even if she was ... but she wasn’t going to pursue that line of thought now. It was too dangerous.
‘I thought I might see him while I was waiting for my father,’ she went on, aware that the soft brown eyes were watching her rather shrewdly. ‘It doesn’t matter. It isn’t important.’
‘I hope it isn’t, because your chances of seeing Ross are pretty remote right now. He’s intent on clearing as much of the site as he can before the rains come.’
He glanced upwards at the spreading cloud. ‘Looks as if they might come tonight. Just my luck since I’ve been allowed to take the evening off. I was thinking of going sailing. I’ve had my racing dinghy sent up here, and I’ve joined the club here. What are you doing this evening?’
‘I shall wait for my father and then we’ll go home together for supper, and afterwards I might play chess with him, or if he wants to read I’ll help Aunt Jessie with the rug she’s making.’
‘It all sounds very cosy, for a wet night,’ said Mike, interest sparking his dark eyes, ‘but not the usual sort of Friday night for a girl like you. No boy-friends?’
Sally shook her head.
‘Well, that’s a break ... for me, I mean,’ murmured Mike. ‘Which boat is your father’s? Do you think he’d mind if I looked on board? I’ve always wanted to go on a fishing boat.’
Without hesitation, her disappointment at not seeing Ross forgotten, Sally took him to meet her father, who with his usual kindliness showed the young man over the Mary Rose and then invited him to return to Rosemount with them for supper, an invitation which Mike accepted with alacrity.
At Rosemount Aunt Jessie welcomed him hospitably, although Maeve paid him scant attention until he happened to mention that he worked for Ross. Immediately she pounced upon him.
‘Ross hasn’t been around all week. Where is he? What’s he been doing? He hasn’t been into the bar at the hotel once.’
Mike, who was not easily stampeded, looked at her consideringly for a few minutes before answering.
‘We aren’t staying in the hotel any more. Those of us who aren’t married and who haven’t brought wives with us usually live in the construction trailers on the site. We only come into the town for entertainment, Mrs. McGinnis.’ He put a slight emphasis on the word Mrs. which was not lost on Maeve, who frowned. ‘The early days on a site are always tough. There’s so much to be done before the concrete men arrive.’
Mike went on to explain more about the work they were doing, while Maeve, who had obviously lost interest, excused herself from the table and left the room to prepare herself for her evening’s work.
Mike stayed all evening. Outside the rain fell in a steady drizzle. Inside the living room the coal fire glinted merrily on the carved chess figures and on the colours of Aunt Jessie’s rug.
At ten-thirty Mike gave up trying to beat Hugh Johnson at chess.
‘It’s time I said thank you and made my way back to the site before the road becomes a quagmire,’ he remarked.
‘Ye must come again, lad. Any time ye’re at a loose end and when ye have a Sunday free come with us on the boat. Sometimes we take a wee pleasure trip up to Arran or across to Ireland,’ said Hugh.
‘Thank you, I’d like that.’
Sally accompanied Mike to the front door. As he opened it Maeve appeared, turning into the garden path, her umbrella tilted against the fine slanting drizzle which glittered in the lamplight. The damp air accentuated the salty tang from the sea and the scent of the roses which clung to the wall of the house. Mild, damp and shot with lamplight, the night possessed a comfortable familiarity.
‘Goodnight,’ Maeve’s murmur was barely polite as she eased past them after shaking her umbrella free of loose water and propping it in the corner of the porch. Mike waited until she had gone and the sound of a door shutting within the house meant she was out of earshot. Then he said unexpectedly,
‘How long has your sister been married?’
‘About two years.’
‘Is her husband at sea, or does he travel?’
‘He goes to sea. He’s first mate on a tugboat working out of Belfast. Why do you ask?’
‘I wondered why he wasn’t around. Is she going back to Belfast soon?’
‘I ... I don’t know,’ replied Sally hesitantly.
‘Left him, has she?’ queried the surprisingly shrewd Mike. ‘I wonder why she’s so interested in Ross?’
‘They used to be friends when they were younger, when he lived in Portbride.’
‘Oh, so that’s the connection. I’d no idea he came from these parts. He’s not exactly what you would call communicative. From what I’ve seen since I’ve been here it seems she wants to be more than friends just now ... as if he hadn’t had enough of that sort of complication in his life.’
‘What do you mean by that sort of complication?’ asked Sally sharply.
Mike’s smile was gentle and intended to soothe.
‘All right, all right! Now don’t fly off the handle because I’ve dared to criticise your sister ... and don’t hold it against me either. But perhaps it would be a good idea if I put you in the picture. Ross seems to have a fatal charm for married women. Maybe they fall for the strong practical he-man who appears to have life organised. Anyway, whatever it is, he had to leave one site he was working on because of the complication caused by his boss’s wife. Naturally he’s been wary of that kind of entanglement since. So I hope your sister will have the sense to keep clear.’
‘Well, it means he has to stay clear of her too, doesn’t it?’ said Sally defensively, annoyed to think that probably all the people on the site as well as the town gossips had been watching Maeve’s involvement with Ross and had been having a laugh at her sister’s expense.
‘Sure it does, and I think he’ll do his best ... but remember he’s only human,’ said Mike. ‘Which reminds me, so am I. Have you anything on tomorrow night, or can I count on you to show me the bright lights of Portbride on a Saturday night?’
Sally agreed to meet him, then watched him climb into the glistening Land-Rover and drive off. Then she locked the front door, put her head round the living-room door to say goodnight and went up to her bedroom to think.
/> And she had plenty to think about. Now she knew what Ross had meant by his remark about a married woman not being necessarily unattainable if she didn’t want to be. Now she understood why Maeve in her present state was a problem with which he was not unfamiliar.
A complication caused by his boss’s wife. Had his boss asked him to leave the site, or had he left of his own accord? Had he been in love with the woman, and she with him? Or had it been a one-sided affair? Had the woman been the rapacious type who had chased Ross until out of loyalty to his boss he had given up his job rather than destroy a marriage?
Sally hoped that the latter was the case, because ever since Ross had kissed her she had been creating a different image of him, an essentially romantic image because she was a romanticist. When Ross had returned to Portbride she had seen him as a careless destroyer and arrogant conqueror. Now she was replacing that image with one of an idealistic individualist, a strong-willed, unconventional person. And for some reason she could not fathom it was important that this imaginary Ross should never have experienced the weakness of having fallen in love properly until he returned to Portbride to discover that the shaggy tomboyish eleven-year- old girl he had once known had grown into a ...
Sally caught sight of her own face in the dressing-table mirror. Her hazel eyes were heavy-lidded and dreamy and a faint enigmatical smile curved her mouth. Realising where her thoughts were wandering, she sprang to her feet impatiently and pushing all thought from her mind undressed quickly. She scurried to the bathroom to wash and back again to climb into bed and hide under the bedclothes as if by doing so she could hide from further thought. But it was a while before she could calm herself sufficiently to drift into slumber, and when she slept she dreamed she was walking in the wind and the rain across the moors with Ross.
As usual the cyclonic weather did not know when to stop once it had begun, and every day the grey clouds rolled in from the sea bringing slow, steady rain which often blotted out visibility for hours. There were short periods when the sky would clear temporarily and the sun would appear, making the wet streets gleam. And suddenly the quayside would be thronged with people seizing the opportunity to take the air.
In spite of the weather life was moving at a faster pace than was normal for Sally. Heeding Ross’s advice, she began to take driving lessons again and went out twice a week with John Liddell who ran the local driving school. As Ross had prophesied her confidence gradually returned and with the confidence came a renewed interest in her appearance. She visited the hairdresser where she found an old school friend, Jean Mack, had finished her apprenticeship and was practising her trade. Jean persuaded her to let her hair grow and restyled it to hang straight from a centre parting, to curve forward on to her cheeks, a style which tended to hide some of the scar and which drew attention to Sally’s smooth forehead and clear sparkling eyes.
She also began to take an interest in Betty Oswald’s plans for a holiday in London, and when, Betty asked her if she would like to accompany her found herself agreeing and actually looking forward to visiting the metropolis in the autumn.
But her rehabilitation she knew was not entirely due to the driving lessons and her friends’ renewed interest in her. It was due mostly to the attention of Mike Searle. On the evenings when she wasn’t having her driving lesson he was there, inviting her to go sailing in his twelve-foot racing dinghy if the weather was suitable. Used to the sea all her life, Sally soon picked up the rudiments of crewing and being both agile and fairly obedient was soon earning Mike’s praise. For the first time in her life she entered the Portbride Yacht Clubhouse and for the first time in life found herself in the limelight, because Mike was a good helmsman and often won races.
In the midst of all this pleasant activity she was aware of Maeve, disgruntled and unhappy in the background, still serving in the bar at the MacKinnon Arms, still idling her days away in the house. One evening returning after a particularly exhilarating sail she said goodnight to Mike just as Maeve came back from the hotel and they went into the kitchen together. Aunt Jessie had gone to bed and Hugh Johnson was fishing, so the girls were able to talk together freely for the first time since Maeve had admitted she had left her husband.
‘He’s nice ... Mike, I mean,’ said Maeve as she flopped into a chair and swung her legs on to another. ‘But he doesn’t like me. I wonder why?’
‘How can you tell he doesn’t like you?’ asked Sally in surprise.
‘A certain way he has of looking at me, a touch of icy politeness when he speaks to me. He’d much rather not speak to me, you know. It could be snobbery on his part because I’m serving in the bar, but somehow I don’t think so.’
