Unknown (8 page)

‘Time to get dressed, Melanie,' Rachel greeted her. Melanie responded by turning her head and gazing at Rachel. Then she studied her shorts and T-shirt, neatly folded on the chair by her bed.

‘Come along, now. We haven’t all day to waste,' Rachel spoke kindly but firmly.

Melanie slid from her perch and went to the chest of drawers beside her bed, where she rummaged for a few moments before selecting a dress of identical gingham to Rachel’s.

‘That’s nice,' Rachel commented. ‘It’s just like mine.'

A pleased expression crossed Melanie’s face—it could hardly be called a smile—and she smoothed the dress carefully as she put it on.

They spent the morning at the playroom table, where Rachel tried to assess the little girl’s capabilities. She had decided that mornings should be set aside for ‘school’ at first, gradually increasing the time as Melanie progressed. It was hard work. Melanie refused to draw, refused even to hold a pencil, and at last Rachel resorted to a bag of old building bricks she found in a cupboard, counting them into piles and labelling them
with the appropriate numbers. By the end of the morning she was more exhausted than she would have thought possible and depressed because she had failed to make any headway at all. It was like trying to teach a brick wall, she reflected, packing the building bricks back into their bag while Melanie looked on, not even offering to hold the bag open for her.

Before going in to lunch Rachel slipped outside for a breath of fresh air. Ben was just on his way back to the barn.

‘It’s my afternoon off today,' he said. ‘And a lovely day at that. Would you and Melanie like to come with me for a picnic at Eilean Dorcha?’

Rachel frowned, puzzled. ‘Eilean Dorcha?’ she repeated.

‘The little island by the lighthouse that I showed you the other day. Don’t you remember?’

‘Oh, yes. But I didn’t know that was what it was called. At least, if you told me I’d forgotten.’ Rachel smiled. ‘I’d love to go there for a picnic.’

‘Good. I'll see you about two o’clock, then.’

After lunch Rachel packed a picnic, changed into jeans and a check shirt and made sure Melanie did the same. She was just stowing the picnic in the Mini when Ben arrived and they set off.

It was a glorious day. The sun was brilliant and there was not a cloud to be seen. The mountains all around stood green and brown, sharply contoured against the bright blue sky. Here and there a waterfall on the mountainside glistened in the brightness, for all the world like a giant snail tracking down the mountainside.

Rachel drove, at Ben’s insistence, and he sat beside her, with Melanie bouncing in the back, excited to be going out with her beloved Ben. They drove straight through Ardenbeg and took the road to Dunglevin, Ben telling her that the road to the lighthouse would branch off this road about a mile out of the town. He had hardly said this when Melanie, realising they were on the Dunglevin road, suddenly flung her arms round Ben’s neck, nearly choking him. She was trembling with fear and her face was like parchment.

‘Hey, hey, little one, what’s wrong?’ Ben extricated himself with difficulty from Melanie’s clasp. ‘What’s frightened you?’ He gazed all around him. ‘Can you see what’s scared her, Rachel?’ he asked.

‘No. I can’t see anything at all.’ Rachel was puzzled. She couldn’t understand it. What could have struck such terror into the child?

Once out of Ardenbeg the houses had thinned and on one side of the road, beyond a narrow stretch of marshland, lay the loch, while on the other rose the sheer side of the mountain. It was very strange.

She drove on, with Ben making soothing noises to calm Melanie, until she came to the turning on to the lower coast road. Immediately, Melanie relaxed. She was still deathly pale, but her terror seemed to subside. Rachel frowned. What could strike such terror into the child at the thought of going to Dunglevin? It could only have been that that frightened her, because as soon as they turned off the Dunglevin road her fear had subsided. Surely the speech therapist wasn’t such a dragon!

The road followed very roughly the shore of the loch, gradually degenerating into little more than a cart track through the undergrowth. Rachel was just beginning to wonder if in fact they had come too far or somehow missed the way when the track widened into a clearing and there was the island, Eilean Dorcha, less than a quarter of a mile away, dark green against the blue of the loch.

