The Legacy of Lochandee

THE LEGACY OF LOCHANDEE

GWEN KIRKWOOD

Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2013

ISBN 9781909520400

Copyright © Gwen Kirkwood 2013

The right of Gwen Kirkwood to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, The Old School, Upper High St, Bedlinog, Mid Glamorgan, CF46 6RY.

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Oh, what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive!

From
Marmion
, by Sir Walter Scott

Glossary

Chapter One

B
RIDIE STOPPED FOR A
quick look in the newsagent's window.

‘Bridie! Hey, Bridie Maxwell …'

She turned in surprise, scanning the passers-by on the opposite side of the road.

‘Oh …' She stared open-mouthed as a tall, slim figure ran across the street, dodging between a horse and cart and the butcher's van. ‘Fiona! What a surprise! What are you doing in Lockerbie? I haven't seen you for …'

‘Years?' Fiona Sinclair prompted with a rueful smile.

‘I think it is. Two at least. How are you? Are you on holiday? Are you visiting your mum? How is she?' Bridie's pleasure at seeing her old school friend was evident as the questions tumbled out, one after the other. Fiona's smile faded and the light died from the clear grey eyes. Bridie remembered how expressive Fiona's eyes had always been – tenderness, compassion, anger. They were like a mirror reflecting her inner emotions.

‘Have you time for a cup of tea, Bridie? I'd love to chat for a wee while … that is …?'

‘Of course I have time! I'll make time,' Bridie said, swiftly pushing out of her mind the million and one tasks she had vowed to do. ‘I've just been to the vet's for a drench for a sickly calf, but so long as I'm back at Lochandee before milking it will be fine. Shall we go into Wilson's or do you prefer …?'

‘Wilson's will be fine.' Fiona glanced at the baker's shop with its upstairs restaurant only a couple of doors from where they were standing. ‘I see they still make a lovely selection of cakes and scones. Oh look! Is that a Selkirk bannock? Mum used to love them. I'll buy it before anyone else snatches it up. It might just tempt her appetite. How many bread coupons do you think I shall need?' She fished in her handbag and pulled out a ration book.

‘I don't think you'll need any.' Bridie frowned, puzzled. ‘The government withdrew the bread units in July. Surely it must have been the same in Glasgow?'

‘Oh, probably. I forgot. I shall have to get used to doing these everyday things again. I've been a bit spoiled with someone to do most of my shopping. Mrs Mossy seemed to know all the best places to register for things. She had three other households besides mine and her own.'

‘Oh.' Bridie was at a loss.

‘You go on up and choose a table and I'll follow as soon as I've paid.' The sweep of smooth, well-groomed hair hid her face. Bridie made her way slowly up the stairs to the restaurant. It was quiet at this time, except on market days. Most of those who had been lunching had already left and it was still early for afternoon tea. She chose a table near the window, overlooking the wide main street of the little market town.

‘I saw the waitress on my way up,' Fiona said, arranging her handbag and the neatly wrapped bannock on a spare chair. ‘I ordered afternoon tea. Is that all right? I remember you always used to have tea before milking time at the farm.' She smiled across the table. ‘Is it still the same routine?'

‘More or less. I think we all assumed the rationing would go away once the war was over, but some things are as scarce as ever. But never mind that – do tell me how things are with you, Fiona. I haven't seen your mum for ages, but she was so proud of you being a qualified accountant and working in the city. “Doing the work of a gentleman”, she said.' Bridie grinned but she was dismayed to see a film of tears cloud Fiona's eyes. She blinked rapidly.

They had travelled together on the school bus each night and morning to the Academy and they had become good friends in spite of Fiona's two years seniority and her brilliant academic achievements. Seven years ago, Bridie remembered, she had been desperate to leave school to help at Lochandee. As soon as she had finished the examinations for her School Certificate she had got her way, mainly because so many men were away at the war and her mother was expecting Ewan, and far from well. Fiona had been only 17 by the time she had passed her Higher School Certificate with distinction. Then, to Bridie's surprise, and Mrs Sinclair's dismay, she had become engaged to a boy she had known since they had started at DumfriesAcademy together, six years earlier. His name was Gerald Fountain, known throughout the school as Gerry. Bridie remembered him well. He had been tall, very fair, not exactly handsome, but his blue eyes had sparkled and everyone recognised his infectious laugh.

