The Last of the Kintyres (10 page)

“You don’t like her,” Elizabeth said, “and I would hardly call you a vindictive person, but we really have to remember that this accident was mostly Tony’s fault.”

“You’ve heard the fable about the snake and the rabbit, haven’t you?” Stephen returned, offering her a steadying hand as she stepped on to the jetty. “And Tony’s a very young rabbit!”

A little stab of fear found its way into Elizabeth’s heart. Was Caroline far more dangerous than she thought?

“I wish all this hadn’t happened,” she sighed. “It makes me feel such an added burden to Hew.”

He did not answer that, since they had almost reached the stationary Daimler. Hew did not get out. He remained behind the wheel, rather tight-lipped and grim looking, watching their approach.

“Is all well that ends well?” Stephen asked.

“More or less.” Hew’s mouth relaxed a little. “There were very few questions asked, and the police did not prefer a charge. There were no witnesses of the accident and no one else involved.”

“You’ll be relieved,” Stephen suggested. “Have you time for tea? Elizabeth and I had a quick ‘cuppa’ in the galley going round Kerrera, but I’m sure she could cope with another one and some sandwiches.”

Hew looked at Elizabeth for the first time, his eyes peculiarly remote, as they had been on that first occasion of their meeting in London.

“I’d like to get back to Ardlamond,” he said, “as quickly as possible.”

“Sorry, Elizabeth!” Stephen said ruefully. “No tea. Will you come and see
Naomi
going through her paces on a race day?”

“I’d love to,” Elizabeth told him sincerely. “How soon will you be racing?”

“A week on Saturday. Can we call that a date?” he asked. “You too, Hew?”

“I doubt if I shall be in Oban then,” Hew returned. “I have to go to Edinburgh—to arrange about the sale of Whitefarland.”

“Must you—so soon?” Stephen looked regretful. “Perhaps if you could hang on to it for a month or two till you see how things are going to turn out—”

Hew smiled and shook his head.

“I haven’t got that kind of money, Steve,” he answered candidly. “Of course, it may not sell quite so quickly as I imagine, but I’ve got to try. Wh
y
not come down to Ardlamond one of these days?” he added.
“
Naomi
could just about make the distance, couldn’t she?”

Stephen closed the car door on Elizabeth’s side. “That’s the sort of remark that has split nations!” he grinned. “Nevertheless, I’ll be looking out for you at the regatta, if only to prove to you how wrong you are!”

He stepped back on to the pavement and Hew drove away letting a rather lengthy silence fall between them until Elizabeth convinced herself that he did not want to discuss his visit to the local police headquarters nor the past two hours which he had spent in Caroline’s company.

“Did you enjoy your sail round the island?” he asked at last.

“It was wonderful,” she responded eagerly, all her enthusiasm shining in her candid grey eyes. “The sun was lovely out on the Firth and
Naomi
went like a bird. I’ve never been on board a yacht like that before. It was a tremendous experience. Stephen,” she added warmly, “is very kind.”

“Yes,” he agreed just as readily, but now there was a reserve about
him
which seemed to reject confidences. “We have been friends since we were boys,” he added briefly.

They drove on, covering the miles along the winding road between the mountains and the sea, and everywhere there were deep glens and bright, unexpected flashes of loch water glittering in the sun. These gentle little lochans covered with the great saucer-leaves of water-lilies and fringed with reeds were a never-ending source of delight to Elizabeth, and suddenly she found herself asking:

“Hew, have you ever been to Loch Tralaig?”

“Yes,” he answered. “What makes you ask?”

“I—my mother used to speak about it. I always felt that it had a—special sort of magic for me.”

“It’s a hidden sort of place among the hills.”

“How far?”

“Not so very far. There are dozens of these small lochs between here and Loch Awe.”

