The River Flows On (30 page)

When Kate asked him how they could afford either of these, he went rather red and mumbled something about having been saving up for a while. When she pressed the point, he admitted that he’d had a savings account at the Post Office for the past three years.

Darting a quick glance up at her from where he sat in the armchair by the range - her father being at the pub and Lily and the rest of the children downstairs at the Baxters’ discussing the food for the wedding celebration - he had gone on to tell her that he’d called this nest egg his ‘marrying Kate’ account.

Kate, in the process of putting the kettle onto the range, raised her eyebrows at that one and gave him a look her mother would have been proud of. The heavy kettle safely set to boil, she folded her arms over her chest and said, ‘And what if I’d said no the second time? Would this have been your ‘marrying some other lassie’ account?’

Half-amused, half-angry, she stood there tapping her foot, waiting for his answer. When it came, it took her breath away.

‘There’s only ever been you for me, Kate. If you’d kept on saying no, the money would have been my ‘taking my broken heart off to sea’ account.’ He reached out for her, pulling her down to sit on his knee. ‘Give us a kiss,’ he said, ‘before the hordes come back and we start another of those conversations about how much shortbread your Ma’s making and how many empire biscuits mine is.’

He was trying to lighten the conversation, but Kate knew full well that he was deadly serious. When Robbie Baxter made up his mind to do something, there was no shifting him. He would have gone to sea - especially after Barbara’s death. She’d only just caught him. The thought gave her the queerest little flutter of panic, not all related to her predicament.

He bent forward to kiss her, but she laid a hand flat against his chest to stop him.

‘I know it’s just a single end we’ve got, but d’you think maybe Jessie could stay with us now and again? Would you mind?’

He put his hand round the back of her neck, lifting the ends of her bobbed hair. ‘I wouldn’t mind,’ he said. ‘But not all the time, eh? I’m looking forward to getting you to myself. Being able to kiss you as much as I like, whenever I like. Among other things,’ he murmured, giving Kate a long slow smile.

That smile - and the twinkle in the grey eyes which went with it - gave Kate goosebumps. How odd it seemed to be contemplating doing that with Robbie. Embarrassing, even. She thought of him as a brother. He would expect it, though, of course he would. And she had to let him do it. Otherwise there would be no point at all to this deception.

Robbie wore his Sunday suit for the occasion and Kate a new print dress. It was a simple little yellow cotton frock, nothing at all like the dress he had bought for her. She’d given that to a delighted Pearl, on condition she didn’t wear it at the wedding. Robbie bought Kate a string of glass beads as a wedding gift.

‘One day I’ll buy you pearls,’ he told her, lifting the long strand over her head, smooth in her little cloche hat. ‘I know how you like bonnie things.’

‘These are bonnie things,’ she assured him, touching the smooth, cold globes. They were dark green, almost exactly the same colour as the beautiful vase Esme MacGregor and Frances Noble had given her when they called the night before the wedding to offer their best wishes.

Kate’s heart had sunk when she had opened the door to them. She had taken the coward’s way out by sending them a letter informing them of her forthcoming wedding. She had told them of another letter too, one she had tried, and failed, not to cry over. It had been to the Art School, formally giving up any claim to the second half of the grant and stating that she would not be returning to the part-time classes when they resumed in the autumn. Maybe someone else could get some use out of the bursary.

Expecting reproaches, feeling that the two women who’d done so much to encourage her were perfectly entitled to make them, Kate had been enormously relieved when Miss Noble had simply handed over the gift and wished her all the best for the future.

She’d even managed to derive some secret amusement from the way Robert Baxter, a man grown, had leapt to his feet at the sight of his old teacher, standing to attention and only just managing not to salute her, the traditional way generations of boys had greeted their schoolmistresses each morning.

‘I trust, Robert,’ said Miss Noble, ‘that you are still reading as much as you used to.’

‘Oh yes, Miss Noble, I’m the library’s best customer. I’m reading a lot of poetry at the moment.’

They had gone off into a discussion on the relative merits of Keats, Shelley, Byron and Burns, interrupted only when Esmé MacGregor caught her friend’s eye.

‘Ah yes,’ said Frances Noble, stopping in mid-flow. ‘Miss MacGregor and I have something we wish to say to you, Robert - apart, of course, from congratulating you on your forthcoming nuptials.’

Impatient with this shilly-shallying, Esmé broke in. She drew herself up to. her full height - which was a good foot less than Robbie’s. The contrast between the tall young man and the short middle-aged woman should have looked absurd. It didn’t. Fixing Robbie with a piercing stare, Esmé prepared to do battle.

‘Young man, are you aware that your wife-to-be is a very gifted artist?’

Kate shifted uncomfortably and Robbie cleared his throat.

‘I am indeed, Miss MacGregor.’ His voice was grave. ‘I’m very proud of Kate’s talent and I see absolutely no reason why she shouldn’t continue to develop as an artist - through classes, or through practice. I shall certainly put no obstacles in her way. Quite the reverse. I intend to encourage her as much as possible.’

Kate looked at him in surprise. That little speech hadn’t sounded at all like the Robbie Baxter she knew. Could it be that there was a man she didn’t know hidden behind the years of childhood friendship? One who had grown up in this last year while the two of them had been slowly drifting apart? It was an intriguing thought.

Esmé MacGregor was looking intently up at Robbie, studying his face. Whatever she saw there seemed to satisfy her. She gave a funny little nod, then stuck out her hand.

‘In that case, young man, I congratulate you most heartily.’

