by Flora Kidd
‘Such are the joys of responsibility. I always hoped for promotion some day, but I must say having to take over the duties of site manager at short notice has its drawbacks,’ he observed.
‘But what’s happened to Ross?’ asked Sally, suddenly anxious.
‘Didn’t he tell you? Head office sent for him. He left on Sunday. What shall we do? Go for a sail by ourselves, or sit here and relax, or go for a walk?’
‘Let’s sit here and relax, and watch the harbour. It’s always interesting.’
Mike sprawled in a canvas chair and yawned suddenly.
‘Sorry, Sally,’ he apologised with a rueful grin. ‘But after two days of doing Ross’s work I’m exhausted, and my respect for him knows no bounds. To be a site boss you have to have the hide of a bullock, the tact of a diplomat and the deviousness of a politician. It seems to me that everyone is out to pull you down ... the client, the sub-contractors, the consultant and even your own employer and employees. Ah well, I expect I’ll survive.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ murmured Sally as she watched a speedboat cavorting about the sea-loch pulling a water-skier after it. Ross had gone away at last, so she should feel relieved. But instead a dreadful feeling of desolation was creeping over her.
‘It’s rather ironical, though, that Ross should be asked to go to another site just as Lydia turned up,’ Mike was saying.
‘I thought you’d said he’d been called to Head Office,’ said
Sally, her attention caught.
‘I did. He went there to get instructions before going on to a new site which the company have in South Wales. Evidently the site boss there has been having trouble, and since everything is moving smoothly here, Ross has been asked to go and sort them out down there.’
‘How long will he be there?’
‘A month, perhaps. It depends on what kind of a mess they’re in.’
‘Will he return here?’
‘I’d like to think that he won’t have to. Now that I have a job in the saddle, I intend to stay there. There’ll be no cause for complaint while I’m boss. Come to think of it, I wonder ... ’
Mike’s voice broke off and his eyes narrowed as he watched the sunlight twinkle on an aeroplane high up in the blue sky.
‘What do you wonder?’ prompted Sally.
‘I wonder if Craig Dawson did lodge a complaint about Ross ... and did manage to have him removed from the site.’
He shook his head slowly negatively and answered his own question since Sally had none forthcoming.
‘No. It’s scarcely credible, knowing how much faith the company has in Ross’s abilities. I wish he’d managed to knock the house down before I took over. It’s the biggest headache I have right now.’
‘You really believe it’s going to fall down, don’t you?’ said Sally.
‘I know it is. I’m trying to get permission to put some supports against the west wall. But everything has to be done through Dawson and at the moment he’s more interested in making an impression on a certain person.’
“You mean Lydia?’ queried Sally.
‘I do. All part of working off his grudge against Ross, I suppose.’
Mike sighed suddenly and contentedly. ‘You know it’s nice having you around to talk to ... possibly because you have no connections with the site. But now it’s your turn. What exciting events have been happening in Portbride since I last saw you?’
The evening passed pleasantly as it always did with Mike, and Sally was able to ignore the queer ache in her heart that the news of Ross’s departure had caused. For the first time in their acquaintance Mike kissed her goodnight. His kiss, like himself, was pleasant and undemanding. He promised he would call her to make arrangements for Saturday, but Saturday came and he was unable to go sailing as he had been called away to his home in London.
In spite of the good weather and a trip in the Mary Rose to Lamlash on the Isle of Arran, the weekend dragged for Sally. So did the following week, and when the weekend approached again without any message from Mike her spirits slumped completely.
Lydia was still staying at the Hunters’. Sally saw her occasionally when she passed by either with Miriam or with Craig. Craig was a frequent visitor to the House on the Brae, a fact which did not surprise Sally when she remembered the attention he had paid to the lovely widow at the Hunters’ party. And she could not blame Lydia for going about with him. After all, she must be missing Ross ... Yet a persistent thought that Lydia could have followed Ross to Wales if she had so wished nagged at the back of her mind and she longed to know why the woman was still in Portbride.
