Down an English Lane (47 page)

Maisie’s eyes, try as she might to prevent them, kept straying towards Andy’s striking figure as he sat nodding his head in time to the rhythm of the dancing. ‘The Eightsome Reel’, ‘The ‘Dashing White Sergeant’, ‘Strip the Willow’, ‘The Duke of Perth’… The troop performed them all so expertly, their kilts swirling, their feet darting in and out, the men just as light and graceful in their movements as the women. And then the audience was invited to join in an eightsome reel. It was tremendous fun, and although some of the guests appeared to have two left feet, it was obvious that Bob had done it before. Maisie, too, felt she acquitted herself very well; she had had a little experience of Scottish
dancing at the school lessons they had shared with the boys. Towards the end of the dance she partnered Andy, and he smiled and gave her a friendly wink before he whirled her round so fast that her feet scarcely touched the ground.

‘That’s enough, I think,’ he laughed as the dance came to an end. ‘I mustna exhaust you. You must get your breath back before you sing. And so must I. Come along now and I’ll buy you a drink.’

The dancing had finished and it was time for a break before the second half of the evening’s entertainment began. There was a small bar area, licensed only to serve drinks to guests who were staying there and not open to the general public.

‘I’ll stick to orange juice,’ said Maisie. ‘I must keep a clear head while I’m singing. I don’t drink much apart from fruit juice anyway when I’m doing this job, although the passengers are continually asking me, ‘What will you have?’

‘Aye, so I can imagine,’ said Andy, who had also decided to drink orange juice. ‘They’re always asking me if I’d like “a wee dram”! But I’m no’ a true Scot, at least as far as the whisky is concairned. I can take it or leave it… Now, Maisie Jackson, tell me all about yourself…’

She suddenly felt shy, an unusual state of affairs for her, and a little confused. She could feel herself drowning in the intense blue of his eyes; it was the way he was smiling at her so eagerly and encouragingly. She gave a little laugh.
‘What do you want to know?’ she asked.

‘Anything, everything…’ he shrugged.

Once she had started she found it easy to talk to him, but then Maisie had never found it difficult to talk; and Andy was a good listener, joining in with his own comments and repartee. He very soon knew the outline, if not all the details, of her life story. Her time as an evacuee and eventual settling down in Middlebeck; her decision to leave school early and work at a travel agency rather than go to college as her mother had wanted her to do.

‘But I think she’s realised now that I made the right decision,’ she said. ‘Mum only wanted what she thought was best for me.’

‘Parents always do,’ said Andy. ‘Mine were the same. It was more or less taken for granted, of course, that I should go into the family business, but they wouldna have insisted if I’d been dead against it. At least, I dunna think so… But as it happened I never wanted anything else but to be a chef, like my father. He was the chef before me, you ken, but he made sure I had the proper training, and not just what I learned from him. I did my training at Gleneagles; and now…here I am, and here’s where I’ll stay, I suppose. But you can’t always see what’s round the corner, can you?’ She could not fathom, at that moment, his enigmatic smile.

‘So, Maisie…you’re not really a courier? But you obviously enjoy it. You’re good at it too, and I can tell that the clients like you. Is there no’ a chance
you might decide to carry on with it? Won’t you find office work rather tedious after you’ve been on the road?’

Yes, so I will; I know I will…said a small voice inside Maisie’s head. How on earth would she settle down to routine after all this? But another voice was warning her not to read too much into what Andy was saying. He was just being nice and friendly; he was not begging her to stay…

‘I really can’t say,’ she answered. ‘There is a lot to consider, and this job – the courier’s job – is not as permanent as being in charge of an office. Anyway, I’ve promised to fill in for the next few weeks, and then…well, I will have to see. But I may well be back in three weeks’ time…’ she added quietly.

‘I certainly hope so,’ he replied, smiling at her in the way that made her heart turn a somersault. ‘Now, Maisie…are you ready? I think we’ll start with your solo, then you won’t have time to get nervous. OK?’

