by Betty Neels
‘Never mind, Robert. I shall enjoy getting everything going again. The kitchen garden looks pretty good to me; you must have worked very hard.’
‘Oh, aye,’ said Old Robert.
It was that afternoon, after her father had come in from a leisurely inspection of the land around the house, and she was crossing the inner hall with a vase of flowers she had wrested from the weedy beds, that he stopped to say,
‘Rosie, come to the study, will you? There’s something I would like you to do for me.’
She put the flowers in the drawing-room, and opened the door leading from it, and went into a long, low room with a big window overlooking the gardens at the side of the house—a room lined with books, and furnished as it had been for years, with bulky leather armchairs, a great desk and a circular table in its centre.
‘I’ve had a letter from your granny. She wants to come and see us.’ Her father picked up the letter on his desk. ‘She says that she wishes to see the house and us before she dies; she also says that someone will have to fetch her here. Carrie, it seems, is no longer of any use to her, and she asks that you should go and fetch her here and drive her back to Edinburgh at the end of her visit.’
He saw the look on Rosie’s face, and said, ‘Yes, I know, dear, but she has always loved this place. After all, she came here as a bride…I wondered if you would like to go and stay for a day or two before you pick her up… You’ve had a thin time of it for the last few years, and now I’m going to give you a cheque to spend on clothes—you should be able to fit yourself out in Edinburgh. I had a chat with Dr MacLeod, and he kindly suggested that you should stay with him and his wife for a night or two. Granny need not know, and you can shop to your heart’s content.’
He handed her a cheque, and watched her lovely face break into a wide smile. ‘Father—but this is much too much… I can manage with far less.’
‘You don’t need to. And it is not too much. If you care to do a little simple arithmetic you will find that I have given you exactly half of the total amount of money you gave your mother while you were working.’
‘Yes, but I didn’t mind.’
‘We know that, my dear. Now we would like you to spend this money on yourself. I dare say you’ll pick up old friends again, and you’ll need clothes.’
She gave him a hug and waltzed off, her head already full of plans. Most of the clothes would have to be sensible; social life was restricted, especially in the winter, but one or two pretty dresses for dinner parties would be a must—a good suit, too. There was plenty of wear in her old kilt still, but a cashmere sweater would liven it up a bit. Shoes and a pair of fashionable boots as well as the tough wellies she used so often in the winter. A waxed jacket, a blouse or two, and wool so that she could start knitting…
She went back into the garden and did some more weeding while she spent the cheque in a dozen different ways.
There was an elderly Rover in the garage which her uncle had used when he had been living at Inverard, a suitable vehicle in which to convey old Mrs Macdonald from Edinburgh, and Rosie, the cheque cashed in Oban, wearing the best of her last year’s summer dresses—an unassuming pale green cotton jersey—flung an overnight-bag into the back of the Rover, and set off for Edinburgh.
It was a splendid morning, the mountains gleamed in the sun, and in the glens the rivers tumbled along over great boulders. Rosie bowled along, not going fast for there was too much to see; there was a need to refresh her memory, and there was time enough. When she reached Bridge of Orchy she stopped on an impulse and went into the hotel and had coffee, exchanging news with the owner. It was surprising that news travelled so fast in that sparsely populated part of Scotland; he knew all about her uncle’s death and the return of her mother and father to Inverard. ‘Delighted we are, too, Miss Macdonald. We hope we shall see something of you.’
She replied suitably, got back into the car, and drove on, taking the road which Sir Fergus had taken, which, naturally enough, reminded her of him.
Edinburgh is a large place, she reminded herself once more; I’m not at all likely to see anything of him.
Doctor MacLeod and his wife welcomed her warmly, gave her high tea, and showed her into a pretty bedroom.
‘You do just as you like,’ said Mrs MacLeod. ‘You have all tomorrow in which to shop, so come and go just as you please.’
Sound advice which Rosie took. She was out early the next day, in and out of the Princes Street shops, ending up, as she knew she would, in Jenners. She emerged hours later with a great many parcels which necessitated her hailing a taxi to take her back to Doctor MacLeod’s house, and once there, since there was no one at home save the daily maid, she repaired to her room and spent the next hour trying on the things she had bought. She had spent almost every penny her father had given her on a couple of pretty summer dresses, a sensible raincoat, cotton skirts and tops and, with an eye on the autumn, a good tweed suit in tawny browns, and also since she had money to burn, an elegant dress for the evening. It was chiffon and taffeta in old rose, with a wide skirt and a wide neckline. It wasn’t a very suitable dress perhaps, and she had bought it for a reason which she refused to admit, even to herself. It would be nice, she had reflected, looking at her enticing figure in the looking-glass in Jenners’ gown department, if the next time she met the professor she could be wearing it.
It had been silly to buy it, she admitted to herself, trying it on once more, and then hanging it away at the back of the wardrobe at Mrs MacLeod’s house. She then turned her attention to the lace undies and slippers and all the small luxuries she had done without during the past six years; it had been such fun shopping for pleasure and not from necessity.
