Authors: Rosamunde Pilcher
Conrad could think of no suitable comment to make, and so sensibly said nothing. A pause fell, not uncompanionable, and after a little, Archie, unprompted, went on.
"To deal with such emergencies there is always an Air Reaction Force at full alert. Two bricks of men . . ."
"Bricks?"
"You'd call them squads, and a Lynx helicopter ready and waiting for take-off. That day, I told the Sergeant to stand down, and I took his place and went with them. There were eight of us in the helicopter, the pilot and a crewman, five Jocks, and myself. It took less than ten minutes to get to the scene. When we reached the area, we circled to suss out exactly what had happened. The explosive, which had totally destroyed the first Pig, had left a hole in the road the size of a crater, and the second Pig was arse-over-tit in this. All around was littered with scraps of metal, clothing, mess tins, bits of camouflage netting, bodies, clothing, burning tyres. A lot of smoke, flames, the stench of burning rubber and fuel and paint. But no sign of movement. No sign of anything or anybody."
Once more Conrad found himself astonished by what he thought of as an obvious discrepancy.
"You mean no local people,
. F
armers, or ploughmen, hearing the explosion and running to investigate?"
"No. Nothing. In that part of the world no person goes within an arm's length of that sort of trouble, unless of course he wishes to be dead or kneecapped within the week. There was nobody, just the smoke and the carnage.
"There was a patch of grass, like a layby, alongside the road. The helicopter landed and we all piled out. Our immediate task was to stake out the area, and get out the wounded while the helicopter flew back to base to bring in the M
. O
.-the Medical Officer-and his boys. But the helicopter had scarcely taken off, and before we had time to shake out, we were caught in a hail of machine-gun fire from across the border. They were waiting for us, you see. Watching and waiting. Three of my Jocks were killed instantly, another was wounded in the chest, and I caught it in the leg. Shot to pieces.
"When the helicopter returned with the M
. O
. on board, myself and the worst of the wounded were flown straight to hospital in Belfast. The Sergeant didn't make it, he died on the way. In the hospital my leg was amputated above the knee. I stayed there a few weeks, and then was flown back to England to begin the long business of rehabilitation. Finally I returned to Croy, pensioned off with the rank of Lieutenant Colonel."
Conrad endeavoured to make a mental tally of the casualties, but lost count and gave up. "So what did that particular incident achieve?" he asked.
"Nothing. A hole in the road. A few more British soldiers dead. The next morning, the IRA officially claimed responsibility."
"Do you feel bitter about it? Angry?"
"Why? Because I've lost my leg? Because I have to hump myself around on this aluminium contraption? No. I was a Regular soldier, Conrad. Being shot to ribbons by an implacable enemy is one of the occupational hazards of being a soldier. But I could just as easily have been an ordinary civilian, a run of the mill guy, trying to get peacefully on with his own life. An old father, perhaps, gone to Enniskillen to mourn his dead son on Armistice Day, and ending up dying beneath a pile of rubble. A young boy, taking his girl-friend to a Belfast pub for a drink, and seeing her blown to kingdom come by a booby-trap bomb. I could have been an off-duty serviceman, in the wrong car, at the wrong place, at the wrong time; dragged by a mob into a patc
h o
f waste ground, stripped, clubbed nigh to death, and finally shot."
Conrad shuddered. He chewed his lip, shamed by his own queasiness. He said, "I read about that. It made me want to vomit."
"Mindless, pointless, bloody violence. And there are other outrages that never reach the papers, are never made public. Do you know, one time a man went into a pub for a few beers. Just an ordinary young man, except that he happened to be a member of the IRA. One of the lads he was drinking with suggested it might be a laugh if he shot off somebody's kneecaps. Which was something he had never actually done, but after three beers he was ready to have a go. He was given a gun, and left the pub, and walked up to the local housing estate. He saw a young girl who was walking home from a friend's house. He hid in a passageway, and as the young girl came past, he grabbed hold of her and pushed her to the ground. He then shot off both her knees. That girl will never walk again.
"Just another incident. But it haunts me because it could have been any man's daughter, and more personally, it could have been my Lucilla. So you see I don't feel bitter and I don't feel angry. Just desperately sad for the people of Northern Ireland, the ordinary, decent people who are trying to make
. A
life for themselves, and bring up their children under this terrible, perpetual shadow of blood and
. R
evenge and fear. And I feel sad for the whole human race, because if such senseless cruelty is accepted as the norm, then I can see no future for us all. It is frightening. And I am frightened for myself because, like a child, I still get nightmares that terrify me, and leave me screaming. And there is still worse. Guilt and remorse for that young man I told you about. Neil MacDonald. Twenty-two years old and dead as a doornail. Nothing left of his body, nothing to bury. His parents left without even the consolation of a funeral, or a grave to visit. I knew Nei
l a
s a soldier, and a good one, too, but I remember him as a boy, standing on the platform at
. T
he Strathcroy Games, piping his Pibroch. I remember the day, the sun shining down on the grass, and the river, and hills, and he and his Pibroch part of it all. Just a boy. With all his life before him, and standing there making that marvellous music."
"You can't blame yourself for his death."
"It was because of me that he became a soldier. If I hadn't shoved my oar in, he would still be alive now."
"No way, Archie. If he was meant to join your Regiment, he'd have done it, with no prompting from you."
"You think that? I find it hard to be a fatalist. I wish I could be, because then I might be able to lay his ghost and leave him in peace, and stop asking myself, why? Why should I be here, on the top of Creagan Dubh, seeing, breathing, touching, feeling, when Neil MacDonald is dead?"
"It is always worst for the one who is left to carry on."
Archie turned his head and looked at Conrad. Across the small space which divided them, the eyes of the two men met. Then Archie said, "Your wife died."
