The Wedding Cake Tree (10 page)

‘Oh, that’s a shame.
You haven’t got to go anywhere dangerous, have you?’

He smiled.
‘They aren’t sure yet, but we need to plan all the same.’

I
returned to my seat and gazed blankly into the fire for a while, only to look up at the clock and notice – to my absolute surprise – that it was past eleven.

‘
It’s really late. I should get on with reading Mum’s next letter.’

‘
Why don’t you wait until tomorrow to read it, after all—’

‘
Why
not
read it now? My head is already full of so much clutter. More information can only help rather than hinder, surely.’

H
e prodded the embers of the fire while I read.

Chapter Thirteen

Hello Grace, my love.

How are you enjoying the Wensleydale Heifer? I haven’t been there in years but Jake found the details on the internet for me and it looked as though the owners have maintained the ‘olde worlde’ charm, so hopefully you are both having a lovely time. I also hope the weather was good to you for your walk and for the visit to the farm. How was the old place? As wonderful as ever, I hope.

You’re probably wondering why you’re reading this letter in the hotel rather than at a specific place. Well, the next destination of significance to me is RAF College Cranwell – it’s in Lincolnshire. I considered sending you there but, after deliberating long and hard, I decided Lincolnshire is rather featureless, and all you would be able to do is stand at the gates and look in at the college from the outside, so you might as well stay in the wonderfully cosy pub and read about it instead.

As you know, I took myself off to RAF Cranwell when I was twenty-one, and my goodness I loved absolutely every single second of it. The College is where the RAF trains its officers. I shan’t get bogged down with too much of the detail, suffice it to say, over the course of sixteen weeks, I threw myself into my new life and thrived on the training.

The day I graduated from Cranwell was one of the happiest of my life. I was on cloud nine and brimming with confidence. I was earning my own money and making all of my own decisions – what a confident, headstrong little so-and-so I must have been in those days.

There were only a handful of girls on my course and, as you can imagine, we all received quite a lot of attention from the boys. There was a man called Geoffrey Heywood on the same course; he was tall, dark and unbearably handsome. Besotted, I set my cap at him from the off and by the fifteenth week we were an item – he didn’t stand much of a chance, poor man. The course came to an end and I moved on to another RAF station in Lincolnshire to start my training as an intelligence officer. Geoff stayed on at Cranwell and began his flying training course.

I would pootle back and forth to Cranwell in my little car and, over time, we managed to build a strong and loving relationship – not easy given the circumstances. We married on the 31st of May 1974 at Cranwell, in the lovely church that sits within the grounds there. It seemed fitting to marry at a place that was important to us. You won’t be surprised to hear it was a beautiful day. Mum and Dad were there and had a wonderful time. Annie came (surprisingly), and was just as sour as usual.

And that, I suppose, is all there is to tell you. Cranwell was a place of great significance in my life. Most importantly it was where I met a man who became my husband. It was the beginning of the rest of my life. I was young and free and full of adventure. Forget all this modern chatter that says ‘forty is the new twenty’. I tell you this: twenty is twenty, thirty is thirty and so on and so forth. In your early twenties your real, independent life is just beginning and no other time is ever the same – good or bad. With no significant emotional baggage behind you (hopefully) everything ahead is fresh like the bright green growth of spring. It’s a time full of possibilities and I tried to grasp each and every one of them.

With all my love, my love.

Mum

Chapter Fourteen

I took my turn to stoke the fire while Alasdair read the letter.

‘
Well, at least you know the real reason why the 31st of May was so important to her.’ He said, handing the letter back. ‘Did you even know she was married?’

‘
Not a clue. This last letter has brought me down a bit, to be honest. I didn’t know her at all really, did I?’

‘Her story isn’t over yet.’ He paused for a second. ‘Can I give you some advice, Grace?’

‘If you like
…’

‘
Rosamund may have been your mother, but first and foremost she was a woman in her own right, and I get the impression that it’s this side of her personality – her life as a woman rather than your mother – that she’s going to reveal to you. So, just for now, I wouldn’t think of her as Mum, but as Rosamund.’

‘Don’t you mean
Frances
?’ I asked, with a slight edge to my voice.

‘Exactly.
You have four more letters to read, so maybe, by the end, you’ll come to see what the point of it all is.’ Alasdair stared into his swirling brandy before slugging it back in one go.

‘
What do you
know,
Alasdair?’ There was something in his expression that led me to believe he was possibly hiding something. ‘What did Mum tell you when you went down to Devon last year?’

He looked up, his expression softened
as he smiled.

‘
All I know, is you’ll be glad you came on this trip by the end. Yesterday you told me you were just going to sit back and enjoy it all. You seem deflated after this last letter. So,’ he added brightly, ‘Rosamund told me you were trained in music … and I confess to having heard you sing.’

