Unknown (8 page)

He nodded understandingly and drove her to the Kylsaig ferry. She sat in the car with him while they waited for the motor-boat to cross the Sound, and suddenly sadness closed in on her. This was the end of a pleasant friendship, for she would not see Stuart again. There would never be a second visit for her. Sooner or later, Barbara would persuade Andy to leave Kylsaig, and Judith might never come again to Scotland.

Stuart was talking about his plans for the island. “Next time you come, we might have the slipway finished and even have started on the inn.”

“Yes, then it really will be ‘The Pride of Kylsaig,’ ” she answered lightly.

“Not ‘Pride.’ It’s ‘The
Bride
of Kylsaig.’ There’s a legend about—oh, here comes Donald with the boat. I’ll have to tell you the story another time. Goodbye, Judith.” He held her hand in his warm clasp, then leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Don’t forget us too soon. We’ll be glad to welcome you back again.”

Sudden tears blinded her as she stepped into the boat and she blinked them away angrily, furious at her own weakness. She sat in the bows facing him as the gap of water widened and he stood on the slipway waving to her. Not until she and Donald had almost reached the island did Stuart give her a final wave and walk back to his car.

“I suppose Mrs. Greenwood, my sister, has already come home to Kylsaig?” she asked Donald, the ferryman’s son.

“Maybe my father ferried her across,” the lad replied. She took her time walking over the hilly path and down to Andy’s croft, for this was the last time she would see the view from the island, the shimmering Sound, the sun sinking behind the hills. Tomorrow morning Andy would rattle her in the tractor down to the ferry.

Susan gave Judith an eager greeting and hug and her eyes glistened with excitement when she saw the various parcels Judith had brought.

“Where’s everybody?” Judith glanced around the empty living room.

“Oh, Daddy and Robbie are somewhere in the garden. Where’s Mummy? Didn’t she come home with you?”

“No. I went somewhere else. Oh, I expect she’s decided to stay later—something she had to do in Cruban.” Judith went out to the kitchen and started preparing a meal, but tiny apprehensions strayed into her mind like wisps of smoke. Why was Barbara delayed?

Andy came to the door of the kitchen. “Oh, good! You’re home. Robbie and I are starving!”

“Susan dear, would you start laying the table, please?” When the child was out of earshot, Judith spoke casually. “Barbara didn’t come back with me, Andy. I left her after lunch.” She explained briefly her own afternoon outing with Stuart.

“She’s probably stayed to have dinner with friends,” he replied easily.

Judith’s relief lasted throughout the meal and until after she had seen the children to bed. She finished her packing, then rejoined Andy downstairs.

Mairi called in to say goodbye to Judith and when she left, Andy said, “I’ll walk with you as far as the top gate. Barbara’s over on the mainland, so I’ll go down to the ferry and wait for her.”

Alone in the house, except for the two children, Judith walked restlessly from living room to kitchen and back again, unable to settle to anything. When Susan called out for her, she welcomed the opportunity to race upstairs.

“Read me a story, Aunt Judy,” coaxed the child. “I don’t feel a bit sleepy—and tomorrow you won’t be here.”

“All right.” Judith opened the book, glad to do something to take her mind off her growing fears. She continued reading until Susan had fallen asleep.

Half dozing herself, she sat by the bed when sudden barking from Kim aroused her. Andy’s black collie slept in his kennel in the yard.

Judith ran downstairs quickly, but instead of Andy and Barbara, Neil stood there.

“I met Andy, so I took Mairi home,” he explained. “I—I wondered if you might like company until the others come back.”

“Yes. Come in.” She led the way into the living room. “Would you like some coffee?”

He refused and they talked for a while about Kylsaig and other islands, of London theatres and amusements, but Judith was listening with only half her attention. Her ears were on the alert to catch the sound of voices or footsteps outside.

“Will you be coming again to stay with Barbara and Andy?” asked Neil.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she answered vaguely. “Possibly. Some time.”

“I’m not sure that I want you to come here again.”

She turned quickly to face him. He was leaning forward, and again there was that expression of hostility in his dark eyes.

“You
don’t want—why, what have I done?”

