‘All local info’s in a big folder on my desk in the office,’ put in Bill. ‘I mean, your desk now, Frank. We’ve listed everything you’re likely to want to know. Things like our rules for the hostellers – out after breakfast, back at five or thereabouts, lights out at eleven and single sex dormitories.’
He grinned. ‘Well, that goes without saying, we’re acting like parents here, have to make sure the real parents can let their girls stay without worrying.’
‘Oh, that came over loud and clear in my training,’ Frank commented. ‘It’s where the responsibility comes in.’
‘True. But, getting back to the folder, we’ve given all details of laundry facilities and catering arrangements, etcetera. Sheets can be hired if folk haven’t brought any, but we do let them use sleeping bags, provided they’re clean. As you know, the young ones do their own cooking and can buy food here – there’s a special locked cupboard for that, only used by you. And everybody has to take a turn at the chores. No duty dodging!’
‘I can see you’ve thought of everything, Bill.’
‘Well, you can amend things as you like, of course, but we’ve tried to follow what the association wants and we think it works well.’
‘I’m very grateful to you,’ said Frank. ‘You’ve certainly made my job easier. One thing I was wondering – how about the cleaning of the hostel? Apart from what the young folk do? Do you have any help, Rhoda?’
‘Oh, yes, I’ve a widow lady who comes in from the cottages. The young people are supposed to sweep out and look after their own dorms and so on, but I get my help to do the basics elsewhere. You’ll see her tomorrow. I hope you’ll keep her on – she’s a treasure.’
‘Not the lady we met on the bus?’ Lynette asked. ‘Agnes Somebody?’
‘Agnes MacLeod?’ Rhoda’s eyes very slightly narrowed. ‘No, no, not Agnes. This is Jeannie Duthie I’m talking about.’
‘Agnes told us the story of the Five Sisters,’ Monnie said with a smile. ‘She also said her son sells fish to the hostel.’
‘She has two sons. Torquil, who sells the fish, is the younger one. Yes, you’ll be seeing him – comes twice a week, usually.’ Rhoda stood up. ‘Shall we make the rounds, then? And Bill, you could show Frank the car?’
‘Grand little Morris,’ said Bill. ‘Absolute marvel.’
‘Can’t wait to see it,’ Frank said. ‘Or, the hostel, of course. Any youngsters about?’
‘Och, they’ll be cooking at the minute. Can’t you smell their sausages?’ Bill grinned. ‘We’ve only a handful here at present – dedicated climbers and ramblers, most of ’em, who don’t mind the weather, but in the summer there might be thirty or so booking in. Keep you on your toes, Frank!’
‘I’ll say.’
After inspecting the elderly Morris in a rear garage, and finding it as attractive for a warden’s car as any Rolls, Frank and the girls followed the MacKays through the studded front door of the hostel and into the spacious hall. It was like stepping back in time.
‘Good Lord!’ Frank cried, ‘it’s still got the stags’ antlers up!’
‘Sure, why not?’ Bill asked. ‘The family never took ’em, so they just got left. Make a talking point, anyway.
‘Shame they shot so many,’ Monnie whispered. ‘I suppose they’d nothing else to do.’
‘Aye, there’d have been plenty of maids to do the work in the old days.’ Bill gestured towards the oak staircase and the lovely woodwork of the floors, now scuffed and marked with footsteps. ‘Afraid it’s not possible to keep it like it used to be.’
‘Och, no!’ Rhoda cried. ‘Who’d be able to spend the time today? Anyway, it’s all been changed. You’ll see, as we go round.’
Changed, yes. As they moved from room to room, it soon became clear to the girls and Frank that they were now definitely back in the twentieth century. Though the high ceilings and long windows were still part of the old reception rooms and the warden’s office off the hall, there was little idea left of how the original house had been.
The once grand drawing room, for instance, was now a common room with a wireless and ancient piano, while the old dining room, like the bedrooms upstairs, had been partitioned into dormitories. All necessary, of course, and yet . . .
‘Sort of sad?’ Rhoda suggested in answer to the girls’ expressions. ‘Yes, you do get to feel sometimes that the old house has been . . . now what’s the word I want? Sacrificed. Yet, had to be, of course.’
‘I think so,’ Lynette answered slowly. ‘At least young folk can come and enjoy being in the Highlands now, where once they wouldn’t have been able to afford it.’
‘Exactly so,’ Bill agreed. ‘A place like this can give untold pleasure to city youngsters who’d have been totally trapped before.’ He gave an easy grin. ‘Well, that’s enough of the sermon, let’s go and see some of these young folk now before their supper’s ready.’
