The Wedding Cake Tree (11 page)

Yes, I certainly could feel my pulse
, but it was racing like a runaway train.

Okay
, Grace, you can do this. Concentrate on the breathing – in out in out in out.

‘
I think I’m hyperventilating.’

I f
elt his smile.

‘
No, you’re not. Try this. Breath with me
–
fold your arms.’

He
raised his arms and wrapped them around mine. I nestled my head into his neck and, for a moment, felt him lower his face into my hair.

Oh God,
the man’s actually smelling my hair.

‘
Right, feel
my
breathing rhythm and follow it,’ he said, ‘nice and calm and relaxed.’

I eventually
calmed down (miraculously) and we watched the water in silence. Alasdair would lift his binoculars from time to time and then, eventually, bingo.

O
nly twenty yards away, towards the edge of the water but a good hundred feet above it, an osprey was hovering. It was the epitome of grace – still, waiting, watching. A species perfectly designed for purpose: a symbiosis of beauty and function. I tensed up, my breathing short and shallow. Alasdair didn’t flinch; his breathing and pulse exactly the same … slow, steady, in tune. In a whisper of a heartbeat the wings retracted, the bird dropped at a phenomenal speed into a dive, and at the last moment, a fraction of a second before striking deep into the water, the legs came forward displaying murderous talons. With hardly a ripple in the water, the osprey dived in, then reappeared and headed back to the nest clutching a prize for his mate.

‘
Wow!’ I said, still in a whisper. ‘Now that was worth the wait; talk about extreme fishing.’

‘
Shall I tell you a story?’ he whispered.

‘
Won’t the sound of your voice scare them away?’

‘
Do you want the story or not?’

‘
Yes please.’

He
continued to whisper the story into my ear – it was difficult to concentrate.

‘
Okay then, once upon a time there were two young ospreys called EJ and Henry. Their eyes met across a moonlit loch and they fell instantly in love. Henry worked hard to build a beautiful home for EJ on the highest tree next to Loch Garten, a loch so blue and so deep that the happy love birds could rest assured that they would have a plentiful supply of food for the rest of their lives. Every autumn they would reluctantly say goodbye and migrate to warmer climes, vowing to return each spring to the same wonderful nest and mate. Eventually, they produced chicks and were excellent parents. Several years passed and the lovers continued to meet each spring at Loch Garten. EJ always returned to the nest on time but, over the course of a couple of years, Henry developed a tendency to return home a little … late.’

‘
Typical,’ I joked.

‘
Shhh
.’

‘
Sorry.’

‘
Then one year, Henry didn’t arrive at all. EJ waited and waited, but no Henry. She assumed the worst. Then another male osprey appeared at the loch and wooed EJ for his own. Believing the love of her life had abandoned her, EJ mated with the new bird and eventually she laid a clutch of eggs in the very nest she built with Henry, all those years before.’

‘
What a tart!’

‘
When Henry finally returned to Loch Garten, tired and hungry, he was devastated to discover EJ had had an affair.’

‘
What did he do? Hit the bottle?’

‘
I’m coming to that – patience. He took no prisoners. He fought off the young pretender, threw the un-hatched eggs out of the nest, and gave EJ a good telling off. She nagged him of course and said that if he hadn’t been late in the first place then the whole sorry affair would never have happened. Henry put EJ’s indiscretion behind him, and they went on to have many more chicks and lived happily ever after. The end.’

‘
That was a great story, is it true?’ I asked.

‘
Absolutely. And the bird you just saw fishing was Henry.’

We spent two hours in the hide. Alasdair returned to sit beside me on the bench and I adapted my breathing for my photographic work. As we drove away from the loch I was aware of feeling more relaxed and contented than I had felt in a very long time.

Chapter Sixteen

The car engine barely had time to warm up before the woodland opened to a clearing and a village emerged. Alasdair pulled into the car park of a grand Victorian hotel. He reached for his rucksack and pulled out a folded piece of paper. There was a complicated looking hand-drawn map on it.

‘
We’ve arrived then?’ I asked, unclipping my seatbelt as I spoke.

‘
Not quite. I just needed to take a quick look at the directions. Okay, got it. Let’s go.’ We carried on up a hill.

‘
Are we staying at a B&B then?’ Nethy Bridge was a large village but I doubted it could accommodate two hotels.

‘
Er, no.’ His faint smile told me he was hiding something. He gestured towards the back seat. ‘If you reach into the top pocket of my rucksack you’ll find the details of where we’re staying.’ I reached to the back of the car awkwardly whilst keeping half an eye on Alasdair’s face.

‘
Alasdair, your expression would be more fitting if it was plastered across one of Annie’s livestock.’

‘
Eh?’

‘
You look decidedly sheepish.’

I felt the paper of the letter in the pocket, grabbed it, settled back into my seat and took out the booking confirmation – there was a leaflet attached.

