When we got there, other people were there as well. We were all introduced. Mrs. Kennedy is called Tabitha, and is very pretty and young-looking, and unusual. Rory told me she teaches art in the school. Then we left all the grownups in the sitting-room and went into the kitchen, and there were three other boys there, friends of Rory’s from school, and his sister Clodagh, who is twelve, and very skinny and sharp with bright-blue eyes and fair pigtails. We all. sat around and drank Coke, and Clodagh was very flirty. The table was already laid, and we had a sort of high tea there, an enormous macaroni and cheese and salads, and then a very rich chocolate cake and ice-cream. When that was finished, we all got ready again and walked down the hill and along the road to the school. About half a mile. The school is old, but has lots of new buildings around it, and the gym was one of them. They call it the hall, but it’s a gym as well.
There were lots and lots of children of all ages, from about seven to grownup. The headmaster is called Mr. Mcintosh, but they all call him Waterproof behind his back, but I bet he knows about this. He was quite young and very nice. There was a platform at one end of the hall and a proper band. An accordionist, a drummer, and a fiddler. There was a terrible din, and everybody was larking around, and then Mr. Mcintosh told everybody to be quiet, in quite a soft voice, and they were. He said it was time to get started and we were going to do a Strip the Willow because it wasn’t too difficult for little ones and learners (me).
Rory and the others who had been with us helped get everyone into line, with partners and things. It didn’t seem to matter who your partner was. Boys danced with boys, and girls with girls, if they wanted, which seems to me a very sensible arrangement. Two boys wanted to dance with Clodagh, but Rory said he would do it with me.
We stood about halfway up the line so I could see roughly what it was all about. The music was very lively and jiggy and made you feel you couldn‘t stand still, with a tremendous beat from the drum. It wasn‘t a very difficult dance, just spinning round and round with your partner, or some other person in the line, and then coming all the way back again. Sometimes you were armed by a huge boy who pulled you just about off your feet, and then the next one would be tiny, and you’d have to be careful not to spin him off his feet.
By the end we were all hot and breathless, but there was lemonade and then we started again.
We did an eight some reel, but with sixteen people, which makes it all the more complicated. And then something called Hamilton House, which was fun because you set out with one boy and then spin with another. And then the Dashing White Sergeant, when you go all round the room in threes, the lines in opposite directions, so by the end you have met absolutely everybody. Then the Gay Gordons, but Rory said that was a silly dance, so we didn‘t do it but drank lemonade. I didn’t dance with him all the time, but with lots of other people who were friendly, even though I didn’t know their names, and came and asked me. Most people were in jeans and old clothes, but some boys wore their kilts, with Rugby shirts, or old tweed waistcoats.
The time absolutely flew, and it was so strange because however breathless and hot you felt, as soon as the music struck up again, you simply didn‘t want to stay off the floor.
It all ended at about ten o’clock, and nobody wanted to go home, but once the band had gone, there wasn’t much point, so we all went out to the cloakroom and found our things again, and put them on. Clodagh and the others went back to the Manse. One of the boys had a sledge and they took turns dragging each other along the road and up the hill. But Rory walked back to Oscar’s house with me. It was such a beautiful night, with the snow still falling softly, and everything smothered in it.
Carrie had said to ask him in for a beer, so I did, and he came in. And then, more surprises. They were all in the kitchen, finishing supper. And Carrie was up and about, and a strange man was there, too. He is called Sam Howard, and is going to live up here, and run some old woollen mill in Buddy. Very nice-looking and I should say just about the right age for Carrie. I thought perhaps he was an old friend, but it seemed he’d been snowed in, couldn’t get back to Inverness, and was staying the night. We‘d seen a rather handsome Range Rover thing outside in the street, but hadn’t put two and two together.
Anyway, we had hot chocolate and some biscuits with them, and then Rory went home. But he says he is coming today with the television set for my room. Not that I need one, because so many things are happening here all the time that I don’t think I shall have time to look at it.
The best is knowing that things are going to go on happening. I’ve never felt like this before. In London, a treat is over and there aren‘t any more, but being here there are unexpected treats every single day.
Now I suppose I had better get dressed and go down and eat breakfast. There is a smell of bacon drifting up which is very appetizing.
