Anne Douglas (23 page)

‘You look wonderful,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Facing Fionola, or not.’

‘Till Saturday,’ she said softly.

‘Till Saturday.’

At Reception, she was lucky. There was so much activity, Fionola was too busy even to look at her until a lull came, by which time Lynette was her usual cool professional self.

‘I’ll take first lunch, shall I?’ she asked, collecting her handbag. ‘Might go down to the kitchen, cadge something nice.’

‘What, from grumpy old Scott? Thought he wasn’t speaking to you?’

‘We’re friends again, I’m glad to say.’

‘What a charmer you are, Lynette. Wish I had your secret.’

‘You’ve mentioned my secret before, as though I had one. But you don’t need any help from me, Fionola.’ Lynette was beginning to walk away. ‘Think you know that, eh?’

Thirty-Seven

Saturday came and it was special, not just for Lynette, but for Monnie, too. As they were getting ready in the morning, she could hardly stop smiling, for today was the day.

‘For my boat trip,’ she reminded Lynette. ‘I can’t wait for this afternoon!’

I don’t understand, what’s so wonderful about a boat trip?’ Lynette asked, studying her sister’s radiant face. ‘Even if it is with Torquil?’

‘It’s hard to explain. I think, perhaps it’s because I know being in his boat means such a lot to Torquil. Being on his own, I mean. He just likes to be there, alone, on the water, not having to talk, which is why he doesn’t share the fishing with anyone. Doesn’t take anyone with him at all.’

‘But he’s taking you?’

‘Yes!’ Monnie’s eyes were shining. ‘He’s taking me. And I know that means something. I’m different, you see. I must be, don’t you think?’

‘I suppose so.’ Lynette was slightly frowning. ‘But if he’s such a loner, he’s probably—’

‘Probably what?’

‘Difficult.’

‘He’s not difficult!’ Monnie cried. ‘And he’s only a loner for his boat. People are attracted to him, aren’t they? They don’t think he’s a loner.’

‘OK, but take care, eh? There’s just going to be you and Torquil in this boat.’

‘And on the island,’ Monnie corrected. ‘Don’t forget, we’re going to visit an island.’

‘Well, take care, anyway. I mean it, Monnie.’

‘And how do I do that?’ Monnie was all smiles again. ‘I’ll have to leave everything to Torquil – and that’s just the way I like it.’

As they left their room for their usual hurried breakfast, she gave her sister a quick, speculative look. ‘Have a good time tonight, Lynette. Perhaps I should be telling you to take care, eh?’

‘Me?’ It was Lynette’s turn to look radiant. ‘You couldn’t find anyone more trustworthy than Ronan.’

She did not add that if there were ever to be a choice between going out with Ronan to a good hotel and going out with Torquil in his boat, she knew which she would rather do.

By mid afternoon, she was still at work, her dress for the evening hanging in Fionola’s room, for in the end, she had given in and told her assistant where she was going that evening and who with. For what was the point in trying to keep her in the dark any more? It would just get more and more complicated. Besides, Lynette needed somewhere to change.

‘I guessed it would be Mr Allan you’d be seeing,’ Fionola had commented. ‘Aren’t you the lucky one?’

‘Though you won’t admit it, I bet you’ve got chaps queuing up to go out with you,’ Lynette had cried, at which Fionola had shrugged.

‘My next date, as a matter of fact, is with Mr Warner.’

‘Mr Warner?’ Lynette was hard-pressed to know what to say. ‘Well, I knew he’d booked to stay on another fortnight, but I never knew you were going out with him.’

‘Oh, we’ve had dinner out once or twice already – at the same hotel where you’re going, as a matter of fact.’

‘And you’re the one who asks me for my secrets!’

Fionola had only smiled, and after a few moments Lynette gave up trying to imagine her with stout old Mr Warner and let her thoughts drift to Monnie. How would she be faring in Torquil’s boat on her adventure that meant so much? Just as long as she was all right . . . But why shouldn’t she be?

Och, I’m an old fusspot, Lynette decided, and stepped forward to greet yet another new guest being ushered in by Barty.

