The Piper's Tune (7 page)

Behind her, Lindsay heard someone hiss, ‘Didn't I tell you, Tommy?'

And Mr Calder answer,
sotto voce,
‘So you did, George. So you did.'

*   *   *

‘Were they surprised?' Miss Runciman asked.

‘I think they had an inkling that something was in the wind.'

‘Were they shocked?'

‘No,' Lindsay said. ‘They took it rather calmly, in fact. I expect they realise that things will go on much as usual with Papa and Donald in charge.'

‘Your father…' Miss Runciman began, then stopped herself.

Chin held over her soup plate, Nanny Cheadle completed the sentence: ‘… is a wonderful man.'

‘That's
not
what I was going to say,' Miss Runciman snapped. ‘I do
wish
you would stop putting words in my mouth, Nanny.'

‘Somebody's got to,' Nanny Cheadle said. ‘Did they cheer?'

Lindsay was mildly confused. ‘Pardon?'

‘The men, did they cheer?'

‘Hardly. They won't be given the news until tomorrow.'

‘They'll cheer,' Nanny Cheadle predicted. ‘They always cheer. If you were to stand up and announce that the seas had dried up, they'd still cheer. That's men for you. Cheer first, complain later.'

‘I don't think they'll complain,' said Miss Runciman. ‘With Arthur – with Lindsay's papa in charge they'll have no cause for complaint, I'm sure.'

‘I'm sure,' said Nanny Cheadle. ‘Where is his lordship anyway?'

‘Donald and he have taken Aunt Kay to supper at the Barbary,' Lindsay answered.

‘There's a sacrifice for you,' Nanny said.

‘Now why do you say that?' Miss Runciman enquired. ‘I think it's very nice, the three of them celebrating together.'

‘Squabbling together more like,' said Nanny.

It was after seven o'clock. The dining-room windows caught the evening sunlight but the little park was already in shadow. Lindsay had returned home from the informal luncheon that had followed the managers' meeting at half past two o'clock and had mooched about the house for the rest of the afternoon. She was tempted to trot over to Harper's Hill to report to Cissie or take tea with Aunt Lilias but somehow she did not feel entirely welcome in her grandfather's house these days. The appearance of the Irish cousin had upset the equilibrium. Papa had been right about one thing, though: the managers' meeting
had
been boring. She had understood little of the jargon and the unfurling of plans and diagrams and the rapidity with which the men could make complicated arithmetical calculations had both impressed and dismayed her.

Nanny Cheadle finished her soup, licked her finger, dabbed a pea from the plate, put it between her teeth and nibbled like a squirrel.

Maddy cleared away the plates and brought in a dish of new potatoes, another of buttered cabbage and, finally, a tray of hot mutton chops.

Miss Runciman thanked the maid, and served.

The housekeeper looked different tonight. Her dowdy dress had been exchanged for a blue muslin blouse and she had arranged her thick brown hair in a style that softened her strong, almost masculine features. Lindsay watched Nanny stab a mutton chop and hack away the rim of golden-brown fat. Nanny Cheadle had arrived in Brunswick Crescent on the day that Aunt Kay had left, Miss Runciman a couple of years later. Neither had known Kay and probably had no knowledge of the quarrel that had left such a residue of bitterness so that even now, eighteen years on, it was all Papa could do to be civil to his sister.

‘What makes you think they'll be squabbling, Nanny?' Lindsay asked.

The old woman looked up. For a moment she seemed more cunning than vague. ‘Never you mind, Linnet, never you mind. He'll arrive home in a temper, though, mark my words.'

‘You never did meet my aunt, did you?'

‘Once, just that once, out there in the hall,' Nanny said. ‘Had you in her arms, she did, all wrapped up in your shawl. Very pretty you were too.'

‘My aunt – Kay, I mean – she told me I was ugly.'

‘Nah, nah, dearest.
She
was the ugly one, that much about her I do remember,' Nanny went on. ‘Luggage in the hall, hat on her head, white as a piece of chalk and shaking like a fig tree.'

‘Where was my father?' Lindsay said.

‘At the foot of the stairs. Whiter than she was, white as a ghost.'

‘Why have you never told me before?' Lindsay asked.

‘Never thought to mention it,' Nanny said. ‘Anyhow, you never asked.'