‘Rosamund thought it would be nice for you to get back to nature, so she booked a—’

I read the title of the leaflet.

‘A bloody woodman’s hut! What the’—I scanned through the details—‘This place hasn’t even got electricity. What on earth was Mum thinking of?’

‘
Come on, Grace. Cheer up. I thought it looked great when I scanned the details. And anyway, like you said a couple of days ago, you’re a country girl at heart, so—’

I cut him short.

‘I said country girl, Alasdair, not
backwoodsman.’ We were already driving through woodland. ‘I feel like Red Riding Hood for Christ’s sake … or Gretel!’ A few minutes later Alasdair halted the car at the end of a track surrounded by woodland. The hut was nowhere in sight.

‘
That’s that then,’ I shrugged, ‘you really
are
a murderer. I bloody knew it. And you’ve lured me to the perfect place to do the deed.’ I glanced at him. ‘Where are the pigs?’

Alasdair wasn’
t really listening; he was busy looking at the leaflet. We got out of the car and he set off into the woods. After a few paces, he noticed a building through the trees and turned to face me beaming a contagious smile.

‘Come on
, Gretel. It’s this way.’

Moments
later we stood shoulder to shoulder in silence staring, in disbelief perhaps, at our accommodation. Alasdair’s shoulders shook with laughter, and after a quick glance in his direction, I couldn’t help but join in. Alasdair took the leaflet from my grasp.

‘
Honestly, Grace, if you look at the photos properly, the place really does have a … what’s the word …
rustic
charm about it.’ He held the leaflet up to show me the photographs. ‘There’s a wood burning stove, and blankets over the chairs on the veranda.’ He pointed to the real thing. ‘Look
–
there they are, and a copper kettle and everything.’ He smiled at me sweetly. ‘It’ll be great, I promise.’

Just one little smile was all it took for Alasdair to caj
ole me into resigned acceptance. I sighed dramatically.

‘
You’re such a naive dreamer. Never view a house when the estate agent has described it as rustic. It’ll be a dump, guaranteed.’

‘
I’ll give you an hour before you’re in love with the place.’

‘
Don’t bet on it.’

We wandered
over to the hut which, to be fair, once close up was very sweet and rather romantic. A hammock was slung between two pine trees.

What was my mother playing at?

‘How long are we staying here by the way?’ I asked.

‘
Three nights … ish.’

I flashed him a sarcastic smile.

‘It just gets better.’

We stepped onto the veranda and I was forced to confess that the outside sitting ar
ea was inviting. Two chairs were positioned around a peat fire pot. I allowed my fingers to run over a tartan rug draped over one of the chairs as we passed. I took a glance at the label – Knockando Woolmill, Speyside
–
and decided
I could warm to the place.

We stepped
inside. Alasdair took his phone out of his pocket and beamed.

‘A signal!
Who’d have thought it!’

The hut
was immaculate, cosy, surprisingly warm and exquisitely decorated. It had a homespun, ethnic ‘at one with mother earth’ charm about it, and was full of texture. A scattering of soft furnishings – rugs, blankets, cushions and the most beautiful embroidered antique curtains – added not only a splash of colour, mainly russet reds, but also a touch of simple five-star luxury. There was a food preparation area in one corner (pots, pans and plates were on display on shelves above the sink), and, on the far wall, a wood-burning stove was flanked by a rocking chair and a granddad’s arm chair. A small circular pine table and two further dining chairs were positioned by the door, and a violin was propped against the timber cladding. I looked towards Alasdair and smiled; my smile said, ‘you’re right, it is lovely’. But, there were certain other, more delicate, aspects to consider. Alasdair read my mind, picked up an A4 file from a side table and provided a précis of the relevant bits.

‘
Well, you’ll be pleased to know that we’ve got running water.’ He stepped over to the sink and turned the brass tap. ‘The water’s collected from the roof and stored in barrels on the veranda.’ I joined him by the sink and assessed the water, it looked clear enough. ‘But we drink bottled water. It’s stored in a cupboard somewhere.’ He opened a cupboard door.

‘
The central light is run from a battery, backed up with candles.’

Watching
Alasdair explore the room was like watching a child let loose in a toyshop. He picked up and analysed the promised copper kettle. I thought of something fairly important suddenly.

‘
Alasdair …’

‘
Yes?’                           

‘
Where are the beds?’

For once he was flummoxed
– but not for long. He began to knock against the pine panelling on the wall to the right of the door. He then made a facial expression akin to Newton at his apple moment, and opened up a secret door within the wall.

‘
Ta da
!’

I
poked my head inside. It was a cabin bed. The bed linen was exquisite, the skylight above the bed heavenly and the view from the front window monumental. It was the perfect setting for a couple in love – only we weren’t a couple in love, and there didn’t appear to be another bed. I blushed. Alasdair coughed and turned away.

‘
The owner said she would drop by with a blow up bed later, so we’re all sorted.’

