Two Kinds Of Truth

by Lynette Creswell

  “I dinnae know for sure. I thought she was coming to check up on the bull, but as soon as she got out of the car, she demanded to see Callum. I explained he’d returned home and she just flew off the handle.”

  My eyes search out his. “But why the sudden urgency to speak to Cal? Did she give you any clues at all?”

  “Nah, she talked in riddles. Said she wasnae willing to keep secrets any longer.”

  I suffer a shiver of unease. “Secrets; what secrets? What the hell is she talking about, Jamie?”

  He shrugs. “You’ll have to speak to Callum, I guess.”

  I bite my lip. “Don’t worry, I will.”

  Jamie shoves his hands deeper inside his coat pockets and takes a step closer.

  “Are yir all right, lass?” he asks, “because ye look a wee bit upset.”

  “I’m fine,” and I give him a wide smile to prove it.

  “Do ye want to do something today?”

  “Like what?”

  “Perhaps take a drive into Camburgh to do a bit of shopping?”

  I shake my head. “Thanks, but I don’t think so. Maybe another time.”

  “If ye like, we can always call in to see Findley on the way back?”

  My head snaps towards him and he laughs out loud.

  “Aye, I thought I’d catch yir attention if I mentioned the wee bairn. Do ye want to go and visit him?”

  “Yes, that would be great.”

  “Then I’ll see ye once I’ve finished workin’ in the barn,” at which he strides off across the farmyard. I hesitate, just a tad, and then head back to the sanctuary of the farmhouse.

  ***

  I’m inside a quaint little shop that sells an array of Scottish souvenirs. There are shimmering glass cabinets filled with silver brooches and bright shiny pins, jewelled daggers and highly polished whisky flasks. It’s eye catching, but not enough for me to want to buy.

  “Let’s go and grab a coffee,” I suggest to Jamie.

  He heaves a sigh. “I thought you’d ne’er ask,” and he turns and grabs the door handle.

  A small bell jangles overhead as we step outside.

  “Huh, where did the rain come from?” I huff and pull up the collar on my coat.

  “The sky maybe,” Jamie suggests with a snigger as he quickly zips up his jacket.

  “Oh, very funny, but I didn’t bring a brolly with me and I’ll get soaked.”

  “There’s a café in the department store over the road,” he tells me, and points to a black and white building. “It isnae grand, but it’s close enough so ye dinnae get yir hair wet.”

  We make a dash for it, crossing the road and pushing our way through a set of revolving doors. It’s how I find myself sitting in a somewhat mundane café on the third floor of House of Fraser. It’s all beige walls and plastic chairs, but I have to admit, the coffee’s pretty good.

  The shop’s heaving with a multitude of daily shoppers. Damp coats from the unexpected downpour cover the chairs, and sodden pushchairs filled with baby bottles and towelling bibs block the aisles. Young children share muffins and kick each other under the tables, whilst grandparents give each other warning glances as they sip their Frappuccinos, looking frazzled.

  Jamie’s oblivious, enjoying a large Mocha with a convoy of marshmallows floating on the top, which reminds me of white fluffy pillows. Considering I wasn’t in the mood to shop, he’s surrounded by several large shopping bags. Inside one of these is a new transistor radio for Alasdair.

  Jamie lets out a contented sigh. I’ve pretty much dragged him halfway around Camburgh today and yet he’s never grumbled once. I thought he’d be miserable or even moody after the explosive argument with Ally earlier, yet it doesn’t appear to have dampened his spirits one iota.

  Jamie drains his cup of the last marshmallow and I help gather up all the shopping bags. We head towards the escalator, which will take us back towards the perfume counter. I’ve still to find the perfect gift for Keira.

  I don’t know how, but we haven’t come back the way we came in, taking us past a brightly coloured decorated section filled with miniature tutus, bright buttoned onesies and a selection of I love my mum bibs. My heart sinks as I spot the baby clothes, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop myself from pawing at the soft material of a little boy’s sailor suit. It has a tiny beret, edged with blue ribbon, and there’s matching booties, too. Miniature dolphins jump over wiggly blue waves, too much for me not to resist lifting the outfit off the hanger and letting out a sigh.