‘Did they say anything to each other?'

Nanny Cheadle closed her eyes and murmured to herself, as if to summon up the spirits of the dead. ‘Nah,' she said at length ‘not a word crossed between them that I can recall. She just gave me the baby, stuck out her arms and handed you over as soon as I stepped in through the front door. Then she walked past me, down the steps to the carriage. The carriage-man come up and lifted her luggage. And that was her gone for good.'

‘Hasn't your father told you about this?' Miss Runciman asked.

‘He won't speak of it.'

‘Perhaps it's too painful for him.'

‘What a good baby you were,' Nanny Cheadle put in. ‘Never cross, never ugly.' She lifted her fork. ‘Is there no mint sauce?'

‘It's a chop, Nanny. There's gravy if you wish it. See, here's gravy.'

‘Gravy,' the old woman said. ‘I don't want gravy. I want sauce.'

At that moment the doorbell rang in the hall.

Miss Runciman rose to answer it.

She returned a minute or so later, looking puzzled and slightly annoyed.

‘It's a young man,' she said. ‘He claims that he's your Irish cousin.'

‘Forbes,' said Lindsay, making to rise. ‘Where…'

‘I put him in the drawing-room,' Miss Runciman replied.

‘I'll go to—'

‘No, you will not,' said Miss Runciman sternly. ‘You will finish your dinner before you do anything. Unannounced guests do not have priority over a well-cooked meal.'

‘But what does he want?'

‘To see you, apparently' Miss Runciman said.

‘He – he asked for
me?
' said Lindsay. ‘He called to see
me?
'

Nurse and housekeeper exchanged a knowing glance.

Miss Runciman sat down at the table with a smooth, rather smug tucking in of skirts. She lifted her knife, and almost smiled. ‘Yes, my dear, he has called to see you,' she said, then added, ‘uninvited – which is reason enough for letting him cool his heels for a quarter of an hour or so.'

*   *   *

‘Well,' Lindsay said, ‘this
is
an unexpected pleasure. I apologise for keeping you waiting but we usually dine at seven and never receive before eight. You wouldn't know that, of course.'

She was flustered. Given more time she would have galloped upstairs and changed out of the pale brown outfit into something more becoming. She had kept Forbes waiting as long as she dared, however. Thank heaven Maddy had had the sense to light the fire and turn up the gas.

Forbes did not seem at all put out by being made to wait. Lindsay got the impression that he had been dozing and that if she'd dallied for another two or three minutes she might have found him asleep on the long, leather sofa. He wore a tweed jacket over unmatched trousers, a knitted vest. In the collar of his shirt was a scarf, not quite the coarse muffler that ordinary workmen wore but getting on that way. With his jet black hair and long lashes, though, Forbes could be forgiven any lapse in social etiquette. He was, Lindsay had to remind herself, not much more than a boy.

‘I take it that you've had something to eat?' she said.

‘Yes, Aunt Lilias saw to it.'

‘Good. Please, please make yourself comfortable.'

She watched him settle, arm along the back of the sofa, his legs crossed. He looked directly at her, nowhere else. In the iron grate kindling crackled and fresh flames licked through a pyramid of coals.

Lindsay had never entertained a young man on her own before, not counting her cousins, of course, but Martin, Johnny and Ross knew how to make themselves at home without her attentions. It was different with her Irish cousin, though. He was far too confident for someone of seventeen. She was halfway afraid of him; not a deep fear, not dread, just a little quailing fear that he might suddenly pounce upon her and begin kissing her and that she would not have the gumption to push him away.

‘Aren't you going to sit yourself down?' he asked.

‘I – I – yes, of course I am.'

‘Well, sit here then. Sit by me.'

‘I've asked Miss Runciman to fetch coffee. Would you prefer tea?'

He patted the leather. ‘I'd prefer you to stop fussin' and sit down.'

There were eight chairs in the drawing-room, armchairs, mahogany uprights, even a hard walnut stool that no one ever sat on. Forbes patted the leather again as if she, not he, were the guest. Meekly Lindsay seated herself on the sofa.

‘There now,' he said. ‘Is that not better? Is that not cosy?'

From the corner of her eye Lindsay studied his arm as if it were a snake that might suddenly entwine her.

‘Are you afraid of me?' Forbes asked.