They all got out of the car. There seemed to be a tiny natural harbour here and two or three boats were moored between the island and the mainland, which seemed to curve round in a promontory thick with trees and bushes, ending in a rocky tip on which the lighthouse stood. Taking the picnic basket and a rug they found their way through the undergrowth to the lighthouse. It was tiny, little more than fifteen feet high and quite derelict. Rachel kicked off her sandals and rolled up her jeans to her knees. Melanie watched her for a moment and then followed suit; Ben was already wearing shorts. Then for an hour or more the three of them clambered over the rocks, watching the fishes dart in the clear, deep water, exploring the rock pools and watching tiny crabs scuttle for cover. Rachel and Ben talked encouragingly to Melanie all the while and soon the colour returned to her cheeks. Once or twice the little girl’s face darkened with jealousy when Ben gave Rachel a helping hand over difficult rocks, but soon she forgot this in her absorption.

They ate their picnic sitting on the rocks, Ben leaning his back against the rock on which Rachel was sitting, Melanie close beside him. He was very good with the little girl, Rachel observed; he talked to her all the time, but he never seemed to expect, indeed, he never encouraged her to talk back. Rachel couldn’t help wondering why her aunt was so antagonistic towards Ben.

When they had finished eating Melanie went off by herself to explore the lighthouse; clearly she had come to realise that Rachel was no threat to her friendship with Ben. Rachel packed the basket with Ben looking
‘Do you like it in these parts, Rachel?’ he asked, idly tossing a stone into the water.

‘Very much.’ She paused in the act of packing the last item. ‘It’s all so quiet and peaceful.’

‘You’re looking very much better.’ Ben looked up at her from the rock on which he was sitting and the expression in his eyes made her blush. ‘I’m sorry about Rose’s accident, but I’m glad it’s given you an excuse to stay on here.’

She stood up quickly. ‘Where’s Melanie? I’m not sure that it’s good for her to go off on her own. She could easily get lost and she can’t call us to let us know where she is.’ She spoke quickly to cover her embarrassment.

Ben stood up, too. As he stood on a rock below her his face was on a level with hers. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly, full on the lips. ‘That’s to say thank you for a pleasant afternoon,’ he said softly.

It was nothing more than a friendly kiss, but Rachel felt uneasy, particularly as, looking over his shoulder, she saw, just passing the island, a fishing boat, the
Celia
, with a tall dark man at the wheel. Wasn’t
Celia
the name of Richard’s boat? And wasn’t the man at the wheel Richard himself?

Somehow, for Rachel, all the brightness had gone out of the day.

A few days later Alistair surprised Rachel by saying at the breakfast table, ‘I shall be going into Dunglevin this afternoon to visit Rose. If you’d care to come with me you’re very welcome. No doubt Ben will be happy to look after Melanie for a few hours.’

‘Thank you, I’d like to come,’ Rachel replied. Alistair got up from the table and left, absent-mindedly patting Melanie’s head as he passed her chair. Rachel was puzzled. He hadn’t even spoken to his granddaughter, yet Richard insisted that he was opposed to her being sent away to school. But if he always took as little notice of her as that what possible difference could it make to him whether she was in the house or not?

As always Rachel and Melanie spent the morning at the playroom table. The child was intelligent, Rachel had no doubt on that score. But it was just as if the child had put a shutter up between herself and the rest of the world and so far Rachel could find no chink in it.

Richard and Alistair were both at lunch, prepared by a woman from the clachan, Mrs Munroe, who, it seemed, would be acting as cook in Rose's absence.

‘How can I deputise for you? I know nothing whatever about the soil on Isaac’s Farm,’ Richard was saying as Rachel entered the dining room with Melanie. ‘Why can’t Ben do it?’

‘Because it’s not Ben’s job.’ Alistair helped himself to vegetables. ‘I’d forgotten the soil analysis man was coming this afternoon when I arranged to take Rachel to see Rose in hospital. Quite forgotten. But if you’d deputise for me ....’

‘I have my own business to run. I’m taking a fishing party round Lamont Point this afternoon. In any case, I know absolutely nothing about soil analysis.’ Richard shook open his napkin and picked up his knife and fork, putting an end to the discussion. ‘But why can’t Rachel go alone?’ he asked as an afterthought. ‘She drives the Mini. And the road to Dunglevin is clearly marked. She's not likely to miss her way.’

‘Would you do that, lassie?’ Alistair asked anxiously. ‘I’d not want to disappoint Rose, but we've been waiting for this analysis laddie for months, I’d not want to miss him, either.’

‘Yes, of course,' Rachel smiled at Alistair. At that moment she felt a surge of pity for him at Richard’s complete indifference and lack of co-operation. It must be a sad disappointment to the older man.

