My Heart Remembers Page 13

  He paused and dabbed at his nose again. Out on the loch a trio of motor-cruisers went by, swept up the loch on the current, and their wash made the water slap against the pier and the warps holding Mary Rose creaked and strained.

  ‘So last night,’ continued Ross, ‘I went to see her before she left the hotel and made a date with her for today, ostensibly to go swimming. I had a feeling Mike wouldn’t be able to go on this trip and I turned up at Rosemount to offer my services knowing full well that Maeve would come when she knew I was coming. A word with Hugh to warn him not to say anything to her about our destination and to leave us here when she refused to go ashore, and it was all fixed. Fergus did the rest. He reacted exactly as you predicted he would, and as soon as they saw each other they forgot their silly pride and the problem solved itself. Maeve forgot me as soon as she saw him.’

  Sally looked at him with shining eyes. He wasn’t as selfish as she had thought, he didn’t live for the moment only.

  ‘You did it to help Maeve,’ she suggested hopefully.

  His glance was oblique and slightly mocking and he grinned unashamedly.

  ‘Not entirely. I did it for myself too. I can’t say I was pleased by her rather obvious attentions.’ Then as Sally’s face fell with disappointment he added, ‘I warned you not to get any wrong ideas about me.’

  Sally’s disappointment was so intense that for a moment she felt rather dizzy and breathless. He meant, of course, she decided dully, that he couldn’t afford to have Maeve around embarrassing him when a woman called Lydia arrived in Portbride. Self-interest had motivated him all the time.

  ‘I understand,’ she said flatly.

  His eyes narrowed observantly.

  ‘I wonder if you do,’ he challenged, ‘or if that imagination of yours is working overtime again.’

  Sally tilted her chin and glared at him.

  ‘Och, there you go again, treating me like a bairn! I understand enough to realise that you would have found Maeve’s attentions an embarrassment to you when your friend Lydia comes to stay with Mrs. Hunter. I might have known you were only thinking of yourself and not of Maeve. I daresay you’d have made no attempt to persuade Maeve to come with us today if you hadn’t heard that your friend was arriving today.’

  Above the bloodstained handkerchief which he held once more to his nose Ross’s eyes widened with surprise, but before he could make any report Hugh came striding up to them.

  ‘Och, now, I hope there wasna’ a fight between the two of ye,’ he exclaimed concernedly when he noticed Ross’s eye.

  ‘There was no fight,’ said Ross curtly, and explained in short terse sentences how he had come to damage his face. The temper which Sally had noticed for the first time the previous night was back, tautening his face and hardening his voice,

  ‘Well, that’s a pity,’ said Hugh. ‘But it’s all been in a good cause, lad. There are Maeve and Fergus as happy as turtle doves. Come away to the house now, both of ye. Jessie and Maeve are preparin’ the lunch, so it will be a decent meal and not one of Mother MacGinnis’s messes. Ye’ll find, Ross, that all is forgiven. Fergus isn’t one to bear a grudge. I took him aside and explained the position. He understands now.’

  Ross pocketed his handkerchief and stood up straight. ‘Thanks, Hugh. I’m feeling in the need of a little understanding and forgiveness right now. They’re rather rare commodities hereabouts.’

  The rasping edge to his voice made Sally flinch and she noticed her father glance curiously at her. Dejection and pain such as she had never known before welled up inside her. Ross was angry with her, and it was possible he had cause to be. In a muffled voice she muttered,

  ‘I’ll go on ahead and see if I can help with the meal,’ and turning away, took to her heels and ran blindly down the length of the pier.

  In the clear gold-shot light of a perfect summer evening the Mary Rose chugged fussily across the glittering turquoise deeps of the North Channel, leaving behind the rich emerald green fields and heading straight for the distant dark blue profile of the Galloway mountains.

  Up in the bow Sally leaned over the bulwark and watched the sparkling feathering bow-wave, wishing that she could become in some way a part of its perpetual merriment.

