by Flora Kidd
‘To a site in South Wales, where the company is having some labour difficulties. He left soon after the Hunters arrived.’
“Who are they?’ asked Maeve.
Sally explained about the Hunters and added flatly,
‘Their niece Lydia lives with them. Ross and she are going to be married.’
Maeve’s eyes widened with surprise.
‘I always thought that there was a woman somewhere,’ she said, ‘but I didn’t realise he was as close to marrying as this. Who says they’re to be married?’
‘Lydia does,’ said Sally shortly.
‘But not Ross,’ drawled Maeve slowly as she poured tea. ‘Not to me, anyway,’ replied Sally.
‘Then I shouldn’t take any notice of what Lydia says. Don’t believe it until Ross makes the announcement.’
‘I’m not. It’s none of my concern anyway.’
‘Isn’t it?’
Sally looked at Maeve sharply. Her stepsister’s gaze as she passed her a full cup of tea was steady and understanding.
‘I think it is,’ said Maeve, answering her own question. ‘I think it is your concern about the relationship between this woman and Ross plus the fact that he’s gone away that’s caused your loss of appetite and general loss of spirits. A few weeks ago you were even concerned about his relationship with me.’
‘But that was because I didn’t want you to destroy your marriage,’ objected Sally. ‘It wasn’t because I was jealous or anything like that. I’m not in love with him, so how can I be jealous? I scarcely know him.’
‘Och, Sally, how can you say such a thing! You know Ross as well, if not better than I do. Ever since the first time he asked Dad if he could go fishing with him, you followed him about. He could do no wrong in your eyes. You used to hero-worship him ... and I can tell you now, he used to lap it all up as if it was his due.’
‘Hero-worship isn’t love,’ argued Sally stubbornly, secretly appalled that Maeve had noticed her youthful worship of Ross.
Maeve shrugged. ‘Who can tell what love is? I thought once that I loved Ross, but it was only physical attraction. He knew that better than I. When he went away I soon forgot him. Young as you were, it was you who was hurt when he didn’t write and didn’t come back, and you transferred your hurt to me. And now you’re being hurt all over again. I tried to warn you, didn’t I?’
Realising that it was no use trying to hide from the truth any more, Sally said,
‘I didn’t need your warning. I’d already warned myself. I told him to go away, and now he’s gone.’
‘And you’re thoroughly miserable again,’ murmured Maeve, her glance bright and knowledgeable.
‘I shall get better,’ said Sally. You see, Maeve, I couldn’t bear his attitude to life ... the living for the moment only. I didn’t want to be one of his moments.’
‘Ah, now we’re getting to the truth,’ said Maeve. ‘You’re in love with him, Sally. You wouldn’t want it to be for ever if you weren’t. And you told him to go away. Och, what a mess! You should have made the most of your moments with Ross ... better to have a memory than nothing at all ... and you know it’s just possible you could have made one of those moments with him last for ever.’
Sally was silent, her thoughts flying back to the living room at Rosemount and to the time when Ross had caressed her cheek and had murmured her name. Had that been the moment? She looked at Maeve.
‘It’s too late. It’s over,’ she stated flatly.
‘I wonder?’ queried Maeve.
The rest of the week passed pleasantly and the sisters did not refer to Ross again as they immersed themselves in sewing and painting. But the change of scene and air and Maeve’s company did little to improve Sally’s spirits because the discussion about Ross had raised her doubts about her own behaviour towards him. And always her thoughts revolved around the same theme. What would have happened if she hadn’t told him to go away that night at Rosemount?
By the end of the week she was so tired of her thoughts and of herself that she was glad to return to Portbride on the Saturday ferry boat, and to return to the office on Monday morning where a backlog of work kept her busy.