As for Richard, he ate his lunch, and with barely an apology excused himself and left, saying he had to prepare the boat for the afternoon trip.

After lunch Rachel took Melanie to find Ben, who was stacking logs in a far corner of the barn.

‘She’ll be happy enough here with me,’ Ben smiled. ‘I’ll see she comes to no harm.’

Rachel found the drive to Dunglevin interesting. She drove through Ardenbeg and over the high road by the loch, then the road wound sometimes between the mountains, sometimes over them. The scenery was breathtaking in its grandeur, but nowhere could it match the view Ben had shown her from the vantage point on the scenic road above the loch and she resolved to stop there again on the way home. The hospital, directions for which Alistair had given her most explicitly, was on the far side of Dunglevin and she had no difficulty whatsoever in finding it.

Rose was lying flat on her back. She insisted that as long as she remained still she was in no pain and although her face was pale she was losing the lines of strain and tiredness. Rachel saw, with something of a shock, that her aunt had been a striking-looking woman in her younger days.

Inevitably, it was not long before the conversation turned to Melanie.

‘I’m glad you’re going to look after her, my girl,’ Rose said, ‘but are you sure that it’s the right thing for you to do?’ Her eyes searched her niece’s face. ‘After all, you only came here for a holiday. Will you not be wanting to get back to your own home? In fact,’ she put a hand up to Rachel’s arm, ‘are you sure you’re not using this as an excuse
not
to go home and face things?’

Rachel was silent for a long time. She could think of Keith and the life they would have had together quite dispassionately now. The time they had had together would always be a valuable part of her life, but she had come to terms with her loss, her life had moved on. The fact that she had become infatuated by Richard Duncan was surely proof of that. And it
was
only infatuation, she told herself sternly. The tempestuous feelings that Richard aroused in her bore no resemblance to the steady, warm glow of affection she had shared with Keith.

She turned to her aunt. ‘I love it here in Scotland,’ she said, simply. ‘But I’m not running away from life by staying here, please don’t think that.’

Rose nodded contentedly. ‘It’s good to have you near me. It'll be good for Melanie, too. I’ve tried ....’ She sighed. ‘She needs affection, that’s half the trouble. It’s something I’ve never been very good at showing, somehow. I’m short with her when I know I shouldn’t be, I realise that.’

‘It’s understandable. She’s not an easy child to deal with.’

‘That’s no excuse. I’ve failed her. Poor lamb, she needs someone to show her they love her in a way I could never bring myself to do. Lying here with time on my hands and looking back over the years I can see that that’s what’s wrong with her. She‘s starved of affection.’

Alistair's fond of her, in his way,’ Rachel said thoughtfully.

’Yes, he’s prepared to give her anything in the world —except his time.’

‘And Richard. Surely he .....’

‘Richard can never accept that he could have fathered a less than perfect child. Melanie embarrasses him,’ Rose said shrewdly. ‘He simply doesn’t know how to treat her.’

‘She certainly seems happiest when she’s with Ben,’ Rachel mused. ‘And he never minds having her with him.’

‘That’s what worries me more than anything. Melanie should never be allowed to spend so much time with Ben.’ Rose spoke vehemently. ‘Oh, don’t misunderstand me. He would never let any harm come to her, he’s very fond of her, I’m sure of that. But .....’

‘You think she’s substituting Ben for her mother in some way? Looking to him for affection she had from Celia?’

Rose snorted. ‘She never
had
any affection from her mother. Celia didn’t want her and took no interest in her when she’d got her. All
she
thought about was having a good time. The different men ....’ Suddenly she sighed. ‘Oh, what’s the use? It’s all in the past, why rake it up? Best let it lie forgotten.’ She closed her eyes wearily. ‘It was good of you to come and see me, my girl. You’ll come again, won't you?’

‘Of course I will.’ Rachel leaned over and kissed her aunt. ‘Often.’

She left Rose then, seeing how the visit had tired her, and took the opportunity to explore the town of Dunglevin a little, since there was no immediate urgency for her to return to Glencarrick, and go over in her mind what Rose had told her. She made a few leisurely purchases and had a look at the ruined castle on the hill before having tea at a quiet little teashop where the waitress had a motherly face and a soft Scottish burr as she offered, ‘Scones or teacakes?’