The Baker's Daughter (4 page)

‘Eh,' she said, ‘you're a fast worker, aren't you, Doug? But mind you, I like a lad with a bit of go in him.'

Doug said bashfully, ‘Well, whatever you like. What about the pictures?'

‘If there's a Cary Grant film,' she said dreamily. ‘He's my favourite—so sophisticated.'

Doug decided to lose no time. ‘How about Friday evening?' he said. ‘About six. I'll pick you up.'

‘No,' she said, a little too quickly. ‘Better if I meet you in the town. Outside the Regal at six p.m., and don't keep me waiting.'

‘Oh, I'll not do that.'

‘And I hope it's a good film. I like a romance.'

She turned her smile on him, and Doug was hooked. He had to get to know this girl—she was unlike anyone he had met before.

SPENDING
TIME WITH CALLUM

When they met that Friday evening outside the Regal, Doug was very nervous. He had just enough money for the front of the circle, and he'd bought a small box of mint creams.

He was there a good quarter-of-an-hour before. Would she be there as she had promised? Or had she thought better of it?

But a few minutes after six, she arrived. If anything she looked even more glamorous—in a bright red coat, and black high-heeled shoes.

‘Did you think I wasn't coming?' she said ‘Sorry I'm a bit late. I got held up at the . . .'

She bit the words back, but Doug was so entranced by her that he didn't notice.

‘I've got the tickets,' he said. ‘And there's a wee box of sweeties for you.'

‘Oh, I like a generous man,' she smiled at him ‘So what's the big picture?'

‘I know you said you liked Cary Grant, but the film's not on till next week.'

‘Oh, well, as you've bought the tickets, we might as well use them.'

Doug knew from then on, that the evening was not going well. She wouldn't let him hold her hand during the film, and she refused an ice-cream in the interval, though she ate most of the box of mints.

As the audience streamed out of the
cinema,
she turned to him. ‘Thanks, Doug.'

Doug said desperately, ‘Have you not time for a coffee?' He himself would have liked a cup of tea, but he thought coffee sounded more sophisticated.

‘Not tonight,' she said quickly. ‘I'd better be getting back.'

‘Maybe you'd like to come out with me next week?'

‘The pictures again?' said Neela,

‘If you like?'

‘Or,' she said, ‘we could go out for dinner.'

‘Yes,' he said, hesitating.

‘Of course,' she added, ‘if you don't want to ...'

‘Oh, but I do.' Doug leaned forward. ‘I think you're the most attractive girl I've met in a long time.'

‘Really?' She looked at him from under her eyelashes.

‘Yes, really.'

‘You're such a nice boy.' She patted his hand, and he tried to grasp hers, but she quickly withdrew it.

He didn't really want to be a nice boy—after all, at 23, he was old enough to marry, old enough to be a proper mechanic, to be on the way to owning his own business.

‘I'll walk you home,' he offered.

‘No,' she said quickly. ‘You can walk me to the end of the street. You know how people gossip.'

At
the end of the street, she turned to him and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You really are nice, Doug, quite the nicest boy I've met for years.'

Doug walked home in a daze. Aunt Lizzie was sleeping in an armchair, Father was listening to the wireless, and Rona was tidying up in the kitchen.

‘Have a good evening?' she asked.

‘Yes.'

‘Ooh, out with your pals, were you?'

Doug said nothing.

‘Was it a good film?'

Doug nodded.

‘Did she enjoy it?'

‘I didn't say I'd been with a girl.'

‘You didn't need to. You've got lipstick on your cheek.' Rona got up and yawned. ‘I'm away to my bed. Some of us have to be up early.'

She turned towards the stairs.

Doug glared after her. Why couldn't his family mind their own business?

*        *        *

Rona was serving a customer with potato scones when she heard a tap on the window and saw Callum making faces at her. She tried hard not to giggle, and did her best to concentrate on the customer.

‘Will that be all?'

The
woman hesitated, and looked at the cakes. ‘I'm not sure. What are your cream cookies like?'

Oh, do hurry up
, said Rona, though she said it to herself. At this rate Callum was going to give up and go away.

‘I'll take two,' said the woman.