“It’s not what you’ve done . . . Judith, I must tell you—”

But she had heard steps on the flagged yard, and Andy came in.

“Barbara hasn’t come back?” The words shot out of him, and almost before Judith had time to shake her head, he went on, “I must take my boat over to Cruban and find out what’s happened. Barbara is never late like this without telling me.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Judith asked.

“Yes, you’d better stay here with the children, but don’t wake them up.”

“Have you telephoned anybody?” Neil asked.

Andy’s face was slightly turned away. “Not yet. Our telephone is out of order, anyway, and I don’t know who would have news.” He swung round towards Judith. “Was she all right when you left her and went off with Stuart?”

She was aware of Neil’s sharp indrawn breath.

“Perfectly all right. Otherwise I should never have gone off without her. I’m sure she intended to come home fairly early.”

Andy looked at his watch. “It’s past eleven now, and anything may have happened. I’d better take a coat for her. She wasn’t wearing one this morning, was she?”

“No. Only a lightweight jacket.” She followed him out to the tiny hall. “Andy, have you thought of telephoning Stuart? Barbara must have been in touch with him about taking me to Port Appin.”

“Her tweed coat doesn’t seem to be here.” Andy was searching among the miscellaneous coats and macs on the pegs.

Ominous, she thought. This looked as though Barbara had made preparations. “Take mine instead.” Judith held it out to him.

“Anything I can do to help?” Neil asked.

Andy considered for a moment. “Yes, if you could phone Stuart from the ferry callbox, that might help. Just say that Barbara hasn’t arrived and has he any idea where she’s likely to be.”

Neil looked first at Judith, then back to Andy. “How will that help if you’ve gone off to Cruban by the time I get Huntly’s answer? That is, if he knows anything.”

Andy frowned with impatient exasperation. “By the time I’ve got my boat started, you’ll be able to walk along the shore to the boatyard and tell me what he says.” He turned towards Judith. “Sorry about this, Judith, especially when you needed an early night. But there’s no need for you to stay up.”

She smiled reassuringly. “All right,” she agreed, although she had no intention of going to bed, but there was no point in arguing. At least she could have hot coffee and food ready when he and, she hoped, her sister returned.

Neil did not immediately follow Andy. He waited until the other man had gone a little distance. “So you spent the afternoon with Huntly?” Neil said coldly.

“Yes, and I enjoyed it very much.” She spoke deliberately and made no attempt at evasion.

When he remained silent, she added, “Should I have refused?”

He shrugged. “You must please yourself. But I think it pleases you very much to have the local laird taking notice of you.”

“Holiday friendships are meant to be enjoyed—while they last,” she said decisively. “After that—”

“And afterwards, I suppose, you boast to your friends of your conquests?”

“When I come on holiday, I don’t set out to conquer. Hadn’t you better go down to the ferry and telephone, or Andy will have arrived in Cruban?”

“Yes, it’s a good opportunity to talk to Huntly.” He was halfway out of the door, then turned. “Maybe it’s as well—for your sake most of all—that your holiday is nearly over.” Then he was gone.

In the silence she pondered over his strange attitude. Why on earth should he be so resentful of everything she did? Surely he wasn’t still harbouring a grievance because of that first meeting when he had, perhaps unintentionally, misdirected her?

Judith crossed the yard and called Kim, the collie indoors for company.

The hours dragged by. When Judith went out to the kitchen to make tea and toast, she saw that daylight had almost come, although at this time of year the northern night was scarcely dark.

She set down the tray in the living room and went out to the front door to look along the path from the ferry.

Neil was approaching from the opposite direction.

“Any news?” he asked.

Judith shook her head. “What did Stuart say?”

“As much in the dark as anyone else—so he says. I phoned Graham Mundon as well, but—”

“Why? How would he know anything? We left there together, Barbara and I.”

Neil gave her a puzzling look. “I thought he might know something, but he confirmed that you and Barbara lunched at his hotel and he hadn’t seen her since.”

“Come in and have some tea. I’ve just made it.”

They sat together for some time, sleepily silent, until the sound of Andy’s voice roused them.

Judith leapt up and raced to the door. Andy would not be talking to himself, so Barbara must be with him. But Stuart came in, followed by Andy.