Not so very far away, sitting in the boat that Lynette had been picturing, Monnie was certainly not worrying about herself, being, as she was, in seventh heaven. Everything was just as she’d always imagined it. Herself and Torquil, alone in his boat, skimming over the Sound of Sleat on a clear afternoon in May. No one around on the shores they were passing, no one to see them from the mountains of Skye, no sounds to disturb them, except, of course, the outboard motor on the boat that was carrying them so swiftly towards their destination which, in fact, Monnie didn’t even know. A little island somewhere off the Point of Sleat, Torquil had said, one of several so small they would hardly qualify to appear on a map.

‘Not as big as the Sandaig Islands there? We saw them before on the way to Loch Hourn, if you remember?’

‘I remember,’ Monnie told him.

‘Now you can see the Ornsay lighthouse – that’s on a tiny island too, not really on Isleornsay.’

‘Isleornsay’s on Skye?’ Monnie was turning her head to follow his pointing finger. ‘You know, I haven’t been over to Skye yet.’

Torquil raised his fair brows. ‘Not even with your admirer?’

She sat up straight. ‘You mean Paul? Why d’you call him that?’

‘Well, isn’t he?’

Sitting back again, Monnie was recalling how Paul himself had used the word, and thinking how astute it was of Torquil to use it too – because it fitted, didn’t it? Fitted Paul.

‘He’s my friend, Torquil. That’s all. And you know that, don’t you?’

He smiled and nodded. ‘I do. No need to worry.’

‘No need for you to worry, you mean.’

‘Ah, but I am not!’ He was looking ahead with his far-sighted blue eyes. ‘Because you are here with me and want to be, I think.’

She didn’t even answer him, for what could she say? He knew the truth of it, he could see for himself how happy she was.

Before long, they had finished travelling down the coast of Skye and Torquil had switched off the engine and moved to take the oars. ‘Here we are, then, Monnie, Gull Island coming up. My name for it, anyway. ’Tis too small, really, to have a name.’

‘Why, it’s not as small as all that,’ she remarked, looking in surprise at the piece of land ahead that appeared to have not only a strip of shore and a few stunted trees, but a sort of miniature cliff on which seagulls were perching and crying. ‘There’s certainly somewhere for us to sit.’

‘Sit? You can even walk.’ Torquil laughed. ‘Though ‘twill not take you very long. Now, I’ll just take us in and tie up and then we can have some of that coffee you made us, eh?’

‘Oh, yes. I’ve got the Thermos in my bag, and some chocolate.’

She waited, looking all about her, as Torquil skilfully beached the boat, then tied it to a wooden stump before sweeping Monnie up and carrying her to the strip of shore.

‘Your feet!’ she cried, as he set her down. ‘They must be wet.’

‘Sweetheart, haven’t you noticed, I’m wearing my boots?’

He was still holding her and looking at her, his gaze intense on her face.

‘Your first landing on my island,’ he whispered. ‘Like it?’

‘Love it,’ she answered breathlessly. ‘But is it really yours?’

‘Of course not. You must know by now that I do not own one thing, except for my boats. I think of this place as mine, and the other islands, too, as nobody else wants them, I’d guarantee.’ Releasing her from his clasp, he rubbed his hands together and looked up at the sky. ‘Come on, let’s have that coffee, then. The weather’s changing, it’s getting colder. We might have to make for the cave.’

‘Cave? What cave?’

‘It’s tiny – just an entrance in that bit of cliff there, but enough to shelter us. Give me your hand.’

They plodded up the damp sand toward the little opening he had pointed out, where Monnie set down her canvas bag and took out the Thermos flask of coffee.

‘Come on, it’s dry, you can sit down.’ Torquil patted space beside him. ‘Sit close to me, let me make you warm.’

‘Just let me give you your coffee,’ she murmured, her hand slightly shaking as she passed him his cup and sipped from her own. ‘Oh, that’s good, isn’t it?’

‘Very good, but finish it up and come to me.’

She needed no urging, and casting their coffee cups aside, they went into each other’s arms, sliding back against the sand, loosening their clothes, ignoring the cold air coming up from the Sound as they gave themselves up to bliss. Yet, when they paused to take breath from the passionate holding and kissing, Monnie suddenly drew away.

‘For God’s sake, what is it?’ Torquil cried, his face a mask, one she hardly recognized, but then, she supposed, her own must be the same. They were different people, just for that moment and she couldn’t help it, she had grown afraid – not of the different Torquil, but of herself. What might she not do in this incredible moment? What so many girls did? What that girl had done, who’d had to go to Inverness?

