The House of Lyall (57 page)

How patient he is, she thought. Most men would have felt irritated when she didn't answer straight away, but how would he take what she was about to tell him?

‘Come on, darling,' he urged, ‘I can see something's upset you.'

‘I was talking to Graham Dalgarno today.'

‘Ah, I didn't know he was coming, otherwise I'd have been here. What did he want?'

She conveniently postponed answering the question. ‘He didn't come here, he asked me to go to Bon Accord Square.'

‘Something about Andrew's will?'

‘In a way.' She could detect little signs of exasperation in his eyes now, and deemed it wise not to procrastinate any longer. ‘Sit down, Ruairidh, I've something to tell you.'

‘Has dear old Uncle Andrew left us a fortune?'

She knew the light-hearted remark was forced. She knew him inside out. ‘It's nothing to do with Andrew … well, it has in a way, but …' She stopped, wringing her hands in her confusion. ‘Oh, I'm making heavy weather of this. Please, I beg you, just listen, and don't interrupt.'

She told him everything, from the day they learned of Ranald's death to the day she left the Brightfield Maternity Home for Unmarried Mothers, and he interrupted only once, to ask, ‘Was Rannie the father?' At her response, ‘No, Ruairidh, I swear he wasn't!' he said quietly, ‘I just wanted to be sure,' and leaned back in his seat again, his face inscrutable.

When she stopped, shivering a little, she muttered, ‘If you want to say something, do it now and get it over with.'

‘I need time to think.' He had been sitting for several minutes, head down, hands at his temples, when he gave an abrupt exclamation and stood up. ‘I'm going to have this out with Mother … No, she's no mother of mine, is she?'

His voice was so harsh that Melda put out her hand to stop him. ‘Please don't, Ruairidh dear. What's the point now, after all this time?'

‘I feel like killing her! I wish she had died along with Andrew! And he was as bad as she was! How could they? Keeping something like that from me? It was cruel! Wicked!'

‘I kept it from you, too,' she reminded him softly.

He drew a deep breath to calm his rattled nerves, then thumped down on his chair again. ‘It was different with you, Melda. You were so young – newly sixteen weren't you? – and I don't blame you for knuckling under with her, but …' He stopped, shaking his head. ‘What I do find difficult to forgive is you not telling me, not even after we were married … not in all these years.'

Melda had been hoping, praying that he had put all the blame on his mother, but it appeared that he hadn't. ‘I told you what she said she'd do if I breathed a word of it.' Her voice was strained.

‘But surely you knew I wouldn't have believed her? I loved you so much I'd have trusted you, whatever lies she spun about you.'

‘Like you said, I was still very young … I didn't know what to do. And she kept her side of the bargain, so I couldn't break my promise.'

‘She manipulated you, Melda! Can't you see that? You owed it to me to tell me!'

Having been on a knife edge since her talk with Graham Dalgarno, this accusation that she was as much to blame as the other two participants in the deception was too much for her. Bursting into tears, she jumped to her feet and ran out, pounding up the stairs and flinging herself on their large bed. She had half expected him to follow her, to apologize, but when it became clear that she was being left severely alone, she told herself that he had nothing to apologize for. After all, she
was
in the wrong; she should have told him as soon as he came home from the war. If he'd known about the child, he might have wanted to find out if it really had died. It wouldn't have mattered if they'd had to run away to be married, for Ruairidh to give up all claim to the title and the mill.

Her laboured thoughts came to a halt. It certainly wouldn't have mattered to
her
, but she couldn't have allowed him to give up his birthright. She had done the only thing possible under the circumstances … but no matter how strongly she assured herself of this, it did not ease the pain in her heart, nor take the edge off her anger at … herself as much as his mother.

It was almost an hour later, when she had exhausted all her tears and was drifting off into a troubled sleep, that her husband came in and, thankfully, she got no time to try to make further excuses, because he swept her up in his arms and she could feel his own salt tears on her lips as he kissed her.

‘I'm so sorry, my dearest darling.'

