The Legacy of Lochandee (24 page)

‘Drink your tea, Beth. I'll just pop up to Carol's and see if Lucy is there.'

Lucy was not at Carol's, but the girls thought they had seen her when they were on their way back from badminton.

‘She was on her bike and seemed in a hurry. She'd no coat on so she couldn't have been going far.'

‘Oh no!' Fiona clasped both hands to her face. Could Lucy have overheard her mother's confidences? What other explanation could there be for her to take off like that, without a word and on a cold November night? Wherever could she be going?

Chapter Twenty-five

F
IONA HURRIED BACK TO
Beth's in a state of panic. Where was Lucy most likely to go if she had overheard their conversation? How much could she have heard? Everything? Beth's fear of dying? The truth about her father? Fiona hurried into the cottage but she stopped short. Beth still sat in the chair, the half-drunk tea on the floor beside her. She was sound asleep. Fiona's first thought was to waken her, to question her about Lucy's friends, but in sleep Beth's face looked gaunt, her skin drawn and sallow. Fiona shivered. She remembered her mother in similar repose, with the same haunting spectre of death hovering over her, the dreaded cancer sapping away her life.

She stared around the cosy room. There was a mug on the mantelshelf containing odds and ends, including a pencil. She reached for it and on the old envelope propped against the figure of a pottery dog wrote: “Back soon. Don't worry. Fiona.”

‘Don't worry,' she muttered as she sped across to her own house. How could anyone help
but
worry, when Lucy was cycling around the countryside in the darkness at this time of night? She glanced at the grandfather clock in the hall as she entered. It was just after nine and there was more than a hint of frost glinting on the cobbles and Lucy had no coat. She bit back a sob. Would she go to Ewan? He was her oldest, probably her closest friend. Fingers trembling she dialled the operator and asked to be put through to Nether Rullion. It was Mrs Maxwell and Fiona breathed a sigh of relief.

‘I-I it's Fiona Sinclair here. I wondered whether you had seen Lucy tonight?'

‘Lucy? Why no, she hasn't been over for a while, Fiona. Isn't she at home then?'

‘No … er, we think she was – was a bit upset about something. She went off on her bike and she hasn't returned.'

‘I see … Do you know what had upset her? Who she was likely to confide in? Carol, or the girls, perhaps?'

‘She's not there. I already asked. I'll telephone Bridie. She might know.'

‘Bridie?' Rachel was puzzled. ‘Was it something serious that upset Lucy, Fiona?'

‘I-I don't know exactly, but she is worried about her mum.' This much was true, Fiona thought. She wished she did know exactly how much Lucy had overheard. Poor child. Her mother's illness was bad enough, but if she had overheard Beth's confession …

Lucy was not at Glens of Lochandee either. ‘You sound terribly upset, Fiona,' Bridie said with concern.

‘Well, I blame myself. Beth and I were talking. We forgot Lucy was supposed to be upstairs. I think she may have overheard … things.'

‘What about, Beth? Is she hysterical or anything? Do you want me to come?'

‘She fell asleep in the chair, but I must go back to her. She'll panic when she realises I can't find Lucy. Maybe she will have returned,' she said, without much hope.

‘I could stay with Beth, or phone around. Have you tried Ewan? Just a minute, Fiona. Nick's calling. He wants to know if he can help? He says Lucy and Conan are great friends these days. Have you tried the garage?'

‘Surely she would never cycle all the way over there in the dark? She didn't even have her coat …' Fiona's voice was almost a sob. ‘But I'll phone and see.'

‘Let us know if she's there and we'll go over and drive her back while you stay with Beth. And don't worry, Fiona, Lucy is a hardy wee thing. She's been a great support to Beth since Harry died.'

‘I know, but this is – is different. I'll phone to see if she's at the garage.'

The telephone rang and rang at the garage but there was no reply. In despair Fiona replaced the handset on its cradle and went back across to Beth's cottage. She was just stirring and seemed disorientated, until her eyes focused on Fiona and memory came flooding back. She sat up abruptly. ‘Have you found Lucy?'

‘No.' Fiona slumped onto a chair and bowed her head. She was shivering but it was more nerves than cold. She told Beth where she had telephoned. ‘No one seems to have seen her. Can you think of any other friends near enough for her to cycle?'

Beth shook her head.

‘What about the minister? Would she go to him, or to Mrs Simms, if she needed someone to-to confide in?'

