‘You took a lift from a man you did not know?’
‘I did know him – sort of – we met on the bus that time we arrived. The same time we met your mother, Torquil. He and another man were going on to stay at the hotel.’
‘The Talisman? What is his name, then?’
‘Paul Soutar.’
‘Paul Soutar?’ Immediately he heard the name, Torquil relaxed. ‘Ah, yes, I know him. He asked me if I would take him fishing sometime, as a change from the climbing. I said I would.’
‘He’s nice, isn’t he?’
‘Seemed very pleasant.’ Gently, Torquil put his hand on her arm. ‘But let’s not waste time. I shall see you tomorrow, as we said? Outside the gate at half past two?’
‘Yes, of course, I’ll be there.’ Monnie removed his hand from her arm and held it. ‘Torquil, did my father say anything to you?’
‘He asked how much he owed me.’
‘Nothing else?’
Torquil pressed the hand in his. ‘I know what you are thinking, but, no, he said nothing else. Though it seemed to me that he wanted to. Several times he looked at me, as though he would speak, but he did not.’
Good old Dad, he’d kept his promise. Monnie withdrew her hand, smiling. ‘Till tomorrow,’ she said softly.
‘Till tomorrow.’
As he walked away, looking back, she called after him, ‘Where’s your van, then?’
‘Down the street. Did you not see it?’
‘I don’t know what it looks like.’
‘Tomorrow, you will know.’
Turning down the drive, he waved his hand and was swallowed up into the shadows, leaving Monnie to hump her bag of milk bottles into the hostel, feeling a delightful warmth stealing over her at the sound of just the word ‘tomorrow’.
‘Dad, I’ve got the milk!’ she cried, hurrying into his office, where her father jumped up to take the bag from her.
‘Och, this is too heavy, I shouldn’t have let you go for it, Monnie. I’ll take it to the kitchen, anyway. Oh – and Torquil brought the fish. Some nice plaice.’
‘I saw him outside, Dad.’
‘You were just in time, then.’
No thanks to you, thought Monnie.
Eighteen
Letters only came to Conair by a small red post office van, and not until the afternoon.
‘No question of expecting post in the morning,’ Lynette complained at breakfast on Saturday morning. ‘Means I have to hang about all day, waiting.’
‘The hotel might ring up,’ Monnie suggested, only half listening. Saturday mornings, she’d discovered, were always busy with people deciding to book in for the weekend, and she should really be on her way to help her father, already at reception. Be as helpful as possible to please him, seeing as her meeting with Torquil was now only hours away.
‘Half past two . . .’ The words had taken over from ‘tomorrow’ in keeping her filled with secret happiness, but a part of her still wanted to do her job and do it well. She was used to that, she supposed. Less used to being dependent on someone else for feelings of content.
‘There’s nothing in the local paper,’ Lynette was continuing. ‘Dad brought it up early from the shop, but there are only two vacancies for laundry maids at the Kyle Hotel, and some shop assistants’ jobs. I’m beginning to think you were lucky, getting that assistant warden’s job.’
‘Speaking of which, I’d better go and help Dad. Will you wash up?’
‘Sure. Give me something to do.’ Lynette stood up, her expression softening. ‘Not long now, Monnie, till half past two?’
‘Think so?’ asked Monnie.
Suddenly, though, it was time. The morning was over, lunch was over, everything at the hostel quiet, with all guests gone until five.
‘I’m away, Dad,’ Monnie said quickly, looking in at his office. She was wearing her winter coat over her best dark blue sweater and skirt, a bright scarf at her neck, and seemed to Frank’s eyes, very young. Or, did he mean vulnerable?
‘When will you be back?’ he asked, rising to go with her to the door.
‘I can’t say when. We’re just going for a walk.’
‘In a van?’
‘We’re setting off in the van, that’s all.’
‘Take care, then.’
‘Have a good time!’ Lynette cried, appearing at the office door. ‘Maybe I’ll have some news when you get back. And maybe not.’
But Monnie was already on her way down the drive, suddenly worrying – would he be there?
