Call of Glengarron (3 page)

Craig gave up and rose to his feet. His face was expressionless as he looked at me, but I thought I could detect the hurt behind the mask.

In spite of my revulsion for the man, I felt a flicker of sympathy. To be spurned by his own son. It must be hard.

Trying to ease the tension a little I said hastily, “I’m afraid it’s been a bit too much for him. Such a lot has happened all at once....” I dried up. I didn’t know what more I could have said just then.

Craig nodded somberly. “Yes, I expect so....” He spun around and indicated a rather stately black Daimler in the parking lot. “We might as well get going.”

In silence we walked across to the car. Craig held the door open for me, and I pushed Jamie into the center of the wide front seat, so he would be between his father and myself.

“I’ll just see about the luggage,” Craig said as he shut the door.

While he was gone, I spoke to Jamie quite severely.

“You mustn’t be so silly, darling. Speak nicely to your daddy, or he’ll be very upset.”

“But I don’t like him.”

“Now that’s just nonsense. You must behave properly, or I’ll have to be really cross with you.”

I saw the start of tears glinting in his eyes, and I went on sharply: “It’s not a bit of good your crying, Jamie. If you want to please me, you must be nice to your daddy.”

Craig and a porter were stowing away the luggage. Then I heard the lid of the trunk slammed down, and Craig appeared at the driver’s side of the car.

As he climbed in and fished for the ignition key, I prodded Jamie in the ribs.

“Hello ... Daddy....” he said shakily.

Surprised, Craig turned to look at his son, giving him a quick smile. “Hello, Jamie.”

He reached forward and switched on the engine. Then as we drove off he said to me quietly, staring straight ahead, “There’s no need to use actual force, Miss Calvert.”

“It’s difficult for him ...” I began hotly.

“Of course it is—it’s difficult for both of us.” There was a long pause before he went on in a stiff voice, “I have to thank you for looking after Jamie—and for bringing him to Scotland....” He hesitated, then amended: “For bringing him home.”

“I was glad to.” But that gave the wrong impression. “I mean, I think it made it a bit easier for Jamie, being with somebody he knew....”

That didn’t sound much better. Rapidly, I switched direction. “I was surprised to see you at the airport. I understood you would not be back in this country for a few more days.”

“I managed to get away sooner than I’d expected. I flew into Prestwick last night. As it turned out I could have come for Jamie myself, and saved you the bother.”

“It was  no bother.” My casual conventional reply concealed a great deal of feeling. I was thankful indeed that I hadn’t been obliged to hand Jamie over in London. To have put him in the hands of a complete stranger called his father would have been unbearably cruel. Having witnessed the child’s obvious fear of Craig, I was more than ever glad to have brought Jamie to Scotland. I would try to break him into his new life, and his new family, as gently as possible.

Craig still hadn’t mentioned Margo, but to be fair he could hardly say much in front of the boy. I guessed he’d ask for details later on. He must be anxious to know all there was to know about her death. So far his only information would have come through Margo’s father. I imagined Uncle Arthur’s cables would have been brief and strictly to the point.

On the car journey westward I did my best to keep Jamie interested. But for a less than five-year-old brought up to town life, it must have seemed terribly empty and dull. In fact, the growing wildness of the scenery was probably rather awesome to such a little boy.

It didn’t help to inspire confidence that as we penetrated further into the Highlands, the sun began to hide behind gathering clouds. At first a few white puffs appeared, gentle cotton-wool balls which clung lovingly to hillcrests. And then heavy dark rainclouds closed in determinedly.

The narrow road unwound before us, ribboning far away across the rolling brown hills. Ahead, against the threatening gloom of the westerly sky, were the snow-white peaks of mountains.

While I struggled to keep Jamie amused, Craig was driving in a preoccupied way, staring gloomily at the road. At one point he cleared his throat as if about to say something, but he seemed to have difficulty getting it out.

At length, gruffly, almost angrily, he muttered, “It’s very kind of you to put yourself out like this....”

Before I could protest again that I was only too glad to be able to help Jamie, Craig went on hesitantly, “If it means you ... well ...
lose
anything by it—I hope you will allow me to ...”

