The Baker's Daughter (9 page)

‘Me? I'm not going cap in hand to anyone. A woman came,' Jeannie added, ‘wanting to know all about us. I soon shut her up.

‘I never asked you to sit down,' she said as an afterthought. ‘Take a chair.'

Rona perched uncomfortably on one of the dining chairs. She felt silenced, and astonished,
too,
that the meek little assistant should be so strong and determined, and not the least inclined to ask for pity.

‘I'm not wanting pity,' said Jeannie suddenly as if she had read Rona's thoughts. ‘I was caught stealing and that was it. Your father was right to sack me. So there's nothing more to be said.'

Rona's head was in a whirl. Why didn't I know, she asked herself, what was going on?

What a struggle Jeannie must have had those past three years, trying to bring up a family, and she was only, what, 16 or 17. Suddenly, Rona felt ashamed.

I've nothing to complain about, she thought. Oh, Aunt Lizzie is difficult to live with, and Father can be strict, but I don't have anything like Jeannie's problems. Thank heavens.

‘Jeannie,' she said, ‘how would it be if I spoke to my father?'

‘Asked him to take me back, you mean? That's not likely, is it?' said the girl sharply.

‘No,' Rona admitted. She knew how firm Angus could be, and how rigid in his attitudes.

He wasn't likely to change his mind out of pity for Jeannie and her family.

‘I wish,' she said, ‘there was something I could do to help.'

‘There's nothing,' said Jeannie. ‘But it's kind of you to try.'

Rona thought how changed Jeannie was. At work she had been self-effacing, hardly saying
a
word unless she was spoken to. Here she was in charge of the household and coping single-handed with two brothers, one it seemed, an invalid.

‘I can't promise anything,' she said, ‘but I'll do what I can.' She looked round the bare living room that shone all the same with cleanliness, and felt ashamed. This loyal, hard-working girl had been tempted to steal—whose fault was that, thought Rona with a spurt of anger.

‘Is there anything you need?' she asked.

‘Nothing.' Jeannie shook her head. ‘I'd best finish the step. I like it to look clean for the morning.'

A SECOND CHANCE

‘You were a while in there,' said Callum. He was sitting placidly on a bollard, watching a fishing boat unload.

‘I'm sorry,' Rona apologised.

‘So what was that all about?' he asked.

‘I'm sorry, I can't tell you. It's sort of private.'

All right.' He looked a little surprised but didn't press her further. ‘Come on, let's go out the sands and up the hill.' He caught her hand.

She smiled at him. Callum was understanding, but it wasn't her secret to tell.

However,
Rona decided, tomorrow she would talk to her father, first thing. Something surely could be done for Jeannie and her brothers.

*        *        *

‘No, definitely not.' Rona recognised that tone. It meant that Angus refused to listen. He had made up his mind and that was that.

Rona talked to her friend, Nancy. ‘Is your father like that? Stubborn?'

‘He certainly is?' Nancy grimaced. She held out a crimson-tipped fingernail for Rona to inspect. ‘What do you think of that colour?'

Rona was hardly listening. ‘Oh yes, very nice?'

‘Is that all? It's the newest shade.'

‘Yes, it's lovely.' But Rona couldn't concentrate. ‘If I asked him as a favour to do something to help someone who was very poorly off, you would think he'd agree, wouldn't you?'

‘I don't know,' said Nancy cautiously. ‘It depends on the person, I suppose. What do you want him to do?'

Rona was silent. Then she said, ‘I'm sorry, it's rather private, about the person I mean. I'd be betraying a confidence if I told you.'

Nancy shrugged. ‘Then I'm sorry I can't help. Your father must be as bad as mine. All I said was, “Can I go on holiday to a holiday
camp?”
and he refused, point blank. Said I wasn't to be trusted on my own. Me? I'm twenty-one, for goodness' sake. I could be married.' She sighed.

‘What if . . .' Rona had a brilliant idea. ‘What if someone was to go with you? A friend.'

‘That might be different. If it was someone sensible.'

‘Like me,' said Rona.