He was there, leaning against the passenger door of a battered little blue van which had his name painted on the side. ‘Torquil MacLeod – Purveyor of Fresh Fish – 3, The Cottages, Conair’.
Though the clouds were threatening, he wore no coat, only a grey jersey and jeans, but even in the poor light, his yellow hair shone as gold, and when he ran a hand through it, Monnie’s heart lurched. She still couldn’t quite believe that it was happening, that she was getting what she wanted. Going out with Torquil. Life wasn’t like that, was it?
‘So, this is the van?’ she murmured, as he smiled down at her. ‘It’s . . . very nice.’
‘No need to be polite.’ He opened the passenger door for her and helped her in. ‘This van is one of the oldest in the Highlands, I swear. Only keeps going because my brother does the repairs. He works for a garage in Kyle.’
‘That’s lucky.’
‘True, but then I am known for my good luck.’
As she settled into her seat, he touched her hand.
‘Notice anything? Or, should I say, not notice anything?’
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘No smell of fish!’ His eyes were alight. ‘I spent the whole morning, scrubbing out this poor old vehicle – and all for you, dear Monnie. Every day, I scrub myself, for I hate the smell of fish, but I’ll have to admit, I don’t bother about my van. Unless, I’m taking out a visitor.’
As he slowly drove off, Monnie stared straight ahead at the road. ‘You often take out visitors?’ she asked.
Though she didn’t look at him, she sensed he was grinning. ‘I will not deny, I have taken out one or two.’
She shrugged. ‘Well, why not? I didn’t think I would be your first passenger.’
‘I am twenty-four years old. I’d be a strange fellow not to have had some lady friends, as my mother calls them. But they’ve not been important.’
‘The same for me,’ she said hastily. ‘I mean, I’ve been out with people. Oh, heavens, how did we get on to this? I’m sorry, Torquil. Can we start again?’
He laughed. ‘We can. Shall I tell you where I have in mind for us to go?’
‘Oh, yes, please!’
‘Well, if you have not seen our Pictish towers, I thought we’d start with them.’
‘The Pictish towers? No, I haven’t seen them. I’ve read about them, in a booklet at the hostel. They’re very old, eh?’
‘From the Iron Age, a couple of thousand years ago, maybe. Called the Glenelg Brochs, and not far from here. Before we get to the village, we take a turning off to Glean Beag, and there you will see them. Everyone has to see them sooner or later, so, you understand, I am helping to instruct you.’
As she turned to look at him, she could see amusement in his eyes.
‘Are you not surprised, that I would do that? Come on, you never thought I would even be interested, did you?’
‘I never thought about it,’ she answered honestly, but didn’t add that now she was thinking about it, yes, she was surprised. And yet the truth was, they had neither of them any idea what the other was like. One object in going out with someone was to find out. Unless, of course, you were only interested in other objects, but Monnie’s mind veered away from those. She was close enough to trembling as it was.
‘Weren’t we supposed to be walking, though?’ she asked, trying to collect herself.
‘We shall just drive to the turning, then we can walk. ’Tis a nice spot, where the towers were buil
t.’
So it proved to be, a sheltered, wooded valley, where a few people could be seen moving about, studying the two strange and ancient circular towers. Each was constructed of dry stone walling, and as Torquil and Monnie drew nearer, they could see doorways leading to passages.
‘Well, what do you think?’ Torquil asked.
‘I’m amazed. I’ve never seen anything like them before.’
‘So, we have something Edinburgh has not?’ He laughed. ‘’Tis said they are only found in the west and the north of Scotland, and these two are some of the best preserved. Though they’ve lost their roofs and would have been much taller.’
‘How do you know so much? Have you been reading the booklets?’
‘Me, reading? No, we were brought along here from school. I was always bored to death then.’ He flung back his head and stared up at the towers. ‘Now, I sort of feel something for those builders so long ago.’
‘I feel something, too,’ she ventured. ‘I mean, it’s so recognizable, what they did. You don’t think of folk two thousand years ago building something you might know.’