  The dejection she had experienced on the pier had stayed with her for the rest of the afternoon, clouding her pleasure at seeing Maeve and Fergus together again and spoiling what should have been a perfect day.

  The bow wave chuckled merrily, seeming to mock her, and she looked up across the bright water to the hills of home which were now taking on distinctive shapes and colours.

  The hills of home. That was another phrase from Stevenson’s poem which she had once quoted to Ross, and it was those particular hills of home which had enticed Ross back to Scotland, back into their lives to disturb and tantalise. How she wished he hadn’t come!

  Ever since she had made the unfortunate remark about Lydia, Ross’s attitude towards her for the rest of the day had been one of cool irritation, as if he still found her the pest he had considered her to be ten years ago.

  And now she found herself wishing that the reference to Lydia had remained unsaid, and with the wish came a flash of self-knowledge. She was jealous of an unknown woman. And if she was really truthful with herself she had been jealous of Maeve too.

  As the boat approached closer to Portbride the high headland of Blackwall with its frowning cliffs of grey scarred rock became recognisable. It was the end of the ridge of rock on which Rosemount was built and it thrust out into the sea, dark and formidable, a white lighthouse at its foot to warn the unwary of its danger. Gradually it came nearer and the entrance of the loch opened up and the boat rounded the more gentle kindlier slope of Winterston Point and following the Winterston shore made for the harbour.

  It was the first time Sally had had a close look at the Winterston estate since her visit to the house with Ross, and she noticed with a faint feeling of regret the rutted mud where the land had been cleared of vegetation and where the earth-moving equipment had been delving. Already there were four large round cavities in the earth ready for the erection of the tanks.

  Scattered about the site were yellow bulldozers and mechanical shovels looking like monsters preying on the land. Clustered together west of the house were the long construction trailers and huts which provided the living quarters and offices for the site. In contrast to them the house, whose sweeping lawns were now a morass of mud and gravel, looked forlorn and decrepit, no longer a romantic reminder of the glorious vigorous past, but simply a crumbling ruin. And as the boat passed it Sally suddenly realised that the romance and vigour was now, was in the present in the bright yellow equipment and in the men who were working on the site.

  ‘ “The old order changeth, yielding place to new.” That’s how it will always be, so why waste time worrying about what has been. It’s now that matters.’

  Ross’s voice was quiet, but Sally had difficulty in suppressing the start which the suddenness and closeness caused.

  ‘When does the house come down?’ she quivered, more for something to say than out of any particular interest.

  ‘Towards the end of the week. Does the thought of its destruction still bother you?’

  He was leaning on the bulwark beside her and his shoulder touched hers. His closeness made her quake so much that she had to move away to put an end to the contact.

  ‘No, not as much. It doesn’t seem quite so important any more.’

  ‘Perhaps something else ... something more normal and natural has pushed it out of your mind,’ he probed.

  She flicked a glance at him. A yellowish-black bruise shone on his right cheekbone. It narrowed his right eye and gave his face a rakish, battered appearance. She had a longing to touch the bruise as if by doing so she could soothe it away, and it was a great effort not to raise her hand to his cheek.

  ‘Y ... yes, I think so,’ she replied, looking away quickly at the angular shapes of the houses of Portbride, at the tall
church tower, at the huddles of fishing boats.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Ross smoothly, enigmatically, and she glanced at him again. But he had turned away to look at the town too and all she could see was the outline of forehead, cheekbone and chin above the hunch of his shoulder.

  This was the time and place to make amends, to apologise for her foolish words on the pier.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ross, for what I said ... about you and Maeve, and Lydia.’

  He turned his head and looked over his shoulder at her, his blackened eye speculative.

  ‘Why should you be sorry for saying what you think?’ he asked.

  ‘It wasn’t very nice ... and it made you angry.’

  He turned round to face her properly.

  ‘Is that the reason for the fit of the blues?’ he asked curiously. ‘You thought I was angry with you? And it mattered enough to spoil the rest of your day?’