At five o’clock she left the Town Hall with a certain amount of anxiety. It had been a wild day with gale force winds churning the waters of the loch and keeping the fishing boats in harbour. Earlier she had heard the maroons sound, the signal which warned that the lifeboat was needed, and she had known that her father as coxswain of the lifeboat would be struggling into his oilskins and hurrying down the brae to join the other volunteers who manned the red, white and blue unsinkable craft which was moored in the harbour.
She had phoned Aunt Jessie for news and had learned that a message from the coastguard had been received to say that a sailing boat had lost its mast and was drifting badly in the direction of the tide race at the Mull of Galloway. On her way home Sally called in to see Archie MacIntyre, the harbourmaster, to ask for more news.
‘They’ve found the yacht and are trying to take off the crew,’ reported Archie MacIntyre. ‘Och, but it’s a bad job, ye ken, and the lifeboat is in danger of being washed up on the rocks itself.’
Keeping her anxiety to herself, Sally hurried home, told Aunt Jessie all she knew and after eating went down to the harbour again to watch and wait for the returning lifeboat. As she leaned on the harbour wall the wind tugged at her raincoat and snatched at her woollen headscarf. The only people about were a few fishermen waiting like herself for the return of their colleagues in the lifeboat.
Supposing the lifeboat was wrecked? Supposing her father was washed overboard? The thought was torment to Sally and she closed her eyes in an effort to banish it. She must not think that way. She must remember that her father was sensible and would not take unnecessary risks.
She opened her eyes and peered out towards the entrance
of the sea-loch. It was hidden from view by spindrift, blown from the crests of the leaping, frenzied water. The sheltered water of the harbour was comparatively flat, but whenever a violent gust shook the masts of the fishing boats, it seethed and hissed.
Sally was vaguely aware that a car had swished to a stop quite close to her, but she did not look in case she missed seeing the lifeboat appear. Someone leaned on the wall beside her. The familiarity of the happening alerted her sixth sense and she stiffened.
‘I see you’re at your wailing wall again,’ scoffed Ross. ‘What’s the matter this time?’
She was frozen with surprise and it was a few seconds before she had sufficient composure to turn and look at him. He seemed like a stranger, a stranger in a white belted trench coat who looked at her with cold, unfriendly eyes. Behind him a grey car was parked. It looked as tough and as businesslike as he did.
‘I’m waiting for the lifeboat to come back. Father is out in it.’
He glanced briefly towards the sea-loch and tried to push his unruly wind-tossed hair back from his forehead. Then he looked at her again.
‘I thought there was something missing,’ he said, still inspecting her with that cold hard gaze. ‘Seems to me I heard the maroons this afternoon, but I couldn’t be sure because there was so much noise at the site.’
Sally burst out with the question which was uppermost in her mind.
“When did you come back?’
‘Today.’
‘Why?’
‘To finish some unfinished business,’ he replied grimly. ‘The demolition of Winterston House.’
‘Oh, but I thought it was arranged that it should be preserved. Craig told me at that party at the Hunters’. He was so pleased.’
‘And so were you, I guess. Yesterday part of the west wall crumbled and fell and hurt two men who were inspecting it at the time with a view to putting up supports. Mike is one of the men hurt. He has damaged some ribs and has broken a leg. He’s in hospital in Ayr.’
Sally’s eyes were wide.
‘I must go and see him. Which ward? When is visiting time? Does he ne
ed anything? Oh, poor Mike! He said something like this might happen.’
‘And like me he warned Dawson ... but his warning hadn’t the slightest impression on that self-important idiot. If I’d been allowed to demolish it when I wanted the accident would have been avoided. I’ll take you in to see Mike now, if you like. Visiting time is at seven-thirty.’
‘No, thank you. I want to see the lifeboat come back. Besides, I’d rather go by myself.’
He gave her an underbrowed, rather sardonic glance, then shrugged his shoulders.
‘Please yourself,’ he murmured, and turning, leaned both arms on the wall and looked out to sea.
No longer under observation, Sally regarded his profile. A person does not change much physically in a month, so there was little difference in the set of his mouth and the angle of his jaw. But she sensed a subtle difference in manner. There was a lack of warmth and a touch of hostility in the way he had spoken to her.