In the long, stone-flagged kitchen at the back of the house, the appetizing smell of sausages frying on one of two modern electric cookers met them as they came in the door, and the eight young people preparing their supper looked up and grinned.
‘Hi, Mr MacKay!’ one called. ‘No’ gone yet, then?’
‘Practically on our way,’ Bill answered. ‘We’re just showing the new warden round – this is Mr Forester.’
The five young men and three young women smiled a welcome, and when Lynette and Monnie were presented, too, were keen to know whether they were staying or not. When they said they were, one young man laughed and said, Wow, maybe he’d not be leaving in the morning, after all.
‘Now, now, Craig,’ Rhoda said, shaking a finger at him. ‘I’m sure these young ladies have got more to do than look after you.’
But after she’d shown Frank the fridge and cupboard where the hosteller’s food was kept, she did look a little curious as she took the girls back to their room. What were they, in fact, going to do?
‘I might actually be looking after hostellers,’ Monnie told her. ‘I’ve an interview next week for the post of assistant warden.’
‘Oh, excellent! I’ve done it for years and enjoyed every moment. I do hope you get it – I’m sure you will.’ Rhoda’s eyes went to Lynette, who was standing at the window, looking out at the darkness that had now descended. ‘And you, dear? Have you anything in mind?’
‘Not so far, though I’m sure I’ll find something. I’m a shorthand typist.’
Rhoda stood for a moment, looking thoughtful. ‘I’ll tell you a job I do know about, if you’d be interested.’
‘Oh? Tell me more!’
‘Well, this hotel where we’re spending the night – it’s just three miles down the road – very pleasant, very comfortable. They were advertising in the local paper last week for a senior receptionist. You could try for that, maybe?’
‘Hotel receptionist.’ Lynette’s brow was furrowed. ‘I suppose I was thinking of some sort of secretarial work. But maybe that’d be hard to find.’
‘I’d apply, if I were you,’ said Monnie. ‘Jobs aren’t going to be growing on trees round here.’
‘I’ll find you the advert,’ Rhoda promised. ‘But then, Bill and I must be on our way. But I’ve left you one of Ishbel’s ham and egg pies for your supper, and there’s milk in the wee fridge and some basic groceries in the larder.’
‘Rhoda, you’ve been too kind!’ Lynette exclaimed. ‘We can’t thank you enough. How much do we owe you?’
‘Nothing at all, don’t speak about it. Just let us know how you get on. Bill’s given our address to your dad.’
After they’d bid farewell to the MacKays and watched them drive off in a taxi ordered from Glenelg, the Foresters turned back to the hostel and cautiously exchanged glances.
‘Well?’ Frank asked. ‘How goes it? How d’you feel, now we’re here?’
‘Fine,’ Monnie answered promptly. ‘Now we’ve seen it, I feel sure we’ll be happy.’
‘Yes, sure,’ Lynette agreed. ‘It’s beautiful.’
Frank was silent for a moment, looking from face to face.
‘That’s a relief, then,’ he murmured. ‘If you think it’s OK – so far, anyway. Now, after I’ve checked that the young folk are managing all right, we’ll have that Mrs Whatsit’s pie, eh?’
‘Ishbel’s,’ said Lynette. ‘I’ll just unpack a few things first. But, Dad – hang on a sec, eh?’
‘Yes?’
‘How do you feel, then? You’ve asked us. How about you?’
‘I love it,’ he said simply. ‘It’s everything I hoped for.’
And the girls, after exchanging looks, were quick to cry, ‘That’s good!’
When Frank had left them, Lynette, leaving her case still unopened, returned to the window to gaze out at the night.
‘How dark it is out there,’ she murmured, as Monnie joined her. ‘There’s not a light to be seen over the water.’
‘Maybe no houses at that spot, but there’s plenty of life on Skye.’
‘Oh, I know, I know. It’s just all so different here, eh? From home?’
‘Would have to be. Edinburgh’s a capital city. This is a dot on the map.’
‘Yes.’ As Lynette turned aside, it came to Monnie, watching, that this was one of the very few times she’d seen her sister in low spirits.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked quietly, at which Lynette pushed back her hair and smiled.
‘Sure. It was just – you know – seeing the darkness out there, like a great blanket, I felt everything was all so strange. You feel any of that? You’re usually more nervy than I am.’
‘No, I’m OK. In fact, as I said to Dad, I feel better now I know just what I’m facing.’
