Flora Kidd - My Heart Remembers

7/27/2019 Flora Kidd - My Heart Remembers

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MY HEART REMEMBERS

Flora Kidd

Sally had adored Ross Lorimer ever since she was a child, and she was thrilled when she heard

that he was coming back into her life again.

But she was not quite so thrilled when she discovered that the job he was coming to do

involved the destruction of the home she loved.


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CHAPTER ONE

Sally Johnson

sat on a cast-iron bollard near the edge of the quay and waited for her father. Shecould see him quite clearly. He was leaning over the broad flat bulwark of his fishing boat the

Mary Rose, and he was talking to a man who stood below him on the grey granite quay.

There was something familiar about the man; something about the set of his wide shoulders,

about his unruly wind-tossed hair which stirred her memory and made her heart beat a little

faster. Who was he? And why was he delaying her father? It was almost six oclock. High tea

would be ready and Aunt Jessie would be fussed if they were late for the meal. Sally knew it

was no use trying to hurry Hugh Johnson. Strong and placid, he never hurried and was rarely

disturbed. She had seen him upset only once, and that was when he had visited her in hospital

after the car accident which had killed his second wife Rose, Sallys mother, and had damaged

Sallys face.

Involuntarily she touched the scar on her cheek. It would fade in time, Aunt Jessie said, but

Sally was very conscious of it, especially when she met strangers. Fortunately in her home town

of Portbride she did not have to meet many and she worked as a typist in the Town Hall among

people she had always known.

Pushing the memory of the accident and of her scar to the back of her mind, she gazed round

the harbour with loving eyes. Beyond the grey outer wall of the harbour the turquoise and

white water of the wide ruffled sea-loch rose and fell in perpetual movement. Within the

protective walls the black silhouettes of the radio masts of the varnished fishing boats movedalmost imperceptibly as the boats clustered close to each other, rising and falling, creaking and

squeaking. Seagulls and terns, sailing and soaring, crying and calling, were white flashes against

the new spring green of the rounded hills. Facing the harbour the grey and white of the houses,

some tall and angular, others short and squat, frowned or smiled in the intermittent sunshine

and rain of a wild windy May day, and above all the turbulent purple clouds rolled and jostled

before the gusty breath of the mad north-westerly gale.

A faint smile of satisfaction touched Sallys mouth. This was her town, her home. It had been

like this for hundreds of years, a sheltered haven for fishing boats and a meeting place for

farmers. She would stay here for ever, hidden and protected from the world by familiar things.

A movement to her left drew her attention. The crew of a big black submarine which had

been driven into harbour by the forecast of bad weather was coming ashore. The wind

mischievously whisked the round white-topped hat from the head of one of the sailors, and it

bowled along merrily, past Sally towards the end of the quay and the sea.

Swiftly Sally jumped off the bollard and ran after the hat, her slim legs and light feet carrying

her rapidly over the granite sets. She caught up with the hat about a yard away from the end of

the quay. She pounced on it, picked it up and turned to offer it to its owner, who arrived a few

seconds behind her.

Thanks, he said breathlessly. Och, I thought it had gone for good.


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He was of medium height and he was very thin as if he didnt get enough to eat. His face was

pale, the result probably of spending long hours under water. But his smile was gay as he

crammed the hat down on his short fair hair and walked back with her along the quay.

Yere a fine wee runner, he remarked.

Maeve, Sallys stepsister, would have fluttered her long dark eyelashes and said somethingdevastating. Sally could only smile shyly and remain silent, keeping to herself the information

that she had once been Senior County Champion for the girls hundred-yards sprint.

Im Jim Shaw, said the sailor, able seaman in Her Majestys Navy. Whats your name?

Sally told him.

Do you live here? he asked.

Yes.

Then how about coming to the dance in the Town Hall tonight?

Sally glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes and thought about the number of times

Aunt Jessie had said,

Dont ever let me catch you going with any of those sailors Sally, or else...!

Sally had never found out what would happen after or else because Aunt Jessie had never

finished the sentence. Yet her aunt had never threatened Maeve in the same way, probably

because Maeve was twenty-seven and married, whereas Sally was not yet twenty-one and had

not had a boy-friend ... unless she called her association with Craig Dawson having a boy-friend.

Not interested, huh?

She was recalled from her thoughts by Jim Shaws voice and realised that he thought she was

going to refuse. With a great effort, because since the accident speech had been an effort, she

managed to say,

Im going to the dance anyway. Perhaps I could see you there?

His gay smile lit up his plain face again and she tried not to notice that he avoided looking

directly at her face.

Thats just fine, he said. Ill meet ye at the door at about eight-thirty, and maybe well go

and have a drink before the dance.

Sally agreed, and he walked off to join his companions who were waiting for him. She sat on

the bollard and watched his thin angular shape until he and his friends turned the corner by the

MacKinnon Arms Hotel into the main street.

It had been nice of him to ask her to go to the dance. Possibly he had felt that he owed her

something for rescuing his hat. There could be no other reason. He had seen her face clearlyenough and had flinched from the sight of the scar. Sallys mouth tightened, making her appear

older than her years and giving her face a sour expression. She expected it would be always like


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this, being asked to go out with someone she would not normally be interested in and

accepting because such invitations would be all too rare.

The clock in the Town Hall tower chimed the hour. Sally looked along the quay hopefully. In

her fathers company she could usually forget her problems. He was coming at last,

accompanied by the other man, whose tall well-proportioned figure made Hugh seem short

and wider than he was.