He had not offered to take her to Tralaig, and she could hardly have hoped for the concession, not even to make reality of a dream. Suddenly she was remembering why she had wanted so much to go there. “It’s right in among the hills,” her mother had said. “It’s a difficult place to get to, but when you’ve made the effort, when the road and the pass are behind you, it’s so much worth while. We used to go there for picnics, all the way from Dromore
...
”

And Ronald Kintyre, as he had been in those far-off days, had gone there, too!

Something poignantly tender about her mother’s lost love rose in Elizabeth’s throat, choking back any further confession about the past. Even if Hew knew about that unhappy little love affair long ago, she decided, he would not attach any importance to it now. There would be no thought in his mind of affinity between them because of it.

When they reached Ardlamond Mrs. Malcolm came hurrying through from the kitchens to hear the latest news. Hew had phoned from Dromore Castle, apparently, when he had taken Caroline home, and he supplied her with the few details of the intervening hours before he left them to go to Whitefarland.

“He’ll be up there all night,” Jessie said with a shake of her head as he drove away. “His heart’s there, and no mistake. There’ll be a lot of crippling debts to face here, but Whitefarland was paying its way and it seems such a waste. It will mean the sheep over on Lingay will have to go, too, as like as not. There’s a lot to manage on the estate. Too much for one man, I’m
thinkin
g.”

Elizabeth had noticed the flock of sheep grazing on the island when she had gone with Hew to the old laird’s funeral, and she had wondered about them at the time.

“Are the sheep left across there all winter, Mrs. Malcolm?” she asked.

“My goodness, no!” Jessie exclaimed. “They’d be done for if they were. Lingay’s grazing is about the finest there is round these parts, but it’s an exposed place. Exposed to wind and gale. After September, too, the tides are high. There would be terrible losses in the flock if they were left there. They’re all brought off by mid-September or early October, at the very latest, and wintered on the hill. The young master would be planning that when his father died, I dare say. He’ll bring them of
f
in a week or two,” she mused sadly, “perhaps for the last time. It’s a great pity. Ay, a great pity!”

Elizabeth made her way to her own room. It seemed an eternity since she had last climbed the stairs and closed the door behind her, an eternity in which so much had happened.

CHAPTER FIVE

HEW did not return to Ardlamond that night, as Mrs. Malcolm had predicted, and the following morning, left to her own devices and curiously restive, Elizabeth set out for a long walk to pass the time till his return. She had helped Mrs. Malcolm about the house, and now she was free to make the acquaintance of Ardlamond in detail.

When she reached the boundary wall of the estate she was, immediately confronted by the hill, and all the morning sunshine seemed to be lingering up there.

It would be an adventure, she decided, to climb as high as she could—as high as the white cottage, perhaps, which stood out plainly once she had reached the moor road.

It looked so small from the road, no more than a two-roomed croft or a summer shieling nestling in a green fold between the rocky spurs, remote and high and alone, like an eagle’s eyrie set up there where only the bravest foot would tread.

Something about its stern isolation on the brow of the hill vibrated a chord in her memory, too vague to be connected with any specific thing or person, yet it drew her on in a peculiar way.

The road that went up the hill was no more than a cart track leading, at length, into a miniature glen where she lost sight of the lonely croft for a while. It was further up than she had at first imagined, more inaccessible, maybe, yet she pressed on.

It was almost the end of August, and when she reached the tree line the heather was dying. In places, however, vivid purple clumps of it still stained the moor, and she sat down beside one of them to draw breath.

All about her was very still, and from her vantage point she could see all Ardlamond stretched out in the sun at her feet. The coastline was clear and sharply defined by the fringe of yellow seaweed which clung to the rocks, lifting and falling with the tide, and everywhere there was a sense of time suspended, of contentment and peace.

She could have lived there quite happily all her life, yet how long could she really stay? Was it fair to Hew to accept an invitation which must only have been offered out of courtesy and at a time when he had been more or less forced into it? He had suggested that she should stay at Ardlamond till Tony settled down, but how long would that take? Tony had to accept a whole new attitude towards life, and it would not prove easy.

Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, and the sound came down to her through the still air, breaking her train of thought. She got to her feet, looking down rather ruefully at her shoes, which were already stained darkly by moss and peat, and wondering if she should retrace her steps towards the road.

The strange, persistent call of the hill still attracted her, however, and after no more than a second’s hesitation, she was climbing upwards once more.

It took her a good half-hour to reach what she had thought to be the highest point, but beyond she found more hills, fold upon fold of them, rounded and gentle against the sky.

And there, across a tiny lochan golden with yellow waterlilies, stood the croft she had seen from the shore. It was no more than ten minutes’ walk away, and it was bigger than she had thought.

On either side of the main door were two windows, and she noticed, to her disappointment, that they were curtainless. The whole place, she realized, had a peculiarly deserted look, as if no one had come there for a very long time, yet the building itself was in good repair and had benefited by a recent coat of whitewash. The window-frames, too, had been painted, all in uncompromising white.

She had thought to ask for a glass of milk to drink after her long climb, but now it seemed that she, would have to go away thirsty.

Lingering by the lochan edge, she looked about her for a spring or a little bu
rn
of the red hill water which gushed everywhere, and when she turned towards the house again a white cat had made its appearance on the doorstep.

She saw then that one half of the double-storm door lay open, possibly to let the cat pass freely in and out.

It was an enormous cat, pure white, with long, silky fur and yellow, almond-shaped eyes, narrowed in the full light of the morning sunshine, and it kept a cat’s dignified distance between them as she approached.

There must be someone in the house, she decided, and she could still ask for a glass of milk.

The cat stood up, arching its back and seeming to block the doorway as she came near. Certainly it barred her further approach.

“You’re not exactly a friendly puss,” she addressed it. “But perhaps you’re not used to visitors.”

As a
ru
le she had a way with animals, but the gentle persuasion in her voice did nothing to capture this one. Thomas stood his ground, eyes opened wide now as her shadow fell across the step.

Gingerly Elizabeth knocked on the closed half of the door, and the sound went back hollowly into an empty house.

She was so certain that it was empty that she turned away, and then, on an impulse of curiosity, she went back and pushed open the door.

The white cat followed her in.

Blunting in the sudden dimness after the bright sunlight outside, it was seconds before she saw her way about. The hall was completely bare and stretched back only a little way, where it ended in a blank wall. The door immediately to her right was closed; the one on her left lay open. She went through it to find herself in a tiny raftered bedroom.

With a sense of shock she realized that the croft was furnished. Sparsely furnished, no doubt, but the very fact that the room she had entered contained a chair, a dressing-chest and a bed flanked by two magnificent sheepskin rugs made her instantly guilty of trespass.

She drew back, but in that instant she had seen all there was to see in the room—the simple furniture, the double row of books on the low shelves built in on either side of the bed, a man’s thick checked flannel shirt tossed across the back of a chair, and a girls photograph adorning the centre of the bowfronted chest
.

It was the photograph which held her there immovable, the large studio portrait of a girl she knew. Caroline!

It was unmistakeable, even although the simple classic jumper and single row of pearls bore no resemblance to the immaculate tweeds which Caroline Hayler now wore. The portrait, of course, had been taken several years ago. The hair was shorter, more simply styled, and Caroline’s smile was a little less
artificial.

Elizabeth gazed back at the pictured face for minutes before she remembered where she was, and then she knew the truth. This, of course, was Whitefarland.

The knowledge hit her like a blow across the face. It chained her there while something in her heart rose and fluttered, like a bird beating delicate wings against imprisoning bars, and then it dropped and died. She could feel it lying there, cold and heavy, aga
inst h
er
breast
.

He was in love with Caroline. He was still in love with her.

The words mocked, her, going round and round in her brain, and then she heard the dog barking again, very near this time, close above her on the hill.

Panic seized her and she wanted to run like the wind, but Hew was between her and escape.