Maybe I know, too, Lynette thought, but that’s the trouble. But all she said was, ‘Let’s unpack and have our tea, and if Dad doesn’t need any help, maybe we could have an early night. Things will look different in the morning.’
‘Sure they will,’ Monnie agreed.
Eight
‘Oh, what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day!’ Lynette sang, back at the bedroom window again, but now the window was open to the clear sweet air from the hills, and everything was bathed in light. As Monnie came in from the bathroom, wearing a coat over her dressing gown, Lynette turned, laughing at the expression on her sister’s face, while continuing to sing her favourite number from the show,
Oklahoma
.
‘Lynette, for heaven’s sake, shut that window!’ Monnie cried. ‘It’s freezing here – feels like snow coming in.’
Lynette stopped singing. ‘There’s no snow coming in. It’s just lovely and fresh. Makes me feel better.’
‘Is that what it is? I was wondering what had got into you, singing like that, when last night you couldn’t raise a smile.’
‘We did say everything would look better in the morning and it does.’ Lynette, who was already dressed in sweater and slacks, finally shut the window and ran a comb through her hair. ‘I certainly do feel different after a good night’s sleep. Last night, I don’t mind telling you, I thought I’d just fade away, thought I’d have to tell Dad I couldn’t stay, but didn’t see how I could . . .’
‘As bad as that?’
‘Aye, but then you see, today, I feel better. Ready to give it a go here, anyway.’ Lynette nodded. ‘As soon as I’ve done Dad’s breakfast, I’m going to apply for that job Rhoda told us about.’
‘I can smell bacon,’ Monnie said, sorting out her clothes to wear. ‘I think he’s made a start on breakfast himself. Probably found all the supplies Rhoda left us.’
‘Never!’ Lynette cried, hurrying out. ‘This I must see.’
In the flat’s modern little kitchen, she found her father at the electric cooker, frying bacon and stirring porridge, and grinning at her amazement.
‘Thought I’d have a go and let you two sleep – you were both on your uppers last night.’ He handed Lynette his spoon. ‘This looks a bit thick, though. Stiff enough for cement, eh?’
‘Come on, just needs water.’ Lynette gave Frank a quick hug before taking over the porridge stirring. ‘Thanks, Dad, it was nice of you to think of us, but we’re both OK and raring to go. What about the hostellers, though? Shouldn’t we be seeing what they’re up to?’
‘They’re away. One’s moved on and the rest have gone climbing. Won’t see ’em till this evening. Though I daresay we’ll have others coming in later on today, seeing as the weather forecast is good.’
‘That means there’s always got to be someone here?’
‘It does. Which is why I need an assistant.’ Frank turned slightly blackened bacon on to a plate and put it to warm under a low grill. ‘And I’m hoping it’s going to be Monnie.’
‘Who’s talking about me?’ Monnie, coming into the kitchen, dressed in a thick navy jersey and tweed trousers, was rubbing her arms with chilled hands. ‘Oh, it’s so cold in this wee flat, I can’t imagine what it’s like in the big house. Isn’t there any heating?’
‘Storage heaters. Trouble with them is, they don’t always come on when you want ’em. Wrap up well, seems to be the answer. Want to serve the porridge, Lynette?’
‘Know what this is?’ she asked, as they began to eat their porridge, Frank adding salt, the girls, sugar. Monnie, still shivering, answered, Yes, of course, she knew. This was their first breakfast ever cooked by Dad.
‘And first breakfast in our new home,’ Frank added. ‘First of many, I hope, unless you two find yourselves somewhere else to live.’
‘Not likely to do that, when we came here to be with you,’ Lynette replied. ‘Ready for the bacon?’
Their breakfast over, Lynette took out the cutting Rhoda had left her and read it, smiling. ‘Listen to this – it’s so old fashioned!’ She began to read aloud: ‘“A vacancy has arisen for a lady to work full-time as senior receptionist at the well-known Talisman Hotel, Conair Bay. Must be of good appearance and manner and with experience of working with the public. Some secretarial skills would be an advantage. Please apply in own handwriting and with the names of two referees to the Hotel Manager, Mr Ronan Allan, before March 5th.”’
‘What’s old fashioned about it?’ asked Frank.
‘Well, asking for a “lady” for a start. And then wanting a handwritten letter of application, when you’d think they’d like people to show off their typing.’ Lynette shook her head. ‘I bet the manager’s some old buffer and heaven knows what the assistant receptionist will be like, but I really do want the job. There might not be anything else for a while.’