That was a fine wee chase ye had after yon laddies hat, murmured Hugh in his soft husky

voice as he stopped in front of her. Im glad to see yeve not forgotten how to run.

His black oilskin coat rustled and creaked as he raised his hands to attend to the short black

pipe he had placed in his mouth.

Are you coming now, Father? Aunt Jessie will have the tea on the table and shell be crabbit if

youre not there, said Sally as she slid to her feet. Her self-consciousness caused her to ignore

the other man until such time as he was introduced, but she was aware of a strange excitement

which caused her breathing to quicken and her body to tense.

I want to have a few words with Archie McIntyre, and then Ill away home, said Hugh.

Meanwhile Id like ye to take Ross here up to the house and to tell Jessie hes eatin with us. Ye

remember Sally, Ross?

Yes, I remember, but maybe she doesnt remember me. Ten years is quite a long time to be

away from a place.

It seemed to Sally that her heart stopped beating. He had come back! He had dared to come

back.

Do you remember me, Sally? Amusement softened the normally crisp no nonsense voice as

a big muscular hand was held out to her. Sally stared at the hand and remembered Maeves

pleading,

Ross, promise youll write ... promise youll come back? But he hadnt written and he hadnt

come back until now, and for a while Maeve had been brokenhearted.

Sally shook the hand reluctantly and looked up. There were some changes. The square face

was leaner than it had been ten years ago and it had been tanned by a stronger sun than any

that shone in Scotland. Fine lines radiated outwards from the corners of blue eyes which nolonger blazed with the enthusiasm of youth but were cool and guarded as if he had many

secrets he wished to keep to himself. The brown sun-streaked hair was slightly shorter but was

still inclined to be unruly.

I remember you, she murmured coolly.

His eyes narrowed slightly and his gaze went deliberately to the scar on her cheek so that she

became conscious of it and raised her hand to hide it.

Ross has come back to work here, chipped in Hugh, who had been too busy with his pipe to

notice the tension. He was thinking of staying at the MacKinnon, but I thought perhaps we

could fix him up. On your way now, both of ye, and tell Jessie Ill not be long.


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His rubber boots thudded on the granite blocks of the quay and his oilskin coat rustled as he

swung away towards the harbourmasters office, a jaunty figure, his peaked cap pushed well

back on his head, his pipe puffing forth smoke like an old diesel engine.

They were alone beside the ruffled darkening water and deserted fishing boats. Around them

on the quay lay the debris associated with sea fishingstacks of wooden slatted boxes, blatant

orange plastic marker buoys and the dark tangle of nets. The wind was still blowing andmoaning, wafting the smell of fish about and sending a sudden billow of grey smoke

downwards from the chimney of a high house.

Sally stood silent, struggling to overcome the tongue-tiedness from which she had suffered

since the accident, aware that a new disturbing feeling of antipathy towards the man at her

side was growing.

Last time she had seen him she had been eleven. Maeve had been seventeen and he had

been twenty-two. He had been spending his holidays as usual with Miss Wallace of Winterston.

Winterston was the big house on the southern shore of the sea-loch. His mother had been a

relation of Miss Wallace. Rosss father, who had been a civil engineer, had been killed in a

building accident somewhere in South America and Miss Wallace had become Rosss guardian.

Although a forceful character, Miss Wallace, who had been the last of her line, had not been

able to exercise much control over the lively spirited boy entrusted to her charge. He had done

more or less as he had wanted, and when he had reached his teens he had developed an

interest in fishing and had hung about the quayside until Hugh Johnson had taken him to sea

with him. And so a friendship had sprung up between fisherman and youth, a friendship which

had spread throughout the Johnson family, affecting mother and daughters alike so that they

expected to see Ross every holiday time when he was home from his boarding school.

Hugh had liked Ross because he was a braw lad, tough and handy with the nets. Rose Johnson

had liked him because she could treat him like the son she had never had. Maeve had liked him

because he teased her in a curiously intimate fashion, and as they had both grown older and

Maeve had become aware of her feminine charms she had tended to try and keep him to

herself, walking away up the hills with him through the bracken to some secret hiding place. As

for Sally, she had hero-worshipped him, following him about wherever he went and sometimes

sharing an adventure with him, like the time they had gone searching for gulls eggs, climbing

the dangerous Blackwall cliffs and getting stuck and having to be rescued by the Portbride Fire

Brigade.

Then eventually Ross had graduated as a civil engineer and had decided to go away to

England to work. Sally had been playing in the ruins of an old cottage on the Winterston estate

when she had accidentally stumbled upon their hiding place and had overheard Maeves

plaintive plea,

Promise youll write! Promise youll come back and Ill love you for ever!

And now she remembered vividly the sun glinting on Rosss sun-bleached hair as he had

tossed his head back to laugh, and she could hear again the youthful scorn in his voice as he

had replied,

Nothing is for ever.


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A wild gust of wind shook the rigging of the fishing boats masts and flurries of wavelets

scurried across the water.

Shall we go and find out what Aunt Jessie has for tea? He sounded tolerantly amused again,

and realising that she must seem rude Sally pulled her thoughts away from the past and looked

at him.

What will Maeve say? she asked. What will she do? She had not meant to say it and was

rather surprised that she had spoken without hesitation.

His straight eyebrows which were much darker than his hair quirked together in a frown of

puzzlement.

Why should she do or say anything?

She asked you to write and to come back, but you didnt. You hurt her badly.