He was standing just inside the door, his broad frame seeming to take up all the space between her and the light, and as she backed away he looked almost menacing.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

She could not answer him. Words rose and choked against her throat and she felt all the colour running out of her cheeks and a cold fear encircling her heart. She had done an unpardonable thing, trespassing in this place which he had always considered his own, like some inner sanctum of the spirit which no intrusion must spoil.

“I had no idea—” she gasped at last. “I—thought Whitefarland was a much bigger place—a sheep-farm somewhere farther down the coast—”

He smiled thinly.

“You flatter it.” He turned abruptly away from the door, allowing her to pass. “If you had told me you intended to come—”

He left the sentence unfinished, his meaning abundantly clear. If she had insisted upon coming to Whitefarland he would have been there to meet her, conventionally, on the doorstep, not here in the innermost privacy of his own room. He must consider her cheap and inquisitive and as lacking in sense as Tony
h
ad proved himself to be in so many ways ever since their arrival.

“I’m sorry. That’s all I can really say,” she told him unhappily. “I had no idea the house was occupied. There
w
ere no curtains. It looked empty—”

“Curtains,” he said briskly, “are a woman’s fad. A man has very little need of such things in a place like this.”

Something about his tone seemed to break the icy tension between them. They were in the living-room now. He had opened |fie door on the other side of the
hall,
ushering her in there, and suddenly she felt as if a spring had been released.

The room was large and open-raftered, like the bedroom, with a big fireplace in an ingle-nook and the whole of another wall taken up by adjoining windows. It had been two smaller rooms at one time, and she saw at once why he had scorned the use of curtains.

From the wide, breast-high windows all the panorama of the blue Firth lay before them, with its green islands dotted over it and the hills of Mull standing guard above. She could see as far as Scarba and Colonsay and away to the stark peaks of Jura, with the little Isles of the Sea lying in between. It was a scene of sheer magic, and she drew in her breath at sight of it.

“No wonder you can’t bear to part with this place, Hew,” she said involuntarily. “Is there no possible way of keeping it?”

“I’m afraid not,” he answered, his voice no longer stiff. “I’m not alone in this, you know,” he added, taking out his pipe to fill it from the tobacco jar which stood on a table in the ingle-nook. “Other people
have had the same sort of decision to make and have survived it.”

“Yes,” she agreed, but she knew now how he felt.

“Can I give you some tea?” he asked. “I’ll be going down in about an hour and we can go back together.”

“I came up
thinking
I might ask for a glass of milk,” she confessed.

“Sorry,” he apologized, smiling for the first time. “We don’t run to a cow up here.” He turned to stroke the cat, who had climbed up on the arm of the chair beside him. “Mr. MacKellar has grown large and silken on condensed milk out of a tin!”

“Then—let me make the tea,” she offered.

For
a split second she thought that he was about to refuse
.
He doesn’t want a woman about the place, she mused, but I’m here and—and it can’t be helped.

“I’d be grateful,” he conceded at last. “I’d like to take a look at one of the collie’s paws. She was limping just now as we came down the hill.”

Two black-and-white collies had settled themselves on the warm gravel in front of the doorstep and one of them was licking a paw and whimpering a little, as if in pain.

“You’ll find all you need in here,” Hew said, leading the way into a small back kitchen. “If there’s anything else you want, give me a shout.”

When she had made the tea, fumbling about in her search for cups and the tea-caddy, she went out into the sunshine to tell him it was ready, feeling more relaxed.

“Can I help?” she asked, kneeling down beside the injured dog who turned soft brown eyes towards her. “Is she badly hurt?”

“Not too badly,” he said. “A piece of shale has run in behind her dew claw and to
rn
the flesh.”

He was cutting away hair from the injured paw, his head bent to the task and quite near to Elizabeth’s as she stooped to fondle the collie’s silken head, and once agai
n
she was acutely aware of that almost physical sense of contact which she had first experienced at the Folly high above Oban’s glittering blue bay.