‘Yes… OK, Andy,’ she replied.

He jumped up and moved over to the stage. ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, when the noise had hushed a little, ‘we have had the dancing, and so…on with the singing. And this is the moment you have all been waiting for. Here is Maisie, your courier, and she is going to sing for us one of the lovely songs from
Brigadoon
. Here she is – Maisie Jackson.’

She could feel the warmth of their applause even
before she started to sing, and the slight fluttering of nerves that she had been experiencing vanished completely. She smiled across at Jeanette who played the opening bars. Then she began.

It was a most evocative song and she was aware, from their smiling faces, of the emotional response of the audience. She sang it through twice, as she had agreed with Jeanette. When she reached the last line of the song she realised that Andy had come onto the stage and was standing next to her. He gently took hold of her hand and joined in the last line with her.

As they finished they smiled at one another as the audience clapped and cheered.

Chapter Twenty-Five

B
ack home in her flat on Saturday evening, after she had said goodbye to her passengers and to Bob, Maisie felt as though she was just awakening from a dream. The last few days had been filled with such out of this world experiences, and now it was time to return to reality.

Harsh reality, she thought to herself, wryly, as she made a cup of tea and prepared a simple meal of beans on toast; a far cry from the lavish Scottish banquet of the last evening. She now had a day and a half in which to adjust and to get her thoughts in order before embarking, on Monday morning, on her next tour to Stratford-upon-Avon. She felt tempted to ring Henry Galloway at once, to tell him that she would like to take on the job of courier on a full-time basis; but she was forcing herself to exercise a little common sense and self-control. It would be sensible, she knew, to do the next two
tours and – possibly – the next Scottish one and then to take stock of the situation.

She ate her meal and washed up, tried but failed to get interested in a book, then retired to bed early. But not to sleep; a host of memories were chasing round and round in her mind. Eventually she gave up trying to sleep and allowed herself to wallow in them…

The skirl of the bagpipes as Gordon Cameron played the haunting Scottish airs; her first taste of venison – tender and surprisingly sweet, roasted to a pleasant brownish-pinkness, but not oozing with blood, so as not to offend the Sassenach taste; the sparkling blue waters of Loch Katrine on what had been a perfect summer’s day; the multi-coloured tartans and nimble feet of the dancers; but, above all, her memories of Andy Cameron were the ones that kept returning.

Surely she could not have imagined the tender look in his eyes as he had sung along with her of wandering ‘through the heather on the hill’? And when he had sung, on the last night, ‘Will ye no’ come back again…?’ he had looked straight at her. When they had left on Saturday morning – was it really only today? – he had kissed her lightly on the cheek.

‘It’s been good to meet you, Maisie. So…all being well, we will see you in three weeks’ time?’ His voice had held a question and he had seemed eager to hear her answer.

‘I hope so, Andy…’

‘And so do I…’

But am I imagining all this, she thought, or am I falling in love with him? Could it just be, though, that she felt that the time was ripe; that it really was time that she fell in love with someone? And Andy was the only one who had made her feel this way since… Bruce. The thought of him intruded momentarily, but she pushed it away. Bruce was in the past.

Andy had made her feel more alive, more vital and aware of the sights and sounds going on around her. But was it just she, Maisie, who felt that way, or had she had a similar effect upon him as well? She could not be sure. But time would tell… She had already decided that she would do the next tour to Callander; but as far as the months – and years? – beyond that date, she did not dare to look so far ahead, not yet.

Monday morning brought the start of a new five-day tour; different faces, a different driver and a different venue. The countryside of the south Midlands, around the River Avon, was an area she had not visited before, just as the Scottish Lowlands had been. But once again she had swotted up about all the places they were to visit. That had filled up her Sunday very nicely and had stopped her from doing too much daydreaming.