His eyes hardened and he gave her a glance which told her quite clearly that she had spokenout of turn.

Your memory is better than mine, he replied coolly. I dont believe anyone could have hurt

the Maeve I knew. Shall we go up to Rosemount now?

Vaguely conscious that she had lost the first round in a contest which had only just begun, Sally

moved forward and Ross walked beside her after swinging a rucksack over one shoulder. Sally

eyed it curiously and asked,

Did you come by car?

No, I walked over the moors from Newton Stewart, he answered curtly, leaving her in no

doubt that he resented her curiosity, and was in no mind to satisfy it.

Sally was surprised. She would have thought he would have roared into Portbride in a fast car.

It would have been more in keeping with her memories of him. Walking over the moors must

have taken him about three days.

Why did you walk? Her natural curiosity, which had been subdued by the feeling of lethargy

which had possessed her for the last few months, was awakening, aroused from its abnormal

sleep by the challenge of his return to Portbride.

He was looking about him as they walked round the head of the harbour and he did not bother

to glance at her as he answered offhandedly.

Ive been away from Scotland for a long time and I wanted to get the feel of the place before I

started to work here.

Where have you been all this time?

He looked at her then, and laughed.

There are some ways in which you havent changed. You still pester people with questions. It

used to be Where are you going, Ross? Why cant I come too, Maeve? he mocked. Oh, Ive


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been in various places. The last one was near Karachi in Pakistan.

Although her curiosity was satisfied Sally found it rather mortifying to realise he had once

considered her a pest, and

she became silent again.

You didnt have that scar on your face when I last saw you, continued Ross. How did you get

it?

It was his turn to be curious. The abrupt question, the one which shouldnt be asked out of

respect for the hypersensitivity of the person with the scar, seared her feeling momentarily and

she disliked him intensely.

In a car accident. My mother was killed, she replied, as abrupt as he had been.

Ah, yes, Hugh told me. I was sorry to hear of your mothers death. She used to be very kind

to me. Whoever did the surgery on your face made a good job ... but dont let the scar spoilyour life by being self-conscious about it.

They had left the harbour and were walking up the steep rough road to her fathers house

which was perched on the ridge of rock which formed the northern side of the deep, wide sea-

loch and which eventually ended in the high cliffs of Blackwall Edge. The land on the opposite

shore of the sea- loch which comprised most of the Winterston estate was blurred by white

spindrift lifted from the crests of the waves. Sally looked resolutely in that direction, keeping

her face turned away from the man whose frank comments were piercing her newly formed

defensive shell.

Have I said the unforgivable? Shouldnt I have mentioned the scar? he prodded. I suppose

youve been using it as an excuse to hide away.

Sally whirled round to deny his accusation and even opened her mouth to say I havent! But

she closed it again, knowing he had spoken the truth.

How can you know anything about the way I feel or act? she defended with an attempt at

haughtiness.

Ive known others who have been similarly damaged. Youre not the only person in this world

to have her face slashed open by glass from a broken windscreen.

He was hateful! Last time he had been in Portbride he had hurt Maeve. Now he had come

again, intent on hurting and on disturbing the even comfortable flow of their lives. She wished

Hugh had not invited him to stay to tea.

They reached Rosemount, the white gable-ended house which was her home. It was

traditional in style, having three dormer windows in its grey slate roof. Sturdily built of granite,

it had housed Johnsons for almost a hundred and fifty years and for Sally it was an important

part of her security.

She opened the garden gate and hurried up the path. She must try to warn Maeve somehow.Without looking behind her to see if Ross was following she opened the door, went straight

through the small narrow hallway and into the living room at the back of the house.


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Is that you, Sally? Whereve ye been? Is yr father with ye? Aunt Jessie, Hugh Johnsons

spinster sister, came out of the kitchen into the room. She moved slowly because her legs were

crippled with rheumatism. Square-shouldered and stocky like her brother, her round rosy face

and twinkling hazel eyes betrayed her good nature.

Hes gone to see Archie MacIntyre. He wont be long. A quick glance round the room assured

Sally that Maeve was not there, and then Ross was in the room behind her.

This is Ross Lorimer, Aunt Jessie. Dad said I was to bring him home for tea.

Och, to be sure, I remember ye. Ye used to live with Miss Wallace, God rest her soul, and ye

used to go fishin with Hugh. How time flies! Come awa and sit ye down. Tis a wild day the

day. Sally, set another place at the table.

In a minute, Aunt. I must go upstairs first.

She was out of the room before Aunt Jessie could object. She sped upstairs to Maeves

bedroom, flung open the door without knocking and after entering banged it shut behind her.

Maeve, who was lounging on the bed reading a novel, looked up, an exasperated frown marring

the smooth white of her forehead.

Do you have to rush in here like that? As if the wind wasnt bad enough you have to go

tearing through the house like a mad thing, she grumbled. Then with a change of mood, an

affectionate smile curving her mouth, she added, Although its more like you to rush around.

What can have happened to stir you up? Youve even got some colour in your face.

Sally stood at the end of the bed and regarded her sister objectively, trying to see her as the

man downstairs might see her. She had always been an admirer of Maeves beauty. Longstrawberry-blonde hair waved naturally about a heart shaped face. Blue eyes put in with a

smutty finger were set under finely-marked winged eyebrows. A perfect peaches and cream

complexion, a full-lipped passionate mouth and a smoothly curving figure which showed to

advantage in a swimsuit had all been inherited from Maeves Irish mother, Hughs first wife

who had died in childbirth.