She found the answer one day when she was returning from a walk. Three weeks had passed since Ross had left and August was almost at an end. They had been three weeks of settled weather and Sally had spent many an evening walking.
This particular evening she had chosen to go through the gate in the back garden of Rosemount on to the main road which went north. The road curved inland away from the coast, although a few miles further along it would come close to the sea again. A slight breeze stirred the bracken fronds and tall grasses which bordered the road. Soon a white five- barred gate appeared in the stone dyke. Sally opened it and passed through, making sure it was fastened securely again so that the Ayrshire heifers who stopped their munching to stare at her with doleful brown eyes would not stray out of the field.
The grass in the meadow was short but lush and scattered among it were clumps of mustard, little islands of bright frothy yellow. As she made for the northerly edge of the field Sally’s country quick eyes noted the pink of campions and the blue of speedwell among the longer rougher grass.
The edge of the field was guarded by a barbed, wire fence and beyond the fence the land fell away in a crumbling cliff to the sea which advanced and retreated endlessly, creaming round the rocky shore of a small sheltered inlet. On the opposite shore of the inlet the land rose more gently. A flight of stone steps wound up the slope to a white cottage, a simple affair with a slate roof and two windows set on either side of a plain door.
For a while Sally watched the repetitive movement of the water, and while she watched she found herself thinking about Aunt Jessie’s story concerning Helen Lorimer, Ross’s mother, who had been Miss Wallace’s only cousin. Helen had lived at Winterston with Miss Wallace until she had met and married a roving engineer Alec Lorimer, whose work had kept him on the move. Helen had travelled with him until the war had started in Europe and then she had come back to live at Winterston bringing her three-year-old son Ross with her while her husband joined the Army.
Apparently some friction had existed between the two cousins, caused possibly by jealousy, so Aunt Jessie surmised, because Miss Wallace had hoped to marry Alec Lorimer herself ... before her talented, capricious cousin had cut her out.
However, when William Wallace had been killed at the battle of Dunkirk and Alec Lorimer had been taken as a prisoner of war, Miss Wallace had relented and had offered her cousin a home.
‘It was Ross she was interested in, ye ken,’ Aunt Jessie had said. ‘She knew fine she would never marry. Her brother was dead. Who was there to inherit the estate? Only Ross, the son of the man she had loved and her cousin who was also a Wallace. And she was determined that he should live at Winterston and be brought up in a way befitting a Wallace.
‘Lord knows what went on in that house during those two years before Helen’s body was found washed up on the shore of Gimlet Bay. The verdict was suicide. And Miss Wallace had the boy to herself.’
Evidently Alec Lorimer had not argued with the arrangement when he had returned from the war and had gone off on his wanderings again leaving his son with his wife’s cousin, and when he had been killed in an accident Miss Wallace had automatically become Ross’s legal guardian.
With such a childhood and youth it was not surprising Ross had some strange attitudes, mused Sally as she continued to watch the water lap the little patch of sand where Helen Larimer’s body had once lain, and
possibly his experiences accounted for his consistent refusal to look beyond the moment.
Nothing is for ever, he had told Maeve years ago, and he had gone away and forgotten her. Was it possible he had done the same with regard to Lydia? Sally half-hoped it was so. And yet if that was his attitude it would apply to all women and she had to admit that she had told him to go away the last time she had seen him because she had been afraid of her own responses, afraid that she might have capitulated unconditionally to his off-beat lovemaking and that she would have been merely another moment of pleasure which he would not expect to last for ever.
She turned from the fence and continued to walk along the edge of the field which gradually grew narrower as the land jutted out snoutlike into the sea. Looking over another gate which was set in the fence, she could see the land falling sheer down to the rocky plateau on which the white lighthouse and its outbuilding was perched. On the other side of the water she could see a plume of smoke rising high above the land on the Irish coast. Over there somewhere was Maeve in her new house, and tomorrow evening she too would be there, because she had decided to take a week of her holiday, to get away from Portbride because suddenly her home town was no longer the haven it had once been.