Instantly she drew back, the vision of Caroline—of Caroline’s portrait standing so prominent
l
y in his room—forcing itself between them.

“I’ll bring some hot water,” she offered stiffly.

“There’s a bottle of antiseptic on the kitchen shelf, beside the sheep-dip in the
corner
,” he called to her as she made her way indoors. “And a basin under the sink.”

He had accepted her help now, she thought, because it wasn’t quite so personal. They were both fond of animals and the collie was a working dog. He told her when she went out again with the hot water and the bottle of antiseptic that Wraith was also a champion. “This will put her out of the Trials,” he added ruefully. “It’s a pity because it might have been her last effort.”

“You mean that you won’t use her at Ardlamond?” Elizabeth asked, squeezing hot water over the injured pad. “I thought you might perhaps keep some of the sheep.”

“Oh yes,” he agreed. “I intend to hang on to the flock on Lingay. They’re a special breed and we can winter them at Ardlamond. All I meant was that I’m not going to have the time to spare for sheep-dog trials after this, or for training another dog to take Wraith’s place.”

“It does seem a pity,” Elizabeth said, stroking Wraith’s head. “I’d like to have seen her in action.”

“You’ll be seeing the others,” he reminded her. “Next week-end.”

When she carried the basin back into the croft Hew came with her and it seemed quite natural that she should pour out the tea. He stood with his back to the fireplace, looking down at her for several minutes after he had accepted his cup, his red brows drawn sharply together, and suddenly she was remembering Caroline again, thinking of the portrait in the other room which he had treasured now for over four years.

Suddenly she felt that she must get away, that she couldn’t stay at Whitefarland a moment longer with the feel of Caroline’s presence all about her and that dark, remembering look disfiguring Hew’s face.

“I’ll wash up,” she volunteered, “and then I think I ought to go. It must be getting on for twelve o’clock.”

“Ten past,” he said, his mind so obviously on something else that she turned sharply away in the direction of the kitchen with the teapot and her own cup. “Drain them on the board,” he called through to her. “I don’t bother with drying.”

She smiled a little wanly.

“How like a man!” she tried to say lightly.

“Yes.” He had followed her into the low-ceilinged annexe which was furnished with the bare necessities
of sink and paraffin stove. “One couldn’t exactly say that Whitefarland suffered from the woman’s touch.” Elizabeth could not imagine Caroline here, working beside him, helping in this small, inconvenient house.

“Did you mean to stay here, Hew?” she asked. “Was this to have been your home?”

“I thought of it that way,” he answered abruptly. “You see, I suppose I expected my father to live for ever. One rarely thinks of death—sudden death, anyway, in connection with one’s parents. I don’t think I ever really saw myself as the laird of Ardlamond before it happened. I was a sheep-farmer and quite happy to remain one, although Whitefarland and Ardlamond were always connected in my mind.”

“Didn’t you feel—lonely in the winter?”

He shrugged.

“Not really—after I got used to the idea of being alone.”

So that was it! He had fought out his battle of loneliness and bitterness after Caroline had gone, up
here among the hills, and in the process Whitefarland had come to mean more to him than any ordinary farm.

“I wish you could keep it,” she said impulsively. “I wish there was some way—”

He opened the back door to whistle to the dogs, who had strayed back on to the hill.

“There is no other way,” he said decisively.

Slowly they went down the hill path together, the collies at their heels, Wraith still limping a little and distressed by her bandage, but far too well-trained to attempt to remove it, at least in their presence. And it seemed to Elizabeth that the journey back was so much quicker than the way she had come. The sun shone warmly on their faces and the distant sea was very blue. They had left Caroline behind.

“I think Tony ought to interest himself in something definite,” Hew suggested as they neared the main road. “He can’t just drift through the next eighteen months doing nothing. There isn’t a lot here, but he should have an interest—even if it’s only in helping to run the
estate
.