"Yes. Of leukemia. I watched her die and it took a long time. And all that time I was resentful and bitter, because it wasn't me who was dying. And when she died, I hated myself because I was alive."
"You too." _
"I think, probably, it's an inevitable reaction. One simply has to come to terms with it. It takes time. But at the end of the day, all those self-accusing and soul
-
searching questions are unanswerable. And so, as you Brits would say, it's bloody silly even to ask them."
There was a long pause. Then Archie grinned. "Yes. You are right. Bloody silly." He turned his face up and surveyed the sky. "You are right, Conrad." The sky was darkening. They had sat for too long, and it was becoming cold. "Perhaps we should make tracks for home.
And I must apologize. For a moment, I admit, I forgot that you had tragedies of your own to deal with. I hope you will believe me when I tell you that I didn't bring you up here in order to unload my troubles onto your shoulders."
Conrad smiled. "I asked for them," he reminded Archie. He realized then that he was chilled and stiff with sitting, tucked into that hard and inhospitable perch. He rose painfully to his feet, stretching the cramps out of his legs. Out of the shelter of the rock, the wind pounced upon him, stinging his cheeks, sneaking down the back of his collar. He shivered slightly. The dogs, stirring at this promise of activity, and already thinking of their dinners, sat up and gazed with hopeful eyes into Archie's face.
"So you did. But now let us both forget it all and not speak of it again. All right, you greedy bitches, I'll take you home and feed you." He held out an arm. "Give me a hand, would you, Conrad, old boy, and heave me to my feet?"
They left the hills at last, and trundled slowly homewards, down the main glen and so back to Croy. As they came through the front door, the grandfather clock by the staircase chimed the half-hour. Half past six. The dogs were ravenous. It was long past their dinner-time and they headed straight for the kitchen. Archie glanced into the library but there did not seem to be anybody about.
"What would you like to do?" he asked his guest. "We usually eat about half past eight."
"If it's okay with you, I think I'll go up and unpack my bag. Maybe take a shower."
"Fine. Use any bathroom that doesn't happen to be occupied. And come downstairs when you're ready. If there's still nobody around, you'll find a tray of drinks in the library. Help yourself. Make yourself at home."
"That's very kind." Conrad started up the stairs an
d t
hen turned back. "And thanks for today. It was special."
"Perhaps it is I who should thank you."
Conrad continued on his way. Archie followed the dogs, and in the kitchen found Lucilla and Jeff, at sink and stove, both aproned and looking industrious and companionable. Lucilla turned from some pot she was stirring.
"Dad. You're back. Where've you been?"
"JJp on the moor. What are you two up to?"
"We're cooking dinner."
"Where's Mum?"
"She went to have a bath."
"Would you feed the dogs for me?"
"Of course. No problem . . ." She returned to her stirring. "But they've got to wait a moment, otherwise this sauce is going to end up in lumps." *
He left them to their cooking, shut the door, went back to the library, poured himself a whisky and soda and, carrying the glass, climbed the stairs in search of his wife.
He found her in the bath, soaking in scented steam and looking as comic as she always did in her blue-and
-
white-spotted shower-cap.
"Archie." He made himself comfortable on the lavatory seat. "Where have you been?"
"To the top of Creagan Dubh."
"It must have been heavenly. Did the Sad American turn up all right?"
"Yes, and he's not sad. He's very good company. And he's called Conrad Tucker, and he happens to be an old . chum of Virginia's."
"I don't believe it! You mean they know each other? What an extraordinary coincidence. But what a lucky one. It'll make him feel not so strange, dumped in this alien household." She sat up and reached for the soap. "You obviously like him?"
"Delightful man. Exceptionally nice."
"What a relief. What's he doing now?"
"Same as you, I think."
"Has he ever been to Scotland before?"
"I don't think so."
"Because I've been thinking. Neither he nor Jeff are going to be able to do any of the dances on Friday night. Do you think it would be a good idea to have a bit of instruction after dinner this evening? Provided they can get themselves through an eightsome reel and one or two others, they can at least join in some of the fun."
"Why not? Good idea. I'll look for some tapes. Where's Pandora?"
"Crashed out, I think. We didn't get home till five. Archie, would you mind if she came up the hill with you tomorrow? I told her about Vi's picnic but she said she'd rather spend the day with you. She wants to sit in your butt and chat."
"No, that's all right, provided she doesn't make too much noise. You'd better see she's go\ some warm clothes."
"I'll lend her my green wellies and my Barbour."
He drank whisky. Yawned. He was tired.
"How was the shopping? Did you get my cartridges?"
"Yes. And the champagne, and the candles, and enough food to feed a starving army. And I got a new dress for the dance."
"You bought a new dress?"
"No, I didn't buy it. Pandora bought it for me. And it's perfectly beautiful, and I wasn't allowed to know how much it cost, but I think probably an arm and a leg. She seems to be dreadfully rich. Do you think I should have allowed her to be so extravagant and generous?"
"If she wanted to give you a dress, there's no way you could have stopped her. She always loved giving presents. But it was kind. Am I allowed to see it?"
"No, not until Friday, when f shall astonish you with my beauty."
"What else did you do?"
"We had lunch in the Wine Bar. . . ." Isobel, squeezing water from her sponge, considered telling Archie about Pandora and the reserved table, and then decided against it because she knew that he would disapprove. "And Lucilla bought a dress off a stall in the market."
"Oh God, it's probably full of fleas."
"I made her leave it at the cleaner's. Somebody will have to go to Relkirk on Friday morning to pick it up. But the most exciting bit of news I've kept to the end. Because Pandora bought you a present as well, and if you hand me my towel I shall get out of the bath and show it to you."