  “It’s cute,” Jamie says, and I nod in response. I’ve developed a lump in my throat as I visualise the little boy, my little boy, who should be here to wear it.

  “Yes,” I rasp, reluctantly putting it back. “I guess we should be going.”

  “Why not buy it for Findley?” he suggests.

  Surprised at his thoughtfulness, I turn and face him. I can read his expression, though, the sorrow he feels for me, and my spine stiffens.

  “No, it’s okay,” I say and turn to walk away.

  “Och, don’t be like that. ’Tis a lovely gift, and I’m sure Rhona would appreciate the gesture.”

  I reach out to take the suit and his fingers brush against mine. Just for a second Jamie’s eyes meet mine and there’s a moment of shared understanding. We both jerk back, though, as if we’ve each touched a live wire.

  “Sorry,” we both say simultaneously, and then we laugh at our awkwardness.

  “Best take this wee suit to the cashier’s desk,” Jamie says, and I nod and open my handbag, lifting out my purse.

  “Put yir money away,” Jamie insists. “I’ll get this for the bairn.”

  “But—”

  “Nah, no buts. It can be a gift from the two of us.”

  I follow Jamie to the counter and watch the assistant place the sailor suit inside a pretty yellow and white cardboard box, which she then ties up with white ribbon. Jamie pays the assistant and then presses the package into my hand, as though the gift is for me.

  “Here, take it,” he says, and my fingers cling to the bow as though I’m carrying something precious inside.

  “I’m positive Rhona will love it,” I say, and we make our way to the escalator.

  We head over to the perfume counter and I pick out a beautiful boxset of perfume with matching body lotion. “Keira will adore these,” I tell Jamie. “She loves anything that smells of flowers or the orient.”

  “Have ye been friends for long?”

  “Yes. Since school.”

  “Ye seem to rub along well together.”

  I laugh. “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “Is she married?”

  I give him a sideways glance. “Why, are you interested?”

  He chuckles, opens the door to the department store and stands aside to let me pass as he shakes his head. “Nah, I’m just curious, that’s all.”

  I’m pleased to see the rain has stopped, but it’s left an assortment of grey puddles, shimmering like silver mirrors along the road. We dash along the pavement, careful not to get our feet wet, and cross the street to where Jamie’s parked the car.

  “She’s divorced, actually,” I say as I wait for him to open the back, so we can pile in the shopping bags.

  “Is that why she’s always happy to help run yir shop?”

  “One of the reasons, I guess,” I say and walk around to the passenger door. “We both have a passion for nature, especially flowers. But she’s extremely creative and makes the best bouquets and arrangements. Keira’s even taken top prize at The Hampton Court Palace Show and came runner up in Interflora’s Florist of the Future Award.”

  “Really; she sounds very talented. So, what about ye?”

  “Me?”

  “Aye, haven’t ye won any awards?”

  “Yes, of course I have, but we were talking about Keira.”

  “So, tell me about yir accomplishments.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Everything.�
��

  “Oh, well, let me see. I’ve been crowned Interflora’s florist of the year—twice.”

  “Wow, I’m impressed.”

  “And I was runner up in the British Florist Association, last year. That competition was fierce, and my Brazilian headdress was pipped at the post by a woman from Woking.”

  “Aye, well, truth is, ye cannae win them all. Come on, jump in. I want to show ye something.”

  “Show me what?”

  “Well, if ye don’t get in, you’ll never ken, will ye?”

  I’m intrigued by the sudden air of mystery in his voice. I’m keen to find out where he’s taking me, so I quickly strap myself into my seat as Jamie starts the engine. He clicks on the indicator and turns, leaving the centre of town behind. The buildings soon fall away, and open roads stretch before us. I wonder if we’re going to Inverness, but when he doesn’t turn off at the exit, my excitement grows. My gaze notes the road signs, and then, after another sixteen miles or so, he steers the Range Rover off the main road. That’s the moment I realise we’re driving past a deep inlet of the North Sea.

