by Betty Neels
Her mother came to meet them. ‘Have you had a lovely day? Fergus, you’ll have coffee—it’s all ready?’
He refused with charm and real regret. ‘I have several matters to clear up before I leave in the morning. Perhaps you will invite me again?’
Mrs Macdonald said warmly, ‘Of course—come whenever you like, don’t wait to be asked. I think you work too hard.’
He shook hands and said goodbye, and Rosie went to the door with him.
‘It was a lovely day; thank you very much, Fergus. I hope you have a successful trip.’
She didn’t want him to go, and she very much wanted to know how long he had to be away for, but his brisk, ‘A splendid day, Rosie, thank you for coming,’ precluded any questions. She said goodbye, and he whistled to Gyp, got into the car, and drove away without a backward glance.
Somehow it wasn’t quite how the day should have ended. Probably he had seen enough of her—it had been a mistake to have gone to Strontian for dinner.
‘Over-exposure,’ muttered Rosie. ‘If he invites me out again—if—I must be doing something else.’
She went indoors and drank the coffee her mother had poured, described her day with a wealth of detail about the scenery, and presently she went to bed. Fergus would just about be in Edinburgh, she reflected as she curled up with Simpkins lolling over her feet. She wondered where he lived—Moray Place, perhaps, where the hierarchy of the medical profession lived? Or Belgrave Crescent? But that was further away from the Royal Infirmary… She went to sleep trying to decide.
He lived in Moray Place in a Georgian house facing the circular gardens at its centre. It had been his grandfather’s house, and his mother had inherited it and handed it over to him, since she had no wish to leave her home by Loch Eilt. He had always enjoyed visiting his mother’s parents when he was a small boy, and he had learned to love the house. He had changed very little since he had lived there, beyond turning powder closets into bathrooms and updating the kitchen and its adjacent rooms so that Mrs Meikle had all the modern equipment she could want. She had been with the family for as long as he could remember, and ran his household to perfection; and if she sometimes wished to return to her native Highlands she never said so. She had family living at Glenfinnan, and he often took her with him when he went to his home so that she might visit them.
He let himself into the silent house through its handsome painted front door, stopped in the long narrow hall to collect the letters waiting for him on a carved table, and went to his study. It was a large room, lined with books, and furnished comfortably with leather armchairs and a vast desk. He settled down in the big chair behind it, and poured himself coffee from the Thermos jug on a tray; there were sandwiches, too, and he picked one up, gave the crusts to Gyp, and munched the rest while he sorted his letters. There were telephone messages waiting for him. He rang the hospital and talked to the surgical officer on duty, and then to the night sister on the orthopaedic ward, and then went slowly through his letters, making notes for his secretary, and at the very end there was a note in Mrs Meikle’s round hand, urging him to get a decent night’s sleep, and telling him that she would see that he was called in good time in the morning.
He smiled at that, and an hour later did as she had bidden him.
* * *
Old Mrs Macdonald was cantankerous the next day. She had missed Rosie, she grumbled, and it was to be hoped that she wouldn’t be left all alone all day again. Since she had spent a pleasant morning with her son, been given lunch by him, and spent the afternoon with her daughter-in-law, poking in cupboards and drawers and making arbitrary suggestions as to the rearrangement of the furniture throughout the entire house, her grumbles were unfounded. Rosie listened with a patient ear, trundled her grandparent around the garden, and allowed her thoughts to wander.
She had enjoyed her day with Fergus; they liked the same things and shared the same views. She had started off by not liking him, but now she had to admit that she liked him very much; it would be nice to know a great deal more about him—his work and his home and friends. It wasn’t very likely that she would, though. He had volunteered very little about himself—only that one casual remark that he hoped to marry soon… The very idea saddened her so that her grandmother, pausing in her diatribe concerning modern youth, wanted to know what was the matter.
‘You look as though you had lost your last sixpence,’ she remarked acidly. ‘You young people are never content—always wanting something you can’t have.’
‘Don’t worry, Granny. I’ve all I want and I’m quite content.’
Which remark she had to admit to herself wasn’t quite true.
The remaining days of her grandmother’s visit passed pleasantly enough; it was almost as if Uncle Donald had never lived at Inverard. The old lady refused to talk about it or him; instead she discussed the running of the place with her son, reminisced about her own life when she had lived there, and wasted a good deal of her daughter-in-law’s time giving unwanted advice. Rosie came in for her share too. Why had she not married? Where were all the young men who should be courting her? And what did she intend to do? Stay for the rest of her life dwindling into an old maid?
To all of which Rosie replied suitably and with great patience. She was fond of the old lady, but a little of her went a long way; it was with well-concealed relief that she settled her grandmother in the back of the car and prepared to drive her back to Edinburgh.
Rosie was wearing one of her new dresses and elegant high-heeled sandals. It would probably rain later in the day, and she had prudently stowed a mac in the boot with her overnight bag, but since she would be in Edinburgh for two days it was a splendid chance to air at least some of her new wardrobe. Not that there was anybody to notice it. By anybody she meant Sir Fergus, of course, although she didn’t admit that even to herself.