‘I don't think so, b-but would you phone the manse, Fiona? Please? Anything is worth trying. Reverend Simms might have seen her.'

Fiona ran back to her own house to phone but there was no news of Lucy there, only grave concern and plenty of well-meaning advice. Slowly she returned to Beth's cottage, shoulders slumped in dejection, pondering whether they should alert the police to set up a search, as Reverend Simms had suggested. Lucy was more mature for her age than most girls, but the fact remained she was not quite 13 years old, and to find you were not the person you thought you were, or that your mother was ill and likely to die, leaving you an orphan … Fiona shuddered. Either of those things would be enough to upset most girls older than Lucy. If she had overheard both parts of Beth's confession … It didn't bear thinking about.

Conan had been out for the evening and he was well-pleased with himself as he drew his car into the garage forecourt. He had almost clinched a deal with a small local bus company which he was determined to take over. All that remained now were the final details to be discussed with their respective lawyers.

He was surprised to see the door of the garage kiosk slightly ajar. The catch did not shut very securely but he was sure he had locked the door before he left. He went round the corner to search for the key which he always left for whomever was on duty at the pumps. The key was missing. Frowning he pushed the door ajar and went inside. It was dark and silent, so he almost closed the door and went up to his room and bed. Some instinct made him switch on the light. He was dismayed to see Lucy, her head on her arms on the grubby counter. She had obviously fallen into an exhausted doze and the light had wakened her. She looked dishevelled and it was clear that she had been crying and there was a streak of black oil down her cheek, probably off the counter.

‘Lucy! My God! You gave me a fright. What on earth are you doing? How did you get here?' Conan hadn't realised how sharply he had spoken until he saw her small white face crumple in distress.

‘D-don't be angry with me. I-I had to – to get away. I was going to Ewan, b-but he wouldn't understand. I d-didn't know where else to go. Then …'

‘I'm sorry, lassie. I'm not angry and I didn't mean to shout, but you startled me.' He went round the counter and put an arm around her trembling shoulders. His hand brushed her cheek. ‘You're frozen, Lucy! How did you get here?'

‘On my bike.'

‘In the dark? You cycled all this way!' Conan stared at her incredulously for a moment, then common sense told him Lucy would not have done such a thing unless she was desperate.

‘I'll bring a blanket from upstairs to warm you up, then I'll make us both a hot drink and you can tell me all about it.'

He wondered if Beth had collapsed. He had known for some time there was something seriously wrong with her, and he knew how worried his mother and Bridie were – but why had Lucy not gone to one of them? They were both much nearer than the garage.

Lucy huddled gratefully into the warmth of the grey utility blanket. She couldn't stop her teeth chattering and Conan guessed it was from nerves as much as cold.

‘What time did you get here, Lucy?' he asked gently, as he waited for the kettle to boil and slopped milk into two mugs.

‘About half past n-nine, I think. The phone was ringing, but everything was dark and I thought you must have gone to bed. I was too tired to cycle anywhere else, so I was going to w-wait h-here until m-morning …' Her eyes filled with tears and they rolled silently down her pale face.

‘Is it your mother, lassie?' he asked softly. ‘Have they taken her to hospital, or …?'

‘No! No, Mum is at home, with Fiona. They – they were t-talking …' She stifled a hiccupping sob and Conan waited patiently but nothing had prepared him for the shock of Lucy's revelations. ‘Ages ago, Mum told me she had asked Fiona to be my guardian after D-Dad died – only he wasn't my dad!' she blurted and the sobs were uncontrollable now. ‘I don't know who my father is. I d-don't know who I am. And he doesn't know about me … and – and …' The sobs racked her thin shoulders. Conan put his mug down carefully. He moved round the counter. He lifted Lucy from the chair and sat her on his knee, hugging her in the blanket as though she was a baby, rocking her trembling body to and fro.

‘Y-you can't have heard right, Lucy. You must have made a mistake …'

‘No,' She shook her head vigorously. ‘I heard Mum say to Fiona, “I've never told a soul. But you're her guardian.” She said she didn't tell D-Dad because it would have broken his heart. Then she said, “Y-you see, Harry was not Lucy's father …” I didn't mean to listen, but I couldn't move …' Lucy began to sob again, unaware of Conan's rigid body, his face draining of colour. ‘She said “I loved Harry with all my heart, Fiona. I never loved anyone else.” S-so how c-could she d-do it? How c-could she hurt my d-dad? He loved me, I know he did …' The tears rained down Lucy's face now and she buried her head against Conan's chest. Gently, absently he stroked her hair.