‘Poor Mum …' Fiona said huskily. ‘I'm afraid I haven't been much comfort to her since Dad died.'

‘Oh, don't say that, Fiona. She was really proud of the way you – you picked up the pieces and made such a success of your career …'

‘I know, but dedication to my work seemed to me all that was left after – after Gerry was killed. I threw myself into studying and then work. I was blind to everything else, but the more I achieved the more time I spent away from home, and – and now it's too late. Mum is dying, Bridie …' Fiona's voice trailed away in a little choking sound, and Bridie guessed she was struggling valiantly to control her tears.

‘Oh, Fiona … Are you sure …? I mean – is there nothing the doctors can do?'

‘No. They haven't told her, of course, but I insisted they must tell me the truth. I-I had guessed, b-but it seems so final when your worst fears are confirmed. They – they wanted to keep it to themselves – the doctors. She's my mother, for goodness sake! I-I had a right to know.'

‘I'm so sorry, Fiona.' Bridie reached out a hand and covered the restless fingers. She was rewarded with a wan smile.

‘You were always so sensible, Bridie. So reassuring and full of good common sense. Mum always said so. Sometimes I used to feel you were the older of the two of us. I expect it's because you had a brother, or maybe because you lived on a farm and saw life and death in perspective perhaps? Right now it's exactly what I need. Someone who understands, someone to reassure me I have done the right thing.'

‘The right thing? What do you mean, what have you done, Fiona?'

‘I've given up my career in Glasgow. I had bought a house with the money Dad left me. I've sold it … burned my boats.' She gave a faint, almost cynical smile.

‘Given up your career? But you were – you had such great prospects. I thought …'

‘Oh yes!' Fiona's tone was grim. ‘I went up the ladder fast. But …' She gave a cynical laugh, totally unlike the girl Bridie remembered. ‘It was not because I was brilliant, you understand. Oh no! I'm a woman! How could a mere woman be brilliant?' She smiled but it was a mixture of pain and bitterness. ‘Our senior partner was at pains to tell me I had only gone so far, so fast, because there was no one else – a shortage of young men due to the war, he said. It would be laughable if it was not such a farce. Can you believe it? Only five minutes earlier he had been telling me what a promising future I had. He had just offered me a partnership in the firm and several valuable perks to go with it.'

‘I don't understand …'

‘I didn't feel I could accept a partnership without being honest with him. I told him I would need time to spend with my mother. He almost exploded. He wanted – no, he demanded – total dedication. Do you know what he said? “Get a nurse! You don't allow things like sickness to come between you and an opportunity such as I'm offering.” I told him my mother was not just sick. She is dying. Dying. She may have only weeks to live – months at the most. “So?” he says. “Get two bloody nurses to stay with her then. You can afford the money, for God's sake!” Money!' Fiona almost spat the word. ‘It was all that mattered for half the men I came into contact with in my job. He had been so charming. Suddenly his voice was like ice, Bridie.' She shuddered. ‘And his eyes … I've never seen such hardness. He looked utterly ruthless. I-I knew he would never listen to reason, or to pleading. Besides, I was upset about Mum. I told him to k-keep his partnership.'

Bridie squeezed the trembling fingers. ‘I understand. I do know how you must feel, Fiona.'

The grey eyes looked into Bridie's gentle blue ones. ‘Yes,' she said at length. ‘Yes, you are probably the only person who would, so I really believe you do understand. Mum is all I have left and the people you love have to take priority over everything else, don't they?'

‘Yes,' Bridie said quietly. ‘They do.'

‘I-I'm so glad I ran into you today. I've been feeling so low. It's silly, but, you know, I feel like a stranger here. I was born in this area, went to local schools …' Her voice cracked and for a moment Bridie was afraid her control had snapped. ‘It's where I fell in love … First made love. And – and where I went to the first funeral of my life – Gerry's …'

‘I know. I was so dreadfully sorry. We all were. War is such a cruel thing.'

Fiona nodded and gulped hard. Then she took a sip of the tea, and another, striving to regain her usual composure. Bridie remembered Fiona had always envied her having a brother. She was an only child. Her father had been in the Navy during the war and his ship had been torpedoed.

‘Your Aunt Milly …?' Bridie began tentatively.