‘How long have they been out there?’ he asked abruptly. ‘About three hours.’
‘A long time in this weather.’
‘It’s a sailing boat.’
‘Damn fools sailing in this weather and not thinking they might risk the lives of others,’ he said curtly. ‘Have you any binoculars?’
‘Yes, in the house.’
‘We’ll go and get them and go up on the headland. We might be able to spot them from up there.’
‘But we won’t be able to see a thing. Visibility is so bad and we’ll hardly be able to stand up in this wind,’ objected Sally, feeling that he was stampeding her again.
‘Maybe so, but it’ll be better for you than waiting here and worrying. Come on.’
He walked to the car and after a momentary hesitation she followed, as he must have known she would.
The car was very new and very comfortable.
‘Is this yours?’ she asked curiously as he reversed and then turned in a wide arc, having the car park all to himself at that time of day and year.
‘Yes. I decided that a Land-Rover was not a suitable vehicle in which to take a girl out, that is not if I wanted to make an impression.’
He spoke lightly, jokingly, and Sally presumed he meant he had to buy a car in order to take Lydia about while she was in Portbride.
‘Have you any particular girl in mind?’ she asked, keeping her voice light too.
‘Yes, although I’m not making much headway. She’s rather preoccupied at the moment and I fear I have competition.’
Lydia involved with someone else! It could only be Craig. Sally glanced covertly at Ross, trying to gauge the seriousness of his comment. He was frowning slightly as he manoeuvred the car up the rough road to the cottage and she remembered the rather bitter emphasis in his voice when he had called Craig a self-important idiot.
The car stopped outside Rosemount.
‘Hurry up,’ ordered Ross.
She ran into the house and straight upstairs to her father’s room. The binoculars hung in their case behind the bedroom door. She grabbed them and ran downstairs and out to the car before Aunt Jessie could appear and question her.
As they approached the House on the Brae she noticed that there was a small green car parked in the driveway, Craig’s car. She glanced at Ross, but could not be sure if he had noticed.
Craig and Lydia ... and Ross was jealous. In a way she was glad he was capable of experiencing such an emotion. It meant he was not entirely impervious to feeling. And yet if he was jealous it meant that he had decided that after all he was in love with Lydia and that three years had not been too long.
They reached the end of the road. Ross parked the car. As soon as she stepped out of it Sally felt the force of the wind. It whipped her face and beat at her body, forcing her to step backwards. Ross came round the car and putting an arm through hers pulled her with him towards the gate which opened into the field. He lifted the latch of the gate and forced it open against the weight of the wind, and when he turned to close it it was torn out of his grasp and slammed into position.
They began to walk, or rather push themselves towards the headland, their heads bent, their shoulders hunched. The long grass was laid horizontal under the onslaught and was pale and shivering.
‘This is madness,’ shouted Sally. ‘We’ll never make it!’
Ross looked down at her and grinned.
‘Want to bet?’ he shouted back.
‘No!’
‘Want to go back?’ he jeered, and immediately her backbone stiffened.
‘No!’
‘Then come on ... push a bit harder.’
Bodies inclined forward, they set off again arm in arm. Above them feathery charcoal grey clouds rolled below the paler grey of nimbus and occasionally flung a shower of rain into their faces. When they had passed a glimmer of pale sunshine would appear.
‘If more rain comes, visibility will be nil,’ yelled Sally, ‘Och, what terrible weather!’
‘I thought you liked it like this,’ shouted Ross. ‘ “Blows the wind today and the sun and rain are flying.” Isn’t that how your poem goes? Well, that’s how it is today.’
‘I do like it usually, but not now, not while I’m worried about my father,’ she replied.
By way of an answer he squeezed her arm gently, and it occurred to her that if she hadn’t been so worried she would have been enjoying this walk arm in arm with him, fighting the wind together.