Nancy jumped up. ‘What a wonderful idea! Ask your father, won't you? Tell him we'll be company for each other, and I'm a very responsible sort of person.' She grinned and put on what was supposed to be a sober expression.

‘I'll do what I can,' said Rona.

But uppermost in her mind was the problem of Jeannie. She had told Jeannie she would do what she could to make Angus change his mind, but it seemed very unlikely that he would listen.

‘No, certainly not,' he said firmly.

‘But Father, if you could see that house—they're so poor and no mother or father.'

‘Aye, I'm sure it's very pathetic, but that's no excuse for stealing.'

‘But it was to buy boots for the older boy,' Rona protested. ‘He needs them for school.'

‘Maybe so,' said Angus. ‘It's all very well pitching me a hard-luck story. It doesn't alter things. There're grants and allowances for
people
who are hard up,' he added. ‘Now, as we're short-handed, you can wipe out the display case.'

Rona did so, glaring at him behind his back. But Angus was troubled. How like her mother Rona had become—the same soft heart, and desperate to help anyone down on their luck.

The same wide generosity for everyone, no matter what their faults. And maybe, he thought, maybe this girl, Jeannie, was doing her best to keep the family together. Of course he couldn't have Jeannie back, he couldn't employ anyone untrustworthy. But there might be another way.

*        *        *

Rona still felt anxious about Doug. ‘But its not my problem,' she told herself. ‘If he was stupid enough to get embroiled with that Neela, it was his own fault.'

However, she didn't like to see her brother so down. He would sit at the table with a blank expression, eating whatever Rona had cooked without comment.

‘You might say something,' she burst out one evening.

‘Say what?' he looked at her blankly.

‘Well, you could say you enjoyed the meal.' She had taken particular trouble over the fish pie.

‘Yeah, it's fine.'

Rona
gave up. If he wanted to sulk, let him.

‘I'm away out,' he said.

Please yourself. Rona began to gather up the dishes.

Despite the coolness between them, she couldn't help feeling worried about Doug. He was normally so easy-going and cheerful. It wasn't like him to be grumpy as he had been for the past month or so.

Oh, that girl! she thought. Why did he ever get involved with her?

Meantime, Callum and Rona had become good friends—she enjoyed his sense of humour, and their evenings out—sometimes a walk, sometimes sharing a bag of pan drops at the pictures, and usually once a week at the ceilidh at the town hall. Rona beamed at him as he swung her round in the Gay Gordons and he thought how pretty she was, with that golden hair and her blue eyes that sparkled with fun.

As they sat in the balcony, sipping lemonade, he turned to her. ‘I wondered,' he said, ‘if you'd like to come up to the farm one afternoon—maybe have your tea with us.'

‘I'd like that.' She had been wondering when Callum was going to invite her to his home to meet his family.

Of course, it wasn't easy to ask him to her home, not with Doug in a mood, and Father saying very little. Then there was Aunt Lizzie—she'd be coming back next week, and
Rona
knew how Callum dreaded meeting her in the shop. It wouldn't be any easier at home.

‘Maybe next Saturday?'

Rona nodded. He put an arm round her. ‘You're a lovely girl, do you know that? I've met a lot of girls, taken a few out, but there's not been anyone special. Not until now.'

He bent his head and drew her close. He was about to kiss her when the mood was shattered.

‘Would you look at that?' Rona gasped.

Callum, slightly annoyed that the romantic moment had been spoiled, said, ‘What's the matter?'

‘Nothing,' said Rona leaning over the balcony. ‘But you see that boy dancing the eightsome—see him in the centre?'

Drawing attention to himself, thought Callum a little sourly as he watched the figure, his arms raised and uttering joyful whoops.

‘So what?'

‘It's Doug,' said Rona. ‘Well, he's certainly recovered. I'd no idea he was coming to the ceilidh. And there's no sign of Neela.'

‘Rona . . .' Callum caught her arm. ‘I was saying . . .'

‘Come on, let's go downstairs,' said Rona. ‘I want a word with him,' she said grimly.

He sighed and followed her down the stairs to the hall where the eightsome had just ended.

‘Well, I didn't expect to see you here.' Rona
stood
four-square in front of her brother.

He looked a little shame-faced.