Fiona shook her head. ‘She died just before the war ended. There's only Mum and me now. I have two cousins but they're in Australia. I only know them through photographs.' She reached for a girdle scone from the middle tier of the cake stand. ‘Do you know I feel hungry all of a sudden? It must have done me good talking to you, Bridie. I haven't been able to eat … or sleep. All hope seems to drain away once you hear the dreaded word “cancer”.'

‘Well, you mustn't bottle things up, Fiona. You are not so far away from Lochandee. You must come and visit us whenever you can get away. Do you still ride your bicycle?'

‘Bicycle!' She gave a low chuckle which reminded Bridie of the girl she had once known. ‘I haven't ridden a bike for ages, but I think it's still in the shed. I'll get it out and dust it down. I had used up most of my petrol ration coming down to visit and now I'm hoarding what I have – just in case Mum feels up to going for a drive, or anything.'

‘Of course. I'm sure you've done the right thing in the circumstances, Fiona. With your qualifications and experience you'll easily get another job when you're ready, and I'm sure your mum will appreciate you being with her.'

‘Speaking of Mum, I must be getting back. Our next-door neighbour is sitting with her for an hour or two. She's very good. I think she realised I needed a break more than I did myself. I promised I'd be back on the three o'clock bus. But we've only talked about me and my troubles. I assure you I'm not usually such a bore, or such a moan – but I do thank you for listening, Bridie.'

‘That's what friends are for,' Bridie smiled. ‘My car is just down the street. I could give you a lift home, if you like. It's only two or three miles farther.'

‘That would be wonderful.' Fiona accepted gratefully. ‘Then you can give me all your news as we go.' She glanced at Bridie's ringless fingers. ‘I see you're not married. Well, I'd have heard if you were. Mum always tried to keep me up to date with news of old friends. She told me when your brother's plane was shot down. It must have been a dreadful worry to your parents. For you too. I heard he had a very lucky escape? Is he all right now?'

‘Conan is fine. Sometimes you can detect a slight limp but he never admits to it, or lets it hold him back.'

‘I can imagine. I suppose he's back at the farm, longing to take over from your father? I seem to recall he always liked to do things his own way. I remember you asked me to ride his bicycle back from our village to Lochandee the day he went away to the RAF. Wasn't that because he didn't want your parents to know, or something?'

‘We-ell, he did tell them, but only at the very last minute. He didn't want Mum to drive him to the station, though, in case she got upset. Anyway he's back safe and sound which is more than can be said for a lot of the young men who went away.' Bridie sighed. ‘But Conan has not returned to the Glens of Lochandee to farm. He and a – a friend have bought a few acres of land near the main road from Carlisle to Lockerbie. They are building up a garage business doing repairs, but they have one lorry and make deliveries, mainly to farms. Anything to turn a penny at present – but you know Conan. He's ambitious and full of plans. They have built a workshop with a small flat above it – if you can call it that.'

‘Basic, is it?' Fiona raised her eyebrows at Bridie's dry tone.

‘You can say that again. Dad built an extension onto our house at Lochandee so now we have a bathroom with hot and cold water on tap and an Aga cooker in the kitchen so we are a bit more civilised than we used to be. Conan and Nick both come to have a bath at our house, and a good meal whenever they can.'

‘I seem to remember Conan always liked to make his own decisions, but Gerry and his friends admired him. Is this Nick his partner? Do they get on all right?'

‘Ye-es. I think so. They were at the same camp most of the time during the war. They were good friends. Nick and some of the others used to come to Lochandee whenever they had leave. Nick – Nick Jones – he's from Wales originally.'

‘Mmm, I see.' Fiona eyed Bridie shrewdly, seeing the heightened colour in her cheeks. ‘A bit special, is he, this Welshman called Nick?' Bridie's blush deepened and Fiona chuckled. ‘I can see that he is.'

‘Oh, we're not engaged, or anything … well, not officially anyway.'

‘You mean you have a private understanding,' Fiona suggested, smiling. Bridie threw her a glance and returned her attention to her driving, but after a few seconds of silence she burst out with: ‘You could say we
did
have an understanding.'

‘
Did have
? Bridie?'

‘Well … since we are exchanging confidences today,' Bridie sighed, ‘Nick and I both thought we would get married as soon as he was demobbed. That was two years ago. Nick would like to be engaged, but I refused until we could set a date for the wedding. I do love him, I really do, but he's just about as pig-headed as Conan when it comes to wanting his own way!'