How could a man not love such a beautiful person? How could he go away and forget her?

Maeve, Ross Lorimer is downstairs.

Ross Lorimer? repeated Maeve, opening her eyes wide. You mean Ross who used to live atWinterston? Why is he here?

He says hes come to work here. I thought Id better warn you.

Warn me about what?

Warn you that hes here, so that you wouldnt get a shock when you came downstairs.

Maeve stretched lazily and chuckled.

Thanks, Sal. It would take more than the sight of Ross Lorimer to shock me. Are you comingto the dance tonight?


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Yes ... and oh, Maeve, Im meeting someone there, a sailor off the submarine which is in the

harbour. I saved his hat from being blown into the sea.

Well, we are having an exciting evening, mocked Maeve. A sailor? What will Aunt Jessie

say?

They both laughed good-naturedly about their aunts well- intentioned efforts to protect Sallyfrom the ways of the world.

Then you wont want me to come with me if you have an escort, suggested Maeve

mournfully.

Oh, yes, I want you to come, said Sally earnestly, not wishing her sister to think that she

wasnt wanted.

But Maeve didnt seem to be listening. She had swung her legs over the side of the bed so that

she was facing the small dressing table. Leaning forward, she examined her face in the mirror.

Then picking up her hairbrush she began to brush her hair with long sweeping strokes so that it

snapped and crackled with electricity.

Behind Maeves reflection in the mirror, Sally could see her own reflection. Her beechnut-

coloured hair was an indeterminate length, neither long nor short. An untidy fringe which badly

needed attention fell over her forehead and drew attention to her wide hazel eyes. Across one

thin cheek a long pallid scar angled from the corner of her right eye to the corner of her wide

mouth. Once her face had been rosy and smiling. Now a certain wistfulness added maturity to

it. Sally scowled at herself, not liking what she saw, and glanced at Maeve again. Her sister was

smoothing away the lines caused by a frown, as if she realised that frowning would not help her

to preserve her beauty.

Whats he like ... Ross, I mean? she asked curtly.

Sally found the sudden question much more natural than Maeves apparently unconcerned

reception of the news of Rosss return.

Hes changed a bit, she began. It was difficult to describe how he had changed.

Is he married? Again Maeves voice was sharp.

I dont know. He didnt say.

Och, youre hopeless! snapped Maeve. You never notice anything about other people.

Youd better go down and tell Aunt Jessie Im coming or shell think no one wants tea tonight.

Sally went to her own room. A quick flick of the brush over her own hair and a touch of

lipstick was all the interest she took in her appearance. As she went down the narrow staircase

she could hear her fathers voice coming from the living room. Just as she was about to turn the

door handle and enter the room, the door was opened and Aunt Jessie shouted,

Sally, Maeve, come for tea, or else! Och, bairn, I didna know ye were there. Come on now,

yre fathers hungry and my guess is that Ross is too. Fancy walkin all that way! Whatever didye do a thing like that for? Ye must be daft, lad!


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Maybe I am, Aunt Jessie, said Ross equably. I had a few days to spare and I wanted to feel

the soft moorland air, the rain in my face and the springy turf under my feet. I needed to be

alone for a while, and I know of no better way of being alone.

Sally looked at him in surprise. She also loved to walk the moors for the same reason, but she

would not have believed that the very self-assured man who sat opposite to her would have

required the spiritual balm offered by communing with nature.

Sorry Im late, Aunt Jessie, breathed Maeve softly as she entered the room. Hello, Dad.

Have a good day? She bent over her father and kissed him on the cheek, an action which

caused him to look askance at her as he answered her.

Hello, lass. Now what are ye after?

Nothing, Im just showing how pleased I am to see you, she replied charmingly as she moved

round to the vacant seat beside Ross. Hello, Ross, Sally told me you were here. Its nice to see

you again.

For the second time that day Sally saw her stepsister in a more objective light. Maeve had

made an entrance, drawing attention to herself and her new blue dress with its short gathered

skirt and romantic frills at the neckline and at the cuffs of the long sheer sleeves. She seemed to

glow and she looked completely out of place among the heavy furniture of the homely room.

Ross took her outstretched hand in his as he rose to his feet and murmured a polite

commonplace greeting. As he released her hand she sent him a provocative underbrowed

glance and said,

Its taken you a long time to come back.

His smile had a slightly sardonic quality as he answered smoothly,

Dont treasure any illusions about my reason for returning. Ive only come back because I

have to work for my living.

Maeve pouted prettily as she sat down and he resumed his seat.

Och, Ross, dont be so unromantic!

But I am. Ive always been a realist.

Whatever ye are, were all glad to see ye, put in Hugh. Have ye thought about my

suggestion ... about staying here? He could lodge here while hes working, couldnt he, Jessie?

Aye, he could. Theres an empty room up the stair waitin

to be used. You wont think of refusin? queried Aunt Jessie.

After a supper like this you make it very difficult for me, replied Ross with an appreciative grin.

Ill consider it, and let you know later.

You do that, encouraged Hugh. Ill be glad to have ye in this house of women. The dance they

lead me! He clucked his tongue and rolled his eyes.


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I can guess, murmured Ross dryly.

Do stay, Ross, said Maeve in her most persuasive voice as she placed a hand on his arm.