She stowed her purchases in the car the following morning and, after bidding the MacLeods goodbye, drove to her grandmother’s house.
That lady, recovered now from her sprained ankle, was none the less full of small complaints. Her own daughter, she declared in a dignified moan, could no longer be bothered with her, and why a woman of her age should wish to marry when she had a perfectly good home of her own was something not to be understood. Rosie murmured from time to time, and exchanged speaking glances with her aunt, who, as far as she could see, had become a different woman. Love wrought miracles, presumably.
‘I shall stay with you for one week,’ said her grandmother, ‘and it is to be hoped that I shall be driven back in comfort. I am an old lady—’ she fixed Rosie with a stern eye ‘—unlike you younger, thoughtless young women, I consider my health before everything else.’
Rosie sternly suppressed a naughty reply, and said, ‘Yes, Granny, I’ll bring you back in a week’s time.’
‘Since your aunt Carrie has seen fit to go away and not return until two days after I get back here I shall expect you to stay, Rosie.’
Rosie, trying to think of a good excuse, caught her Aunt’s eye, and said ‘Yes, Granny’ in a meek way instead. Aunt Carrie deserved some fun even though she was middle-aged.
Rosie was loading the car boot with the impedimenta considered necessary for a week’s stay by her grandmother when she straightened up to see Sir Fergus driving past in the Rolls. He didn’t stop; probably he hadn’t seen her, and even if he had she doubted if he would have bothered to do so.
She poked in her grandmother’s spare walking stick, her sunshade, her umbrella and a particular cushion she simply had to have with her, and then she slammed down the boot with unwonted vigour…
He could have
stopped, she grumbled silently, and he must have seen her… Even if it had only been for a moment to make some caustic remark. A slight sound made her turn her head. The Rolls was within inches of her, and Sir Fergus was getting out.
It was annoying to blush so hotly, and his faintly amused look didn’t help. She said, ‘Good morning, Sir Fergus,’ in a rather high voice.
‘Hello, Rosie. How fortunate that I should have noticed the car.’
Not her, she reflected crossly, the car.
‘Are you going back to Inverard?’
She said ‘Yes’ rather ungraciously and, since he was waiting for her to say something else, added, ‘Granny is to pay us a visit, so I came down to get her.’
‘Rather unwillingly, perhaps? You were ramming the boot full in a rage.’
‘Well…there’s such a lot to do and see, and for a week I won’t be able to do any of the things I want to do. And now call me selfish…’
Her dark eyes flashed and she had gone rather pink again. The professor, leaning on the bonnet of his car, observed her splendid bosom heaving with temper and longing with suitable appreciation.
‘Of course you’re not selfish.’ He spoke in a soothing manner which took the wind out of her angry sails. ‘I can imagine how you feel—you need a week tramping around the hills, don’t you? Catching up on memories?
When she nodded he continued, ‘Well, now, if you could bear with me we could spend a day together next week? I have to go to Oban, Fort William and then Inverness, and I’ve a couple of days owing to me.’ He eyed her narrowly, watching the doubt in her face. ‘I suggest this merely because, while it would be difficult for you to go off on your own, if I invite you I think your grandmother would be unable to raise any objection. Presumably she is expecting you to keep her company for a good deal of the time?’
‘Yes, yes, she is. Father will be busy with solicitors, then Mother has the house to run.’
‘Perhaps for one day you could arrange something?’
‘It’s kind of you.’
‘Yes, I know—I’m a kind man, only you don’t know me well enough to realise that.’
She wasn’t sure if he was serious; there was nothing in his face to give her a hint. ‘Well, I dare say Granny might like a quiet day…’
‘Splendid. I’ll give you a ring if I may. Do you like walking in the rain?’
‘Yes. Anyway, it rains a great deal in the Highlands.’
He looked amused for a moment. ‘Yes. Well, I must be getting on—I’ve an out-patients clinic to keep me busy this afternoon.’ He bent forward and ran a gentle finger down her cheek. ‘You’re quite eye-catching when you’re in a rage, but when you’re happy you are beautiful.’ At her round eyed-astonishment he added, ‘And how’s that for coals of fire? Goodbye, Rosie!’
He got into his car and drove off, leaving her with her pretty mouth slightly open, and for once at a loss for words; even her thoughts didn’t make sense.
She went back into the house to be dragged into the dining-room by Aunt Carrie. ‘Rosie, you’re a darling to stay a day or two when you bring your grandmother back. You see, we plan to buy some furniture and things, you know, and go to the theatre, and I thought if—and we want to see about getting married. It’s such a…’
Aunt Carrie paused, looking wistful.
‘That’s fine,’ said Rosie, who hadn’t been listening, ‘I’ll stay two days when we get back—will that be long enough?’ As she spoke she wondered if she might see the professor then. Of course, if they spent a day walking together they probably wouldn’t be on speaking terms.