Edinburgh was crowded with tourists, but the street where her grandmother lived was quiet enough. She parked the car in front of the door, helped the old lady out, and handed her over to the waiting Elspeth, and went to unload the boot. Before she went indoors she couldn’t resist looking up and down the street. Sir Fergus had driven down it once; he might do so again. There was, however, no sign of the Rolls-Royce, and she went into the house feeling quite unreasonably disappointed.
Her grandmother declared that she was exhausted; she had to be revived with tea, then helped to her bed, and given time to have a nap before dinner. Rosie unpacked her few odds and ends, and went downstairs to help Elspeth lay the table. It had begun to rain, but rain or no rain she would have liked a walk. She stared out of the window at the wet pavements, and thought longingly of Rannoch Moor and its pools and marshes and lonely splendour. She wouldn’t want to live in Edinburgh—at least, it might be all right if one were married with a husband and children and a house to run, and perhaps a weekend cottage in the Highlands, which naturally enough led her thoughts to the whereabouts of Sir Fergus and where he lived.
It was raining quite hard now, and the traffic was sparse and slow so that she had ample time to see the Rolls-Royce sliding past with Sir Fergus at the wheel and a remarkably handsome woman sitting beside him. If he saw her car parked—and he must have done for he had to drive round it—he gave no sign. He gave no sign of having seen her standing so plainly at the window either, but then he was a man adept at concealing his thoughts and feelings under a bland expression.
Rosie flounced away from the window, and Elspeth, coming into
the room, said, ‘Och, and what’s upset ye, lassie?’
‘Nothing—nothing at all, Elspeth. I was just thinking that I would very much dislike living in Edinburgh.’ She rearranged a fork or two. ‘I’ll get Granny up, shall I? She’ll have an appetite for the dinner you’ve cooked.’
Her grandmother was in a mellow mood; the food was good, and Elspeth had taken care to set her favourite dishes on the table. They had their coffee at the table, and then went into the drawing-room to play cards until the old lady declared that she was ready for bed.
As Rosie bade her goodnight, having seen her into bed, and fetched the hand-bell in case of need in the night, fetched some fresh water and the book she wished to read should she not sleep, and then got the smelling-salts in case she felt faint, her grandmother observed, ‘I shall have my breakfast in bed in the morning, and have a good rest. You may go shopping for Elspeth, Rosie; it will give her more time to look after me. She can make out a list for you—your aunt Carrie is a fool in a supermarket, and it is a good opportunity to stock up while she is away from home.’
Rosie, her thoughts still chasing each other around her head, said, ‘Yes, Granny,’ with unwonted meekness, and went to her own bed. She might just as well spend the day in some supermarket, for there was no prospect of anything more exciting. She pummelled her pillows and curled up in the high old-fashioned bed.
‘I hope I never see him again,’ she muttered and, just before she slept, ‘I shall go to Oban and let Dr Douglas know that we are at Inverard.’
She ate her breakfast with Elspeth in the kitchen, helped her wash the dishes, and studied the list of groceries she was to buy. It appeared to be a long list—she would never be able to carry all the things on it—and there was nowhere to park the car near the shopping centre.
‘I shall take a taxi back,’ she told Elspeth. ‘How on earth does aunt Carrie manage?’
She didn’t wait for an answer, but went to get her handbag and a couple of shopping baskets. It was a fine morning and still early; at least the walk would be pleasant enough.
She was crossing a street, intent on getting to the supermarket, when Sir Fergus saw her while he waited for the lights to change. He parked the car and headed for the nearest supermarket; Rosie had been burdened with two baskets, and it seemed the most likely place to look.
* * *
Rosie, pushing a trolley and eyeing her list with an impatient eye, was loading flour and sugar when she was halted by a large hand on hers. She knew whose hand it was because she was experiencing a very pleasant sensation at its touch.
She was unable to stop going pink, but she said with commendable coolness, ‘Good morning, Sir Fergus—one would hardly expect to find you in a supermarket.’
He ignored that. ‘I’ll push this thing, you throw in whatever is on that list; we can be out of here in ten minutes…’
She stood facing him, still holding on to the trolley. ‘I have to take it back to Granny’s house.’
‘Of course you do. We’ll put it all in the boot and have coffee somewhere first, shall we?’
‘Aren’t you working today?’
‘Not until this afternoon.’
‘Well, don’t you want to be with—with someone else?’ Her voice was tart, and he glanced at her, smiling a little.
‘No. Give me that list—I’ll read it out, and you fling the stuff in.’
He took the trolley from her. ‘Baking powder, white pepper, cooking salt…’
There was no use in arguing with him; they went up and down the aisles loading the trolley.
‘Fairy… What in…?’
‘Washing powder.’
‘Domestos, Flash, scouring powder…’
Fergus handed back the list. ‘Do you like shopping in these places?’
She shook her head. ‘No, of course I don’t; I like village shops where one can have a good gossip and watch the bacon being sliced…’
They joined a queue, and he began to unload the shopping, and that done took her baskets from her and went to the end of the counter to load them up. When she had paid and joined him he asked, ‘And who does this when you’re not here?’
