Emily (9 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

    LOOKING back on a time of intense unhappiness, one fortunately remembers very little. Our marriage was into injury time. Somehow we got through Christmas and the next month; hardly speaking, licking our wounds, yet still putting up a front to the outside world. Over and over I made plans to leave, but could never quite bring myself to. In spite of everything I still loved Rory.

    February brought snow, turning the island into a place of magic.

    Coco’s ankle recovered and she decided to give a birthday party for Buster.

    Rory went to Glasgow for the night to stock up with paint, but was due back at lunchtime on the day of the party.

    I went to sleep and had the most terrible nightmare about Marina and Rory, lying tangled in each other’s arms, asleep on the floor. I woke up in floods of tears, with the moon in my eyes and the screaming horrors in my mind. I groped for Rory beside me, and then remembered he wasn’t there. I was too frightened to go back to sleep again. I got up and cleaned the house from top to toe (my charwoman had been off for several weeks with rheumatism), and spent hours cooking Rory a gorgeous lunch to welcome him home. Then I went out and bought two bottles of really good wine. From now on I decided I was going to make a last effort to save my marriage.

    At twelve o’clock the telephone rang. It was Rory. He was still in Glasgow. He’d be back later, in time for Coco’s party.

    ‘Why bother to come back home at all?’ I said, and slammed down the telephone, all my good resolutions gone to pot. How the hell was I to fill in the time until he got back? I refused to cry. I decided to drive into Penlorren and buy Buster a present.

    Two miles from home I suddenly realized I’d come out without my purse, and decided to turn round and get it. The road was icy and inches deep in snow. My U-turn was disastrously unsuccessful. The next thing, I was stuck across the road, the wheels whirring up snow every time I pressed the accelerator.

    Suddenly, round the corner, a dark blue car came hurtling towards me at breakneck speed. It was upon me, it must crash into me. There was no stopping it.

    It was all over in a flash. The dark blue car swung miraculously to the right, its mudguard only scraping the front of my car, and came to a halt in a little ditch just beyond.

    Trust my luck. It was my old enemy Finn Maclean who got out of the car, all red hair and lowered black brows, jaw corners and narrow, infuriated eyes. ‘What the blazes do you think…’ he began, then he realized it was me, took a deep breath and said, ‘God, I might have known.’

    He looked me over in a way that made me feel very small, and hot and uncomfortable.

    ‘I couldn’t help it,’ I blurted out, still shaking from shock.

    ‘That’s what I’m complaining of,’ he said wearily. ‘I’m sure you couldn’t help it, only an imbecile would have attempted to turn a car round here.’

    ‘I’ve said I’m sorry,’ I said, colouring hotly. ‘Anyway, you were driving much too fast and my car skidded. No one could have moved it.’

    ‘Get out,’ said Finn brusquely.

    I got out. He got in and turned the car immediately. Then he got out and held the door open for me.

    ‘It’s quite easy,’ he said, infuriatingly. ‘You were just using too much choke.’

    It was the last straw. I got into the car, just looked at him and burst into tears; then, crashing the gears, I roared off home. God knows how I got back with the whole countryside swimming with tears.

    I don’t know how long I cried, but long enough to make me look as ugly as sin. Then I noticed the potted plant Coco had given me for Christmas. It looked limp and dejected.

    ‘Needs a bit of love and attention, like me,’ I said dismally, and getting up, I got a watering can and gave it some water.

    Then I remembered someone had once told me if you watered rush mats it brought out the green. I heard a step. I must have left the door open. Hoping by some miracle it might be Rory, I looked up. It was Finn Maclean.

    ‘Don’t you come cat-footing in here,’ I snarled.

    Then I realized how stupid it must look, me standing there watering carpets in the middle of the drawing-room.

    ‘I’m not quite off my rocker,’ I said weakly. ‘It’s meant to bring out the green in the rushes.’

    Finn began to laugh.