Elfrida was, as usual, the first downstairs in the morning. On the turn of the stairs, she drew back the curtains (a marvellously grand and threadbare pair that she had bought at the market in Buckly), and gazed out at the day. Actually, it was the night, because it was still dark, but it had stopped snowing, and by the light of the street lamp she could see the garden, all shape and form obliterated. Bushes and trees drooped beneath the weight of the snow, and shrubs, pillowed, had lost all identity. It was very still and quiet.
She went on downstairs and into the kitchen. Horace, it seemed, was beginning to recover. As she opened the door, he clambered out of his basket and came to greet her, plumy tail waving. She stroked and patted him, and they held a small conversation, and then she opened the back door and he stepped out. When he came indoors again, his face wore an expression of indignation. He had not expected such inconvenience, especially in his present delicate state of health.
He returned to his basket and sulked.
Elfrida dealt with breakfast. Laid the table, made coffee, found bacon. It was the last of the bacon and they would have to buy more. In fact, she was really going to have to start thinking about Christmas food; she had been putting this off from day to day, but now there was so little time left that probably all the shops would be denuded and she wouldn’t be able to buy so much as a mince pie. She found an old envelope and a pencil, and as she fried the bacon, started in on a tentative list. She wrote bacon. And then tangerines. And then decided not to write anything else until she had her first cup of coffee.
She was drinking this when the kitchen door opened, and Sam Howard appeared. Elfrida was wearing her tartan trousers and a dark-blue sweater with knitted sheep grazing about all over it, but Sam was still in his sharply cut and formal suit because, of course, he had nothing else to wear. He looked a bit out of place, and Elfrida’s first thought was for his comfort.
She said, “I shall lend you a sweater.”
“I clearly look as peculiar as I feel. Overdressed.”
“Not at all. You look very nice. But a bit like a chairman about to make a speech. How did you sleep?”
“In great comfort. I remember beds like that in my mother’s house.”
“I have cooked you bacon for breakfast.”
“I smelt it, wafting up the stair.”
“I’ll fry you an egg.”
“I can do that. I’m extremely handy.”
“Not in your best jacket. It will smell of cooking. I shall go now and find you something a little less formal.”
She went upstairs. Oscar was in the bathroom shaving, so she raided his chest of drawers and unearthed a pleasing blue Shetland jersey with a polo-neck. Back in the kitchen, she found Sam in his shirt-sleeves, neatly frying himself his egg. She tossed him the sweater.
“Too cold for shirt-sleeves.” And he caught it and pulled it on, his head emerging from the ribbed collar like the head of a swimmer rising from the deep.
“That’s much better,” Elfrida told him.
“Now you can relax.”
He fried the egg and flipped it onto the plate, and added a couple of rashers of bacon. Elfrida put more bread into her new toaster, and then filled his coffee-cup. They sat at the table together, and it felt companionable.
“The snow has stopped….”
“I feel so bad about last night….”
They both spoke at the same instant, and then stopped, waiting for the other to carry on.
Elfrida said, “Why do you feel bad? It was no trouble at all. All we did was feed you on some rather dried-up kedgeree and put a pair of sheets on a bed.”
“I didn’t actually mean that, although it was very kind of you. I meant barging in, clutching the key of your house, and saying I’d come to buy it. I lay awake last night and went quite cold with embarrassment at the thought. I just hope I didn’t offend Oscar, or upset him.”
“Oscar’s not that sort of a man. For a moment he was a bit cross, but with Hughie, not with you. And I must agree, I think Hughie has behaved in a shabby fashion. But according to Oscar, he’s never done anything else. However, I can’t pronounce, because I’ve never met him. Did you like him? Hughie, I mean.”
“Not really. Very smooth. Rather passe. Kept fondling his tie.”
Elfrida recognized the tiresome habit at once.
“Oh, I hate men who do that. I can just see him.”
“The key’s still in my coat pocket. I’ll give it to Oscar.”
“He’s not that worried.”
“I…” Sam set down his knife and fork and reached for his coffee-cup.
“I… suppose Oscar wouldn’t think of buying Hughie out?”
“We talked about it last night. You have to understand Oscar and I haven’t known each other for all that long. But, at the beginning of November, his wife and child were killed in a terrible car crash, and he had to leave Hampshire, and I came with him. We share a bedroom and a bed, but we have no foreseeable future together. I am not, as yet, permanently a part of his life, simply a sort of spare wheel, to keep the car going until he’s sorted himself out. So it is difficult for me, either to press him into some sort of action, or even to make suggestions.”
