The Last of the Kintyres (16 page)

“In a while, perhaps,” Stephen grinned. “We may sneak out ourselves after we’ve had our tea,” he added. “Where would you like to go?”

Elizabeth looked round for Hew, only to find him talking to Caroline.

“Anywhere,” she said. “Anywhere you like, Stephen.”

“We’ll round up the others,” he suggested, “and make a party of it. Poor old
Naomi
will be laid up on the Clyde by this time next week!”

They took their tea in the Clubrooms, and Caroline crossed to their table with Hew.

“Congratulate us, Stephen,” she smiled, her eyes bright with triumph.

Elizabeth felt as if her heart had stopped beating. She could only sit and stare at Caroline and wonder why Hew remained so unsmiling when they were about to announce their renewed engagement.

Stephen got clumsily to his feet.

“Must I?” he asked. “What is it all about, Caroline?” She made a little face at him. It could hardly have been called a smile, yet it conveyed a certain amount of smug satisfaction.

“I am now the proud possessor of Whitefarland,” she announced.

There was a tense, hard silence before Stephen said: “You’re certainly to be congratulated, Caroline—if you mean to farm it.”

“I’m not sure yet what I’m going to do with it.” She gave Hew a quick, sideways glance. “I’ve bought it chiefly for sentimental reasons, of course, but I dare say I can make it pay, too.”

It was a bitter, challenging remark, thrown at Hew in anger, or out of pique, but he stood beside her, tense and
unsmiling
,
making no sign that it had affected him in any way.

“I understand that I only just beat you to it, Stephen,” Caroline continued. “So sorry! But you mustn’t really grudge me my little victory. There are so many other farms to be had for your money—if you want them.”

“You’ll come aboard, Hew?” Stephen asked, trying to ignore Caroline as politely as possible. “We’re taking
Naomi
out for a short, last trip.”

Hew hesitated.

“I’d like to have a word with Prentice, if you don’t mind,” he said, refusing the offer. “He wasn’t in his office when I called in to see him this morning about the sale of the sheep.”

“Just as you like,” Stephen said, turning to Imogen and Tony. “You coming with us?” he asked.

“So long as we can get back for the dance,” Tony agreed, looking at Caroline.

Imogen bit her lip and turned away, and Hew walked back to the jetty with Elizabeth and Stephen.

“I meant to tell you about Whitefarland,” he said stiffly, “but Caroline got the news in first
.
”

“What in heaven’s name can she possibly want with a farm?” Stephen burst out angrily. “She wouldn’t know a ewe from a ram, even if she saw them together.”

“She’ll put in a manager, I expect,” Hew answered stiltedly. “Anyway, she’s bought it and we can’t do very much about it. Thanks for what you tried to do, Steve,” he added. “I appreciate it.”

He turned on his heel, saluting Elizabeth and Imogen as he went back up the steps on to the promenade.

“That sale is rankling,” Stephen observed as they stood watching Tony manoeuvring the dinghy round to the steps. “It will be like tearing out Hew’s heart to watch Whitefarland go down, or even to see it made a rich woman’s plaything. This is only a whim as far as Caroline is concerned.”

Elizabeth found nothing to say to that. As they rowed out to
Naomi
and Stephen helped her aboard, her thoughts were with Hew.

Tony and Imogen stretched themselves out on the foredeck to enjoy the last of the sun, and without the shadow of Caroline to cloud these brief hours, Imogen abandoned herself to complete happiness. Her laughter rang out, clear and bell-like, and Tony seemed content enough to amuse her, whiling away the time until he would be dancing with Caroline in his arms. It was a strange enslavement, Elizabeth mused unhappily, feeling that if he had been left alone Tony could have been completely happy with someone like Imogen.

“We’ve got time to slip across to Loch Don or even down as far as Loch Spelve,” Stephen suggested halfway across the open Firth. “I think you’d like Loch Spelve best, Elizabeth.”

“Anywhere,” Elizabeth agreed abstractedly. “Anywhere you say, Stephen.”

It was a magic journey for Elizabeth, sailing right into the sunset like this, with the great shoulders of Mull rising dark and rounded against a turquoise sky splashed with apricot and gold. The whole Firth seemed dyed in it, and the sheer red basalt cliffs looked less formidable in its softening light.

Even when they came to the entrance to Loch Spelve it was difficult to see it. A narrow, craggy opening, which seemed far too small and far too dangerous for any boat to negotiate, opened before them when it had seemed that they were heading straight for destruction on the treacherous, rock-girt shore, and
Elizabeth found herself holding her breath as Stephen steered them through.

One false move would have landed them in trouble, and then suddenly she realized that Stephen Friend wasn’t the sort of person who made false moves. He knew these shores; he was sure of where he was going.

He sailed with the land so close that she could almost put out her hand and touch the lichen-covered rocks, and then, to her utter amazement and delight, the whole loch widened out, spreading two silver wings of water on either side of them as they sailed straight into the heart of the
hills
.

When she tried to tell Stephen how wonderful it was she could not find the right words. She could not speak at all. They had come into such utter peace after conflict, and she felt that he had brought her here deliberately.