Sally cringed inwardly. Why did Maeve have to be so obvious? She invited caustic sardonic

remarks. But this time Ross didnt reply as he looked at Maeve. It seemed to Sally that they

looked at each other for a long time, as if they had both forgotten that there were other peoplein the room, and she felt an imperative urge to break the intimate moment. Where are you

going to work? she asked abruptly.

Maeve remove her hand from his arm and continued with her meal while Aunt Jessie poured

more tea. Rosss blue glance was cool and indifferent as he looked away from Maeves golden

beauty to the nut-brown, scarred-faced girl who sat opposite to him.

At Winterston ... erecting fuel tanks.

Aunt Jessie set the tea-pot down with a thump and said sharply,

Och, no, ye canna be doin the devils own work!

Sally gasped and said hotly,

I might have guessed!

Hugh cautioned quietly, placidly,

Now, now, both of ye, be careful what ye say.

Maeve looked up, faint puzzlement clouding her eyes, and said in her soft slurred voice,

Why all the fuss? What fuel tanks?

The ones we petitioned against when the Government first approached Miss Wallace about

purchasing the land from her as the most suitable site for the tanks, blurted Sally.

The colour had left her face and the scar looked ugly against the sudden pallor, but her thick

brown hair glinted with copper lights and her hazel eyes flashed green fire as she glared at

Ross.

You and Aunt Jessie might have petitioned against them, but I didnt. Anyway, theconstruction of fuel tanks will bring people into the town with money in their pockets to spend

... and its brought Ross back, said Maeve.

Ross slanted an enigmatical glance at her and murmured, Thanks, Maeve, for your kind

welcome. It seems that Ive given Sally a reason for disliking me.

Sally wondered whether the others had noticed the subtle challenge in his voice. She looked

at her father, hoping for his support. He was frowning as he busied himself with the lighting of

his after-dinner pipe.

I expect you wont want me to lodge here, now you know Im here to do the devils work,

Aunt Jessie, jested Ross.


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Och, well now, I wouldna say that, replied the hospitable Jessie. But Im a wee bit

disappointed. Ye see, many of the folk in the town objected to the choice of the site. Its a

lovely piece of land, as ye ken well yerself, and many of us think that Portbride would never be

the same if the tanks are put there. The old house has been a landmark in these parts for

centuries and people are fond of it. Miss Wallace herself was very upset, and I wouldna be a bit

surprised if the anxiety about the public hearing they held didnt hurry her into her grave. After

she died we didnt hear any more about it. When was the decision made to sell the land?

Soon after she died. The Government made a compulsory purchase. Since I had inherited it, I

saw no reason to fight it. The place was mortgaged to the hilt, anyway.

There was a brief silence as they all digested the information that Ross had sold his

inheritance.

Aye, aye, its a great pity. To think of a grand family like the Wallaces coming to an end like

that, and their land becoming Government property, sighed Aunt Jessie. Id have thought

more of ye if yed fought it.

Ross smiled tolerantly at her.

Ive told you Im a realist. I couldnt afford the place, let alone a fight to keep it. No, its better

out of my hands.

I canna understand ye young folk, sometimes, complained Aunt Jessie. But how is it you

were sent here to work on the tanks?

My company contracted for the work. Id just finished a stint on a similar project in Pakistan,

and they offered me the position of site boss here. Promotionwise its too good an opportunityto miss, so here I am.

Your being here in a place you know so well is pure coincidence, then? put in Maeve.

Pure coincidence, agreed Ross. You neednt worry about seeing the tanks. Theyll be well

concealed when theyre finished.

But think of all that youre going to destroy to put them there ... all the lovely wild plants and

the bushes and the trees and the rocks and the heather, exploded Sally incoherently. The

place will look a mess for months.

For two years, in fact, said Ross, as she paused for breath.

And it will never be the same, because well know that the tanks are there even if they are

covered up. Why couldnt they have chosen another site? Why do they have to change

Winterston?

Everything changes sooner or later, remarked Ross quietly, looking directly at her, and she

knew he meant that she had been changed by the accident and her hand crept to her cheek

defensively.

Calm down, Sally, admonished Hugh, more briskly than usually. You shouldna speak to Rosslike that. He has his work to do. You know very well that Portbride has been chosen because

the loch is a natural deep water harbour and that tankers and ships can get in easily at any


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state of the tide, as far as the Winterston jetty. Theyll be able to load and unload fuel without

any problem. I think like Maeve that its a good thing for Portbride.

Sally was completely silenced. When her father talked like that she knew better than to

argue.

For two years, murmured Maeve. A lot can happen in two years. Will you be here all thattime, Ross?

Maybe.

And what about your wife? Where is she? Will she be coming to live here too?

Rosss smile was slightly cynical as he looked at her.

You never could ask a direct question, could you? The answer is, unlike you, Im not married.

Maeves expression grew sullen and Hugh said,

Aye, its about time you remembered you were married and went back to your husband,

Maeve. Im surprised he hasna come for ye.

Turning to Ross, completely ignoring the insinuation in her fathers words, Maeve smiled

brilliantly, and Ross looked at her in a strangely intimate, assessing manner, almost as if he was

weighing up how far he could go with her, thought Sally with a sudden frightening flash of

insight.

You wont let my being married make any difference, will you, Ross? urged Maeve.

No, I wont let it make any difference, he replied, and there was a touch of mischief in his

smile.

Apparently he had meant what he had said, because later that evening Sally watched him and

Maeve enter the crowded lounge of the MacKinnon Arms. Maeve was wearing a thin coat over

her dress and she looked radiant. As usual she received many stares from the sailors who were

mingling with the customary Friday night crowd of fishermen and young farmers, all in town for

the weekly dance and getting themselves into the right mood for the dancing which would only

start properly when closing time came round.