“Your aunt sent me a check to cover the fares.”

“But you’ll have had other expenses. Just let me know....”

“Please,” I said quickly, shocked. “Remember, Margo was my cousin. And my very close friend, besides.”

“So I believe.”

The voice was hard as a rock. It came to me suddenly that Craig was not merely showing the indifference one might have expected from a man wholly bound up in himself. His extreme coldness toward me, and the effort he was making to control it, betrayed his active dislike.

But why? What had I ever done to give him reason for feeling so strongly about me? Since the wedding, six years ago, I had not met the man again until today. Never had I asked anything of him. Neither, since her marriage, had I asked anything of Margo. They had taken a large flat in a smart district close to Princess Street in Edinburgh, and before the wedding Margo talked freely of my going to stay with them. Yet the longed-for invitation never came.

Though it had been a bitter disappointment, I had been most careful never to drop hints. I understood the reason only when Margo’s letters began to reveal that all was not well in her marriage. It would obviously not have suited Craig McKinross to have his wife’s young cousin hanging around, even for a brief couple of weeks.

The sky ahead matched the mood of the man beside me in the car—coldly gray, sullenly angry. The mountain peaks had disappeared from view in the menacing cloud blanket. Below us, a long and narrow loch was the deep blue-gray color of slate, the wavelets white-tipped with foam.

And then the rain came. At first no more than a fine wetness misting the windshield, within minutes we were driving through a heavy downpour—a drumming, monotonous rain that obliterated everything. The frantic windshield wipers were fighting a losing battle against the streaming water. I wondered how Craig could see the tricky bends that were always ahead.

We were three people shut up in a little closed-in world, the car our shield against the elements. Though the heater meant we were physically warm enough, the atmosphere was bleak and chilling. Instinctively, I slid a quiet hand behind little Jamie’s back and drew him toward me. I saw Craig’s eyes flicker sideways, noting my protective action. He made no comment, his face showed no trace of expression. But I could sense his disapproval as clearly as if he had shouted a denunciation.

I guessed Craig was thinking I wanted to establish Jamie’s dependence on me. Actually, I wanted the very reverse. I was trying to break Jamie’s tight bond of affection—the only love the little boy could bring himself to give at the moment. I wanted him to begin to feel the tie of blood, the filial tug. From now on Jamie was to live with his father. To come to love his father was his only chance of happiness.

But right now Jamie needed comfort. If I denied him a sense of security, his whole world would have become as desolate as the wild country around us.

I drew him closer to me, hugging him firmly. “Try to go to sleep, darling,” I said softly. “You must be tired.”

The monotonous thunder of rain on the roof, the steady slithering whirr of the wipers, the low voice of the powerful engine—they all combined to help. Slowly, Jamie’s head drooped, and soon I knew from the rhythm of his breathing that he had dozed off.

I began to feel drowsy myself. Actually, it was a bit over-warm in the car, and I wished I had taken off my coat before getting in. But it was too late now, with Jamie slumped against me. I stretched open my eyelids and stifled a yawn. Just to keep myself awake, I began talking.

“You must try to understand, Mr. McKinross, it’s a real upheaval for a small child like Jamie.”

“Thank you for telling me.” His tone was uncompromisingly sarcastic, but I wasn’t going to be diverted.

“I realize it must be hurtful that I should know your son better than you do yourself, but then—”

“I assume you want to point out that it’s all my own fault?” Craig suggested.

How I longed to say that it most certainly was his fault. I would dearly have liked to tell him just exactly what I thought of his behavior toward poor Margo. But at the moment my one and only aim must be to secure the best life I could for Margo’s son.

“At least we can agree that it isn’t Jamie’s fault,” I said quietly.

He sneered. “A very clever evasion.”

I refused to let myself be riled. “Nevertheless,” I said calmly, “it’s quite true. Jamie is the innocent victim.”

“Hah. I must say that ‘victim’ is a strange word to apply to a boy coming to live with his father on the family estate which he will inherit one day.”

“He was happy with Margo. I can only hope he will be equally happy with you.”

Craig said nothing more. Was he annoyed with me for speaking so plainly, or had I given him something to think about?