He dropped anchor behind a tiny island on the west side of the loch, although there was no prevailing wind from which to shelter, and Imogen told them that the seals came there to breed, and took Tony ashore to walk up the narrow, winding road which skirted the side of the loch.

“They’re like a couple of kids on a Sunday-school outing!” Stephen smiled, watching the dinghy’s erratic progress towards the weed-strewn shore. “They could be happy.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed huskily. “It would be so good for Tony.”

He came to sit beside her on the sun-warmed deck.

“Don’t worry too much about Tony,” he advised. “He’ll settle.”

“But in the meantime?” She turned to face him, aware of his friendship and understanding as never before. “I’m afraid, Stephen,” she confessed. “I’m afraid of Tony’s impulsiveness. He can be so utterly reckless, and I won’t always be here to make sure that he doesn’t do something foolish and antagonize Hew altogether.”

It was a full minute before Stephen moved. When he did it was to turn and put his strong, capable hands over hers.

“There’s no reason why you should go,” he said. “No reason at all. If you feel that you can’t stay at Ardlamond after a bit, there’s always Glenisla.”

Perplexed, she could only look at him with a question in her eyes.

“I’m asking you to marry me,” he said.

Elizabeth’s heart contracted with a swift pain. All her affection and respect for Stephen Friend rushed to the surface, yet she could do nothing but disappoint
him
.

“I wish I could, Stephen,” she said in a voice that was no more than a regretful whisper, “but it wouldn’t be any good. I couldn’t offer you anything but my complete love—my whole heart. Half measures just wouldn’t do.”

He sat for a long time contemplating the sea, her hand still held loosely in his.

“I don’t think I expected you to accept me,” he said at last. “It’s Hew, isn’t it? I think I’ve known that right from the beginning.”

She could not contradict him, and after a moment he said:

“I can’t pretend I’m not envious, but I know you’ll make him happy.”

Elizabeth drew her hand away, covering her face with it.

“There’s—nothing like that,” she told him in a choked voice. “Hew isn’t in love with me. He can’t forget Caroline.”

Always Caroline! Caroline’s name creeping in, even here, with the power to disrupt the utmost peace, even at a distance.

“He may not be able to forget her,” Stephen said slowly, “but he’ll never marry her. Not now.”

He seemed so convinced, so utterly sure that he knew what was in Hew’s mind, but Elizabeth could not be convinced. She could not forget that scene at the Castle on the night of the barbecue, nor drive Caroline’s words from her mind. She sat watching the last rays of the sun being drawn down behind the darkening shoulders of Ben More until a pale wash of lemon was, all that remained of the sunset’s gold—the glory they had seen—and then Stephen said, with a strange sort of finality in his voice:
“Well, we have to get back now. Let’s hail the children!”

CHAPTER EIGHT

HEW did not put in an appearance at the Yacht Club dance until it was almost over.

Elizabeth, dancing with Stephen and Tony and several other members of the Club, tried to pretend that she had scarcely noticed his absence, but she could not pretend to her heart.

Caroline could get into a rage and flaunt her conquest of Tony to ease her injured pride when he did not come, but Elizabeth was not the sort of person who could do either of these things. She could only feel for Imogen and hate Caroline the more.

At supper they sat at the same table because Tony brought Caroline back with him after the supper-dance. He did not seem to see that he was hurting Imogen. It was not intentional. He was completely bewitched by his fair siren from Dromore, and Caroline made the most of her easy conquest.

“Have you drowned Hew in the harbour, Stephen?” she asked, when she could no longer restrain her impatience. “He hasn’t put in an appearance all evening. I know he’s not the dancing type, but he did come to the regatta and the Daimler is still in the car park.”

“We have to remember about his father,” Stephen pointed out. “It’s no time since Sir Ronald’s death, and, as you say, Hew’s not the dancing type, anyway.”

“But he’s the laird,” Caroline persisted, “and he has some sort of obligation to the occasion.”

“Hew won’t forget his obligations,” Stephen assured her quietly.

When Hew did come in Caroline and Tony were dancing together, circling the room, cheek-to-cheek, in a waltz, and Elizabeth saw his quick frown as he watched them.

“When did you get in?’ he asked Stephen.

“Shortly after nine. We went across to Loch Spelve.”

“I see.” He glanced quickly in Elizabeth’s direction. “Would you care to dance?” he asked conventionally.

She stood up with a small, wavering smile.

“If it’s only a duty dance, Hew, I don’t mind sitting it out,” she said half bitterly as he guided her across the floor.

Angrily his arm tightened about her, like a steel band pressing her to him, so that there could be no way of escape.

“I don’t do this sort of thing out of a sense of duty,” he told her. “Did you enjoy your afternoon with Stephen in his pirate’s
hideaway
?” he demanded.

She was forced to laugh at that.

“I though
t
it was very beautiful,” she confessed, “and kind of Stephen to take me.”

“Kind?” He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Yes, very kind. Stephen has the right background for that sort of thing.”

“Do you know Loch Spelve?” It seemed a foolish sort of question to ask, but she had to say something because she could not understand him in this present, almost belligerent mood.