They could hear her grandmother’s voice raised in protest about something or other, and Rosie kissed her aunt’s cheek and nipped into the hall.
‘There you are. I am quite ready, and I expect you to be as well, Rosie. Let us get into the car.’
Rosie had plenty of time to think as they drove back, too, for her grandmother kept up a running monologue—a mixture of fault-finding, directed at Aunt Carrie, Elspeth, tradespeople and those of her friends who had annoyed her in some way, interlarded with a detailed account of her numerous ailments. Rosie, murmuring suitably from time to time, thought about Sir Fergus and admired the scenery. She knew it very well, but there was always something new to see. A day out would be lovely; it would probably be raining, but who cared? Rannoch Moor, she thought with longing, its countless pools sparkling under the rain-clouds.
‘You are not listening, Rosie,’ said her grandmother. ‘We seem to have been in this car for a very long time.’
‘Not long now, Granny. Here’s Bridge of Orchy—remember the hotel? Mother will be waiting for us with tea. Almost nothing has changed—the drawing-room is exactly the same as it always was.’
She was surprised when old Mrs Macdonald commented, ‘It will be pleasant to talk to your mother again.’
The old lady’s welcome was all that she could have wished for; her son and daughter-in-law were at the door to receive her, with Mrs MacFee hovering in the background ready to take the baggage Rosie was hurling out of the boot. Installed in a comfortable chair in the drawing-room, old Mrs Macdonald pronounced herself well pleased with everything.
‘I never thought that I would see this house again,’ she remarked. ‘I shall die happy.’
‘Well, wait a while,’ suggested her son. ‘I’ll be getting some more sheep, and you’ll need to know how the lambing goes. Angus is coming back, remember him? He still has Shep, too. He can have the cottage at the end of the bottom drive. Donald wasn’t interested in the fishing—I’m looking forward to that, there should be plenty of trout and salmon at the right time.’
They settled down to a pleasant discussion about the estate; it was small, but now that there was money to spend on it it should, in time, provide a livelihood. That was all her father and mother wanted, Rosie knew—their old home and enough to keep it viable. She left them talking and went upstairs to unpack her grandmother’s luggage.
It rained the next day, which didn’t matter much, for the old lady was content to inspect the house from attic to cellar, poking her long straight nose into every cupboard and drawer, and when she had examined everything she sat down and reminisced until a rather late lunch. In the afternoon she rested while Rosie read aloud to her from Hamish Brown’s Mountain Walk, being corrected when she mispronounced the Gaelic names of the mountains. It was a relief when the old lady dropped off to sleep.
The sun shone the next day, and Rosie spent the morning trundling her grandparent around the gardens and a little way down the drive towards the back entrance leading to the Oban road. There were two cottages a few hundred yards from the house; Old Robert lived in one, alone now that his wife was dead, looked after by his daughter who lived next door with her husband Hugh, who had worked all his life for the Macdonalds, and their brood of children. Meg worked in the house once or twice a week, but that had been difficult, for Donald Macdonald hadn’t cared for the small creatures running around the kitchen and poking their noses into the kitchen garden. But now Mrs Macdonald wanted her back—there were several empty rooms behind the kitchen where the children could play, and the two elder ones could pick the soft fruit and the beans and peas. They would be going to school in September, anyway; their father would drive them there in the farm truck and fetch them at tea-time, so there would only be the two little ones.
Old Mrs Macdonald had known Old Robert and his family, and went happily enough with Rosie to arrange things with Meg. They had a
cup of tea in the cottage while the old lady reminisced at some length. It passed the morning very well, and she was in an amiable frame of mind when they went back to the house for lunch. It was halfway through that meal that the phone rang, and Rosie got up to answer it.
‘That will be your aunt Carrie,’ declared her grandmother, ‘with some problem which needs my advice. She is incapable of running a house, I do not know what will happen when she marries. Tell her to telephone me later, Rosie.’
Rosie had the receiver to her ear, she was smiling, and had gone a little pink. ‘It’s for me,’ she said over her shoulder.
Sir Fergus’s voice, decisive and matter-of-fact, said in her ear, ‘Shall we walk tomorrow? I have an urge to take a look at Rannoch Moor. Will you be ready by nine o’clock? We’ll drive as far as Rannoch Station, and leave the car there. I’ll bring you back in time for supper—it’s light until nine o’clock. I might even take you out to supper provided we haven’t fallen out by then.’ And at her quick-drawn breath he added, ‘No, no, don’t get uppity, I shall strive to be the soul of good nature. What do you intend to do with Granny?’
Rosie gave a chortle of laughter and turned it into a cough. ‘I’ll think of something. Shall I bring some sandwiches?’
‘No need, I’ll bring food with me. Till tomorrow, and don’t keep me waiting.’
He rang off, and she said, ‘Well, really…!’
Her mother and father continued their mild conversation as she sat down again, but her grandmother saw no reason why she shouldn’t poke her nose into her granddaughter’s business.
‘Well, who was that?’ she wanted to know.