“Will he go back to Hampshire?”
“No. The house he lived in, with Gloria, is already on the market.”
“So this is his only property?”
“Yes. And it’s half a property.”
“But wouldn’t it be sensible for him to buy Hughie out?”
“Yes. Sensible, but not financially possible. I have only just found this out.”
“You mean he doesn’t have the wherewithal?”
“Exactly that.”
“A mortgage?”
“Won’t think about it.”
“I see.” Sam returned to his bacon and eggs, but his presence was so strong and sympathetic that Elfrida went on. Confiding in him, as she felt she could confide in no other person.
“I said, we talked about it last night. He told me that if he sold everything he owned, he couldn’t raise more than twenty thousand. And I said, “Oscar, I have my little picture.”
” He looked up, and across the breakfast table, their eyes met and held. And Elfrida guessed that this possibility had already occurred to him.
“You are talking about your David Wilkie?”
“Exactly. It was given to me, years ago. I’ve never had it valued, because I’ve never insured it. But like any old woman living on her own, I have always allowed myself to believe it is worth a lot of money. My backup, in possible times of penury and trouble.”
“Would you sell it?”
“For Oscar, I would do anything. Short of leaping off a cliff or shooting myself. And after all, what is a little picture? It’s given me pleasure for many years, but we have to keep some sense of proportion. Surely, to be able to own such a lovely house as this is of more importance.”
“I agree with you,” said Sam.
“You’ve no idea how much it’s worth?”
“Not really. And this is scarcely the time and the place to start getting it appraised. I am a stranger in this part of the world. I have no connections of any sort, and wouldn’t know where to start. There’s an antique shop across the road, but that’s about as far as I can go.”
Sam was silent for a bit. And then he said, “Janey Philip … she’s married to my oldest friend. I was staying with them in London when I met Hughie…. Janey used to work for Boothby’s, the fine art dealers; I could ring her. I’m sure she’d have some bright suggestions.”
“It’s a bit close to Christmas to start trying to sell pictures.”
“We don’t have to do it right away.”
“And the snow. The snow precludes everything. Are you still snowed in with us, Sam? I hope so.” He put down his coffee-cup and started laughing. She frowned.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. Most people would be desperate to get rid of the stranger.”
“I don’t feel you’re a stranger. But I suppose it was a stupid thing to say. You obviously want to get on. Get back to Inverness.” She finished, “Get home.”
“Elfrida, I am going no farther than Inverness.”
“But… home … ?”
“At this precise moment I haven’t got one. Except an apartment in New York. That’s where I lived for six years, but my wife and I separated, and then I had to come back to the UK to do this job in Buckly.”
“Oh, Sam, I’m sorry.”
“Why sorry?”
“Your wife … I didn’t know.”
“Just one of those things.”
Separated.
“So you’re still married?”
“Yes.”
“Children?”
“No.”
“Parents?” Elfrida persisted, beginning, even to herself, to sound a bit desperate.
“My parents are both dead. Our old Yorkshire home sold up.”
“So what will you do for Christmas?”
“I haven’t thought about it. Christmas, at the moment, is a non-starter. I’ll probably just stay in Inverness until the orgies of hogmanay are over, and then get back to Buckly and start getting the show on the road. At the moment, to be truthful, that’s all-important. I’m giving family and celebrations a miss this year.”
“You must spend Christmas with us.”
“Elfrida…”
“No. I mean it. I couldn’t bear you to be sitting in an hotel lounge in Inverness, wearing a paper hat and being all alone. It’s ludicrous. Oscar and I didn’t mean to have Christmas either. We thought we’d go pagan and celebrate the Winter Solstice with a lamb chop. But then Carrie and Lucy asked themselves, and Oscar went out and ordered a Christmas tree, and he and Lucy bought some decorations. And I’m just sitting here, thinking about food. I’m useless at this sort of thing, and all I’ve written down is bacon and tangerines. But we could gather a bit of holly and go and shoot a turkey, or whatever one does. And anyway, it’s the people who count, isn’t it? The friends you spend Christmas with? Don’t go. It would be such fun for all of us to be together.”