    ‘Whenever I see you you’re either tearing up roses with your teeth, trying to block the traffic, or watering carpets. How come you’re such a nutcase?’

    ‘I don’t know,’ I muttered. ‘I think I was dropped as an adult.’

    ‘You’re going to water the whole floor in a minute,’ he said, taking the watering can away from me.

    For a minute he looked at me consideringly. Aware how puffy and red my eyes were, I gazed at my feet. Then he said, ‘I came to apologize for biting your head off this morning. I was tired, I hadn’t been to bed. Still, it was no excuse, and I’m sorry.’

    I was so surprised I sat down on the sofa.

    ‘That’s all right,’ I said, ‘I had a lousy night too, otherwise I wouldn’t have cried.’

    ‘Where’s Rory?’

    ‘In Glasgow.’

    ‘I’m going over to Mullin this afternoon to see a patient, why don’t you come too?’

    ‘I get sick on planes,’ I said quickly.

    ‘You can’t land a plane there. I’m taking the speedboat. I’ll pick you up in half an hour. We needn’t talk if we don’t want to.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

    IT was a beautiful day: the sun shone and the hills glittered like mountains of salt against an arctic blue sky. The gloom was still on me as we ploughed over the dark green water, but I found it easier to endure, particularly when I found Finn and I could talk or not talk, with a reasonable amount of ease. When we moored and I leapt on to the landing-stage, he caught me, and his hands were steady and reassuring like a man used to handling women.

    As we walked up the mountainside to a little grey farmhouse, the bracken glittered white like ostrich feathers of purest glass, snow sparkled an inch on every leaf, icicles hung four feet deep. Suddenly, an old woman, her arm in plaster, came running out of an outhouse beside the farm.

    ‘Doctor!’ she screamed, ‘thank God ye’ve come, it’s me wee cow.’

    ‘Careful, you’ll slip,’ said Finn, taking her good arm. ‘What’s the matter with her?’

    ‘She’s started calving and things dinna look too well. Angus went to the mainland for help, but he’s not back yet.’

    ‘I’ll have a look at her,’ said Finn, going into the outhouse.

    A terrified, moaning, threshing cow was lying in the corner.

    ‘Easy now,’ said Finn soothingly, and went up to her. He had a look then called, ‘She’s pretty far gone, Bridget.’

    The old woman promptly started crying and wailing that it was their only cow.

    ‘Go back to the house,’ Finn told her, ‘I’ll do what I can. You’ll only be a hindrance with that arm. Come on,’ he added to me, ‘you can help.’

    ‘I can’t,’ I squeaked. ‘I don’t know anything about cows. Shall I take the boat back to the island and get help?’

    ‘It’s too late,’ said Finn, rolling up his sleeves. As he spoke, another spasm of pain convulsed the cow. ‘Oh, all right,’ I said sulkily. ‘Tell me what to do.’

    ‘Hold these,’ said Finn, ‘and when I say "Pull", pull hard.’

    ‘Gawd,’ I muttered. ‘What a way to spend Thursday.’ On the trampled straw, by lamplight, we worked together, Finn giving the directions, trying to spare me as much as possible, yet twice unable to save me getting knocked down in the filthy straw.

    We didn’t talk. Our task was too grim and too desperate. I realized he combined immense physical strength with gentleness. He knew how to be kind. The tortured animal trusted him. I found a strange satisfaction in doing what he told me.

    At last, filthy, reeking and utterly exhausted, we stared at each other across the two animals. A thin, long-legged calf lay on the straw, its mother languidly licking its face.

    ‘Oh, isn’t it sweet!’ I said, tears pricking my eyelids.

    Finn brushed the sweat off his face with a sleeve.

    ‘Well done,’ he said. I felt as though he’d given me the Nobel Prize. ‘Come inside and have a wash. Bridget’ll give us a cup of tea.’

    On the boat home he said, ‘You look absolutely whacked.’