They shook hands solemnly. Miss Noble came forward, smiling, and kissed first Kate and then Robbie, who went bright pink. Then Agnes Baxter opened one of the two bottles of sherry she’d bought for the wedding and they all drank to the future.

Theirs was not the only awkward visit Kate endured. Marjorie also called, bearing Kate’s pottery and paintings from the Art School, condolences from her mother and herself to Agnes Baxter on Barbara’s death, and congratulations - and a set of fluffy white towels - to Kate and Robbie. She also had some news of her own in that department, she told Kate with a smile. Her left hand was adorned with a beautiful diamond ring.

That was the day Kate discovered a hitherto unsuspected talent for acting - born out of sheer desperation, she supposed. She did, it was true, have a few moments to collect herself while the assembled womenfolk oohed and aahed over Marjorie’s ring, although that brief respite turned out to have a sting in the tail. Pearl, eager for details, elicited the information that Marjorie’s fiancé had popped the question when they had both been guests at a house party near Dumfries.

‘The weekend after we broke up from Art School,’ she told the girl, laughing at Pearl’s enthusiasm.

The weekend after he had made love to Kate. I may be broke, but not that broke. Obviously not too broke to find the money for a ring for Marjorie either - an investment in his future, no doubt. Just in time, Kate stopped herself from allowing her reactions to show on her face. Robbie was watching her, his dark brows drawn together in the way he had when he was trying to puzzle something out. She remembered the question he had put to her. Is it your feelings that have changed? Or his? Kate leaped to her feet and shook Marjorie by the hand.

‘Congratulations,’ she said brightly, ‘and please give Jack my best wishes too.’ There. Her voice hadn’t even wavered when she had said his name. Marjorie stood up and threw her arms around Kate’s neck.

‘Oh, Kate! We’re both going to be married ladies. Just imagine! Only I’ve got to wait until next February - a winter wedding.’ She beamed at Kate. I’ll tell you all about the arrangements when we start back at the Art School in September. You are coming back to the class, Kate, aren’t you?’ She shot an anxious glance at Robbie. ‘There’s no reason why a married woman shouldn’t take a class, don’t you think so, Mr Baxter?’

It’s not him who’s going to stop me, Marjorie, thought Kate, he’s not that kind of a man. I won’t be coming back to college because I’ll be having a baby - just about the time you and Jack Drummond are getting married.

She saw Marjorie downstairs. Should she say something? Tell her to be careful, that she might be making a terrible mistake? As they walked out of the close onto the pavement, Kate saw that a group of excited children were gathered around Marjorie’s car. Her friend turned and smiled. Happiness had transformed her plain features. She looked almost beautiful.

‘Do you want to have children, Kate? I know I do.’ She turned and hugged her once more. ‘I’m so happy,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am to be marrying Jack. I hope you’re just the same with your Robert.’

Neil Cameron cried as he gave his daughter away.

‘Chicken-hearted!’ scoffed Lily afterwards, repeating the words to anyone who cared to listen. Kate didn’t think her father was chicken-hearted. She found a moment during the wedding breakfast to have a quiet word with him. He was in the front room, sitting by himself at the window.

‘Are you all right, Daddy?’ she asked, looking at the glass of whisky in his hand, and wondering how many he’d had.

He looked up at his daughter, and lifted his free hand to her. She took it between her own. Such a large hand, but still fine-boned and delicate, despite the calluses and hard skin which his work had put there.

‘Aye, my lassie, I’m fine.’ His eyes creased at the corners. ‘Well I suppose you’re not my lassie any more, you’re Robbie’s lassie.’ There was a catch in his voice.

‘I’ll always be your lassie,’ she said, looking intently into his soft green eyes, so like her own, and willing him to know how much she loved him. She wished she could just have told him, simply have leaned forward and kissed his forehead, but things weren’t done that way in the Cameron household. Lily had the Scottish dislike of public displays of affection in full measure, and she’d inculcated it into her family.

‘Ready, Mrs Baxter?’ came a voice in her ear. Robbie, smiling broadly, put his hand on her back. She could feel the warmth of his fingers through the thin dress, splayed out over her back. He’s taking possession of me, she thought, staking his claim. She turned to him, uncomfortably aware of his closeness.

‘It’s not time to go yet, is it?’ She hoped she didn’t sound as panicky as she felt. In a few hours’ time, they were going to have to get closer still. She might still be her father’s daughter, but she was about to become her husband’s wife.

Neil Cameron rose slowly to his feet and extended his hand to Robbie.

‘You take care of my girl now, Robert.’

Robbie shook his new father-in-law firmly by the hand. ‘You can depend upon it, Mr Cameron.’

Chapter 18

Kate was coming slowly out of sleep, the events and images of the day before replaying themselves in her head: Robbie, so proud and happy, slipping the simple gold band onto her finger; her father - proud too, but sad to lose his wee girl; her mother, relieved that they’d pulled it off; her own sick realization during the wedding ceremony of what she was doing; her unhappiness at how she was fooling Robbie - a man she cared for deeply - a man she did not love as one should love a husband.

Then there had been the sail ‘doon the watter’ from Craigendoran: the little steamer chugging her way through the waves, the magnificent scenery of the Firth of Clyde, its hills and sea lochs and islands, the gulls following the boat. There had been a wee laddie with his grandparents who’d fed his piece to the gulls, shrieking with delight as the birds swooped low to snatch the pieces of bread from his outstretched fingers. At any other time Kate would have relished it all - the sights, the sounds, the fresh air on her face, the sea breeze lifting her hair.