Sally was sitting at a table drinking her favourite lemon squash with Jim Shaw and two of his

friends, Joe and Lofty.

Whew, what an eyeful! commented Lofty. Who is she, Sally? I hope you know her.

Shes my stepsister Maeve, admitted Sally reluctantly. She didnt really like it when men

referred to Maeve in a disrespectful manner.

Then come on, lass, introduce us, urged Joe. Shes looking for somewhere to sit. Why dont

you get up, Jim, and let her sit over there by Sally?

Jim, who was as mesmerised by Maeves beauty as the other two, moved obediently, never

questioning the order, and Sally signalled to Maeve, who said something to Ross and then


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made her way to the table.

Sally made the introductions and watched the three young men turn all their attention to

Maeve, as she had guessed they would. Even when Ross arrived with Maeves drink and stood

beside her, tall, self-assured and just a little aloof, they did not turn away from the object of

their attention. They crowded round Maeve, showing off to attract her attention and cutting

Sally off.

As she sat in the shadow of the corner seat it seemed to Sally that it had all happened before.

For some reason she was seeing Maeve much more clearly tonight, and it occurred to her that

during the past few weeks whenever a young man had taken an interest in her at the dances to

which Maeve had made her go, her sister had always appeared in her guise of protector and

had diverted the young mans attention with her beauty, charm and wit. It was as if she did it

deliberately.

Sally clamped down on the thought, regarding it as uncharitable. She must not think like that.

She would become sour if she did. Maeve couldnt help being beautiful and charming and it was

quite reasonable for a young man to prefer her to an awkward, scar-faced person like herself.

Yet tonight she had thought she would be safe because Maeve had Ross with her.

Hand to her cheek, she looked at him. Leaning against the wall, beer-mug in hand, he wasnt

watching Maeve but was looking straight at her. Guiltily she moved her hand from her face and

glanced away. He seemed completely unconcerned by the attention Maeve was receiving. He

was sufficiently arrogant, Sally decided, to know that he had prior claim on Maeve tonight and

he would have no hesitation in asserting his rights. With a queer flurry of apprehension Sally

wondered whether he would consider he had more rights than Fergus, Maeves husband.

The thought frightened her and knowing that no one would miss her Sally stood up, edged

through the crowd and went out into the wild windy moonlit night. The MacKinnon Arms faced

the harbour and was considered the best hotel in Portbride, commanding as it did

uninterrupted views of the harbour and the sea-loch.

Sally walked across the wide roadway to the wall which

prevented the unwary from falling into the harbour and provided a favourite leaning place for

the inhabitants of the town on a summers night. The tide was out and a little beach of pale

sand glittered intermittently as the wind-driven clouds rushed across the face of the round

silver moon. At the edge of the beach the water fell in small rippling phosphorescent waves.

From the Town Hall up the main street came the sound of the band already playing for the

dance, and immediately behind her there was the noise of many voices as the crowd left the

hotel and went to the dance.

In a few minutes everyone had gone and the place was quiet again. Jim and his friends,

enthralled by Maeve, had obviously not noticed Sallys absence and had gone to the dance

without her.

Sally gripped the edge of the wall beneath her hands as she fought against the self-pity which

threatened to swamp her. Once she had been gay and happy, loving her parents, loving hersister, liking her work. Then the awful accident had happened. She had been coming home in

the car with her mother after visiting relatives in Newton Stewart. It had been a dark winters


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night with wreaths of mist weaving across the moorland and occasionally cutting down visibility

to nothing. They had hit a patch, her mother had changed down to second gear and then ...

blank.

Sally had been told afterwards that they had hit the side of a railway bridge which crossed the

road at a bend. The mist had hidden both bend and bridge and instead of following the curve of

the road her mother had driven straight on into the supporting wall of the bridge. She had beenkilled instantly. Sally had been shocked and badly cut about the face.

Everyone had said the plastic surgeon had worked a miracle on her face. But no one had been

able to work a miracle on her injured spirits.

Everyone had been kind and patient with her. Her father had been gentle and forbearing even

in the midst of his own distress at the death of her mother. Aunt Jessie, that most maternal of

spinsters, had poured out all her love to comfort her niece and when Maeve had come back

from Ireland for a short holiday she had stayed ostensibly to help her young stepsister, a stay

which had lasted four weeks.

But somehow none of the kindness and cosseting had helped, and Sally found herself

shrinking back from contact with people. Maeves policy of making her attend the weekly

dances hadnt helped either, because every time she noticed a young mans eyes avoid looking

at her scar, she wanted to run home and hide.

Someone leant on the wall beside her. A strong hand uncurled the clenched fingers of her

right hand and massaged them gently. Automatically her other hand unclenched as she turned

in surprise to look at Ross. He took her left hand too and rubbed both hands between his, then

released them.

Why did you walk out on us? he asked.

She was too surprised to speak and could only stare at his profile as he looked away at the

fishing boats.

Are you sulking because Maeve deliberately monopolised the attention of your naval friends

and they forgot about you? he queried, and the taunt which lay beneath his question roused

her.

Im not sulking, she objected. And Maeve didnt do it deliberately.

Didnt she? His tone was dry.

No, she asserted vehemently, hoping by her fierce negation to stamp the idea from his

mind. Maeve cant help being lovely and attractive.