    ‘It isn’t often I spend the afternoon playing midwife to a cow,’ I said.

    ‘Come along to the surgery tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I’d like to have a look at you.’

    I blushed, absurdly flattered at his concern.

    ‘How’s the hospital going?’ I asked.

    ‘Fine. Three wards completed already.’

    ‘You must be run off your feet.’

    He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ve got a new intern starting next week which’ll help.’

    ‘What’s he like?’

    ‘It’s a she.’

    ‘Oh,’ I said, momentarily nonplussed. ‘What’s she like?’

    ‘Very attractive. I chose her myself.’

    ‘For yourself?’

    ‘Bit early to tell. I’m a romantic, I suppose. All part of the Celtic hang-up. I don’t think the man-woman thing should be conducted on a rabbit level.’

    The lights were coming on in Penlorren now, pale in the fading light. I felt stupidly displeased at the thought of some glamorous woman doctor working with Finn. I saw her with slim ankles, and not a hair out of place, white coat open to show an ample cashmere bosom.

    ‘What happened to your marriage?’ I asked.

    ‘My wife liked having a Harley Street husband, and giving little dinner parties in the suburbs with candlelight and sparkling wine.’

    ‘Oh dear,’ I said, giggling. Not quite your forté?’

    ‘On the contrary, I look very good by candlelight. It was my fault as much as hers. She was beautiful, capable and absolutely bored me to death. I married her without really knowing her. Most people don’t love human beings anyway. They just love an idealized picture in their heads.’

    I looked at his face, softened now. I’ve never liked red hair, but Finn’s was very dark and thick and grew beautifully close to his head. I’ve never liked freckles either, or broken noses, but he had extraordinary eyes, yellow, flecked, with thick black lashes, and his mouth, now it wasn’t set in its usual hard line, was beautiful. The wind was blowing his trousers against his hard, muscular legs. He was in great shape, too. In spite of his size, he moved about the boat like a cat.

    ‘Are you coming to Coco’s party tonight?’ I asked.

    ‘I might,’ he said. ‘Depends what’s up at the hospital.’

    ‘Please come,’ I said, then blushed. ‘I mean, if you’re not too busy.’

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

    RORY was in the bath when I got back, wearing my bath cap but still managing to look absurdly handsome.

    ‘Come in,’ he said. ‘I’m indecent. Where have you been?’

    ‘Out and about,’ I said. ‘Can I have that bath after you?’

    I went into the bedroom. I didn’t want to tell him about Finn.

    He followed me, dripping from the bath.

    ‘Where’s my white silk shirt?’ he asked.

    ‘Oh, er, I’m glad you asked that question.’

    ‘Is this it?’ he said pulling a crumpled pink rag of a shirt out of the pillowcase of washing on the bed. ‘Well, it could be,’ I said.

    ‘God,’ said Rory. He went on pulling crumpled pink shirts out like a conjurer whipping out coloured handkerchiefs. ‘How do you manage it?’ he asked.

    ‘I left one of my red silk scarves in the machine by mistake,’ I said, miserably.

    ‘Next time you want to do some dyeing, just count me out,’ he said, and starting to get dressed, he put both feet into one leg of his underpants and fell over, which didn’t improve his temper.

    ‘How was Edinburgh?’ I said, knowing that Marina had her singing lesson there once a fortnight.

    He paused a second too long. ‘I’ve been to Glasgow,’ he said, evenly.

    Rubbed raw with rancour, we arrived at the party. It was a dazzling affair, all the locals done up to the eyeballs in wool tweed. I was wearing about a quarter as much clothing as everyone else.

    ‘Pretty as a picture,’ said Buster, coming and squeezing me.

    ‘Happy Birthday,’ said Rory. ‘I thought of buying you a book, Buster, but I knew you’d already got one.’