  I suck in my breath as my eyes devour the passing scenery, staring out of the car window as Jamie concentrates on the road ahead. We follow a straight road until we reach a quaint fishing village with row upon row of whitewashed houses. Out to sea, there’s a harbour wall, and the water sparkles like diamonds as we pass by. The tide is out and the water is still, the surface of the sea shimmering despite it being as smooth as glass. I glance towards the shore, seeing ripples in the sand and barnacle shaped rocks protruding out of the ground.

  “Where exactly are we going?” I probe.

  “Wait and see,” Jamie says, clearly refusing to give anything away. His foot eases off the accelerator as we come into the village, then we’re out the other side, soon surrounded by open countryside again. He slows even more, though, when he sees horses on the road ahead, but then he indicates left and pulls up just inside a small carpark. Killing the ignition, he gets out of the car.

  “And here we are,” he says as I climb out of the passenger side, to stare at a beautiful church standing in front of me.

  “Is this what you wanted to show me?”

  Jamie grins. “Nah, not exactly, but it’s breath-taking nonetheless.”

  There’s a sign to one side of the church which says: “Welcome to Ochmore Gallery”. I let out a deep sigh. I’ve seen a few old churches turned into living accommodation, but never an art gallery before.

  “Let’s go inside. There’s something I want to show ye,” Jamie says.

  He hurries ahead and I follow him in through a set of double doors, whereupon I’m left speechless by what now lies in front of me.

  Rising over two floors and with multi gallery spaces below it, a large church window anoints an array of unique paintings, crafts and silverware, the room shimmering with golden rays of sunlight. The entire gallery is bright and airy, and there’s sleek white boxes on which the glass art, sculptures and ceramics are shown off. I’m in awe of this place in seconds, and it makes my creative juices flow. I’m like a river that’s swiftly transforming into white water rapids.

  I follow him to where a painting rests on a large wooden easel. The wood has been sanded down to look distressed and it’s very affective in drawing one’s eye to the painting, but before I’m even up close, I’m in love with it. The image is of a potted plant, a fuchsia, but it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Its dark green leaves are vibrant and bold, and the tiny dancing ballerina flowers, with their purple and pink skirts, are plump and heavy with colour. The backdrop is a vivid blue, the whole painting alive and vivacious.

  “It’s stunning,” I say, tentatively stroking the canvas with the tips of my fingers. “The colours: they pulsate with life, and the picture lights up the entire room.”

  Jamie nods, “Aye, I thought it might be to yir taste.”

  “I have to buy it for Keira,” I insist. “My God, but this painting will make her year.”

  I flick over the small white tag and catch my breath at the price. It’s over one hundred pounds and will take most of the money I have left, but I don’t care; I must buy it for her. I’m quick to grab the sales assistant and point out the painting.

  She smiles then nods. “Yes, it is rather beautiful,” she says in a posh British accent.

  “Will ye take eighty for it?” Jamie asks. I swing round in surprise and he tips me a wink.

  I turn back to notice the young assistant’s cheeks are now flushed pink. She flutters her eyelashes, as though she’s got something in her eye.

  “Well, I’ll have to speak to the manager,” she tells him and hurries off to the office.

  “Ye have to barter,” Jamie says with a shrug. “Ye ne’er willingly pay the full asking price.”

  I hear tip-tapping of high-heels on the floor as the assistant makes her way back.

  “Yes, we’ll accept eighty pounds,” she says and goes over to the painting and takes it off the stand. Her nimble fingers are soon busy wrapping it up, as though it’s a priceless piece of art—which it is to me. And I just know how Keira will react the moment she claps eyes on it.

  “Jamie, I simply can’t thank you enough for bringing me to this wonderful place,” I say as we walk back to the car. “The picture: it’s simply perfection.”

  “I’m glad ye like it. The gallery is one of my favourite places,” he says.

  “I can see why. I’ve never seen so much talent under one roof.”

  “Aye. I’m proud to say the local artists around here are second to none.”

  “I’d have never put you down as the arty type.”

  “Haven’t ye seen the paintings in the Garden House?”

  “Yes. The watercolours…they’re magnificent.”