‘Oh
…’

He
closed the door and stepped over to a shelf with an enamel jug and a basin positioned on it. He picked up the bowl and grinned.

‘
And this is for washing your—’

‘
Bits and pieces?’ I finished for him.

‘
I was going to say face. But, believe it or not, oh sceptical one, there’s a shower for washing your bits and pieces.’

‘
A shower?’ I jumped up. ‘Where?’ We popped outside. A wooden post, similar to the kind of structure a hangman’s noose would swing from, was planted into the ground. A large canvas bag with a nozzle on the end hung from the horizontal spar. A water butt was perched on a raised plinth next to the shower, and the whole contraption was enclosed by larch panelling – presumably in case a red squirrel with an eye for the ladies sauntered past.

Alas
dair was trying to suppress a laugh. ‘You fill the kettle from the butt, take the kettle in the hut, heat it to the right temperature, and you’re away.’ He glanced across a clearing in the woodland towards the mountains. ‘And have you ever had a shower with such a cracking view?’

‘
Hmm
…’

We carried on a few paces
to another larch-clad structure. Alasdair poked his head in and out.

‘
Just as I expected. An eco-friendly latrine.’

‘
A what?’

‘
The loo.’

I popped my head in
. To my absolute surprise, it was the most palatial toilet I had ever seen – and that included a seven star hotel in Dubai. Alasdair was right. What more could a person want? I smiled, content.

‘
Well, I don’t suppose it’ll do me any harm to get back to nature.’

Alasdair put his arm through mine and
escorted me back to the hut.

‘
I tell you what,’ he said, ‘make yourself comfy on the veranda and I’ll make a brew. How does that sound?’

‘
Wonderful.’

I followed his orders and
made myself comfortable on the chair. Even though it was pleasantly warm outside, I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders, exhaled deeply, and took in the view. Although we were in the middle of a forest, a clearing in front of the hut allowed a panoramic view of the mountains – roughly ten miles away – framed to perfection by the surrounding pines.

A
lasdair appeared, and promptly disappeared, into the woods.

‘
What are you up to?’ I shouted after him. He glanced back with a smile.

‘
Just popping to the fridge.’

‘
What?’

I
threw the blanket off my shoulders, jumped up and ran after him. He stopped by a stream, glanced up and down, stepped a few paces into the water and retrieved a plastic bag. He opened the bag, took out a bottle of milk, resealed the bag and placed it back in the stream.

‘
Well, it saves on the electric bill I suppose.’

‘
How did you know where it was?’ I asked. He handed me a letter from his pocket.

To Alasdair and Grace. I have put the food you ordered in the fridge and the cupboard. The ‘fridge’ takes the form of a plastic bag tied onto a rock in the burn. Those extra bits and pieces you wanted are tucked away in the shed, it’s not locked. Have a lovely holiday and do let me know if there is anything else you need.

Valery
.

I returned to my chair on the veranda and waited for the tea.

‘
Ah, perfect.’ I took a cup and some biscuits.

‘
I won’t join you just for now, Grace, much as I want to. I have a paper to write for my Brigadier and I need to email it off today. It’ll only take me an hour or so.’ I tried to hide my disappointment – unsuccessfully.

‘
That’s a shame. But, we don’t have internet – we don’t even have electricity – how will you email it?’

Alasdair smiled at my disappointment.
‘I can connect to the internet through my phone – I won’t be long.’

‘
Oh, don’t worry about me,’ I said, now trying to sound nonchalant. ‘I’ll be perfectly happy out here. In actual fact I was just about to contemplate the meaning of life, and that’ll take me at least ten minutes.’

I sat
back in the chair and watched Alasdair grab his laptop from the car.
This really was the life.
He hummed a happy tune as he walked up the steps and crossed the veranda.

‘
How long did you say it would take me to fall in love with the place, Alasdair?’

‘
Ooh, about an hour.’             

‘
And how long have we been here?’

‘
About an hour.’

I nodded appreciatively.

‘God, you’re good.’

He
ruffled my hair like he was patting a faithful dog.

‘
I won’t be long, and then we’ll do stuff.’

After about ten minutes of half-hearted meditation (Alasdair was right, I was a fidget) I noticed a path leading away from the hut. It was like a path in an illustration of a fairy tale, inviting a naive but inquiring mind to venture on. After grabbing my camera, I followed the path along the spongy woodland floor, stepped over a stile and was surprised to see a wooden bench positioned under a tree in a clearing. It was impossible not to notice the tree as it was quite different from the native pines and silver birch. It looked like an ornamental tree of some kind, and was completely covered in the most exquisite double white flowers. I wandered over. A laminated sheet of paper had been fastened to the bench with a string. Taking a seat on the bench, I picked up the paper and saw that it was a watercolour painting of my exact view of the Cairngorm Mountains from the bench. Underneath the painting the artist had written, ‘Strath Nethy and the Cairngorms’. Further down the sheet were the words: