by Flora Kidd
As they surged up to the red and white marker buoy which bobbed gaily on the waves Sally could see a large yellow digger moving forward, swinging its loaded shovel round to deposit the earth in a mound near the shoreline.
‘Working on a Saturday again?’ she murmured to Mike, glancing quickly at his absorbed face which was tilted upwards as he watched the luff of the mainsail with slitted eyes.
‘Mmm. I was lucky to get away. There’s been a change of plan. That’s what the meeting was about. The other two tanks are going to be built nearer the point, so that the house can be preserved.’
‘Oh, I’m so glad!’ Sally’s exclamation was surprised, but she stifled the rest of her questions, knowing that he disapproved of her talking while they were racing because it disturbed his concentration.
When the race was over Mike allowed her to take the tiller to practise sailing the boat for herself. Pulling the mainsheet in with her right hand, Sally headed up and pointed the dinghy’s bow at Winterston again.
‘As if I hadn’t had enough of the place this week!’ grumbled Mike good-naturedly. ‘You have to come out here again!’
Relaxed after his victory, the problems of work pushed far away, he was crewing carelessly, letting the jib flap a little. The wind had died down a little and the afternoon sun was bright and dazzling on both water and sail so that Sally found it difficult to judge when she had sailed too close to the wind.
‘This place has a fascination for you, hasn’t it?’ said Mike. ‘Why?’
‘Ever since I can remember Winterston House has been in my mind, possibly because it’s the first thing I see in the morning when I look out of my bedroom window, and always has been. And then it’s such a romantic place ... and the Wallace family were always interesting, unusual people. Do you know why it’s going to be preserved after all?’
‘Some talk of the Fine Arts Commission changing its mind ... that fellow Dawson from the County Council has something to do with it. Do you know him?’
So Craig hadn’t given up the fight! Sally felt a return of the admiration she had once had for his singleness of purpose.
‘He’s been down on the site by the hour this week trailing Ministry blokes round with him. Damn nuisance they’ve been too, getting in the way of the equipment. I had to warn them several times about the safety regulations. One of them was nearly grabbed by a digger. It got to the point when I was hoping one of them would get hurt to teach the rest a lesson. If I’d been resident manager I’d have told them to get off my site. But I have to hand it to Ross. He kept cool even in the face of the greatest provocation of all.’
‘What was that?’ asked Sally.
‘Dawson had the gall to issue a warning to Ross saying that if he didn’t take more care he’d have to report him for being unnecessarily destructive.’
‘What did Ross do?’
‘Invited Dawson and the Ministry people to tour the site with him and point out the places where unnecessary destruction had taken place. Dawson didn’t take up the challenge, of course, knowing his accusation was unfounded. Ross has been extremely careful and very strict with the men about the trees. I doubt if anyone less would have taken so much care.’
‘I’m glad the house won’t be destroyed,’ said Sally, looking across the water at the turrets and the latticed windows of the old building.
“You’re glad!’ Mike sounded amazed. ‘You must be as crazy as Dawson, then. He was positively jubilant when he made the announcement. It isn’t safe ... and the digging hasn’t helped because some of it has been done close to the foundations. Some of the coping stones are loose and one is bound to tumble soon. I only hope someone isn’t walking nearby at the time. Ross will probably have to make it out of bounds. We have enough normal site accidents without asking for more. You can’t really like the place, Sally. It’s gruesome!’
They argued about the house all the way back to the clubhouse, a cheerful lighthearted argument because the sun was shining and they had won the race and Mike rarely took any argument seriously.
It was while they were pulling the dinghy up the slip that Miriam Hunter appeared and walked towards them.
‘I hope you haven’t forgotten about the party tonight, Mike. Tom did invite you?’ she asked. ‘Perhaps you’d like to bring Sally with you.’
‘No, I hadn’t forgotten, thanks, Miriam. I meant to call you and ask if I could bring Sally ... but I just haven’t had a minute to spare this week. It’s been pretty gruelling.’
‘Yes, so Tom says.’ Evidently Ross had been putting on the pressure for some reason. ‘All the more reason to come and relax and enjoy yourself tonight,’ beamed Miriam. ‘I’ve met your aunt and your father, Sally, this afternoon. We had such an interesting chat about Portbride. I love to know all about a place and to get involved with the local people. Your aunt has promised to take me to a rural meeting as soon as they start up again next month.’
‘Oh lord, there she goes!’ murmured Mike wickedly. ‘Don’t let her join, Sally. She’ll be organising everyone and everything before you can turn round.
‘Naughty, naughty Mike!’ reprimanded Miriam, but she didn’t seem a bit disturbed by his comment. ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you both later. I’d like you to meet Lydia, Sally. I’m afraid she might find it dull here, so I want her to meet some young people. It’ll be quite informal ... just a few friends for drinks and a buffet supper.’
She went off, smoothly sculptured in her close-fitting white dress, picking her way through the dinghies which were parked on the slip with a smile and a word for everyone she passed even though they were strangers.
‘I wonder what she really thinks, really feels?’ mused Sally as she watched Miriam.
‘Believe me, she has no feelings and she never thinks in the way you mean. All she does is plan. She plans parties and other people’s lives. She’s probably mapped out your future already. And I have a hunch that this little get-together is really to bring Lydia and Ross together again ... publicly, so that no one on the site or in Portbride will be in any doubt that Lydia is now a widow and is free to marry again ... and that Ross is the target.’
‘Oh. What shall I wear?’ Sally asked, in order to change the subject.
He grinned down at her.
‘Is it so important? Go as you are, all windblown, with tanned cheeks and bright eyes, and you’ll make the other women seem like overdressed dolls.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ scoffed Sally, unimpressed as usual by his oblique compliment. ‘I mean what sort of dress should I wear? I’ve never been invited for drinks and a buffet supper before.’
‘Then it’s rather a pity to spoil your innocence about such affairs. It would be safer not to take you ...’
‘But I want to go Mike, please!’ she pleaded, afraid he might suggest going somewhere else, and then she wouldn’t see Ross.
‘Such eagerness! I wonder why?’ His glance was mocking. ‘All right, we’ll go. A good reason for going is that Miriam is one of the best cooks I know, and I’m willing to put up with all the silly conversation just to eat one of her shrimp cocktails! Why not wear that green thing you wore last week for the dance we didn’t go to?’
Later that evening Sally dressed in the ‘green thing’ and prepared for Miriam’s party. Three months ago she would not have even thought about attending such a party where there would be so many strangers present to stare at her and wonder about the scar. That was not to say she wasn’t slightly nervous now, and she had to admit she couldn’t have gone alone.
But Mike would be with her, kind happy-go-lucky Mike who had accepted her as she was without question from their first meeting, when they had been introduced to each other by Ross. She scowled as she remembered the meeting and Ross’s mocking manner as he had told Mike all about her. Would Mike have ever noticed her if Ross hadn’t introduced her to him? The question often niggled at the back of her mind when she was out with Mike, when it seemed to her that perhaps he accepted her too easily, ignored
the scar too blandly. Was it possible he took her out and about with him because his slavedriver had ordered him to do so?
It wasn’t a charitable thought to have about the young man who had done so much to restore her self-confidence, and Sally dismissed it from her mind as she concentrated on looking her best for the evening.
The scar had faded very little and pallid puckers were still ridged against the tan which outdoor activity had brought to her cheeks. But her face was regaining its normal fullness and her figure had filled out slightly too so that she was no longer reed-thin and shapeless. The green dress was plain and sleeveless and its colour set off her tan and the green flecks in her hazel eyes and also played up the reddish glints in her thick smooth hair.
More pleased with her appearance than she had been for months, Sally set out with Mike for the House on the Brae feeling fairly confident. Under the new-found confidence bubbled the old familiar excited anticipation which she knew was caused by the soft, romantic summer evening. The wind had gone and the sea was flat, glinting with sapphire light which contrasted sharply with the dark blue line of land on the horizon. To the north the blunt outline of the Mull of Kintyre was clearly lined against the blue rose-streaked sky, and on the shimmering sea the cone of Ailsa Craig seemed to float, a lonely island and a landmark for miles around.
Below in the harbour dinghies were busy carrying the crews of some visiting yachts to the shore. A row of boys stood motionless at the end of the harbour wall holding fishing rods. Occasionally one of them would move, flicking his line out of the water, so that a wriggling fish could be removed from the hook and thrown into a basket.
The House on the Brae was an old house built during the nineteenth century by a retired sea captain. It was made of grey sandstone and had a steeply sloping roof from which protruded two dormer windows at the front and one at the back. Downstairs a fine bay window commanded a beautiful view of the harbour and opposite shore of the sea-loch. At one side of the house, which faced west, the Dowells had built an enclosed veranda or patio which was really an extension of the dining room, from which it was possible to enjoy the more extensive views of the sea and the distant landfalls while remaining completely sheltered.
It was into this veranda that Miriam led Sally and Mike when they arrived. There they found several couples already seated or standing, talking and enjoying aperitifs.
‘First of all I want you to meet Lydia,’ said Miriam, taking Sally by the arm in a motherly fashion and guiding her over to a chair in which a small woman sat. ‘Lydia, this is our young neighbour, Sally Johnson. You know Mike, of course.’
Lydia’s beauty was cool and classical, completely different from the natural flamboyant beauty of Maeve. Her pale face was framed by straight black hair which hung down to her shoulders from a centre parting. Her features were small, neat and regular. Her bow-shaped mouth opened to reveal small sharp teeth when she smiled and her large light grey eyes, framed by long black lashes, never seemed to blink. She was wearing a plain black dress of a soft material which clung to every curve of her sinuous body. Round her neck were three strands of pearls. Gazing at her, slightly awed, Sally decided she had never seen anyone so sophisticated, and she felt suddenly dull, uninteresting and awkward.
‘Pleased to meet you, Sally. Hello, Mike, nice to see you again. I was watching you both sailing this afternoon. I was very envious. The weather seemed ideal.’ Her voice was lazy and purring. “You know Craig, I expect, Sally ... and you too, Mike? He’s being so kind and attentive.’
Craig Dawson with Lydia Wood. Sally could scarcely conceal her surprise as she glanced up at Craig, who was standing close to Lydia’s chair. He smiled and nodded to her.
‘Well, Sally. Have you heard the latest on Winterston?’ he asked. ‘I’ve won the fight to preserve it.’
His barely concealed triumph irritated her.
‘Yes, Mike told me this afternoon. I’m glad.’
‘I thought you might be.’
“What’s this?’ Lydia sounded interested. ‘Have you done something clever, Craig? You know, I simply adore clever men.’
Pleased by her subtle flattery, he started to explain to her, but Mike interrupted quickly and said,
‘He’s been clever enough to save a house which is about to tumble down ... an out-and-out ruin which has already been condemned once and which the owner was glad to be rid of.’
‘You mean that lovely old mansion I can see from here?’ queried Lydia, pointing with her glass. They all turned to look across the water to where the windows of Winterston House reflected the red and gold of the setting sun. ‘I hate to see the destruction of such places. In spite of the fact that you’ll probably disapprove, Mike ... and I just daren’t let Uncle Tom hear me ... I think it’s a great pity that that particular site was chosen to build the tanks.’
Craig smiled down at her approvingly.
‘Old houses have such a wonderful atmosphere,’ went on Lydia. ‘I’d love to visit it. No chance, I suppose?’
‘I’m sure it could be arranged,’ said Craig smoothly.
‘As you say, not a chance,’ put in Mike. ‘Ross has put it out of bounds for everyone on the site.’
‘Ross has?’ For the first time in the conversation Lydia’s voice ceased to sound lazy. ‘That’s interesting. I don’t think I’ll have much difficulty in persuading him to let me see it. Ross and I are old friends, you see,’ she explained to Craig.
‘I see,’ he said rather stiffly.
‘You don’t like him,’ observed Lydia shrewdly.
‘No, I don’t. He once did me a disservice,’ replied Craig, still stiff.
‘Oh, you’ve met him before?’
‘He used to live here. In fact the house over there was his for a short time before he sold it to the Government.’
‘Well, I’m learning all the time. I didn’t know Ross was landed gentry.’ Lydia turned her wide unblinking eyes upon Sally. ‘Did you know Ross when he lived here?’ she asked.
‘Yes. He used to go fishing with my father.’
‘Hello, hello, hello, glad to see you here, Mike ... you too, Craig. And who is this? Someone I haven’t met?’
The speaker was a big kindly-faced man with greying hair and twinkling blue eyes. Mike introduced him to Sally as Tom Hunter.
‘Uncle Tom, did you know that Ross used to live in that house over there, and that he inherited it?’ said Lydia.
‘Not until today. Now, Sally, I believe you’re a neighbour of mine, so we must get to know each other. Come into the lounge with me and talk while I get these people another drink.’
‘Careful, Sally,’ warned Mike jocularly. ‘He’s the world’s greatest flirt!’
More people arrived, mostly connected with the site, although Sally was surprised to see her boss, Mr. Miller, as well as Colonel Parker, one of the town councillors. Tom and Miriam seemed to be a very social couple, adept at putting their guests at ease with the right word. Eventually Tom led Sally back into the veranda where the self-possessed Lydia was holding court of which Craig and Mike were still members.
‘Everyone has arrived now, dear,’ said Miriam, coming up to Tom, ‘so I think we can eat. Everyone except Ross. You did remember to invite him, I suppose?’
She eyed her husband closely while he answered in a rather blustering manner as if he had been caught out doing something he shouldn’t.
‘Yes, of course I did.’
‘And he accepted the invitation?’
Tom looked rather defeated.
‘To tell you the truth, Miriam, I’m not sure. He was ... er ... er ... non-committal. He’s had a lot to do this week and has not been exactly approachable from a social point of view. I haven’t had much time to speak to him—’
Aware that his wife was looking at him in a pitying manner, Tom turned to Mike and said,
‘Do you know if Ross is coming tonight?’
‘No,’ replied Mike. ‘As you know, he’s been slavedriving.’
‘If he doesn’t come,’ Lydia said, her deep purring voice suddenly plaintive, ‘I shall begin to think he’s avoiding me. Three years is a long time.’
Small, defenceless, she sat on the edge of her chair, her eyes downcast as she twiddled the wedding ring round on her finger. The uncomfortable little silence was broken by Tom, who cleared his throat gruffly and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, offered sympathy.
‘Now, now, Lyddy, you mustn’t think like that. Ross has been busy. He’ll come about, he’ll come about. Suppose we all go in and join the rest of our guests before they eat all of that wonderful supper Miriam has prepared?’
CHAPTER FIVE
As Mike had said, Miriam was a good cook, and the food, served buffet style, was superb, but although she enjoyed the meal and enjoyed talking to the various people she met, Sally found herself watching the door for Ross’s arrival.
‘You keep looking at the door,’ purred Lydia. ‘Are you expecting someone ... Ross, perhaps?’
Sally turned to look into light grey eyes which were wide and strangely blank. Under the bland gaze she could not help the pink colour from stealing up her neck and into her cheeks, and wished she had not been holding her dessert dish in one hand and her spoon in another, because then she could have put a hand up to hide her scarred cheek.
With an effort she stopped herself from running away and decided to answer truthfully.
‘Yes, I hoped he might be here. I have a message from my sister for him.’
‘Your sister? Oh, I haven’t heard of her,’ remarked Lydia, a faint annoyed frown marring her face. ‘Does she live here?’
‘Not now. She’s gone back to Ireland, but she was here when Ross returned. She and he are old friends too.’
The grey eyes narrowed fractionally.
‘And are you and Ross friends too?’
‘I suppose we are, in a way. But he only thinks of me as Maeve’s little sister.’