Stratford-upon-Avon and all the buildings connected with Shakespeare; Anne Hathaway’s
cottage; the castles of Kenilworth and Warwick; and the nearby towns of Coventry and Royal Leamington Spa all added up to make an extremely busy and interesting week for Maisie, as well as for her passengers. And once again they were full of praise for her when the five days came to an end.

She called in at the Galaxy office on Saturday morning as she had promised to do, to see if all was well and if there were any messages for her. She found Colin Mather very obviously in charge – looking a little suspiciously at Maisie, in fact – and Barry busily occupied. Olwen was not there as it was her Saturday morning off.

‘There’s a message for you from the boss,’ said Barry. ‘He’s coming over to Leeds today…’

The note said that Henry Galloway wished to meet her at Hagenbach’s café for lunch, to talk to her about how things were going.

‘Fine thanks, Henry. Everything’s just fine,’ she told him over the hearty meal of fish and chips that he had insisted on. ‘I am really enjoying myself.’ She decided to make no special mention of Scotland, but he forestalled her.

‘Yes…we have already had a few letters from satisfied customers – very satisfied, I may say – from the Scottish tour. They praise you very highly, Maisie and, what is more, they said how much they enjoyed your singing!’

‘Oh, how nice of them,’ she said, feeling most
gratified. She had sung on the last evening in Callander as well, but the Stratford tour had been a much more sober one with no singing or dancing. ‘Yes, it did seem to go down rather well…’

‘In fact I am wondering, Maisie, if you would like to carry on in that capacity – as courier – for the rest of the season? And beyond, if you wish… Please don’t think that I am trying to get rid of you from the Leeds office. That isn’t my intention at all, and if you want to go back there straight away, then you must do so. It is, after all, your office, and you have a very good reputation there…’

‘But Colin is managing just as well as I ever could,’ said Maisie. She smiled. ‘Actually, Henry, you have solved a problem for me. I was in two minds as to whether to ask you if I could continue as courier for the rest of the season. I had decided to do the next two tours and then to take stock. But now – well – you seem to have made the decision for me…’

‘Only if it is really what you want to do, Maisie…’

‘Oh, it is! I can assure you that it is…’ She could feel an upsurge of joy and excitement, but she knew that there must be no mention to Henry, at least for now, of the personable young man at the Cameron Hotel.

‘And if you are concerned about the salary,’ he went on, ‘we will make it right with you. You will
be paid the same rate as you have been getting as manager. A courier is not normally paid as much as an office manager, of course…’

‘But there are the tips,’ said Maisie smiling. ‘Some people are very generous. To be honest, I hadn’t really thought about that aspect of it.’

‘But we have, Trixie and I,’ said Henry. ‘You are invaluable to us, Maisie, and you must certainly not be out of pocket. Now, this is what we have in mind, with your agreement, of course…’

He suggested that she should continue as courier for the three ‘cultural’ tours until the end of the season, that would be towards the end of September. After that, during the winter months, her work would be flexible. She might be asked to fill in as office manager at any of the various branches, if so required; and also to go on preliminary visits, to appraise the facilities and the general aspect of prospective new hotels, both in Great Britain and in Europe.

‘We are already getting excited about next year,’ Henry told her. ‘In 1951 we will be extending our programme to include trips abroad; Belgium, the Netherlands and France to start with; not too far across the Channel. We have a list of possible hotels and we are hoping that you and Trixie will go and give them the once-over. We will be using the cross-Channel ferries for the tours; Dover to Calais, that’s the shortest route and the most economical way to do it. But for you and Trixie I think we could run to
air travel. Red Rose Airlines; they’re quite reasonable and efficient.’

It all sounded tremendously exciting. Maisie had never flown; in fact she had never been abroad, nor had the majority of young women of her age.

‘It sounds wonderful,’ she said. ‘I can’t quite take it in. One minute I’m quietly going about my business in Leeds, and the next minute… I’m going to travel the world!’

