Anne Douglas (15 page)

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Loch of Hell.’

She stared. ‘Why? It looks like heaven at the moment.’

‘True. On a fine day, it’s beautiful. But when the gales blow, it can be a killer. Capsizing boats, causing great waves with terrible spindrifts – that’s when the spray is blown from the surface of the sea by the wind.’ Paul shook his head. ‘Come here in different kind of weather, and you’ll find a very different Loch Hourn.’

She shivered a little, trying to picture the loch before her as he had described it, but its present calmness defeated her.

‘You make it sound frightening,’ she murmured.

‘Forgive me, I don’t want to spoil your views of it now, only things can change and quickly in the Highlands.’

Paul looked back at the quiet hamlet behind them. ‘There’ve been changes here, too, in Arnisdale, only they’re more permanent. Would you believe that this was once one of the biggest herring fisheries in the area? Everybody at work, bringing in the catch, sorting, salting, preparing. So many boats, you couldn’t count them.’ He shrugged. ‘Very different now, but that’s the way things go, eh? Fish stocks don’t last for ever.’

Leaping up from the old bench where they’d been sitting, he gave his hand to Monnie and pulled her up.

‘Shall we walk on now to Corran? It’s even smaller than this place. But first, I want to show you something.’

As she moved to stand beside him, he slightly turned her round so that she was looking at the highest of the distant peaks.

‘One of the reasons people come to Arnisdale is to start their ascent of that mountain over there, the “hill of scree”, as its Gaelic name means. Once you get to the top – and it’s pretty stiff going, I’ll have to admit – the views are incredible. Over Knoydart and Barrisdale Bay, Skye, the Cuillins – amazing.’

‘I wish I could see them.’

‘Well, you could, you know. Didn’t you say you’d be my first pupil?’ Paul’s tone was light, his expression serious. ‘After some practice, it would be good to try a Munro.’

‘That hill’s a Munro?’

‘Certainly is. It’s one of the hills in Scotland over three thousand feet, as listed by a man named Munro back in 1891. I expect you’ve heard of them?’

‘Oh, yes, I’ve heard of them,’ she told him, laughing. ‘From the hostellers. They know all about Munros.’

‘I bet they do. Probably go Munro-bagging when they can.’ Paul’s brown eyes were bright. ‘Maybe you’ll be a Munro-bagger too. I want this one to be your first, anyhow. Like to have a go eventually?’

‘Yes, I would. See how I get on. But I suppose I’ll need some boots.’

‘You can get good ones in Kyle. Maybe I can drive you over some time? I’d like to advise.’

‘Thanks, that would be wonderful.’

He hesitated. ‘They can be pretty pricey, good boots. Perhaps I could—’

‘That’s all right,’ she said at once, feeling embarrassed. ‘I can manage.’

He nodded, equally embarrassed, and touched her hand. ‘Listen, you won’t regret it, being introduced to hill walking. There’s nothing to compare with reaching the summit, being on top of the world, seeing the most sublime scenery all around you. And even if you don’t make it at first, the day will come when you will.’

‘Paul, you really make me believe that,’ she said quietly. ‘I think you’re going to make a success of your school, you know, just the way you put things.’

Embarrassed again, he looked away.

‘How about getting on our way now? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but you can get tea at Corran.’

It was after five when they got back to the hostel and Paul, parking at the gates, said he’d better not come in. He knew how busy it was at that time, with hostellers returning from their day away.

‘But I want you to know, Monnie, how much I’ve enjoyed being with you today. I hope you’ve enjoyed it too.’

‘Paul, I have,’ she answered with truth. ‘It’s been lovely. And you’ve told me so much, I feel I know so much more than I did.’

‘Oh, help!’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t know why, I can’t help lecturing. Next time, just shut me up.’ He paused for a moment, his eyes anxious. ‘There will be a next time, won’t there? If Torquil is OK about it?’

‘Why, we’re going to look for my boots, aren’t we? You said we could go to Kyle.’

‘True. I’ll phone you, shall I?’

‘You have a phone in your cottage?’

‘No!’ He laughed, as he came round to open the car door for her. ‘I’ll use the village phone box.’

‘OK.’ She put out her hand. ‘Thanks for a lovely afternoon, Paul.’

‘Thank you,’ he replied with emphasis and after shaking her hand for slightly longer than was necessary, returned to his car and with a last smile, drove away.