At last, after another very long silence, he roused himself. “We’re nearly there.”

The road appeared to be dipping downward. Ahead, through the rain, I caught a glimpse of water—steely cold water. A few minutes later there was water on either side of us, and I could see a gaunt stone building coming out of the haze. And then we were beneath the sheer gray walls, stained with the lashing rain. We pulled up before a great iron-studded door, which was firmly closed. There was not a sign of life anywhere.

Craig sounded the horn, and then leaned back in his seat as though he expected to have to wait. Wind whipped at the car, and I could hear it sighing mournfully in the angles of the masonry.

Although we had arrived, I still let Jamie sleep. I was reluctant to let him see this starkly harsh world he had come to. I hoped that on the other side of that forbidding door there might be something more cheerful, more humanly warm, as his introduction to Glengarron Castle.

Waiting there, a full minute must have passed. Then I heard a grating sound above the wind and the rain. Slowly the great door swung open. I glimpsed a short figure in a billowing mackintosh cape, and then I could see through the arch into a large courtyard.

Craig drove through, acknowledging the man at the gate with an upraised finger.

Inside, though the rain still fell heavily, the surrounding walls protected us from the extremes of the wind. On two sides I could see tall windows cut into the thick walls—very different from the mere embrasures on the outside.

Craig drew up by a shallow flight of steps leading to an arched entrance. The servant, who had come hurrying behind us, opened the car door and stood bowing me out.

I roused Jamie gently. “Come along, darling, wake up. We’re there.”

Craig leaned across from the driver’s side and took Jamie from me, gathering his small son into his arms.

“We’re home, Jamie,” he murmured softly. “We’re home at last.”

Without a word to me he carried the child up the steps and disappeared through the doorway. I sat staring after them, feeling the full weight of such calculated rudeness. Craig’s intention was sharply clear. I was being made to understand that my job was over. Jamie was home, and I didn’t belong here. I could go when I pleased, go back to London and stay there. And nobody at Glengarron Castle was going to miss me.

A discreet cough reminded me with a start that the manservant was still standing in the rain, holding open the car door.

I managed a smile. “I’m so sorry—I was dreaming....” Quickly, I jumped out and ran up the stone steps. The door had swung to behind Craig and latched itself. I had to turn the handle to let myself in.

The effect was as good as a slap in the face.

I found myself in a small dark lobby, and was immediately faced with a pair of glass doors leading to a big apartment beyond. Rather diffidently, I opened one of the doors enough to slip through.

The great hall was deserted. It was very lofty, the rough stone walls rising high above me and fading into a timbered ceiling. Two huge windows faced the courtyard, and a matching pair in the opposite wall looked out over a stretch of gray water. The furniture was all of heavy oak. A massive and enormously long refectory table had chairs ranged on either side. An ornately-carved buffet cupboard caught my eye—a handsome piece, and big enough not to be dwarfed by the great room.

Of the several doors opening from the hall, one at the far end stood ajar. I imagined it was the way Craig had gone with Jamie, though I could hear nothing of them. At least I had to be thankful that Jamie wasn’t upset enough to be crying. Unless, that is, he had already been taken out of my hearing.

A blazing log fire in a wide stone hearth made a magnetic focal point. I walked over to it slowly, grateful for the glowing warmth after such pervasive grayness. The roaring flames helped a bit to counteract the coldness of my welcome here. Or rather, I thought bitterly, the complete lack of any sort of welcome.

Somewhere beyond I heard footsteps on a flagstone floor. I swung away from the fire to see a woman coming through the open doorway. She was middle-aged, moderately tall, and rather drab in a dark blue woolen dress and a beige cardigan.

Isabel Lennox, Craig’s aunt. I remembered her vaguely, having been briefly introduced at the wedding six years ago. She hadn’t made impression enough to have stayed in my memory, but I could see now why Margo had described Craig’s aunt as a desiccated old stick.

Right now the important thing was that she smiled as she came toward me. To be sure, it wasn’t a very bright smile. Though her lips were parted, her eyes seemed to be looking through me into some hazy distance. Maybe, I thought charitably, this was the effect of living in the wide spaces of the Highlands.