    I heard someone laugh behind us. It was Marina, looking ravishing in a high-necked, amber wool dress with long sleeves. I’d forgotten about her being so beautiful. Since Christmas, she had become, in my tortured imagination, a sort of man-eating gorgon, with snakes writhing in her hair and corpses strewn about her feet. She smiled into Rory’s eyes and went over to say hello to Coco.

    Even the high-necked dress couldn’t conceal two dark bruises under her chin.

    ‘She’s got love bites all over her neck,’ I hissed at Rory out of the corner of my mouth.

    ‘I suppose you recognize the teeth marks,’ he hissed back.

    ‘Well, they couldn’t be Hamish’s,’ I said. ‘He hasn’t got any teeth left.’

    ‘E-m-ilee,’ said Rory quietly, ‘you’ve got very bitchy since I married you.’

    ‘You were bitchy before I married you!’ I snapped. ‘It must be catching.’

    The party was a roaring success.

    Everyone drank a great deal too much. I was sitting on the sofa with Rory several hours Iater, when Marina came up and sat down beside us.

    ‘Hello darlings. I’ve decided to give up Hamish for Lent. Do you think Elizabeth’s dress quite comes off?’ she added, pointing at a fat blonde.

    ‘It will do later in the evening, if I know Elizabeth,’ said Rory.

    Buster came up and filled up our drinks.

    ‘Hello, Emily,’ he said. ‘You look a bit bleak. Not having words with Rory, I hope.’

    ‘Rory and I don’t have words any more, we just have silences,’ I said, getting somewhat unsteadily to my feet. ‘Come back,’ said Rory. ‘Buster wants to look down your dress.’

    But I fled out of the room, falling over Buster’s Labrador who took it in extremely bad part. Why didn’t Finn come? Every time the doorbell rang I hoped it was him. People were dancing in the dining-room now. I talked for hours to some dreary laird with a haw-haw voice and a come heather look in his eye.

    Hamish came up to us. He looked greyer and more haggard than ever, but his eyes had lost none of their goatish gleam.

    ‘Emily,’ he said, ‘I haven’t talked to you all evening. Come and dance.’

    How could I refuse? On the dance floor, Rory and Marina were swaying very respectably, two feet apart. It was just the way they were looking at each other, like souls in torment.

    ‘Just like lovebirds, aren’t they?’ said Hamish bitterly.

    I looked at him startled.

    ‘On second thoughts,’ he said, ‘it’s time you and I had a little chat.’

    He led me into a study off the hall, and shut the door. My heart was thumping unpleasantly.

    ‘What do you want?’ I said.

    ‘Just to talk. Doesn’t that little ménage upset you?’

    ‘What ménage?’ I said quickly.

    ‘My lovely wife and your handsome husband. We’ve each been dealt a marked card, darling. Neither of them gives a damn about us.’

    ‘I don’t want to listen,’ I said, going towards the door.

    ‘But you must,’ he said, catching my arm, his face suddenly alight with malevolence. ‘It’s quite a story. When Marina married me six months ago, I was foolish enough to think she cared for me. But, within weeks, I realized she only wanted me for my money.’

    ‘If she was after money,’ I said, ‘why didn’t she marry Rory? He’s just as rich as you are.’

    ‘Just as rich,’ said Hamish. ‘But Rory, if you remember, only inherited his money after he married you. That was one of the conditions of Rory’s father, Hector’s, will. Rory wouldn’t get a bean until he was safely married.’

    ‘Then why didn’t he marry Marina?’

    ‘That was another condition of the will. Hector made another condition that if he married Marina, he wouldn’t get a penny. It would all go to charity. So he married you to get his hands on the cash.’

    I felt myself go icy cold.

    ‘But I don’t understand,’ I whispered. ‘That doesn’t sound like Rory at all. If he’d really wanted to marry Marina, he wouldn’t have cared a damn about not inheriting the money. He could easily have got a job, or earned money from his painting, if he’d wanted to.’

    ‘Oh, my poor child,’ said Hamish mockingly. ‘What a lot you’ve got to learn. Can’t you understand that it’s not possible for Rory ever to marry Marina, money or no money?’

