Anne Douglas (11 page)

Her eyes went over the pleasant-faced Paul Soutar. Perhaps he was a little bit younger than she’d thought, it was hard to tell. He was tall, but not as tall as Torquil; seeming, even in his bulky anorak, lean and fit, which he would have to be if he was a climber. He had light brown hair, and light brown eyes to match. Uneven features, so, not particularly handsome. In fact, some might even say, his face was craggy. But then it was so pleasant. The word kept coming back. A good-natured man she felt she couldn’t just leave in a hurry.

‘Your friend not with you?’ she asked, as the wind blew her hair and she pulled it back from her face.

‘He’s my brother.’ Paul Soutar laughed. ‘Friend as well. No, he just came with me for a few days’ break at the hotel. I’ve moved in to my cottage now.’

‘Your cottage? Here?’

‘Yes, it’s at the end of the village.’ He swung round, pointing in the distance. ‘I’m renting it.’

‘You’ll be staying on, then?’

‘Oh, yes, I’ve got things to do. Won’t bore you with all the details. How about you? Are you and your sister staying on at the hostel?’

‘As a matter of fact, I’ve just been appointed assistant warden, and Lynette, my sister, is applying for jobs. We want to keep Father company.’ Monnie stooped to pick up her bag. ‘Perhaps I’d better get back now. We’ll be needing this milk.’

‘Can’t tell you how nice it’s been to meet you. Miss Forester . . .’

‘Monnie, please.’

‘Monnie. Perhaps we’ll meet again. In the meantime, I’ve got my little Ford right here. Let me run you up to the hostel – that bag looks heavy.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t let you do that.’ (Whatever would Torquil think if he saw her driving up in some other man’s car?) ‘You’ve your shopping to do.’

‘A few groceries. I can pick them up when I’ve dropped you off. Come on, won’t take a minute.’

She had to admit, it was a relief, not to have to carry the heavy bag home, and the little lift back was over so soon, it seemed hardly to have taken place. As Paul handed her out at the main door of the hostel, there was no sign of Torquil, and after a few more friendly words and promises to look out for each other again, Paul was gone and she was sighing with a different kind of relief. Until she saw Torquil at the side of the house, swinging his basket.

‘Torquil!’ She ran to him. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry I missed you! Dad made me go for the milk.’

‘I know.’ Even in the shadowy dusk, the light in his blue eyes seemed intense. ‘Who was the fellow driving the Ford?’

‘You saw him?’

‘Saw the Ford.’

‘He was just someone giving me a lift.’ Monnie’s tone, meant to be casual, sounded forced, even to herself. ‘When he saw me outside the shop, he thought my bag was heavy. Very kindly offered to drive me up.’

‘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 built.’

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?