‘Go away,’ she had told Ross, thinking that with his going peace of mind would come to her. ‘I’ll go,’ he had said quietly—so quietly that she had wondered if she had hurt his feelings.
No. It was impossible to hurt the feelings of a person like
Ross. By now he would have forgotten the incident, forgotten her. It was only silly people like herself who brooded over what had been said and done, wishing she hadn’t said and done.
Turning away from the edge of the headland, she walked along the gravel path which joined the rough road on which the House on the Brae and Rosemount were situated. She walked quickly, not looking at the house where Lydia stayed.
‘Hello, Sally. You’re in a hurry this evening. Come and have a cup of coffee with us and tell us what you’ve been doing lately. Hasn’t the weather been gorgeous?’
It was Miriam, smiling brilliantly, her small eyes shrewd and observant between the wrinkles which surrounded them.
‘Thank you, I really haven’t time,’ said Sally, forcing herself to be polite. ‘I’m going to Ireland tomorrow to stay with my sister and I must finish my packing.’
‘All the more reason why you should come and have a talk.’ The gate was open and Miriam was gesturing to the long garden seats set invitingly under a striped umbrella. On one seat sat Lydia. It wouldn’t do to be rude. Miriam and Aunt Jessie were already on visiting terms and any rudeness on Sally’s part would soon be reported to her aunt.
‘For a few minutes, then,’ she agreed.
‘Good. Sit down there beside Lydia. Poor girl, she’s absolutely depressed. She has been waiting for a letter from Ross to tell her when she can join him in Wales. I suppose you have no news of him?’
‘No. Why should I?’ replied Sally, rather startled.
But after throwing out her question Miriam had departed to the house presumably to make coffee and Sally was left to face the blank, catlike gaze of Lydia’s grey eyes.
‘You see Mike, though ... and he might have heard from Ross,’ she purred.
‘I haven’t seen Mike all this week,’ replied Sally stiffly.
‘Too bad. I suppose like all engineers in his position he’s pleading pressure of work. They all do it. It’s a good excuse when they want to give you the brush-off, when they’ve found someone else they prefer to you. Mike was really making good time with that little blonde at the party. What was her name? Susan Miller, the Town Clerk’s daughter, if I remember rightly ... and you have to admit she has more of what it takes to attract a man than you have.’
Sally gasped. She had never in her life heard anyone express pure unadulterated spite as coolly as Lydia did.
‘Horrified, aren’t you, little innocent?’ Lydia went on. ‘It’s true, though. I should know. I’ve lived most of my life around sites watching the intrigues ... and often participating in them. That’s why I can face up to the reality that Ross is probably amusing himself with some girl in Wales, conveniently forgetting that I’m waiting to hear from him. That’s why I entertain myself with Craig. It passes the time, and there’s no harm done.’
‘Isn’t there?’ queried Sally politely.
‘I expect you’re worried about Craig’s feelings. There’s no need. I know he’s using me to work off an old grudge he has against Ross, and I can use him to bring Ross up to scratch.’
She half closed her eyes and her body moved in a rather sensual movement. ‘I’d rather like to see Ross jealous,’ she murmured, then added, ‘It’s an old ploy, one you might use if you wanted to bring Mike up to scratch ... but then you might find it difficult to attract someone else sufficiently to use him.’
Sally discovered she was shaking with the effort to control herself. Her immediate reaction was to run away, away from those unblinking grey eyes which watched her with such dislike.
‘Go on, run away,’ taunted Lydia. ‘That’s what you’re longing to do.’
‘I have no need to use such a ploy, as you call it, and even if I had I wouldn’t,’ said Sally, her pride coming to her rescue.
‘As you say, you have no need,’ agreed Lydia suavely, ‘because nobody wants you. A man might be attracted to you temporarily because he’s sorry for you. I can imagine Ross wanting to help you because it’s his nature to want to put things right. It’s a pity you’ve taken both him and Mike seriously. You’re the type who gets hurt easily because you expect too much.’