“Quite well,” he told her dryly. “It has always been the perfect setting for romance.”

She caught her lip between her teeth.

“Are you going to marry Stephen?” he asked.

“No.” He must have felt her quiver, for the pressure of his supporting arm tightened again. “I’m not going to marry anyone, Hew.”

He guided her half-way round the room before he spoke again.

“What makes you so sure of that?” he demanded.

“How is one sure? If you are in love with someone you don’t marry anyone else.”

“That’s entirely a woman’s reasoning”—curtly.

“It’s sound reasoning,” she tried to convince him.

“To go through the remainder of your life in a sort of half light, weeping for first love when a second, deeper passion might be there for the taking?”

“I’d—have to be convinced of the deeper passion first.” Her voice had quivered a little, but she forced herself to add: “Why are we talking like this? It doesn’t concern us—”

“It concerns me, because I’m going to ask you to marry me,” he said.

Elizabeth stiffened in his arms. She could not believe what she had heard.

“It’s—hardly the sort of thing one wants to joke about,” she said in a strangled undertone. “I—do you mind if we do sit this out, Hew? It’s so warm—” Without further question he led her away from the dancing throng across the carpeted outer lounge to a secluded
corner
beside a banked array of flowers— hydrangeas and carnations and roses that made a sea of colour before her swimming eyes.

Battling against tears, she sat down on the velvet divan along the wall.

“Can I bring you something to drink?” he asked. She shook her head.

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” he said, seating himself on the edge of the divan and half turning to face her. “Consider it unsaid.”

“How can I?” Her voice was broken, submerged in bewilderment. “You can’t just—scrub out a thing like that and—and forget about it.”

Trembling now from head to foot, she feared that he would see the misery and despair of her loving in her eyes, and she did not want him to see it and pity her.

“I meant what I said.” His voice did not waver and it held little tenderness. “You’ve just told me that you’re not going to marry Stephen—I’ve asked you to marry me. You need a home and I need someone to look after Ardlamond. What could be more—convenient?” The words struck across her heart like a blow.

“But what about Caroline?” she said, only loud enough for
hi
m to catch as he bent
hi
s dark head towards her. “What about Caroline?”

Above her she could see his face, cold and grim in the dim light of the shaded candelabra on the wall, and suddenly it seemed to be dark with fury and contorted with the agony of four years of suffering and disillusionment.

“Caroline walked out of my life four years ago,” he said. “You can hardly expect me to welcome her back now.”

She felt her heart beating stiflingly close against her throat. He had asked her to marry him, but he had uttered no words of love, made no real promise to guide her in the future. He needed her at Ardlamond. He needed someone in his home to be the proud mistress of that lovely old house, and she would be there often enough because Tony was his ward. What could be more convenient?

The echo of his words scorched her. A suitable way of saving his pride because he had vowed, all those long years ago, never to forgive Caroline for what she had done to
him
.

Her heart recoiled before the truth, for surely this was the truth? Vividly she recalled the scene at Dromore Castle when Caroline’s clear, concise words had floated out to them in the sunken garden on the night of the barbecue.

“It’s only your foolish pride that is keeping us apart, Hew,” Caroline had protested stormily. “You won’t accept me now because of my wretched money. That’s what you’ve been trying to say, isn’t it? But you will marry—you must marry—in time. It will be expected of you. You’re the laird! That matters, I suppose!”

And Hew had said that it mattered. It mattered very much to him that he should have an heir to carry on the old family line. For five hundred years there had been Kintyres at Ardlamond, eight generations of them handing down their name and their responsibilities from father to son, and he was the last of the them.

Looking up into the proud, hard face with its set, almost ruthless mouth, she could only remember that final, passionate cry forced from Caroline in the bitterness of her defeat.

“Knowing you love me—knowing you will never be able to forget me as long as you live—you’ll make a marriage of convenience because of Ardlamond—because you need to provide an heir! But it won’t succeed! I’ll always be there—always in your heart, because I was there first!”

Desire and doubt, despair and love tore at her one after the other while he waited patiently for her answer.

“Take your time,” he advised. “There’s no need for you to make a decision all at once. But it would be a good thing for Tony.” He thrust his hands deeply into
his
pockets as he rose to his feet. “He needs your influence. When I am too harsh with him he would have you to come to for sympathy.”

“It’s—a strange reason for getting married,” she attempted to say lightly, but her voice quivered on the words, and he turned back to her instantly.

“Think it over,” he repeated more gently. “I’m sorry if I’ve rushed you too much, Elizabeth, but there didn’t seem any reason to wait. I know what I want and you’re undecided about the future. You’re not going to marry Stephen, and Tony needs you here. At least we could try an engagement.”

She stood up, swaying a little uncertainly on her feet.

“Oh, Hew—” she said, and was instantly in his arms.

His lips found hers, savagely, possessively, with a world of hurt in their demand, and she clung to him without reserve. She knew that she would marry him now, in spite of everything.

When he set her free he was quick to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have let you make your decision—alone.”

She held out her hand.