The House Between Tides (36 page)

She came into the room. “A little tired, perhaps.”

He continued to look at her, then went over to one of the bookcases, selected a large volume, and took it to the light of the window. “There's our fellow,” he said, finding the page. “It says they choose freshwater lochs for their nests, preferring islands or promontory sites. The lochan on Oronsy Beagh is a bit small but might suit their purpose.” She joined him at the window, and he lowered the book to show her. As she bent over it, she sensed him grow still beside her, and the study's silent witnesses went on guard. Then the front door banged and heavy steps crossed the hall to the study. They turned from the window to find John Forbes halted in the doorway, staring across at them.

“Is Cameron still in there, John?” Theo's voice came from behind him in the hall.

Cameron replaced the book on the shelf and returned to his desk; Beatrice moved to the fireplace.

“Aye,” replied the factor, stone hard. “But I'll take him back with me, and we'll start to put matters right.” He moved aside to let Theo pass.

“If you must. Did you find the missing ledger, Cameron?” Theo barely acknowledged Beatrice's presence, and she took the opportunity to withdraw, feeling John Forbes's eyes following her retreat.

For days after that Cameron did not reappear in the study, and
Theo complained that he was never available to assist him. His father was keeping him busy on the estate, repairing storm damage, he said. Beatrice was torn between relief and a quite different emotion, stifled and kept indoors by the weather.

Eventually, it began to clear and the sun filtered through the thin clouds. Beatrice escaped down to the foreshore, gulping at the fresh sweet air, seeking the clarity of mind she found more easily outdoors. Distress at Theo's neglect she had grown used to, but she was now in the grip of a much more powerful emotion, carried forward and shaken by the strength of it.

The sand steamed slightly as the re-emergent sun turned the shallow pools into ripples of quicksilver, and some sixth sense told her that Cameron was approaching. She looked up to see him rounding the cove, Bess trotting behind him. He seemed to break step when he saw her, then he came on, greeting her with a constrained smile. “The weather's clearing, Mrs. Blake,” he said.

“Yes.”

“It's often fickle like this in the later summer.” He gazed across the sands and up at the sky, clicking his fingers at the dog.

“Is it?”

“Sun and storm.” They stood awkwardly, like players on a wide stage, uncertain of their next lines, then he turned to her. “Did Mr. Blake tell you—” he began, then broke off, his attention caught by something behind her, and she turned to see John Forbes and Donald emerging from the stables. The factor had stopped and lifted his head to watch them. “Excuse me, madam.” He nodded and left her, whistling sharply to Bess to follow.

She mounted the front steps and placed her hat on the hall table, then went slowly into the drawing room. What else could she do? Theo lowered his book as she entered and gestured to the tea tray. “Been for a breath of air, my dear? I saw you down on the foreshore.”

The fire had burned low and the room was dark, as it always was at this time of day when the sun swung behind the house, but she sensed he was making an effort and smiled. “Everything smelled so fresh after the storm.” She poured herself a cup of tea. “The air was very clear.”

“If the weather settles, shall we give it a week or so before we return? Though you'll want to be in Edinburgh in good time to prepare for Emily's wedding, I'm sure. New gowns and the like.” He smiled wistfully across at her, an echo of his old countenance. “Will you be glad of a change, Beatrice?”

She sipped at her tea. “I'd rather be here if the weather is good; the city can be so oppressive in August.”

“We'll see what it does.” He paused. “There are things I want to complete here, but I can finish the writing in Edinburgh.” He hesitated, then glanced across at her. “I've asked Cameron to return with us and lend me a hand over the winter,” he said, and she looked up in astonishment. “One last attempt to get him to see sense and stay. I've offered him a decent salary.” He reached for his cup and raised it to his lips, watching her. “What do you think?”

She put her own cup down to stop her hand from shaking. What
should
she think? “But you get so annoyed with him, Theo.”

“Oh, we rub along. He needs to widen his horizons. See sense. And when his mind's on the job, he's very useful. Would you mind if he came?”

She turned away to refill her cup. “Of course not, if it's what you want.”

“John's being difficult about it, but I think I can persuade him. He'll still have Donald, after all.” And if he came, would she and Theo then be in competition for Cameron's attentions? The absurdity, and the perils, of the situation expanded in her brain like giant bubbles and smothered rational thought. “Although Cameron's behaving rather oddly,” Theo continued. “Keeps disappearing.
Particularly since the guests left. God knows where he goes in this weather. His father doesn't always know either.” He paused again and laughed self-consciously. “I begin to wonder if he's courting.”

Courting? One of the bubbles popped.
Courting?
She looked across at Theo, but he was staring into the fire. She swallowed hard, now entirely bewildered, and tried for a light tone. “Well, he's a personable young man, though it's hardly something you can ask him about.”

Theo leant forward and filled his cup. “No. And I'm probably wrong. I can't imagine who would take his interest among the local maidens. He should aim higher.” He stirred his tea thoughtfully. “And if John decides he needs him here, there's not much I can do.”

Beatrice played with the cuff of her sleeve, struggling for composure. “Well, if he
is
courting, he may not wish to go with us anyway,” she said. “And I'm sure there are all sorts of lovely local girls you know nothing about. I understand that Cameron's mother was an island girl and very beautiful.”