  She could only nod in reply.

  He frowned, and the tautness she associated with anger was back in his face.

  ‘Then I must apologise too. I’d no idea anything I might do or say would affect you so much,’ he said curtly. His voice roughened as he added, ‘The trouble is, you’re too young, too vulnerable ...’ He broke off abruptly and turned to look up at the quay as the noise of the engines changed and the boat sidled up to the fishing boats with little fussy spurts of noise.

  ‘It would have been better for you if Mike had been able to come,’ Ross continued in the same curt tone. ‘That was indirectly my fault too. But he was very much needed at the site today. It looks as if he’s finished the job though, because there he is waiting for you.’ He smiled suddenly and he patted her shoulder. ‘I’ll try to be more careful in the future, and not mess up your arrangements.’

  There was a shout from Hugh and in answer Ross moved

  forward, grabbed the bow warp and swung over the bulwark on to the fishing boat against which Mary Rose nestled. He made the end of the warp fast, then moved aft to catch the stern line thrown to him by Cousin George. Having made that fast he shouted something to Hugh and waved his hand. Hugh shouted back and waved too, while Ross crossed over the other fishing boat and began to climb the iron ladder which was set into the harbour wall. As he reached the top of the ladder Mike appeared, tall and slim, and they talked together briefly. Then Ross had gone, disappearing from her range of vision.

  He had gone without another word and there was really no reason why she should see him any more. Now that Maeve had returned to Ireland there was no longer a point of contact. Even though he would still be at Winterston the possibility of their paths crossing was very remote unless he visited Hugh.

  Sally moved swiftly, urged by instinct. Climbing over the bulwarks, she ran across the deck of the other fishing boat and climbed the vertical ladder with the ease of long practice.

  ‘Did you have a good day?’ asked Mike as he put a helping hand under her elbow when she reached the top of the ladder. ‘I was wondering when you’d wake up out of your daydream and notice me.’

  Sally smiled at him briefly, murmured an abstracted greeting and added urgently,

  ‘Where’s Ross?’

  ‘Over there.’ Mike jerked his head in the direction of the hotel. ‘He was all set to return to the site until I told him a certain person was waiting to see him.’

  Swinging round, Sally saw Ross walking with uncharacteristic slowness towards the hotel. Walking with him was a woman with long dark hair. She was looking up at him and talking animatedly and he seemed very interested in what she was saying.

  ‘Who is she?’ asked Sally, trying to sound indifferent, but guessing the answer to her question.

  ‘Trouble with a big “T” this time. She’s Lydia Wood, the one I told you about. Wife of Ross’s one-time boss.’

  ‘She’s a widow now. Her husband was killed in an accident at one of the sites,’ announced Sally.

  Mike blinked in surprise.

  ‘I’ve only just learned that fact. How do you know?’

  Sally told him of the meeting with Miriam Hunter the previous evening.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ drawled Mike. ‘How interesting. I wonder how your sister is going to react to this?’

  ‘She won’t be here. We took her back to Ireland today.’ Mike’s eyes sparkled with interest.

  ‘I wondered why he took the day off. How very wise! Knowing Lydia was on her way here he’d want your sister out of the way.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ said Sally miserably. If Mike thought the same way that she did about Ross’s behaviour there must be some accuracy in her assessment. ‘I told him so, and he was very annoyed.’

  ‘You told him—’ Mike began incredulously, then burst out laughing. ‘Oh, Sally, you’re a great girl! I bet he was annoyed. If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that Ross doesn’t like comments about his private life. But seriously, it’s just as well Maeve has gone, because Lydia is a cat, feline to her fingertips, and if anyone or anything comes between her and what she wants she tears them to ribbons. And now with Brian gone, I doubt if she’ll let anyone else come between her and Ross.’

  Winterston House was not destroyed by the end of the week following the trip to Dunginnis. Sally knew because she looked across to the southern shores of the loch every morning to see whether it was there or not.