“Barbara?” queried Judith.

“No news. Nothing.” Andy sank into the nearest chair, and she hurriedly poured tea and put the cup into his shaking hand.

Stuart glared at Neil. “You’re an early visitor, Raeburn.”

“Or perhaps a late one,” Neil snapped back.

Judith noticed the glances between the two men and then received Stuart’s cool gaze at herself.

“This is no time to be discussing visiting hours,” she muttered in a furious, low tone. “Have some tea.”

“Nobody seems to have seen Barbara since you and Stuart left her,” Andy explained. “I went to the Roxburgh, then the railway station—”

“The station? Oh!” Judith gasped.

“What is it? Andy asked. “Is there?—”

“No, nothing, expect that we checked the time for my train tomorrow—this morning, I mean. When we came out of the station, Stuart was waiting.”

But she remembered Barbara’s insistence on checking the train times. Was it possible that she had wanted to make sure of other trains for her own purposes?

She yawned suddenly, and Andy said gently, “Go to bed now, Judith. You ought to get some sleep before you start your journey.”

She went slowly up to the room she shared with Susan, and the child was sitting bolt upright in bed.

“Aunt Judy!” She thrust out her arms and clung tightly to Judith. “Where’s Mummy? She isn’t dead, is she?”

“No, darling, of course not.”

“Then why doesn’t she come home?”

“She’ll be home soon.”

Judith could feel the child’s wet cheek against her own.

“Then you’ve got to stay here until she comes. You will, won’t you?” Susan’s tear-bright eyes searched her aunt’s face.

Judith nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She tucked the rumpled bedclothes around Susan’s wriggling body.

“You won’t go back to London? Promise?”

“I’ll stay here today anyway.”

Judith paused before descending the stairs again. It was no use trying to sleep, she decided. Barbara had begged her to remain all the summer on Kylsaig, but surely she had not chosen this last day of the holiday to disappear so that Judith might be forced to stay.

Graham’s words echoed in Judith’s ear. “Don’t worry. Everything will be all right . . ." What was the plan that was going to be all right? Yet that might be no more than the simple task of persuading Andy to accept the job that Graham wanted to offer, the job that would provide Barbara’s escape from a life she disliked.

Stuart and Neil had already left and Andy was alone in the kitchen, his head propped in his hands. In the dim light of dawn, his face looked haggard and grey. Judith put her arm across his shoulders.

“I didn’t ask when the others were here, but did you go to the police?” she asked quietly.

“Stuart suggested it, but I thought I’d wait a few hours. Now, God forgive me, it may be a mistake, and perhaps I ought to have told them. Barbara may be anywhere, ill—unable to help herself—”

She understood his reluctance. No man is over-eager to admit that his wife has disappeared.

“Let’s have some breakfast,” she suggested. “Then you’ll feel better able to tackle what to do next.”

He stumbled to his feet. “Yes. I don’t feel able to eat, but you must have your own breakfast. Then I’ll carry your suitcases down to the ferry and you can come when you’re ready.”

“I’m not going, Andy.”

Startled by her quiet decisiveness, he swung round to face her. “But you can’t do that. There’s your job—”

“I’ll write out a telegram and somebody can send it for me to my store.”

“Judy, I can’t let you do this—just for us,” he protested.

“There are the children. They need someone here until we know—what has happened.”

“I could send them to Mairi Drummond, or maybe the McKinnons would take them for a few days.”

“No, Andy. They’re better in their own home, and I’m going to stay here at least until the week-end. After that, we’ll see.”

She persuaded him to eat some food, then gave him the scribbled message to pass on to the ferryman’s wife at the post-office.

“If I have any news, I’ll telephone the ferry and someone will find a way to let you know,” he promised before he went once more to the mainland.

Robbie and Susan were both up early and unwilling to go to school, but Judith persuaded them at least to get ready.

Susan, extremely subdued, watched every movement that Judith made.

“When we’ve gone to school, you’ll go away and leave us,” she said quietly.

“No, darling. I promised to stay today.”

Robbie made a practical suggestion. “Look, if I went down to the ferry instead of going to school, I’d know if there was any news and then I could come and tell you, Aunt Judy.”