Walking slowly towards the house after time spent with a young man now driving away, Monnie had the feeling that there was something of a repeat performance about her afternoon out. How much seemed the same, yet how indescribably different. For if it was true that she had very much enjoyed being with Paul, hearing him talk, being able to relax in his presence, as she reached the hostel door, she was already thinking of Torquil.

‘Has he brought the fish?’ she asked her father in his office.

‘Hey, you’re back.’ He stood up, smiling. ‘Same as all the hostellers. See the boots everywhere?’

‘Torquil, Dad, did he bring the fish?’

‘Oh, yes. Some time ago. He was early, as a matter of fact. I put the fish in the fridge.’

‘I thought I might have seen him.’ Monnie was taking off her walking shoes. ‘He’s not always early.’

‘Gave me a message,’ Frank said flatly. ‘Said he’d look out for you on Tuesday.’

She relaxed. ‘He said that?’

‘Funny guy, eh? You’d have thought he’d want to know how you’d enjoyed your walk. Wouldn’t mind knowing myself.’

‘It was lovely, Dad. We went to Arnisdale and looked at the loch, and then Paul asked me if I’d really like to try hill walking one day. Maybe even a Munro. I’m going to have to buy some proper boots.’

‘You got on well with him, then?’

Ignoring the hope in her father’s voice, Monnie agreed carelessly that she had. But then anyone would get on with Paul.

‘I think he might be interested in you, Monnie.’

‘Oh, yes, we’ve already decided, we’ll be very good friends.’

‘Good friends?’

‘And that’s all. No matchmaking, Dad.’ Monnie picked up her shoes and made for the door. ‘I’ll go and see how they’re getting on in the kitchen, shall I?’

‘Wish you would.’

‘And then I’ll see what fish Torquil’s brought us. Better get something ready for when Lynette comes in.’

‘Aye, do that,’ Frank said, turning back to his office, his shoulders drooping, but Monnie didn’t notice, she was already on her way.

‘So, how did you get on with Paul Soutar?’ Lynette asked as soon as she came back from work. ‘I’ve been thinking about you.’

‘Why is everyone so interested?’ Monnie asked, checking on her fish pie.

‘Come on, he’s interested, isn’t he?’

‘Just what I said,’ Frank remarked.

‘Well, I’m not,’ Monnie declared. ‘Except as a friend.’

‘Where did you go, then?’ Lynette pressed. ‘With this friend?’

‘Arnisdale. Paul told me all about the way it used to be, when the herring fishing made it so busy, and then he talked about Loch Hourn and how dangerous it was, and asked me if I’d like to try hill walking some time. He’s a wonderful talker.’

Lynette raised her eyebrows. ‘Honestly, Monnie, can’t you get somebody to take you somewhere nice? One fellow wants to show you ancient monuments, the other one lectures you on the herring trade. I’d want something different, I can tell you!’

‘Well, you’re not me.’ Monnie’s tone was sharp as she set her fish pie on the table. ‘Don’t tell me what I should want.’

‘That pie looks excellent,’ Frank intervened. ‘Let’s all get on with our tea, eh? D’you have a good day, Lynette?’

‘Yes, except for you know who.’ Lynette sighed. ‘Och, we just rub each other up the wrong way, Mr Allan and me, and that’s all there is to it. Even though I’m doing just what he wants and wearing all my darkest clothes for work, he still finds fault.’

‘Bet you do, too,’ Monnie said, grinning.

‘Aye, well, guess we’re too much like, that’s the trouble. Next week, though, he wants me to do some typing for him when Mrs Atkinson’s away. Watch out for sparks, eh?’

‘Know what I think?’ Monnie asked, serving out the fish pie. ‘I think you secretly enjoy it, having these dust ups. Adds a bit of excitement to the day, eh?’

‘Are you joking?’ Lynette cried, flushing. ‘I can’t stand the man, and you know it.’

‘Well, you know what they say about that sort of feeling, don’t you?’

‘No, what do they say, for heaven’s sake?’

‘Better drop this,’ Frank ordered, beginning to eat. ‘Let’s just enjoy our meal.’

‘I agree,’ Lynette snapped.

‘Me, too,’ said Monnie.

And the talk turned at last to other things.

Twenty-Five

Some days later, as she had expected, Lynette was called from Reception to Mr Allan’s office for secretarial duties.