‘Tell me what’s wrong?’ Torquil was demanding. ‘You are not worried, are you? You are not thinking I will make you do something you do not want?’

‘I’m worried because I do want it,’ she whispered. ‘And I know – it would be—’

‘Stupid? Crazy?’

‘Too much of a risk.’

‘And you are not one who takes risks? Monnie, neither am I.’ Torquil, now looking his normal self again, sat up, half-smiling, and fumbling in the pocket of the jacket he’d put on again, took out his cigarettes. ‘I am not Tony, you realize.’

For some moments, he smoked without speaking, and Monnie too was silent, as she fastened buttons and zipped up her anorak. The moment had passed, the moment of danger; she knew it had only increased her love for Torquil, who was so quiet now.

‘That’s it!’ he cried, suddenly leaping to his feet and dowsing his cigarette in the sand. ‘The weather’s closing in, I must go for the gulls’ eggs.’

‘Gulls’ eggs?’ She stared at him. ‘What gulls’ eggs?’

‘It’s the right time to find them and when I come out here, I always look for some for Mother.’ He pulled a cap from his pocket. ‘I can just put a few in this, they’ll be safe enough. Wait here for me, Monnie. I shall not be long.’

‘I’ll come with you!’

‘No, no, that would not do, sweetheart. I can manage much better on my own. Please, just wait here.’

‘Torquil, come back! Come back!’

But he was already climbing nimbly around the little cliff away from her and as she stood, searching for a last glimpse of him, uncertain what to do, the mist from the sea began rolling in.

Thirty-Eight

For some time, she stood, waiting, certain he must come back for her, but as time passed and there was no sign of him, she sank down at the entrance to the cave and wondered what she should do. With the coming of the mist, the temperature had dropped, the chill of the air beginning to penetrate her bones, and after tightening her anorak around her, she drank some coffee straight from the Thermos, her cup being full of sand, and ate a little chocolate. For a while, she felt better, or, at least warmer, but the effect soon faded and as Torquil did not return, panic set in.

Where was he? Why had he left her? Was he ever coming back?

Of course he’s coming back, you idiot, she told herself. Why would he not? He’d only gone for those wretched eggs, he shouldn’t be much longer. But supposing he had tripped, injured himself, was lying somewhere in the mist, waiting for her?

She jumped to her feet, determined to find him, when through the mist, she heard something that stopped her in her tracks. It was the sound of an outboard motor.

Oh, God! She put her hand to her lips. He had left her, he had taken his boat, that was the boat she could hear. What could she do? She was alone on this island. Who would know where she was? Her father and Lynette knew about her boat trip and that it involved an island, but they didn’t know where it was and probably wouldn’t miss her for hours. Lynette herself, anyway, wouldn’t be back home until late.

Shivering with cold and apprehension, Monnie tried to reason things out. Why should Torquil leave her? It would be crazy, wouldn’t it? The action of someone with no sense at all, and that wasn’t Torquil. Yet, she couldn’t forget that he had once been described as ‘wild’. Wild enough to go off somewhere and forget all about her, or just play a trick? No, no, she couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe it. So, why had she heard the engine of his boat?

She decided to run to the little strip of beach, see if she could see anything through the mist which might just be lifting a little. Please God, please God, may she see Torquil coming for her. Please God, may he not have gone away.

How long she stood there, straining her eyes to see him, she couldn’t tell, for she had not worn her watch in case of damage by salt water and probably couldn’t have read it anyhow. All she knew was that every minute seemed like an hour, until, quite suddenly, as though pulled like a curtain, the mist rose. And coming straight towards the island in his boat was Torquil.

He had switched off the engine to row into shore and in the new light of the May evening was as clear-cut as a statue, raising one hand from his oars to wave to her, while smiling easily and calling her name.

‘Hi, Monnie! I got them!’

She was trembling as she watched him bring the boat in, secure it, and step out, very carefully cradling his cap. Trembling, not with cold, not with emotion that he had returned to her, but with an anger that was as strong and bright as a flame surrounding her, an anger so painful, she could hardly speak. But she did speak. She did get the words out that she wanted to say.

‘Where have you been, Torquil? What have you been doing?’