‘Och, I’m sure it isn’t,’ said Sally defensively. ‘Mike isn’t a bit like that. But I’m sure he doesn’t dislike you. He seems to like everyone.’
‘Perhaps he does, but there is something about me or associated with me which makes him very cool. It’s a pity, because if he’s going to be my brother-in-law it would be better if he liked me.’
‘Brother-in-law? Maeve, what are you saying? I’ve only known him a few weeks and there’s nothing like that between us. We’re just friends,’ objected Sally.
‘He pays you an awful amount of attention ... more than a friend would. Now don’t be foolish and start giving him the cold shoulder because of what I’ve said,’ pleaded Maeve. ‘He’s pleasant and considerate. Why, you’ve only to look at yourself to see the difference he’s made to you. Since he’s been around you’ve had no time to mope and feel sorry for yourself. He’s the medicine you’ve been needing.’
‘I know. But the difference in me isn’t entirely due to Mike, and it doesn’t mean I’m in love with him or want to marry him,’ said Sally.
‘Does he ever talk about Ross?’ asked Maeve with a sudden change of subject.
‘Sometimes.’ Sally stood up restlessly and went into the larder where she picked up a jug of milk and returned to the kitchen to find two mugs. She poured some milk into the mugs, then went to search for biscuits. She had to have action of some sort because it seemed as if with the mere mention of his name Ross was in the room with them, disturbing, tantalising.
‘What does he say about him?’ asked Maeve.
Sally walked back to the table with a tin of biscuits, opened it and took one. She sat down and drank some milk and nibbled at her biscuit before answering, watching Maeve curiously and wondering why her stepsister was asking about Ross.
‘Nothing much. A few comments about how absorbed Ross is in the work at the site, and how he’s been cursing the rain. I think he’s been trying to explain why Ross hasn’t been in town much recently.’
‘He’s been in,’ said Maeve quietly. ‘I’ve seen him and talked to him. He chooses his time carefully ... about half an hour before the bar closes when everyone is too busy talking to notice. He knows how to avoid gossip.’
Sally’s milk was suddenly tasteless and the biscuit she was holding disintegrated into crumbs. Maeve had seen Ross and she hadn’t! The knowledge hurt far more than it should.
‘Mike must know him quite well,’ continued Maeve, ‘if they’ve worked on sites together before. He must know if Ross has a girl somewhere ...’
Sally stared at her stepsister. Maeve was turning her glass round and round nervously. Her face was pale and frowning.
‘If that’s the sort of thing you want to know about Ross why don’t you ask him yourself?’ she asked.
‘I have ... not outright, but I’ve probed around, without result. He’s too wary. He never used to be. Something must have happened to change him.’
It has, Sally wanted to say ... but stopped herself in time. After all, Ross’s affair with his boss’s wife was his business and she guessed he wouldn’t be pleased if he knew that Mike had already mentioned it to her. And if he hadn’t told Maeve about it he didn’t want her to know.
‘What about Fergus, Maeve?’ she said, changing the subject herself. ‘Have you told Dad anything yet?’
>
‘No. Nor Ross. And you’ve not to say anything to anyone. I’ll tell everyone when I’m ready and not before.’ Maeve’s voice took on the shrill tone which meant her emotions were out of control.
‘But what are you going to do?’ asked Sally. “You can’t go on like this. Maeve, why don’t you go back to him?’
‘I can’t. I said too many bitter words ... I can’t ...’
‘It’s silly to be so proud. Surely pride shouldn’t come between two people who love each other,’ began Sally, struggling to put into words her own idealistic thoughts on the subject.
‘Then maybe I was mistaken and we don’t love each other,’ snapped Maeve crossly. ‘I can’t go back and no one can make me. You see,’ her voice broke again as emotion got out of control, ‘he might not want me ... and I couldn’t bear the humiliation. Och, can’t you see I can’t go back?’
Sally didn’t sleep much after the conversation with Maeve. At first her thoughts revolved disconsolately round the fact that Ross had been into Portbride, that he had seen and had talked to Maeve but hadn’t bothered to seek her out and talk to her. So much for believing him when he had said he wouldn’t encourage Maeve, that he would avoid her as much as possible; so much for believing that the reason why she hadn’t seen him around was because he had been too involved in his work to come into the town.
But then why should he seek her out? She was only Maeve’s little sister to be teased and tormented and ungently prised out of her comfortable shell. As Maeve had pointed out to her, she shouldn’t take him seriously; he had only a passing interest in her. In that case shouldn’t Maeve heed her own warning and realise that his interest in her was only passing too?
If only she could think of a practical way of helping Maeve, of preventing her from wrecking her marriage on the rock of pride. She felt sure Fergus would welcome Maeve’s return. Hot-tempered he might be, but his temper was usually short-lived and he was ready to forgive and forget.