They reached the edge of the cliff and stood braced, looking down at the foaming, turbulent water. Ross removed the binoculars from their case and putting them to his eyes surveyed what could be seen of the sea. He looked south first and then gradually turned until he was facing west. Suddenly he gave a shout.
‘I can see it ... the lifeboat! It’s about six miles out, making for the entrance of the loch and rolling like a pig. Look!’
Excitedly Sally almost snatched the glasses from his hand and held them to her eyes. Ross stood behind her and hands on her shoulders pushed her round so that she was looking in the right direction. At first all she could see was wild leaping water, then shifting her gaze a little to the right she discovered the lifeboat, small and squat, red, blue and white, rolling and pitching as it worked its way towards the loch.
‘Now you can stop worrying. Once round the headland and in the shelter of the loch they’re safe, unless something very unusual happens,’ said Ross.
Battered by the wind, spattered by the rain, they watched for a few more minutes, taking turns with the binoculars. At last Sally lowered her arms and gave Ross the glasses and he put them back in the case.
‘What a relief!’ she murmured.
‘Was it worthwhile coming up here to know a little sooner that they’re on their way home?’ he asked as he slung the case strap over his shoulder. Sally nodded, then was immediately stricken with shyness. Now that her anxiety had been removed, her own problem had returned to the forefront of her mind. A problem which involved the man who was with her, who had come back a second time.
But he had already left her side and had started to walk in the direction of Gimlet Bay. Adjusting her head-scarf, the knot of which had become loosened by the wind, Sally set off after him, wondering not for the first time in her life why it was she always followed where he led. She caught up with him by the barbed wire fence where she had stood alone just over a week previously.
Down in the little bay the water pounded and surged. At their feet the lovely grasses and wild flowers which she had admired on her other visit were flattened and torn by the slashing wind.
Ross stood motionless, his hands in the pockets of his trench coat. He was staring, not at the little beach where his mother’s body had once lain as Sally had expected, but at the small two-windowed cottage facing them.
‘Big enough for two,’ he murmured, and Sally wondered if he was talking to himself. ‘Anyone live in it?’ he asked abruptly, without looking at her, and she experienced a little flurry of amazement that he should assume she knew what he was talkin
g about.
‘Not now. It’s been empty since last September. I believe it’s for sale.’
‘Who owns it?’
‘Someone in Ayr. They used to use it as a weekend place. Murray and Barnes, the estate agents, will know.’
Without warning he swung himself over the two strands of wire and began to walk round the head of the little bay, following the narrow pathway which led to the cottage. Sally wasn’t able to swing over the fence, so she struggled between the top and bottom strand of wire, hoping that she would not rip her raincoat. She could not help remembering the other occasions she had squeezed through barbed wire fences when following Ross on some cross-country pursuit.
“You don’t have to follow him,’ she said to herself. ‘You’re free to do as you please.’ But as usual she took no notice of herself and followed him as if pulled by an invisible cord.
At the cottage, after having tried unsuccessfully to open the plain black door, Ross had walked round to the back where Sally found him turning the handle of a similar door which was set into a small porch jutting out from the main building.
‘I suppose I should take it as a good sign that neither door will budge,’ he commented, ‘but it’s disappointing not to be able to see inside. All the blinds are down.’
He walked backwards a few yards and his gaze roved over the roof and the walls.
‘It’s in far better condition than Winterston House and it wouldn’t cost as much to renovate ... and there’s room for expansion. Plenty of land and access to the sea. Far enough out of town, but not too far to be isolated. It would do. What do you think of it?’
Surprised by the sudden question, Sally hesitated, longing to ask him why he was so interested in the cottage.
‘I’ve always liked it,’ she answered. ‘It would make a good home for a retired couple, or ... or...’ She found she couldn’t finish.
‘For a newly married couple,’ he added, with an ironic lift of one eyebrow. ‘Is that what you meant to say? How right you are!’