Oh, how slow she was! But at last she paid for the scones and cookies and stowed them in her basket. Rona saw she was inclined to talk. ‘A fine breezy day,' she began.

‘Thank you very much,' she said briskly ‘I hope you enjoy the scones—freshly baked.'

She smiled at the woman, trying not to let her exasperation show, and finally the woman left the shop.

‘I thought she'd never go,' said Rona as Callum pushed the door open.

He grinned at her. ‘I've been waiting for you a good quarter-of-an-hour. Didn't you see me waving at you through the window?'

‘You'll get me the sack,' she said solemnly.

‘Well, anyway. Are you doing anything this evening? We could go to the pictures or maybe for a cup of coffee—there's that new coffee bar.'

‘Oh, yes.' Rona had heard about the coffee bar. It was popular with the young folk of the town—there was a jukebox and they'd recently installed a television set.

*        *        *

‘Come
on then.' He took her hand a little while later, and she wished she had been wearing elegant suede gloves instead of her old grey woollen gloves with a darn in the thumb. But it was still wintry and her old gloves and thick grey coat would have to do.

In the café, he fetched the cups of coffee from the counter along with a plate of biscuits.

‘Not very exciting, I'm afraid.'

‘They're fine.'

Rona glanced at the flickering black and white TV screen in the corner. ‘I've never seen TV,' she said. ‘It's marvellous.'

‘One day,' he said, ‘and it won't be all that long, everyone will have a television set in their living room.'

‘Fat chance,' she said, laughing. ‘You don't know my father and Aunt Lizzie. We've got an old wireless and that's about as far as they'll go.'

‘Just like my folks. Not that there's much time to listen to the wireless—apart from the weather forecast. And sometimes Dad listens to
Farming Today
.'

‘Aunt Lizzie doesn't even listen to the Scottish country dance programme,' said Rona gloomily.

‘Your aunt—she's the one in the shop, isn't she?' Callum said, not liking to be inquisitive. ‘Your mother—is she . . ?'

‘She died when I was fifteen. Aunt Lizzie
came
to look after us.'

Callum nodded, and remembering the grim figure behind the till, felt a wave of sympathy. What a dull home it must be, compared to his own. He thought of his own mother, placid and cheerful, always busy baking for the Rural or the Guild. She was good to the neighbours too—taking a bowl of soup or a plate of mince to anyone in trouble.

‘And your mother?' Rona asked.

‘She's all right,' said Callum.

‘Have you always worked on the farm?' Rona stirred her coffee.

He nodded. ‘Except for National Service. I'm . . .' he paused. ‘I'm a bit fed up with it, I can tell you. I'd really like to go abroad, travel a bit.'

‘You didn't travel when you were in the Army?'

He shook his head. ‘No chance. Oh, it's not that I don't like farming, but I fancy trying my luck in Canada. I've a cousin who emigrated—he's got a shop now, near Montreal. Still, that's in the future. What about you?'

‘I'd like to go to London—or even Edinburgh. I've never been to London. But there's not much chance of that.'

‘So here we both are, stuck in Kirkton—for the moment, at least.' He grinned.

‘Anyway, listen, do you like country dancing? There's a ceilidh on at that town hall next Saturday. What about it? With stovies at
half
time.'

‘Sounds great.' Rona smiled. ‘I'd really enjoy that.'

*        *        *

‘So,' said Nancy, the next day when she caught up with Rona. ‘What's he like then—a dreamboat?'

‘No,' Rona hesitated. ‘I wouldn't say that, but he's good fun.'

‘Can't have everything,' said her friend. ‘Did I tell you about the man who came to repair the typewriters?'

CONFRONTING DOUG

‘There was something else worrying Rona. Once or twice she had seen Doug in the town and he'd pretended not to see her. On two separate occasions she had seen him helping the same girl into the passenger seat.

She was very smart, thought Rona. I'd never get away with all that make-up. Father would have a fit if I wore all that eye makeup. And as for Aunt Lizzie . . .

So where had he got the car? She had an idea that as a mechanic at the garage, he wasn't paid that much—certainly not enough to buy a car.