The murmured words were all she needed. She knew that she was forgiven. Perhaps they could discuss it more fully in the morning, when they were both calmer, but perhaps not. It might be best to let the matter rest until Graham Dalgarno brought Ruth to the castle, Ruth! Their daughter. And they would meet their son, Samuel, as soon as Graham could arrange it.

It was probably all for the best that they would be introduced to only one at a time.

Chapter Thirty-three

As the Ford Zephyr Zodiac sped down the main road south from Aberdeen, Graham Dalgarno could sense that an element of reluctance had crept in to Ruth's eagerness, probably a fear of rejection despite his assurances that Melda Glendarril was just as anxious to meet her as Ruth was to meet her mother.

His own mind, however, was not on the business in hand at all. It had been on Ruth Laverton since she had walked into his office three weeks ago, though it felt like a lifetime, and with her sitting so close to him, his blood was pounding, his mouth was dry. There was no denying his feelings for her, but how could he ask her to marry him? Her share of Andrew Rennie's estate would make her a wealthy woman, and she was bound to suspect him of being a fortune-hunter. After all, what had he to offer her?

His thoughts were thrust aside as he swung round a blind corner under a railway bridge and only just missed a Post Office van coming from the opposite direction. Afraid to take his attention off the road again, he didn't look at Ruth as he murmured, ‘Sorry about that. I'm a bit preoccupied.'

‘Me, too,' she smiled. ‘I'd have felt better if my brother could have been here to support me.'

A third party was the last thing he'd have wanted, but he could understand how she felt. ‘Maybe I should have put the visit off until he managed to get here, but I got such a shock when I learned who was on the phone that it never crossed my mind to postpone it. In any case, one long-lost relative at a time may be enough for your new family to cope with.'

‘I'm so nervous, though. What if the old lady told them not to …? What if they don't like me?'

‘How could anyone not like you?' The astonished exclamation was out before he could stop it. ‘I mean … well, you know what I mean.'

‘Flatterer,' she grinned.

He was glad that she felt easy enough with him to say that. He had asked her to his office several times to discuss various points – mostly those needing no further discussion – and he had taken her out to lunch once, so they did know each other a little better now, but he'd have to be very careful. One false move and he might ruin any chance he had of courting her.

Marianne nodded knowingly at the faint click of a door closing. ‘That's them going down now, Robert. We'd better start moving. They're to be here about three.'

What he had been trying to tell her for days was preying on his mind like a canker eating at him, and he could put it off no longer. She had to be told before going downstairs. ‘Marianne,' he began tentatively, ‘I have something to say.'

‘Oh, for any sake, man! Not now!'

‘It's crucially important. I should have told you long ago, but –'

‘It can wait another hour or two, then! I don't want to miss anything.'

Giving up, Robert got to his feet and helped her to hers. ‘Will you need your walking stick?'

‘Not today. It would put me at a disadvantage.'

He could see her point, but hoped that she wouldn't fall or trip on a loose rug. She had been relying on Hamish's silver-topped cane since Andrew Rennie's death, which had had a quite drastic effect on her, so now he placed his hand under her elbow. ‘I hope you are not planning anything, Marianne,' he observed, closing the door. ‘Remember, we two will be there purely as spectators.' He would have liked to issue a sterner warning, but it would have made her angry, and an angry Marianne was something to be avoided at all costs.

He couldn't help but admire her as she walked stiffly at his side. Her carriage was as erect as ever although her knees were affected by arthritis, and with his spine curving with osteoporosis, she was taller now than he. Both their heads were thatched with silver – his was natural, as he'd only been about forty when the black had started disappearing – whereas her once-coppery hair had faded to a horrible yellowish-grey and needed the enhancement of a colour rinse to make it silver with a hint of blue. She was still a good-looking woman, though. Her unblemished skin was practically free of wrinkles, while his was like corrugated cardboard.

Their descent of the stairs was slow, almost majestic, but he thought he had better put her in a good humour. ‘You're going like a two-year-old,' he teased.