  On Saturday morning it was still standing grey and rather ghostly against the dark pines, a faded memento of the past, strangely out of place among the severe functional design of the site huts and trailers.

  She wondered what had happened to prevent it from being knocked down. There must be a good reason, because she knew Ross well enough now to realise he would not be easily deflected from his intention. She would ask Mike what had happened that afternoon when they went sailing.

  It had been a quiet, uneventful week, almost like the weeks had been before Ross had come back. But there had been a difference, and she recognised that the difference was in herself. Only a short time ago she had been glad of the quiet monotony of her way of life in Portbride. Now she felt impatient with the routine and kept hoping something unusual and different would happen.

  ‘Such as finding Ross talking to Dad when it’s time for tea,’ she scolded herself scathingly, ‘or being invited to pay a midnight visit to Winterston House, or being driven into the mountains to hear the night wind rustle and the whaup cry “My heart remembers”. Och, it’s a foolish heart ye have, Sally Johnson!’

  She glared at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror, slammed her hairbrush down and stalked out of the bedroom and downstairs into the kitchen. Thank goodness she was going to be busy all day and so would have little time to brood.

  There was a letter from Maeve. She sounded ecstatic again. Fergus had rented a small house, and as soon as they were settled in it they would be going to the adoption society. The house was perfect, the neighbourhood was perfect and Fergus was perfect. All was well in Maeve’s world again and she hoped they would all come and see her soon and bring the clothes she had left in Portbride. She had added a postscript.

  ‘If you see Ross ... and I expect you will... will you tell him I’m glad he made me come back. I’m beginning to realise what a nuisance I’ve been to him during the past few weeks. He’s been a good friend. I hope his eye is better now.’

  If you see Ross. What chance would there be of seeing him now? Any leisure time he might have he would spend with Lydia, who was staying with the Hunters in the house at the top of the brae, two hundred yards up the road from Rosemount.

  When she had learned from Aunt Jessie that the House on the Brae, the summer residence of the Dowell family from Edinburgh, had been rented by the Hunters for eighteen months Sally had experienced a curious feeling of dismay at the thought of being so close to them. Now she would have to suffer seeing Ross go by on his way to visit Lydia. So far she knew he had not been, probably because he had been busy at work. But now that the weekend was here he would be looking
for diversion again, and quite naturally he would want to spend his time with the woman who had once been something special in his life.

  Already Sally had seen Miriam Hunter several times as she passed by in her small car. When she noticed Sally, Miriam had waved and nodded and had flashed her wide shining smile. Each time she had been accompanied by a dark-haired woman with a small pale face who had been wearing sunglasses and whom Sally assumed to be Lydia.

  Sally sighed as she prepared her breakfast. A lot of good staying in Portbride had done her. She had hoped that by clinging to familiar places and people she would be able to overcome the shock and depression caused by the car accident.

  She had hoped that by hiding in her home town she would be able to forget and ignore reality such as the reality of her scarred face. But Ross had come, surprised her and had demolished her flimsy defences. Now she had to conquer this foolish infatuation she had developed for him. And fight it she would, telling herself that he was too old for her, too selfish.

  That afternoon Mike was late arriving for the race. Carrying out his instructions, Sally had the dinghy rigged and ready when he came hurrying along the quayside to the Yacht Club slip.

  ‘Good girl!’ he panted as they pushed the dinghy down to the water on its trolley. ‘Sorry to be so late—slavedriver’s fault. He had a meeting this morning and it went on and on and on. I thought Tom Hunter would never stop talking. All right, I’ve got her. Take the trolley back, there’s a love. I’ve a feeling in my bones we’re going to win again today. I’m in the right belligerent mood!’

  There was a stiff westerly breeze and Sally had to work hard at sitting out to keep the little boat upright as they beat out against the wind towards the Winterston shore. Although they had started last they were soon overtaking the other dinghies. As Mike had said, he was in a winning mood and he made no mistakes, so that by the time they were on the second lap beating out again, they were in front of the fleet.