‘Well, not quite the world,’ smiled Henry. ‘I don’t think Galaxy will be venturing as far as the USA or Australia for some time to come! But there are certainly a couple of hotels in Paris to be reccied, and others in Brussels, Ostend, Amsterdam… These are priorities, so I would like you and Trixie to get cracking as soon as you’ve finished your tours. We want to get our new brochure out as soon as we can in the New Year. As a matter of fact, Trixie and I have already made a few preliminary visits. A tour to the Loire Valley, that’s almost completed, and another one to Brittany, that is in the late planning stages…’

‘And you will be wanting couriers for these Continental tours as well, I suppose?’ asked Maisie.

‘Yes, so we will… And you will be one of the first to be considered, Maisie, if you decide that is what you would like. But for the moment, let’s take one step at a time, shall we? Let’s not try to run before we can walk. Next week you will be in London, and the week after it will be Scotland again. And if you
are agreeable I would like you to continue with your singing. Our singing courier… That is something we hadn’t even thought of and it’s certainly going down well with the guests. I take it that the Cameron family have no objection to you singing? I know they provide their own entertainment.’

‘Oh no, they don’t mind. In fact it was Andy – he’s the son, I don’t know if you know him?’ she asked casually, ‘it was Andy who invited me to sing.’

‘Yes, I’ve met him just the once when I went up there. An excellent chef, of course; that’s one of the main reasons for us going there…’ Maisie stared down at her plate, hoping that her interest in that young man was not at all obvious. She had been unable to resist mentioning his name, but she must not divulge her secret feelings for him by any unguarded word or glance.

‘So you have four months, more or less, Maisie, to establish yourself as a courier. Although I think you have managed to do that already, haven’t you? We are very grateful to you, and I know that Colin Mather will be very pleased when we offer him the permanent post in the Leeds office. Now…you are quite sure, are you, that this is what you want? It’s not too late if you feel at all undecided…’

‘I’m quite sure, Henry,’ she replied. ‘This is definitely what I want.’

Bob did not seem surprised to see her nine days later when she joined him in the snack bar at the bus station, to start their second tour together. In the meantime she had spent five hectic days in London, and the Scottish tour would seem quite peaceful and relaxing by contrast.

‘Hello there, Maisie.’ He grinned broadly and winked at her. ‘I had a feeling, somehow, that you would be back.’

‘Yes, you’re stuck with me all summer, Bob,’ she laughed. ‘Like it or lump it!’

‘Oh, I like it all right. You and me, we get on famously, don’t we, love?’ He smiled at her and then at his fellow drivers.

‘Some chaps have all the luck, don’t they?’ retorted one of them. ‘Goodness knows how you put up with him, Maisie love. If ever you want a change, you know where I am.’

‘I’ll bear it in mind, Jack…’ she laughed.

Thirty-six different faces to remember once again, but she was getting quite used to that now. She devised little tricks – quirks of personality, unusual clothing or headgear, or tone of voice – to distinguish one from the other. They appreciated it when you remembered their names. She never used their Christian names, however, unless she was invited to do so, whereas she was ‘Maisie’ all the time.

She had worked out that she had six more Scottish tours to do before the end of the season,
and about the same number to London or Stratford; although Sheila, the courier who had started that year might be asked to do a couple of those; at the moment Sheila did mainly day trips and the city tours of York. Maisie knew there was a possibility that visiting the same places every few weeks might become tedious, but it was up to her not to let any hint of boredom show in her voice or in her association with the passengers. She was continually reading up interesting new facts and anecdotes to relate, and taking notes, also, of things that members of her party told her. Sometimes they were more knowledgeable than she was.

The weather was a little inclement in Edinburgh and raincoats and umbrellas were the order of the day. When they visited Stirling Castle it bucketed down and they were forced to take what shelter they could. But by the time they arrived at Callander in the mid-afternoon the rain had almost ceased, and a fitful sun was trying its hardest to shine out from behind the grey clouds.