He
couldn't have . . . no, she pushed the thought away. Doug was honest as the day, he'd never think of
borrowing
a car.

But still, she was uneasy, and she decided that she must ask him, as tactfully as she could, who the car belonged to. It was all a matter of waiting for the right moment.

Meantime, Callum had dropped into the shop.

‘OK to come to the ceilidh on Saturday?'

‘I'd love to,' Rona paused as she carried a tray of sultana scones to the counter.

‘Great. I'll see you outside the town hall at seven, if that suits you.'

‘Fine.'

‘I'd better be off. Your auntie's glowering at me.'

‘Take no notice,' said Rona. ‘See you Saturday.'

It was ages since she'd had a date. And Callum, well, he was good fun and it was time she had a little fun.

‘What did that laddie want?'

Rona sighed. She might have known there was no escaping Aunt Lizzie's eagle eye.

‘Nothing,' she said.

‘Well,' said her aunt sternly. ‘You'll have to tell him to stop coming into the shop for nothing. We're not a charity. And you gave him a free pie.'

‘That was weeks ago.' Rona defended herself hotly.

‘You
tell him,' said Aunt Lizzie, ‘either he comes in here and buys something like a proper customer or he stays away. I can see what he's after.'

‘Oh, for goodness' sake!' Rona's temper flared up. ‘Why shouldn't he come into the shop? Anyway, I'm going to the ceilidh with him on Saturday.'

‘In my day,' said Aunt Lizzie, ‘a young man knew his place and he'd ask her father's permission to take a young girl out.'

‘This is nineteen fifty-two,' said Rona between gritted teeth. ‘Not eighteen fifty-two.'

‘I'll not have impertinence from you, miss.'

‘What's all this about?' Angus appeared from the back of the shop. ‘I can't have this argy-bargy in front of the customers.'

‘There's no-one in the shop,' muttered Rona.

‘I'm just telling your daughter,' said Aunt Lizzie, ‘that she's not to encourage young men coming into the shop.'

Rona's face flushed. ‘Why not? Anyway I'm going to the ceilidh with him on Saturday, whether you like it or not.'

‘Well,' said Angus slowly. He was becoming rather tired of Aunt Lizzie, and her constant laying down of the law.

He looked at Rona and saw in her face in that moment how like her mother she was, and felt a sudden pang of loss. Oh, she was a bonnie one, this girl of his, and she was
growing
up to look just like his Ruby.

It was Aunt Lizzie's dour expression that decided Angus. ‘Oh, well, I can't see it'll do much harm going to the dancing, but you mind he brings you home and I don't want you out later than half-past ten.'

‘Oh, thank you, Father!' Rona would have flung her arms round her father, except that they weren't the type to embrace.

‘Well,' said Aunt Lizzie in a tight voice, ‘of course, my opinion wasn't asked.'

‘No,' said Angus, ‘it wasn't, and now let's get on with the work. There's that order for the hotel, tomorrow, they want it by eleven o'clock.'

*        *        *

Rona wished that she could have had a new dress for the dance, but knew that wasn't possible. She would have to make do with her pale blue wool dress, but she added a bow at the neckline and thought it looked right for the occasion.

You didn't want to look too dressed up for a ceilidh, but she brushed her hair until it shone and put on her best nylons, and made up carefully with her new Natural Rose lipstick, and a dash of Chypre, the scent that she'd bought with some of her Christmas present money. Her sandals were comfortable anyway and she hoped she'd be dancing all night.

Callum,
when he met her, thought she looked a picture—that gorgeous hair, and her cheeks pink with excitement. ‘You look grand,' he said awkwardly. He was not used to paying compliments to girls.

Clumsily, he steered her into the hall, and they paused almost deafened by the noise of the band—the band that was only the local band.

Everyone knew them. There was the postie on the accordion, and Johnnie Greig from the butcher's, thumping the drums as if his life depended on it. But to Rona, in her excitement, they seemed just as good as any dance band that you heard on the country dance programme on the wireless.

And the dance hall—well, Rona knew it was just the big room in the town hall, the hall they used for meetings, for flower shows and concerts. But tonight it was different, it was a special sort of feel about it.