Torquil’s gaze had moved to the other visitors now leaving the interior of one of the brochs, and taking Monnie’s hand, he said they should look inside themselves.
‘This one is called Dun Telve, in better condition than Dun Troddan, which is the other. Quick now, before the rain comes.’
‘Oh, no, is there rain coming?’
‘Trust me, there is. And the tower has no roof, remember.’
Inside the stone walls of the broch, they stood very close, marvelling at the way the interior had been so well constructed, with a long low passageway and inner courtyard, a hearth and stairway, and galleries aloft, all, of course, open to the sky.
Very conscious of his closeness, Monnie made an effort to seem her usual self, and asked Torquil why the brochs had been built. Did anyone really know?
He shook his head. ‘Some think for defence, some think as shelter. No one is sure. We call them the Pictish towers, but maybe it wasn’t even the Picts who built them.’
‘At least, they were built. That’s what’s important.’
‘True.’
He stood, looking into her face, then put his arms around her and brought his mouth close to hers. For a dizzy moment or two, she was certain he was going to kiss her, but he only brushed her cheek with his lips and released her.
‘Look up,’ he whispered. ‘Was I not right? Here comes the rain.’
And as the rain came splashing down from the top of the tower open to the grey sky, they began to run from the shelter that was no shelter, making for real shelter instead, which was the old blue van, laughing as they reached it, wet, but uncaring.
‘No more walking today,’ Torquil gasped. ‘Here, I keep a couple of towels in the back – take this and dry your hair.’
‘I must look terrible!’
‘No, beautiful.’
‘Oh, please.’ She took a comb from her bag and pulled it through her thick dark hair. ‘You don’t need to pay me compliments, Torquil.’
‘I never pay compliments. I only say the truth.’
Still keeping his eyes on her while towelling his own hair, he seemed so in earnest that she blushed and wished she knew how to handle this sort of talk.
‘Where shall we go now, then?’ she whispered.
‘To Glenelg,’ he answered promptly. ‘I know just the place for tea.’
‘That’d be wonderful,’ Monnie murmured, feeling strangely weary, she didn’t know why, for she had done very little. Strain, perhaps, yet why should there be strain, when she was so happy?
Nineteen
Once in the little café Torquil knew, the weariness vanished, anyway, and all she could feel, sitting opposite him at a window table, was a blissful sense of well-being. Even in his damp jersey, with his hair sticking to his brow, he was so handsome, she couldn’t take her eyes off him, yet was thrilled that his light blue gaze was just as firmly fixed on her. How did he see her? He had called her beautiful, but that was the sort of thing men said without at all meaning it. She felt it wasn’t true, but maybe to him it was? She wished she could know what he was thinking. Seemed he was wishing the same about her.
‘Is this where I say penny for them?’ he asked, as a waitress, smiling at Torquil, brought a pot of tea and a plate of toasted teacakes.
‘My thoughts?’ She poured their tea. ‘I was wondering if you knew that waitress.’
‘Went to school with her sister. She’s called Nina, her sister is Jill. And that’s all that’s in your mind?’
‘Well, I was hoping you wouldn’t take harm, sitting there in your wet sweater.’
‘Catch my death?’ He grinned. ‘You don’t know how tough I have to be. I cannot afford to worry about a shower of rain.’
‘Don’t you have waterproofs for the boat?’
‘Sometimes get caught out – never take any harm. What about you, then?’
‘I had a coat.’
‘Sensible girl.’
‘Not always.’ She flushed a little, but he made no comment, only passed her the teacakes, and she said quickly that her mother used always to be worrying about her and her sister getting wet and catching cold and so on. Mothers were like that, eh?
‘Oh, mine has given up worrying.’ He looked at her with sudden sympathy. ‘But I am very sorry that you have no mother now.’
‘Thank you. She’s been gone a while.’
‘Like my father. He died at sea.’
‘That’s very sad,’ she said carefully, not minding that he was giving her the version he would prefer of what had happened to his father. It was possible, of course, he didn’t know the one the village gossiped about, but that didn’t seem likely.