‘
Oh my God, when?’ I felt the blood rush to my face and my hands followed suit.

‘
You were upstairs at St Christopher’s. I was passing the back of the house on my way to the coop for some eggs. The window was open and there you were, singing away, happy as a song bird.’

‘
How embarrassing! What was I singing?’

‘
Amazing Grace.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘Got to give it to you, you can really bang out a tune.’

I removed my hands from my face.

‘Amazing Grace is the song Mum always sang to me at bedtimes. Anyway, my musical career is well and truly over, thank God. I shan’t charge you for the impromptu performance if you don’t sue me when you lose your hearing later in life.’

‘
Don’t you like to sing any more?’ he pressed on. ‘Seems like such a waste of talent.’

There it was
again, the lost boy look, all questions and innocence.

‘
Aren’t you sick of hearing about me or mother by now?’ I paused. ‘Would you like to talk about your family rather than mine? It sounds like you’ve had problems of your own.’

His face hardened.

‘No thanks, Grace. I wouldn’t waste oxygen discussing my family. Come on, tell me all about it. How come you ended up taking photos rather than singing?’

I yawned.
‘It’s so late though. What time do we need to get up in the morning? Actually, where are we going tomorrow?’

‘
So many questions young Grace. Okay, we need to leave here by nine and, I’m delighted to tell you, we’re going to a fantastic place.’

‘
Where
? For goodness’ sake, Alasdair. Just tell me!’ He was so infuriating.

‘
Tomorrow, Grace Buchanan, we’re going to Scotland.’

He said
the word with such aplomb I could tell he was excited at the prospect. I felt like saying, ‘Bloody Scotland! What the hell’s bells was she doing up there? It’ll be freezing.’ But I decided against it.

‘
Flying again?’ I presumed.

‘
Yes. To Inverness this time.’

‘
I’ll tell you what then,’ I sighed, lifting my weary bones from the chair. ‘Seeing as you have been so gracious and have given one of your little secrets away – i.e. a precious destination ahead of schedule – I’ll do you a deal. You stoke up the fire and I’ll break into the kitchen and rustle up some hot chocolate. It could be a very long night.’

‘
It’s a deal.’

Over the hot chocolate
I told him the story of my short and disastrous musical career and how I stumbled into my job as a photographer, and so it was far later than I care to remember when we meandered up the stairs and eventually said goodnight. I was just putting the key into my room when Alasdair glanced across at me from his own doorway.

‘Grace
…’

‘Yes?’

He smiled. ‘About the politician’s wife – it’s your business, not mine. Don’t pay any attention to me.’

I nodded
, but instantly realised that, in point of fact, it wasn’t my business at all.

‘Goodnight
, Alasdair.’

‘Goodnight.’

I sat on the bed, grabbed my camera and selected the photo of the lovers
(if that is what they were) taken at range through the window of the bistro. I zoomed in to look at the expression on the woman’s face; she looked happy. I selected the rubbish icon on the Nikon, and a fraction of a second later the photo disappeared from the screen. Let the woman have her moment, I thought. After all I wasn’t a paparazzo any more and, like Alasdair had said, I may not know the whole story.

Part Three

The Cairngorm Mountains

Scotland

24
–
28 May

Chapter Fifteen

I felt surprisingl
y chipper the following morning. My wrist ached of course, just as Alasdair predicted, but a couple of high-strength ibuprofen soon sorted that out.

After a
rushed morning – packing, eating, driving and then flying – we arrived in Scotland just after 12.30 p.m. The view of the Highlands from the air was breathtaking. Alasdair leant across me and pointed out key landmarks during the final minutes of the flight – the massif of the Grampian Mountains to the north-west, then Black Isle, and finally the golden beaches of the Moray Firth to the east.

On leaving the airport
the routine was as slick as it had been at Leeds airport, and I had to admit, to myself at least, that I was having a wonderful time.

Once
again, Alasdair seemed to know exactly where he was going and, once again, I only referred to the map briefly to glance at the route he had highlighted in yellow. He explained we were heading into the Cairngorms National Park, to a place called Nethy Bridge.

Having
never stepped so much as a toe into the Highlands before, from the moment the car headed south from Nairn and towards the mountains I realised this was a travesty. The glorious spring sunshine had travelled north with us, and the first thing that struck me as we drove into the Highlands wasn’t the carpets of heather or the drama of the towering mountains beyond, but the colour of the sky. It was ethereal, like the blue of a watercolour painting.

‘
Mum was right – about the sky, I mean. Haven’t you noticed how different the light is here? The sky is definitely a different shade of blue, and it’s brighter too. Everything seems clearer.’