    ‘Why not?’ I said.

    ‘Because they’re brother and sister.’

    ‘What!’ I gasped in horror. ‘They can’t be.’

    ‘I’m afraid so. Hector, laird of the island, Lord Lieutenant, pillar of respectability on the surface, was an old ram on the side. Like claiming
droit de seigneur
and all that. He was very keen on Marina’s mother for a long time. I’m afraid the result was Marina.’

    I felt as though I was going to faint.

    ‘Brother and sister,’ I whispered again.

    ‘Well, half-brother and sister. Hardly a healthy union. Particularly as there’s always been a strong strain of insanity in Hector’s family. But it doesn’t seem to deter them, does it?’

    ‘How long have they known?’ I muttered.

    ‘Only about a year. There’s always been a blood feud between the Balniels and the Macleans, as you know. So when Rory and Marina fell in love, they didn’t exactly broadcast the fact, until one night Rory got drunk and had a row with Hector (they never really got on) and told him he was going to marry Marina. Hector nearly burst a gut. The next day he told Rory the truth, and that under no circumstances could he marry Marina. Rory went berserk with rage. The shock killed Hector. He died that night of a heart attack. But the will still stood.

    ‘My God,’ I said, dully.

    ‘So Marina married me in a fit of despair,’ Hamish went on. ‘And Rory went south and married you, which drove Marina mad with jealousy. And now, as you see, they’re up to their old tricks.’

    My brain was reeling. I felt as if I’d been kicked in the gut. Marina and Rory, brother and sister: Byron and Augusta Leigh, star-crossed lovers, a union so fatally seductive because it was impossible.

    ‘Oh, poor Rory,’ I breathed, ‘now I understand. Oh, poor, poor Rory.’

    ‘Poor you and me,’ breathed Hamish in my ear.

    He was standing very close to me, one hand fondling my wrist, his eyes fixed on my face in a greedy way. I could feel the warmth of his body, his hand stealing up my bare arm, his hot breath on my shoulder.

    ‘You mustn’t be shy of me, little Emily,’ he said caressingly, slipping his arm round my waist. ‘I think you’re very pretty, even if Rory doesn’t. Why don’t we console one another?’

    ‘No!’ I screamed. No, no, no! Go away, you revolting old man. Don’t touch me!’

    I leapt to me feet, ran across the room, wrenched open the door and went slap into Finn Maclean.

    ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’ Then he looked at me more closely. ‘Hey, what’s the matter?’

    ‘Nothing, everything,’ I sobbed, and shoving him violently aside, I fled past him.- I ran out into the garden. It had been snowing again, the drive was virginally white in the pale moonlight. All was deathly silent. The snow lay soft and tender on the lawn. Crying great, heaving sobs, I ran to the edge of the cliffs. The sea stretched out, opaque, black and star-powdered. The lighthouse flashed like a blue gem, the rocks gleamed evilly two hundred feet below.

    ‘Oh, Rory,’ I sobbed. ‘I can’t go on, I can’t go on.’ But as I took a step forward, my arm was caught in a vice-like grip.

    ‘Don’t be a bloody little fool,’ said a voice. Nothing’s that important.’

    It was Finn.

    ‘Let me go,’ I sobbed. ‘I want to die.’

    He held on to my arm and finally I collapsed against him.

    ‘Oh, Finn,’ I sobbed. ‘What am I going to do?’

    He held me for a minute, then, putting an arm round my shoulders, he half carried me across the snow to the stables where Buster kept his horses.

    I collapsed on to a pile of hay, still sobbing bitterly.Finn let me cry; he just sat there stroking my shoulders. Finally I gulped, ‘It’s not true, is it, Marina and Rory both being Hector’s children?’

    Finn paused, his hand tightening on my shoulder, then he said, ‘It is, I’m afraid.’