‘Hold the fort,’ she whispered to Fionola, as she picked up her shorthand notebook. ‘Send in a rescue party if I’m not back in half an hour.’

‘Honestly, anyone would think Mr Allan was a tyrant, Lynette! He’s really very polite.’

‘Even when he’s telling you off?’

‘Never tells me off,’ Fionola retorted sweetly, and Lynette, patting her hair, straightening the skirt of her dark suit, shrugged and stalked off to the manager’s office.

‘Ah, come in, Miss Forester,’ Ronan Allan called, after she’d knocked. ‘Please, take a seat. I just have a couple of letters for you.’

‘I have my pad,’ she told him, and settling herself into the chair opposite his desk, crossed her excellent legs, took her pencil and looked at him expectantly.

Mr Allan, however, seemed far from at ease, keeping his eyes on papers on his desk and shifting his large frame in his chair as though he could not make himself comfortable. Several times he cleared his throat and Lynette put her pencil to her pad, ready to begin, but it was a false start, he said nothing.

What’s the matter with him? Lynette wondered, and cleared her own throat.

‘OK, Mr Allan?’

He looked up, glanced at her legs, then immediately away. ‘Thing is, I’m not very good at this dictation lark,’ he said at last. ‘Might be easier if I just give you the letters to type.’

‘Whichever you prefer,’ she said smoothly.

‘Seems a shame, Lynette, when you’re so experienced with shorthand, not to use your skills.’ He smiled as he passed across his handwritten letters. ‘Maybe we could try again some other time?’

Lynette? she was thinking. He’s calling me Lynette? What’s come over him?

‘Certainly, Mr Allan,’ she answered, casting her eye down the sheets in her hand. ‘Oh, excuse me – I think I’ve spotted something—’

‘What?’ he asked sharply. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Just a spelling error. I’ll correct it, nae bother, as they say.’

‘A spelling error? Let me see!’

Leaving his desk he moved swiftly to stand at her side, his eyes on his own handwriting. ‘Where? Where’s this spelling error you say you’ve found?’

‘Well, actually, there are two,’ she told him brightly. ‘See, in this letter here, describing rooms to someone, “accommodation” has only one “m”.’

‘One “m”? That’s ridiculous. Can’t you see it’s just a slip of the pen?’ His brow thunderous, he was looking down at Lynette with flashing eyes. ‘Just correct it, for God’s sake, there was no need even to mention it. As though I wouldn’t know how to spell “accommodation”!’

‘I said I’d correct the errors,’ she answered calmly, though her heart was bounding at the successful way she had needled him. ‘But, if you’re interested, further down in the same letter, you say “all the principal rooms have excellent views”, but you’ve spelled “principal” as “principle”.’

‘My first point applies,’ he retorted, breathing heavily. ‘I was just thinking of something else – lost my concentration. You don’t really believe I could confuse those two words?’

‘No, Mr Allan, of course not. You’re right, I shouldn’t have said anything.’

He stood looking down at her for several moments, then moving back to his desk, sat down heavily.

‘Lynette,’ he said quietly, ‘why do you do this? Why do you seek to upset me? Take such pleasure in it?’

She couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe he had said what he had. To her? As though what she did mattered?

Her eyes widening, she held on to her notebook with slightly trembling hands. ‘I could say the same to you,’ she answered in a low voice. ‘Ever since my interview, you’ve found fault with me. What I wear, my telephone manner—’

‘When did I criticize your telephone manner?’

‘You told me I should be more definite – when I’d only been in the job five minutes! Of course I had to check my information before I could give definite replies.’

‘I can’t believe I ever accused you of not being definite.’ He ran his hand over his brow. ‘You’re just magnifying remarks of mine that were never intended to be critical. I’d never take pleasure in upsetting you. Why should I?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe because I come from the hostel and you’re prejudiced against the hostel, aren’t you?’

A high colour rose slowly to his cheekbones and again he put his hand to his brow.

‘I see,’ he said softly. ‘Someone’s told you.’

‘It was your home, yes. And I’m sorry you had to lose it, but it’s wrong to despise the hostel just because it’s taken over your old home. Wrong to feel the same way about me, too, because I live there.’

‘The same way! What are you talking about? Of course I don’t despise you, Lynette. And I don’t despise the hostel, either. It’s just that – you don’t know what it meant to me to have to leave Conair House.’