He took his attention
off the road for a second to peer into the sky, nodded and let me continue with my thoughts in peace.

Roughly half an hour after leaving the airport, the Cairngorm Mountain Range became omnipresent in the distance. It was a view that couldn’t fail to lift the spirits. Beyond Grantown, although the mountain range still dominated the view, the foreground opened up into an unexpected plateau of pasture fields. The scenery was further honed to perfection by the presence of a broad, curvaceous river that meandered its way through the glen. Wide, flat fields abutted the river on either side, and a smattering of Highland cattle swished their tails while chewing cud. If I had been an artist I would have stopped the car immediately, taken to my easel and sketched the scene for posterity. Instead, I ushered Alasdair into a convenient lay-by, withdrew my camera and lens filters and began to shoot.

We crossed
a rickety-looking bridge that spanned the River Spey, then stopped at a T-junction. Alasdair looked across at me. His hand hovered next to the indicator – I could tell an idea was brewing.

‘
There’s something I’d really like to do, as we’re here,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘I’d like to nip to Loch Garten, to see the ospreys. They nest there at this time of year.’

The next question
had to be asked.

‘
Are you into birds then … of the two winged variety?’

He laughed.

‘If you’re asking if I’m a twitcher, then no, I’m not. Not full-time anyway. The ospreys are special though, do you mind if we go?’

‘No, not at all.’

He started at the door handle after parking at Loch
Garten. ‘Wait a second will you, I’ll just nip and get changed.’

‘
Why, what’s wrong with what you’ve got on?’ I had noticed he was looking especially attractive that day, in a rugged ‘I’m just going to nip out and liberate a small nation’ kind of a way.

‘
If you come to somewhere like this,’ he said in all seriousness, ‘i.e.
twitcherville
, then it’s regarded as bird watching etiquette to dress appropriately. I need to put my camouflage gear on. I’ve got something in my bag you can wear if you like.’

‘
Seriously?’

‘
Grace, you’re so easy to wind up.’

‘
Oh, thank Christ for that.’

He opened the door with a flourish.

‘I’ll go and see if we have to pay to go into the hide. I’m so excited.’

‘
Oh no, Alasdair. You really
are
a twitcher!’

With a contented exhale of breath, I grabbed my camera from the back seat and walked the short distance to the edge of the loch. Surrounded by pine forest and overshadowed by mountains, it was a photographer’s dream. Loch Garten epitomised peace on earth: serene and completely still.

Alasdair appeared by my side ten minutes later.

‘What are you photographing?’ he asked, looking down at me. I was prostrate on the floor. I laughed, took the photo and stood up.

‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’ I nodded towards two pairs of binoculars swinging from his neck. ‘You look the part.’

‘
Don’t I just.’

We walked down a narrow road that skirted the loch. In all honesty I didn’t expect to get much of a thrill out of sitting in a hide for an hour, but it was something Alasdair wanted to do so I tried to feign real interest. As we approached a fifteen-foot square wooden box covered in camouflage netting, Alasdair stopped and took my shoulders in his hands.

‘Now then, the whole point of sitting in the hide is to make sure the ospreys are unaware of our presence.
I promised the woman in the visitor centre that we would be quiet as church mice and as still as the grave. Do you think you can do that?’

‘Okay
, David Attenborough, no need for the lecture. I get it.’

‘So, do you think you can sit still for more than five minutes?’ he persisted.

‘Of course. How difficult can it be?’

‘
The thing is, you have a tendency to fidget.’ We were standing outside of the hide by now.

‘
How do you know I fidget?’

‘
Because I know.’

The hide was empty except for a long wooden bench screwed to the floor just in front of and parallel to the line of a narrow slit that formed the viewing hole. It was dark inside and smelled of a mixture of woodland air freshener and musty socks. Alasdair handed me a pair of binoculars. As we took our position on the bench I removed my camera from around my neck and replaced it with the binoculars. I looked across at Alasdair. His eyes were already pressed to the lenses and his elbows were propped on a shelf fixed to the wall below the slit.

‘
What happens now?’ I asked in a whisper.

‘
We sit very still, wait and watch. The ospreys have been on the nest all morning so hopefully we should get to see one of them in action pretty soon. Apparently, once the chicks have hatched, the male will dedicate himself to hunting for the family until they’re six weeks old. The female stays with the chicks to brood them.’

‘
She’s got her priorities right. None of this women’s lib stuff, get your feet up love.’

Alasdair
had morphed into a professional twitcher and failed to respond to my attempt at humour.

‘
You can’t see the nest from here, but they have a camera fixed on it in the visitors centre. I had a quick look, it’s fantastic,’ he said, keeping his eyes on the lenses.