‘I haven’t taken either of them seriously!’
‘Haven’t you? Then who’s causing you sleepless nights? You didn’t have lines under your eyes when I first came here. You didn’t look so taut and tense.’
Sally could stand no more. She could not understand why she was being subjected to such an attack, unless disappointment over Ross’s inability to communicate with her had caused Lydia to lash out. But whatever the cause Sally was determined not to be a whipping boy any longer.
‘Please tell Miriam I’m sorry I couldn’t stay for the coffee. I hope you have some news from Ross soon. I’m sure that being kept in the dark about his intentions must be very disconcerting for you. Goodbye, Mrs. Wood.’
Head high, Sally walked to the gate. Once through it she began to run towards her home.
Maeve’s house was a bungalow situated in a new housing estate. It was very well designed, making the most of a small area of space. There was a large living room which had a dining area at one end and a fairly large kitchen with a breakfast bar and washing area. From the wide windows of the kitchen and living room there were fine uninterrupted views of the sea and the distant Galloway hills.
On the day after her arrival Sally sat in the kitchen picking at her breakfast and looking at the view which was so very different from the one seen from the window of the living room at Rosemount.
‘Sally, did you hear what I said?’ Maeve’s voice was louder than normal and it penetrated at last, rousing Sally from her lethargic reverie.
‘No, I’m sorry, I didn’t.’
‘Whatever is the matter with you? I’ve been looking forward to your stay. I thought we’d have fun choosing the material for the curtains for the baby’s room and that you would help me to make them, and that we’d be able to paint the whitewood furniture I’ve bought for his room. But if you’re going to sit around moping like this, picking at your food and staring out of the window, I can see I’d have been better off alone this week while Fergus is away. You’re not crossed in love by any chance, are you?’
Crossed in love? Was she? What did the phrase mean? Did it mean loving someone and not being loved in return? Or did it mean loving someone and having someone else come between you and the person you loved? It couldn’t apply to her, in any case, because she wasn’t in love with anyone, unless to miss a person meant that she loved him.
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br /> ‘Sally, snap out of it,’ threatened Maeve. ‘Och, maybe I’ll take another cup of tea and you can tell me all about it.’ Maeve swirled away and plugged in the kettle. She moved with deft confident movements, mistress in her home and loving every minute of it.
A husband, a house and a baby. Is that what you want, Sally? Ross’s strange question returned to haunt her and she looked round the sunlit kitchen. The floor gleamed with polish. Chromium taps glittered over the sink. Fresh paintwork reflected the sunlight and crisp flowered curtains moved slightly at the open window. Maeve more glowing and vital than ever, her trim curves showing to advantage in a pale green shirtwaister dress belted neatly at the waist, reached into a cupboard and brought out another cup and saucer which she set on the table.
‘Is this what I want?’ thought Sally. ‘To be in a pleasant house with a pleasant view, waiting to adopt a baby, and my husband miles away?’
‘Now come on, wake up and tell me what has happened to make you so depressed,’ chided Maeve, as she filled the teapot and brought it over to the table. ‘When I came back here you were looking so much better and were putting on some weight. Who’s let you down this time ... Mike?’
Her dark blue eyes were kindly between their long lashes as she studied Sally. No longer unhappy and absorbed in her own problems she could afford time to take an interest in her young stepsister.
‘No one has let me down,’ replied Sally. ‘I haven’t seen much of Mike recently because since Ross left the site Mike has had more responsibility, and not so much leisure time. Besides, I believe he’s been going out with Susan Miller.’
‘There, I knew it! He has let you down!’
‘No, you can’t say that, because there wasn’t anything really serious between us. It was just the rest of you hoping that there might be.’
‘I suppose there was a certain amount of wishful thinking,’
agreed Maeve. ‘Going with Mike seemed to help you so much, brought you out, made you stop feeling sorry for yourself. It was a good move of Ross’s to introduce you to each other. I’m surprised to hear that he’s gone away, though. Do you know where he’s gone?’