‘And where's Neela?' asked Rona.

‘I told you. I'm not seeing her again.' He caught the arm of a tall, dark-haired girl.

‘This is Bet . . . she's the best dancer in the hall.'

‘Och, you—' she gave him a little push that made him rock back on his heels. ‘He's an awful one, this Doug. Come on, it's the ladies' choice and I'm drouthy. I'm wanting a drink of lemonade before the next dance.'

Doug grinned apologetically at Rona.

‘I think we can say,' said Rona slowly, ‘that he's got over Neela. It certainly looks as if he's back to normal.' And she added grimly, ‘From now on he gets no sympathy from me, and he can take his turn doing the dishes.'

It was about a week later—she was at the bus station to collect some parcels when her eye was caught by a slim, elegant figure.

She wore a smart full-skirted coat and a little black hat with a veil, perched on her curls. She seemed to have a number of suitcases.

She stood smoking a cigarette through a long black holder and very much aware that a number of people were looking at her. Suddenly, Rona knew who she was.

‘You're Neela, aren't you?' She went up to the girl.

‘And if I am?' The girl blew a couple of
smoke
rings.

‘I'm Doug's sister.'

‘Doug?' Neela looked puzzled.

‘Don't pretend you don't know who he was. You crashed your brother's car when Doug was teaching you to drive.'

‘Oh, Doug?' Neela said, as if suddenly remembering. ‘A nice boy. Not many nice young men around this place.'

‘You broke his heart,' said Rona sternly, but then she thought, that wasn't really true.

Remembering Doug whooping and swinging his partner at the ceilidh, she couldn't honestly say he was broken-hearted.

‘Can I help it,' said Neela, ‘if men fall for me? He was a nice boy, your brother, but a bit young for me. I like my men sophisticated. Anyway,' she added, ‘I'm away from this dump. Back to the bright lights for me, and a bit of real life.'

Just then the bus arrived and she climbed in, with a brief nod towards a young man who hurried forward to help her with her cases.

‘Have you got a message for Doug?' Rona called.

‘No, not really. Bye . . .' and she was gone.

*        *        *

‘I saw the mysterious Neela,' Rona told Callum the next evening. ‘Getting on a bus, to go back to the bright lights, she said.'

‘Is
that so?' Callum's eyes twinkled, and he gave a guffaw of laughter.

‘Bright lights.' He rocked backwards and forwards.

‘I can't see what's so funny,' said Rona stiffly.

‘Don't you know?' he said. ‘Her folks have the farm over at Northlea. She came home for a bit—she's been living off her parents, but they got fed up with her and they've thrown her out.'

‘I didn't know.'

‘Everyone else did,' said Callum. ‘She couldn't hold down a job in Edinburgh—walked out of ever so many. She was a mother's help—I doubt she'd be any good at that.'

‘But she was so—glamorous,' said Rona. ‘I thought she must be an actress or a model maybe.'

‘Not her. Her dad said she spent all her time at the pictures—that's where she picked up the grand manner. He made her get a job—she worked in the laundry, but she's left that job. Away back to Edinburgh, you said?'

‘I saw her at the bus station. And as for her clothes,' said Rona, ‘she must have plenty of money.'

‘Well,' Callum hesitated. ‘Not to gossip, but she did have a number of boyfriends—some of them well-heeled, by the sound of it. I reckon that's the last we'll see of her.'

Rona
decided then, that Doug was obviously over the glamorous Neela and had moved on. He'd been young and had his head easily turned, but was now back to his usual self.

She thought of that wild figure on the dance floor, flinging himself and his partner about, and she grinned. Somehow she felt the lovesick Doug was very definitely cured.

*        *        *

When she got home that evening, Angus was sitting in his favourite chair by the fireside.

The fire was lit, as the evening had become chilly and he held out his hands to the blaze in the grate.

‘That you, Rona?'

‘It's me.' She took off her coat. ‘You're up later tonight.'

‘I've been thinking—and talking to a few folk. That girl, Jeannie . .'

‘Yes?'

‘Maybe,' he said tapping the ash out of his pipe, ‘maybe you were right. Maybe she should get a second chance.'