‘
Oh, great.’

I wasn’t sure how long I could keep up the enthusiasm.
I was determined to prove Alasdair wrong though. I was not a fidget.

‘
So, what stage are we at now? Eggs or chicks?’ I asked.

‘
Eggs. Let’s
ssshhh
for a moment.’

‘
Okay.’ I whispered, taking up position as Alasdair had done.

At least a minute passed by until
, ‘You’re fidgeting,’ he murmured, through slightly gritted teeth.

‘
I’m not.’

‘
I can
sense
you fidgeting,’ he continued, quietly but pointedly. ‘We’ll never see them if you keep moving.’

‘
I’m not moving.’

‘
Your head keeps twitching.’

H
e was right. I sat upright and looked across at him.

‘
It’s these bloody binos. They’re not set right but I didn’t want to adjust them because you would say I was fidgeting and also my wrist still hurts so I’m trying to balance them with just my left hand.’ Alasdair sat up on the bench and let his binoculars hang down onto his chest. He breathed a deep but good-hearted sigh.

‘
If you get your binoculars sorted out will you sit still?’ he asked, a little softer.

‘
Yes.’

‘
Go on then.’

‘
You’re being bossy by the way.’

He flashed me a half-
smile while I adjusted the focus and fiddled with the width to try to get them to sit flush to my eyes. We returned to our viewing positions but I just couldn’t get myself comfortable. The binoculars still didn’t feel right and I had left a boiled sweet in my jeans pocket – which was now digging into my right buttock.

‘
You’re doing it again,’ he said, becoming quite cross with me now. ‘I promised the woman we would be good, Grace.’

‘
Sorry, sorry. Look, I’m going to ditch the binos and use the view finder on my camera.’

‘
Fine.’

I
took the sweet out of my pocket, placed it on the bench, took the lens cap off the camera and propped it on the ledge. The camera wasn’t set up correctly for light and focus.

‘
Just a couple of adjustments. Won’t be a second.’

Alasdair didn’t move.
I couldn’t even see him breathing, but I did hear him sigh as my lens moved in and out of the camera until it focused on the loch.

‘
Right, finally. I’m ready. This is fun, eh?’ I didn’t really want an honest answer.

I probably lasted a good five minutes
, but nothing was happening: no red squirrels, no pine martins, not even a mouse. The boiled sweet was staring at me from the bench. I licked and pursed my lips. We hadn’t had lunch and I was starving. The sweet became an obsession. I edged my hand in fraction-of-a-second movements down to the sweet and slowly raised it onto my lap to unwrap it.

‘
Grace …’

‘
What now?’

Silence.

I popped the sweet into my mouth and tried to suck it as quietly as possible. The hide came alive with the sound. I must have looked like a camel.

‘
Grace, please—’

‘
All right, I’ll spit it out.’ I popped the sweet back into the plastic wrapper. Alasdair sat up.

‘
I knew you couldn’t do it,’ he said.

‘
I can. I’m ready now, honest.’ Alasdair got to his feet and took the binoculars from around his neck. ‘Oh no!’ I cried. ‘Let’s stay. You were so excited. I promise I’ll be better.’

‘
We
are
staying. I’m going to teach you how to sit still for just a moment.’

He hopped over the bench and took up position behind me.

‘Budge your bum forward a bit,’ he ordered.

‘
That’s the second time you’ve said that to me within twenty-four hours, Mr Finn!’

He positioned himself on the bench behind
me and straddled his legs either side of mine, my back rested gently on his chest. I felt my shoulders and arms tense. Being taller than me he could rest his chin on the top of my head, but he moved his head down to my right side to talk to me in a whisper.

‘
Right then,’ he said as his breath brushed against my ear, ‘forget the binoculars, forget the camera and relax.’

‘
Right,’ I answered, trying to hide my frisson of excitement at the feeling of his breath on the back of my neck.

‘
You’re not relaxed.’

‘
I am!’ I said, forcefully.

‘
You’re not,’ he replied just as forcefully (we were never going to see any ospreys at this rate), ‘I can
feel
how tense your shoulders are. Relax into me and concentrate on the water. Look at the water and push everything else from your mind. If any other thoughts come to you, put them to one side and become engrossed in the ebb and flow of the water.’

‘
Okay, relax …’ I said, ‘I can do that.’ I let my shoulders drop a little, sighed and leant back into his chest a tiny bit more.

‘
So,’ he continued, ‘being in a relaxed state is all about being in tune with your breathing, in tune with nature. Listen to the sound of your own breath and slow it down. Feel your pulse slow down while you control your breathing. Breathe in … and out. Slow … and calm … and relaxed …’