Any more than you can help being irritable, sulky and downright sorry for yourself, I suppose.

Are you going to wallow in self-pity for the rest of your life? Shame on you! I thought you were

made of tougher fibre than that.

His forthright criticism scorched her like fire. Only a few minutes ago his hands had held hers

and had soothed away her tension. Now his crisp, authoritative voice lashed at her, stiffening

pride and rousing her anger. Words bubbled up longing to be spoken. They remained unspoken

and she could only glare in an agony of frustration. She wheeled away from him, intending to


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run home, but before she could take a step he caught her hand and jerked her round roughly to

face him.

Let me go! she fumed.

His grin was unsympathetic as he did as she asked.

Im glad to find youre not as dull and lethargic as you

look, and that theres still a spark of life left in you.

Sally rubbed at her bruised wrist and involuntarily the words came tumbling out.

Why did you have to come back? I wish youd go away!

I shall go one day, when Ive done my work. Meanwhile ...

Meanwhile youll upset Maeve again. She loved you and you went away. She washeartbroken.

Did she tell you that? He sounded incredulous. Then he laughed. Maeve didnt love me. She

was merely in love with the idea of being in love.

I dont believe you. Maeve isnt like that, and you wouldnt say so if youd seen how she used

to cry herself to sleep after youd gone.

Frustration, I expect. She hadnt been able to get her own way. Im willing to bet she was

over it within a week and was walking the hills with some other youth.

Sally had no retort ready. She guessed that the picture he painted of Maeve was possibly

more true to life than the one she preferred to paint of her stepsister. She liked to think that

Maeves love affairs after Ross had left had been the result of desperation and a broken heart,

trying to disguise the truth from herself that Maeve was fickle.

But disillusionment hurt, especially when it concerned a person she had adored from

babyhood, and she was in no mood to forgive the tough self-confessed realist who stood beside

her for stripping the romantic trappings from Maeve and making her appear cheap.

Im on my way to Winterston, Ross announced abruptly in a well-remembered manner.

Coming with me?

The careless off-hand way of inviting her was so familiar that for a moment she was eleven

again and he was asking for her company on some adventure.

N ... n ... now? she stammered. But its late, and I thought youd be going to the dance with

Maeve?

No. I met Maeve by chance on my way over to have a pint. She just happened to be going my

way ... very conveniently for her, he replied with a touch of cynicism. It isnt completely dark,

because theres a moon. And if it isnt too late for dancing, it isnt too late for walking. Coming?

He had turned to go and she knew he wouldnt ask her again. The thought of seeing


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Winterston by moonlight intrigued her spirit of adventure which she had thought to be dead.

She couldnt resist.

Can you wait, please? I must change my shoes, she asked hesitantly.

He turned back to look at her and by the light of the street lights she saw his familiar

daredevil grin.

Ill wait, he agreed.

And without further hesitation Sally turned and sped towards her home, her melancholy

mood miraculously dispersed.

Only one road led to Winterston. It was a continuation of the wide road which wound round

the harbour and which ended abruptly on the southern side of the sea-loch where the quayside

gave way to a narrow rock-strewn shore which was overshadowed by a ridge of rock which ran

in a curve to end in a tumble of rocks known as Winterston Point.

The road was narrow and rough and was surfaced by granite chips which glittered and

sparkled in the moonlight, and crunched and scattered under their steady footsteps.

Waves tumbled on the rim of pale sand and frills of bubbles exploded in scintillating showers

of light when water hit rock and sprayed upwards. From the craggy hillside the scents of unseen

flowers and grasses tantalised Sallys nose. She knew that in the crevices pale yellow primroses

would be hidden and that among the long grasses which bordered the roadside diminutive

violets could be found. The scents of the newly grown plants mingled with the salty tang of the

sea and with the odour of the damp seaweed which had been washed up to lie in long dark

ribbons on the wan sand.

Moonlight on the sea. The smells of springtime. Sally experienced a feeling of intense delight

in all that she could see and hear and smell.

For generations the moon had shone down on these hills and on this sea. Nothing had

changed, she thought. And now the man at her side had come to destroy the beauty, to disturb

the peace, to build ugly fuel tanks which would mar the countryside. No matter how well they

were hidden they would leave a scar, like the one on her face which would never fade

completely.

The fact that he could ever think of such destruction raised a barrier between him and herselfwhich she felt she could never overcome.

The road curved round a protruding bastion of rock and then the way was barred by two high

wrought-iron gates. Ross thrust a broad shoulder against them and they yielded, opening on to

a tree-lined driveway already overrun with grass and weeds.

Ross strode forward without hesitation. Sally dallied behind him, caught in the spell which

Winterston had always cast upon her. She remembered the times she had gathered wild

daffodils which grew in drifts in the springtime under the tall trees. She recalled the many

brown trout which she had poached from the nearby burn which she could hear rushing

perpetually to the sea. There were memories too of the tall stern lady who had been the

guardian of Winterston and who had fought to preserve it.


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A small animal scampered out of the dark rhododendron bushes and startled her. She

realised that Ross had gone, disappearing round the bend of the drive. He had gone, leaving her

behind, having probably forgotten her.

She ran lightly up the drive. She found him on the front lawn, standing motionless, his head

tilted back as he surveyed the moon-silvered frontage of the old house. Standing beside him,

Sally looked at it too. In spite of the moonlight the small oblong latticed windows seemed darkand secretive and the two pointed turrets which decorated either side of the high gatehouse

with its serrated gable added to the Gothic and melodramatic appearance of the house. At right

angles to the gatehouse, the rest of the house was the normal unspectacular structure of a

plain three-storey house with a gable end and a slate roof.