His little ploy did not work. ‘This is no time to be joking,' she reprimanded him. ‘God alone knows what Melda and Ruairidh will promise her. When I saw her, she struck me as being after something – and I must be there to stop it getting out of hand.'

With something of a jolt, it dawned on him that she had not been told of the boy twin, and he bitterly regretted not forcing her to listen to him before they came down. His face, therefore, as he steered her into the drawing room, was enough to warn his daughter of possible ructions.

Nothing was said for the next five minutes, each person in the room dreading the meeting which was almost upon them, and none more so than Robert Mowatt, his old secret lying heavily on his conscience. To take his mind off it, he studied Melda, who, at fifty-three could have passed for forty even under the closest scrutiny. Her dark hair needed no artificial colouring nor permanent waving. Then she turned her head towards him, and her brown eyes were so apprehensive that he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and transferred his attention to her husband.

Though he was only two years older than Melda, Ruairidh's blond hair had appeared to turn white almost overnight. Whatever, it didn't detract from his appearance. In fact, the slicked-back wavy hair and the neat moustache, combined with his normally upright stance, would suggest to a stranger that he was a military man. It would have amused him to be told this, of course, because it was many a long year since he had come out of the Fusiliers.

The sound of a car drawing up outside made Melda jump up and make for the door. ‘That's them!' she exclaimed unnecessarily, as Ruairidh followed her out.

Marianne looked at Robert in appeal, obviously not wanting to ask for help, but he shook his head. ‘No, my dear, as I said before, we are spectators today. We will sit and watch, and we will not interfere!' He had to suppress a smile at her offended expression as she cast her eyes to heaven and snapped her mouth shut.

‘Are you sure I look OK?' Ruth asked as the car glided to a standstill. ‘I couldn't afford anything new to wear.'

Graham groaned at that. ‘Oh, Ruth, I never thought! Why didn't you say something? I could have given you an advance on your inheritance.'

‘I don't want any of Mr Rennie's money, nor any of the Bruce-Lyall money, either.'

‘That's exactly what your brother said, too. How strange.'

‘What's strange is that I
have
a brother, and these people will have to take me as I am.'

Longing to tell her that he would love to take her as she was, he had to be content with saying, ‘They won't care what you're wearing.' He got out and came round to open the door at her side. ‘Well, Ruth, this is it! Good luck!'

The heavy door was opened before they reached it, and Melda ran down the steps, her colour heightened in the same way as Ruth's. ‘Marianne was right!' she exclaimed, throwing her arms round her daughter. ‘You
are
like your father.' Pulling Ruth inside she gave her a tight squeeze before passing her on to Ruairidh, who, after a moment's hesitation, also embraced her and then shook hands with Graham.

‘Is Samuel not with you?' Melda asked Ruth, as she linked arms with her.

‘He told Graham on the phone it'd be over a week before they could get a replacement for him.'

‘Oh well, it's probably better that he's not here today. I haven't told your grandmother about him yet, so this gives me a bit more time to prepare her.'

Ruth felt a slight chill wash over her. The old lady was apparently even more of a dragon than she had seemed, but she made no comment on it.

‘Come and meet my father, your grandfather,' Melda said, pulling her on. ‘You met Ruairidh's mother before, of course. I hope you excused her rudeness to you then, but she hadn't long lost her dearest friend. Andrew Rennie's death hit her very hard. She shouldn't have been left on her own that day, but … there, it happened, and that's that. Here we are, and my father's dying to meet you.' Melda opened the drawing-room door and ushered her inside.

Ruth was taken by surprise at the bear hug Robert Mowatt gave her, and he made her sit next to him when the maid-of-all-work pushed in a trolley laid out for afternoon tea. ‘This is some day!' he enthused, laying two thin slices of fruit loaf on his plate, then caught Marianne's reproving eye and said, apologetically, ‘You met your grandmother before, of course.'

Marianne's smile was clearly forced, and the apology, such as it was, just as evidently made because it was expected of her. ‘I treated you rather badly last time you were here.'