‘Of course he loved you, Lucy. We all love you very much. You must remember that. Promise me you'll remember that,' he said urgently, ‘whatever happens. My mother and Bridie, and me, and Ewan – we all love you …' Even as he spoke his brain was reeling. His memory taking him back to the night he had helped Beth clear out the old cycle shop at Harry's request. It was hard to remember how young and innocent and confused he had been then, before the harsh experiences of war had hardened him. He shuddered, but he didn't doubt for a second that Lucy was his child. It explained so many things. Her green-blue eyes so like his own, so like his mother's. God! His mother was her grandmother! Ewan – his jealous possessive young brother was her uncle! What a tangle. No wonder Beth was worried. Probably things would change, but what if Ewan did want to marry Lucy when they were older … They had always been so close. Then there was Lucy's musical talent, no doubt inherited from his own father. Her grandfather … Whatever would he have to say about this mess? He shuddered at the prospect of telling him. He would be furious. A thought occurred to him.

‘Did your mother tell Fiona who – who your father is, Lucy?'

‘I don't think so.' She was calmer now; the storm of weeping had passed, leaving her drained and exhausted, both physically and mentally. ‘I didn't wait. I climbed out of Mum's bedroom window and got on my bike. I-I had to get away, to think and – and I just pedalled as fast as I could …'

‘So your mum has no idea where you are?'

‘No …'

‘Then I must take you back. She'll be worried sick and we can't phone to tell her you're safe. Drink up your tea, lassie, and don't you worry, everything will be all right for you, I promise.'

Lucy didn't object and allowed him to carry her to the car, still cocooned in the blanket.

Fiona couldn't sit still. Every five minutes, she went to the door and looked up and down the street, but always in vain. Beth had sat in a dazed trance for a full half hour and Fiona had no means of knowing where her thoughts had taken her, but she was grateful she had remained calm, even though it was an unnatural calm. The next time she glanced at her she looked too weary to stay awake. Now she was sleeping and Fiona didn't know what to do for the best. She wished she had asked Bridie to come down.

For the umpteenth time she went to the door and looked up and down the deserted village street. Then to her amazement the lights of a car came slowly down the road and drew to a halt beside her. It was Conan.

‘Have you seen …' Her words faltered as she glimpsed Lucy's white face as she huddled in the passenger seat. Even in the dim light Fiona could tell Lucy had been crying and her eyes were dark with exhaustion. ‘Where did you …?'

‘Let's get her inside,' Conan said grimly. In the dim light from the streetlamp his face looked a ghostly white and Fiona mistook his abrupt tone and his obvious tension for anger.

‘It was not Beth's fault,' she said urgently. ‘If you must blame anyone then blame me for allowing her to talk.' When he didn't answer she grasped his arm. ‘She's ill, Conan, seriously ill …' she whispered.

‘I know, but I need to talk to her.' His eyes met hers, searching her face. Suddenly, her own eyes widened, as the truth dawned.

‘You?' she mouthed silently.

His mouth tightened but whether in pain or anger she couldn't tell. He gave a brief nod then opened the passenger door.

‘I'll carry Lucy inside, then perhaps you'll see her into bed. She's exhausted.'

Fiona nodded and followed him up the narrow path, her mind in turmoil. Beth looked at Lucy and held out her arms. For a moment, Lucy hesitated while Fiona held her breath, then she went into her mother's arms and the racking sobs shook her. Beth wept too, but silently.

‘It never made any difference, Lucy. We both wanted you so much. You were the greatest gift Harry could ever have. You brought us so much happiness. Remember that, Lucy. Always remember that.' Listening to Beth's soft, tired voice Fiona swallowed hard and her eyes were luminous with tears when she looked up, only to find Conan's troubled gaze watching her. Eventually with a final hug, Beth gently held Lucy away from her.

‘Away to bed now, lassie. You'll need a good sleep.'

‘I'll make you a drink of hot cocoa, Lucy, and bring it up for you,' Fiona offered, summoning a reassuring smile. Lucy nodded and said goodnight, a mixture of child and woman, in spite of her tender years.

Fiona carried the drink up to Lucy's little attic room, where her books and a small desk took up more room than her clothes. Already in bed, Lucy did not seem so exhausted now and Fiona stayed to talk, reluctant to interrupt Conan's talk with Beth, and glad of the opportunity to reassure Lucy.