‘Must have been hard for your mother, managing on her own, with two boys to bring up.’
‘Yes.’ He leaned forward, his eyes darkening. ‘That is what people here do not remember. They blame her for being difficult, but she’s the one who’s had the difficult life. Where is their sympathy?’
‘I’m sorry, Torquil, it’s been hard for all of you.’
He sat back, relaxing, his look softening. ‘For you and your family, too. How did your father manage, for instance, after your mother had gone?’
‘He still hasn’t got over losing her – that’s why we came here, to start a new life – but my sister and me, we’re lucky to have him.’
‘Two lovely daughters,’ Torquil said softly. ‘He was lucky, too. Tell me, did you have jobs in Edinburgh?’
‘Of course we did!’ Monnie laughed. ‘We’re not exactly in the private income class! Lynette worked for a lawyer, I helped to run a bookshop.’ She hesitated. ‘I suppose you think that sounds dull?’
‘No, I’m impressed. And will you look for that sort of job here?’
‘I’ve already got a job. I’m assistant warden to my dad. I start officially next week.’
His eyes shone. ‘Monnie, that is wonderful. Why did you not tell me earlier? Now you will be able to decide about my fish yourself.’
‘Torquil, we always take your fish,’ she said gently. ‘It’s for us, not the hostel.’
‘Of course it is.’ He pressed her hand in his, then glanced at his watch, large and weather-stained with a thick strap, and shook his head. ‘Time we were going. Must get you back home before your father becomes anxious.’
‘Back home? Now? But it’s quite early.’
Though she was trying not to show her dismay, her face had paled a little and her eyes had widened. ‘I’m not fifteen, Torquil, I don’t have to be home to a curfew.’
He laughed and held her hand. ‘No, no, but this is our first time out. It’s best you are not late. And then I did say I would go over to see Tony in Kyle tonight.’
‘You are going to see your brother? I thought you wanted to see me.’
‘I do. But, the thing is, I said I’d go over tonight before I arranged to meet you. And then, I’ve explained, I do
not want you to be late home.’
‘I’m not likely to be late home when it’s still teatime,’ she said stiffly and stood up to find her coat. ‘Let me get the bill.’
But he had already waved to their waitress, who came up running, all smiles for Torquil.
‘Are you wanting your bill, then?’
‘Please, Nina.’ He was smiling, too, and as he paid, continued to smile, while taking Monnie’s arm and leaving the café.
‘As though I’d let you pay for our tea,’ he whispered. ‘But you only offered because you were cross with me. Is that not so? Why be cross?’
‘I’m not cross.’ The rain had stopped, the evening smelled fresh and sweet, and she had begun to feel better. ‘Torquil, I’ve had a lovely time. Thank you for showing me the brochs, and for giving me tea. I’m sorry if I wasn’t very understanding.’
‘You were very sweet,’ he told her, helping her into the front seat of his van. ‘I have had a wonderful time, too.’
From his own seat, he looked at her, then turned his head and looked up and down the village street. No one in sight.
‘Just time for this,’ he said quietly and kissed her on the mouth, drawing back very soon as though to judge her reaction. ‘You don’t mind, Monnie?’
‘No, I don’t mind.’ Heavens, no! How could she mind? She had been waiting for this moment all afternoon.
‘Home, then. You see, it is getting dark. It will not seem so early.’
‘And you are to drive all the way to Kyle? Take care, Torquil.’
‘I am taking the bus, I should just be in time,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I am staying overnight, anyway.’
‘Oh,’ said Monnie. ‘Staying overnight?’
‘Much easier. Tony can drive me back tomorrow. He is coming to see Mother.’
They did not speak again until they reached the hostel gate, when they looked up the drive to the lighted windows. They were too far away to hear voices, though probably all the hostellers would be back and in the kitchen.
‘Goodnight, Monnie,’ Torquil said, touching her face for a moment. ‘I’ve got to get the van home and make a dash for that bus. Shall I see you on Tuesday? You will not be going to the shop?’
Anne Douglas Page 9