‘Don't be ridiculous. Why should I be afraid of you?'

‘I thought you might have heard.'

‘Heard? Heard what?'

‘I got sent down.'

Lindsay turned to face him. ‘Sent down?'

‘From my school, from Dunkerry.'

‘Oh, you mean
expelled.
'

‘Is that what they call it in Scotland?' Forbes said. ‘Well, whatever name you care to be giving it, I got sent down.'

With relief Lindsay realised that he was only a callow boy after all and that being Irish had nothing to do with it. She felt brighter immediately.

She opened her eyes wide. ‘Really?' she said. ‘Why on earth did you get sent down?'

‘Guess.'

‘Smoking tobacco?'

‘Nope. We all smoked like funnels in our school.'

‘Drink then?' said Lindsay. ‘The drink, I expect.'

‘Not the drink either.' He tapped his fingers on the back of the sofa and smirked. ‘I had the reputation of being a bit of a ladies' man.'

‘A ladies' man! Really!' How she kept a straight face Lindsay had no idea. ‘Aren't you a little young to be a ladies' man?'

‘I'm not saying I am and I'm not saying I'm not,' Forbes told her proudly, ‘but when it got out Pa reckoned I should come to Scotland straight away and not be waiting until I was eighteen.'

‘I see,' Lindsay said. ‘Very wise of him, I'm sure.'

‘Mam wrote to Grandfather and he said, “Come.” That's why I'm here. Coming to Glasgow was always on the cards. It's what Mam had planned for me since the day I was born. I was earmarked, you see.'

‘Earmarked?'

‘To follow in Pappy's footsteps.'

‘I see,' said Lindsay, fluttering her eyelashes. ‘Gosh!'

‘You're not makin' fun of me, are you?'

‘Not I,' said Lindsay. ‘Have you told Cissie what you've just told me?'

‘She was fascinated.'

‘I'll bet she was,' said Lindsay. ‘And Martin?'

‘He said we were all born shipbuilders in our family but I should be minding my
Ps
and
Qs
if I really wanted to get ahead.'

‘That seems like sound advice.'

‘I knew you'd be saying that,' Forbes told her. ‘My mam said you'd be sympathetic.'

‘Did your mother suggest that you call here tonight?'

‘She's out having supper with Donald and your pa.'

‘I know,' Lindsay said. ‘That wasn't the question.'

‘Mam ha'nny got a clue I'm here. Not that she'd mind much if she did.' He leaned towards her. Lindsay no longer felt compelled to draw away. ‘I thought I'd drop round, see where you live, and have a wee bit of a crack.'

‘A wee bit of a crack,' said Lindsay, ‘about what?'

He had the decency to pause before he said, ‘Were you at the partners' meeting this morning?'

‘I was.'

‘Did Pappy say anything about me?'

‘Your name was mentioned. Pappy welcomed you into the firm and I believe Mr Harrington, the lawyer, referred to you once or twice.'

‘In what connection would that be?'

‘Concerning the division of shares.'

Another pause: ‘Did he say when I'd get my money?'

‘What money?'

‘My share of the annual profits.'

‘I was under the impression that your mother was representing your interests. She was certainly at the meeting.'

‘I ha'nny – I haven't spoken to Mam yet,' Forbes said. ‘Since you and I are both in the same boat, I thought you might be the best person to ask.'

‘Ah! Yes. Well, neither of us is of an age to draw profits. We'll have to wait until we're twenty-one before we receive our dues.'

‘Jesus!' Forbes let the word slip with a vicious little hiss. Lindsay found the blasphemy shocking. He wriggled, uncrossed his legs, sat forward and clasped her arm. ‘Twenty-one, twenty-one? That's almost four years away.'

‘Meanwhile,' Lindsay said, ‘our profits will be placed in a fund.'

‘Who looks after the fund?'

‘Mr Harrington.'

‘Who's he?'

‘The family's solicitor.'

Forbes tightened his grip. ‘Are you happy with that arrangement?'

‘Apparently it's required by law where juveniles are concerned.'

‘Juveniles! God, is that how they think of us?' Forbes glanced at the door then put an arm about her. ‘At least we're both in it together.'

‘Yes,' Lindsay said. ‘I would be obliged if you would take your arm…'