‘Aunt Carrie or Elspeth.’
‘Tradespeople call, surely?’
They most certainly would for him, she reflected. ‘Oh, yes, some of the grocers still deliver, but Granny says this is cheaper.’
He led her outside. ‘Where are we going?’
‘To the car.’
He loaded the baskets into the boot, and opened the door for her to get in. Rosie said, ‘I’m sure Granny will be glad to give you coffee.’
‘I thought we might drive out to Aberdour, the coffee at the Woodside Hotel is excellent.’
‘But that’s about twenty miles…’
For answer he picked up the car phone. ‘What is your grandmother’s number?’ When she told him he dialled it.
‘I spoke to Elspeth, and she will tell Mrs Macdonald that you will be back in time for lunch.’
Rosie had listened to his brief conversation with her pretty mouth ajar. ‘Whatever will Granny say? She expects me back.’
‘For lunch, Rosie; it’s a pity I have a list at one o’clock otherwise we could have had lunch too.’
He was driving through the city, avoiding the main roads and coming finally to the Forth Bridge, not talking at all, which she found unnerving, so that halfway over the bridge she blurted out, ‘I saw you in your car yesterday. Was that your fiancée with you?’
‘Grizel? A handsome woman, is she not?’ He spoke carelessly, and it was obvious to her that that was the only answer he was going to give her. Which served her right for being a Nosy Parker. She looked out of the window.
‘The country is very pretty along this coast, isn’t it?’
He didn’t bother to answer that. ‘When do you go back to Inverard?’
‘When Aunt Carrie comes back—tomorrow or the next day. Did you have a successful trip to Leeds and London?’
‘Yes. Rosie, will you spend the day with me when I come up to the Highlands next week?’
Her heart gave a thump of delight, but she ignored that.
‘That would have been nice, but I don’t think so, thank you.’
‘Spending your spare time with young Douglas?’ he wanted to know casually.
‘Yes, yes, I am. He’s very nice.’ She fibbed too quickly.
She peeped at Sir Fergus’s profile; it looked as calm as it always did.
‘It is kind of you to ask me.’ Strong feelings got the better of good sense. ‘You shouldn’t; if I were going to marry you I would be extremely annoyed with you—’ she gulped ‘—asking another girl out.’
‘Ah, but you’re very likely to marry young Douglas, aren’t you?’ He turned to smile at her. ‘Which makes it all very correct and proper.’
This was uttered in a tone of calm logic which had the effect of allaying any qualms she might have had.
‘Well, if you’re sure it’s all right, I—I would enjoy it.’
‘Good. I’ll give you a ring when you get home,’ He added blandly, ‘I don’t imagine young Douglas would object?’
‘No, no I’m sure he wouldn’t.’
It was a pity, she thought worriedly, that she had saddled herself with Dr Douglas, who, for all she knew, might be on the point of marrying someone else. Not that Sir Fergus was ever likely to know that…
They had their coffee at the hotel and Rosie, lulled by her
companion’s cordial manner, forgot her faint doubts and enjoyed herself. It was a pity that they were not able to stay longer but, as Sir Fergus pointed out, her grandmother would be needing the groceries and his theatre sister would subject him to a tart telling-off if he were to be too late in Theatre.
Rosie took that with a pinch of salt; she couldn’t imagine anyone daring to tell Sir Fergus off.
‘What is she like, your theatre sister?’ she wanted to know.
‘Short and round with grey hair, black eyes and a tongue like a razor. I’m terrified of her!’
There was plenty to talk about on the way back, and the journey seemed far too short to Rosie. Sir Fergus stopped outside her grandmother’s house, carried her shopping to the door for her, and then drove away as Elspeth opened it.
‘Yer grandmother’s in a fine tantrum,’ said Elspeth. ‘Ye’d best spend a wee while with her.’
Old Mrs Macdonald was in a peevish mood, and Rosie was hauled over the coals. She was an ungrateful girl, heartless and uncaring; moreover, she had very likely spent too much money on the groceries.
‘The young woman of today…’ began the old lady, and entered into a diatribe concerning the deplorable ways of the rising generation.
Rosie listened meekly while she thought about Sir Fergus.
Aunt Carrie came back the next day, but too late for Rosie to drive herself back to Inverard, so that she had to listen to a similar lecture directed at her aunt. Both of them listened with apparent attentiveness while Aunt Carrie pondered bedroom curtains and Rosie pondered Sir Fergus.
She left for home the next morning. It was raining again, but since it rained a great deal in that part of Scotland she hardly noticed it. She didn’t hurry; even in the rain the scenery was magnificent, and she had a lot to think about—pleasant thoughts mainly concerned with what she would wear if and when Sir Fergus asked her out. Her choice would be limited if they were to go walking, although she had some new T-shirts. On the other hand, if her entertainment was to be rather more sophisticated, there were the summer dresses with their matching cardigans—not run-of-the-mill garments, but stylish jackets with embroidery which matched the dresses.