    ‘Oh, God,’ I said. ‘Why didn’t anyone tell me?’

    ‘No one knew except me and Rory and Marina. Marina must have told Hamish. Even Coco doesn’t know about it.’

    ‘How long have you known?’ I said dully.

    ‘As long as I can remember. I got back from school early one afternoon. I heard laughter coming from the bedroom and went in and found my mother in bed with Hector. My father was away at the time. I ran and hid in the woods. My father came home that night and sent out a search party. When they found me, my father thrashed me for worrying my mother. I never told him the truth. I suppose kids have a sort of honour even at that age. But I never forgave Hector, and he never forgave me for discovering what an old fraud he was.’

    ‘So you always knew Rory and Marina were brother and sister?’

    He nodded. ‘About a year ago, I came back from London for a weekend and discovered, to my horror, they’d fallen in love and were thinking of getting married. I tried to stop Marina, but she’d got the bit between her teeth by then, so I went to Hector and told him he’d got to tell Rory the truth.’

    ‘Not a very pretty story, is it?’ I said.

    ‘That’s why I’ve been behaving like a policeman, trying to keep them apart,’ said Finn. ‘With insanity on both sides and a blood tie between them, it would be absolutely fatal if Rory got Marina pregnant.’

    I sat numbly, trying to take it all in. Finn was holding me in his arms now, stroking my hair, soothing me like a child. I felt the hardness of his body, the gentleness of his hands. It was so long since I’d been in a man’s arms. I’ve always said I have no sense of timing.

    His mouth was so near to mine. Almost instinctively, I put my face up and kissed him. The next moment he was kissing me back.

    ‘Heavens,’ I said, wriggling away, absolutely appalled. ‘I’m terribly sorry.’

    ‘Don’t be,’ he said softly. It’s one of the nicest surprises I’ve ever had,’ and he kissed me again. This time it was a kiss that meant business. I tried to be frigid and unyielding, but could feel the warm waves of lust coasting all over me. I felt my body go weak. I was torn between desire and utter exhaustion.

    ‘Strange things happen in stables,’ I muttered weakly. ‘One moment I’m a midwife, next moment I’m bowling towards adultery. Talk about My Tart Is In The Highlands.’

    Finn smiled, got up and pulled me to my feet. ‘Come on, I’m taking you home.’

    ‘Please don’t,’ I said.

    ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I never meant this to happen when I brought you in here. I want you very much, but I think now is neither the time nor the place. You’re slightly drunk and you’re suffering from severe shock. I’m not going to let you do anything you might regret in the morning.’

    He drove me home. Outside the house he burrowed in his bag and produced a couple of sleeping pills.

    ‘Take them tonight, immediately you get in, and come and see me at the surgery tomorrow at eleven. Then we can talk things over.’

    When I got in I hardly had the strength to undress. I fell, rather than got, into bed, pulled the sheets like a curtain over my head and dropped into a deep sleep.

    CHARTER NINETEEN I WOKE up next morning feeling ghastly, went straight to the loo and was violently sick. I had a blinding headache, took four Alka-Seltzers and was sick again. Rory was still fast asleep.

    I tiptoed around the bedroom getting my clothes on. I only just managed to make it to Finn’s surgery.

    There was only one woman in there when I arrived. Finn came out. He looked tired, but he smiled at me reassuringly.

    ‘I’ll just see Mrs. Cameron first,’ he said. ‘She won’t take long.’

    I gazed unseeingly at magazines and wondered why I was feeling quite so awful. Finn’s receptionist eyed me with interest.

    Mrs. Balniel looking like a road accident, she must have been thinking.

    Mrs. Cameron came out, thanking Finn effusively, and I went into his surgery.

    It was large, and rather untidy, and amazingly comforting. Finn shut the door and leant against it. Then he came across the room and kissed me. It was a different kiss from last night. That was alcohol and pent- up emotion. This was slow, measured, tender, and left me just as weak with lust.