Theo replaced his cup with a clatter. “Servants' gossip, Beatrice?” he remarked coldly, picking up a book. “I thought you had more dignity.”

“It must be a woman,” Theo complained again the next day. “I can't get a firm decision from him. He's clearly distracted, in a daydream if I don't keep on at him. God, what fools love can make of us.”

Fools indeed, she thought, stung by his words. Last night Theo had come to her room, tapping softly on the door. When she opened it, he had stood there, as he had once before, and looked at her. “May I come in?” And she had stepped aside, saying nothing. He had blown out the lamp almost at once, and in the darkness she had allowed him to undress her, his touch uncertain, and he had kissed her, tentatively at first, and then with a growing desperation,
turning her to the bed, as if determined to persuade them both that all was well between them.

But it was not enough! Words had become impossible, so her fears remained unexpressed, and her suspicions could never be voiced. But she
needed
words; she needed an explanation and to understand what had happened since they came there. Why things had gone so wrong. And she had lain awake beside him, dry-eyed, until almost dawn, then slept deeply, and woke to find him gone.

She stayed abed until mid-morning, staring up at the ceiling, her thoughts wildly adrift. For if Cameron came to Edinburgh . . . What then? She rose at last and went to the little turret from where she could see Theo and the factor heading down the drive together, and dressed quickly. Perhaps Cameron was alone in the study again, and she could speak to him, ask him what he intended to do. She went rapidly down the stairs, hearing him sliding the cabinet drawers in and out, then hesitated outside the door, digging her nails into her palms, struggling to find the words to express what she needed to say.

Cameron looked up as she entered, then straightened, his eyes guarded. “Theo's been noticing your absences,” she said in a rush. “Says no one can find you.”

He gave a slight smile and shrugged. “No matter. I can't find a nest. And I haven't heard them again, so I think they've gone.”

“Have they?” She came slowly into the room, stopping to examine a small dunlin on a shelf. “Prudent, perhaps.” Her finger smoothed the dry, faded feathers, her hand barely trembling. “I understand Theo has asked you to come to Edinburgh?”

“Yes.”

“But he thinks you won't come”—she straightened and finished on a gasping laugh—“because you're courting.”

“
Courting!
” He stared at her, then turned abruptly away and went over to the window from where Theo and John Forbes could
be seen talking to two men she recognised as tenants, gesturing at the wall. She studied his back as he stood there watching them, then he came and sat on the edge of the desk. “Perceptive of him, don't you think?” he said, looking directly at her now. “Only slightly wide of the mark.” The room was still and silent, and the sentinels grew watchful again, while the hammering in Beatrice's chest became a physical force. “Hardly courtship—but I'll not come to Edinburgh. I'll stay here and help my father over the winter, then leave. Before you return.” His eyes held hers, knowing that she understood. “My father might have misjudged what he saw the other day, but not by very much. In Edinburgh, it would happen.”

“Cameron—” She reached out a hand to him, but he shook his head, almost angrily.

“No. Say nothing. Though God knows—” He broke off as they heard the front door open, voices and footsteps crossing the hall. He straightened and stood, his face dark and strained as Theo entered, followed by John Forbes, who stood stock-still and stared.

“So, my dear,” said Theo, oblivious to the ricocheting of tensions. “They'll start early next year, so you can have the fun of planning your conservatory over the winter.” He turned to Cameron, eyeing him coldly. “And I gather you'll not be joining us in Edinburgh.”

“I'm grateful to you for the offer, sir.”

Theo considered him for a few moments, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “No matter.” And as he turned away, Beatrice saw the pain behind his eyes.

Life became intolerable after that. Theo set a date for their departure, and Beatrice packed and repacked, discussed camphor and dust sheets with Mrs. Henderson, cut back brambles in the garden, and nurtured her rose. Anything to keep herself occupied.

The brief spell of late summer sunshine was gone, the skies were pewter grey, and the gales had started again, hostile and vindictive, whipping the shallow waters of the bay into angry wave-crests over which the gulls dipped and rose, their cries blown back by the gusts. There was little incentive to go out, but Beatrice was desperate to escape from the house and from her sense of impending loss, so she grabbed a shawl and went out onto the drive, battling the wind, determined to get at least as far as the ruined chapel, seeking the solace she had often found there. But the elements were relentless and she soon turned back, rain stinging her face.

As she approached the farm buildings, she heard raised voices coming from the old McLeod croft house where Theo's specimen were cleaned and prepared, and drew closer to stand beside the tiny window. It was Theo's voice she could hear, sharp with anger, and then Cameron's responding in kind, combative and impassioned.

“Cameron. You've said enough.” It was John Forbes. Thank goodness he was there.

But Cameron's voice came again, shaking with fury. “It's just another bloody trophy.” The divers, she thought, he's found them! The factor spoke sharply again, but Cameron ignored him. “How could you? When there are so few.”

“Rubbish. In Scandinavia they are—”

“But not
here
, where they belong. Maybe
you
have forgotten standing on the Bràigh years ago, watching them, but I haven't.”