  “Aye, and they’re all originals, too.”

  “You bought them? You’ve surprised me,” I admit.

  Jamie shrugs. “Quite often, there’s more to a man than first meets the eye.”

  We get back into the Range and travel the rest of the way listening to the radio. It’s a farming programme and they’re discussing which fertiliser to use on this year’s crops. I glance out of the window as the car weaves around tight bends and pushes its way over lush green hills. We hit the crest of one, and as we descend, the road dips and I catch a last glimpse of the sea. It sparkles and I let out a sigh. Outside it may be bracing, the sun often dull and the breeze cold, but there’s something special about this place, this haven.

  We arrive back at Camburgh just as the radio presenter announces it’s time for Woman’s Hour. Jamie fiddles with the dials and Mr Blue Sky blares out. I clap my hands with glee.

  “I love this song,” I say.

  Jamie grins. “Och, so do I,” and we both sing along to it. As the orchestra reaches a crescendo, I put on my best interpretation of an operatic voice.

  Jamie puts a hand over his ear and winces. “Guid God, woman, ye sound like you’re being strangled,” and we both burst out laughing. We head straight through the town centre, and Jamie pulls up outside a quaint little cottage.

  “This is Rhona’s house,” he explains, and switches off the engine. He gets out and I follow him to the back of the Range Rover, where he pulls out the present we’ve brought especially for Findlay. He presses the box into my hands.

  I turn to stare at the pretty whitewashed house with its pale blue door. There’s a wooden trellis attached to the wall from which a well-established climbing rose hangs. The flowers aren’t quite open, but there’s a splash of yellow at their tips.

  Jamie opens the garden gate and stands aside to allow me to pass. I wait for him, and together, we walk up the path. I go up to the door and tap gently.

  “Just a minute,” a soft voice calls out from within, then the door swings open and Rhona welcomes us with a warm smile.

  “I hope we’re not intruding,” I say.

  “Nah. Not at all. ’Tis lovely to see ye both,” and she stands aside. “We
ll, don’t just stand there; come on in.”

  It’s like walking back in time. There’s a row of quaint little shelves filled with pre-war porcelain and colourful nick-knacks. I spot a couple of Scottie dog bookends and a figurine of a Royal Lothian soldier. There’s even a basket-hilted sword, a claymore and a silver dirk hanging on the wall. I brush my fingers across the dirk. Centuries ago, nearly all clansmen carried such weapons. I stare at its hilt; it’s cleverly carved with a curious interlaced design.

  “It’s Celtic,” Jamie whispers in my ear, and his warm breath causes me to shiver.

  “Yes, I thought as much,” I say.

  We enter a small parlour. “Please, take a seat,” Rhona says. “Make yourselves at home.”

  There isn’t much furniture. The cottage is tiny, just enough room to fit a single chair and a two-seater sofa. Both face the hearth. Rhona gestures for us to take the sofa and she takes the chair. I go to sit down but the sofa is barely big enough for two.

  “Och, come sit here, next to me,” Jamie says, having already plonked himself down. I hesitate, but he grabs my hand and pulls me down beside him. I feel my cheeks burn at his close proximity and avert my eyes, over to where Rhona’s sitting.

  Findlay is asleep in a beautiful hand-carved crib by her side. I watch him sleep. His red hair makes the sheet he’s lying on look pure white. He stirs and Rhona presses her hand to the crib and rocks him gently. He goes back to sleep and I feel a stab of disappointment.

  “Gordy, have ye got that kettle on?” she yells, and I’m surprised to see Findlay doesn’t stir.

  “Aye, I’m just doing it now, dear,” a voice bellows from an open doorway, and there’s the clunk of a switch and an array of creaking floorboards before Gordon appears from the galley kitchen to greet us.

  Jamie stands and shakes his hand and I go to do the same, but Gordon wraps his arms around me and squeezes me into a bearhug. I’m taken aback and it must show on my face, for both Jamie and Rhona laugh out loud.

  “Take it easy, young Gordon,” Jamie says. “Ye dinnae want to kill yir visitor just yet.”