The house had been built on a long hump of land and it was backed by a clump of whispering

pines behind which the land rose steeply. In front of it wide lawns dotted with what had once

been carefully barbered ornamental trees swept down to the water where a small jetty jutted

out.

How can you take part in turning all this into a mass of

mud and rubble? said Sally, suddenly articulate as emotion stirred her. If you cant see the

beauty youre going to destroy you must be inhuman!

He didnt bother to turn his head to look at her as he replied quietly,

Im not inhuman. I can see the beauty. On the other hand, Im not a sentimentalist and I

know that the house is a crumbling, unsafe ruin and that eventually it must come down,

preferably before it falls down and injures someone.

His quiet matter-of-fact statement concerning the fate of the house disturbed her greatly as

she realised that the situation was far worse than she had anticipated.

Och, no, you cant destroy the house. You mustnt!

Actually the decision whether it should be destroyed or not is not mine to make, he replied

calmly. I can only present my point of view. But Im inclined to agree with the consultants for

the job that the house is standing in one of the obvious places for a couple of the tanks.

But how do you know that its a ruin? Miss Wallace lived in it until she died, so it cant be that

bad, objected Sally.

Have you ever been inside? he asked.

No, although Ive often wanted to see what its like. I asked you once to take me over it, but

you refused.

Would you like to see it now?

Sally found herself struggling with wayward conflicting emotions. His calm unemotional

comments upon the state of the house dismayed her. He seemed extremely sure and

completely unassailable. On the other hand, his invitation to show her the inside of the housewhich had always enticed her disarmed her temporarily.


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But we wont be able to see anything. Itll be dark inside, she replied, half-heartedly finding

an excuse. Anyway, how will we get in?

I have a torch with me, and I also have a key, he said practically. I daresay Ill be able to find

the main electric switch and there are bound to be a few light bulbs still intact and working. Of

course if youd rather stay outside while I look around the house you can, but I warn you, this

might be your last chance to see inside it.

Sally responded immediately to his take-it-or-leave-it attitude.

No, Id like to see it, please, she said hurriedly.

He moved forward towards the plain door set in the gatehouse. On either side of the door

were two stone tubs in which were set box trees, now shaggy and overgrown. Sally, who had

followed Ross eagerly, looked at them sadly, thinking how symbolic they were of the air of

general unkemptness which prevailed around the house.

Ross produced an outsize old-fashioned iron key, inserted it in the keyhole of the iron-

studded door. He turned the key and the lock slid back obediently. He grasped the large iron

ring which was the door handle, pushed the door and it opened slowly and protestingly. He

stepped inside and at once the beam of his torch shed a pool of yellowish light on the stone-

flagged floor of the cavernous entrance hall.

Sally followed him and he closed the door. Moonlight filtered through a large rectangular

window, a simple grid of vertical and horizontal stonework with square leaded panes of glass in

each small rectangle, which was situated high up in the wall facing the door. The torch beam

flitted round the shadowed stone walls, flickered momentarily on the high timbered roof,

lingered briefly on the window and descended the wide curving imposing staircase.

Wait here, ordered Ross peremptorily. Ill try the electricity.

He moved away from her and was immediately swallowed up in the gloom. Sally stood still,

absorbing the atmosphere of age. She was inside Winterston at last. Winterston, the home of

the Wallace family since the days of the first king to rule all Scotland, David the First, who had

granted land to the Norman knights who had come at his invitation from England to help him

administer his new kingdom. One of those knights had been Hugo Wallace, who had chosen

this particular land.

He had built his castle nearer to the present site of the town and its ruins could still be seen,

two fingers of stone pointing to the sky on a mound behind the small crouched cottages of the

oldest part of the town. When the castle had been destroyed by fire the family had built a new

house away from the town on a fine piece of coast where they could enjoy privacy as well as

beautiful uninterrupted views of the sea. Many romantic and wild tales had been told about the

family whose sons in more recent times had carried on the tradition of serving their king by

entering the British Army. The tradition had come to an abrupt end when Miss Wallaces only

brother, William Wallace, had been killed in action during the second world war, leaving no heir

to succeed to the estate.

Sally was a bit hazy about the details, but she knew from local gossip that Rosss mother hadbeen a second cousin of Miss Wallaces and had lived for a while at Winterston before marrying

Alec Lorimer, a civil engineer. She and her husband had returned to Winterston occasionally for


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holidays, and she had made her home there during the war while Rosss father had been doing

his war service. Sally wasnt sure what had happened to Mrs. Lorimer, because Aunt Jessie and

her own mother had tended to stop discussing the matter when they came to that part.

A scuttering, scrabbling noise startled Sally and, cold with apprehension, she peered about

her. She wasnt really afraid of the darkshe had walked too many country roads at night for

that. But it seemed as if Ross had been away for a long time and the dank smell of age coupledwith the brooding silence of the house were beginning to attack her nerves. She had a sudden

longing to call out to Ross, and only the thought that he might think her foolish and

hypersensitive prevented her from doing so.

A door at the end of the passage to the left of her opened and he called out,

Sally, there are some switches to the right of the front door. Try them, will you?

Dim light sprang up from wall lamps shaped like flambeaux, revealing the grey stone walls of

the hall which were decorated with stuffed stags heads, crossed claymores, dirks and round

embossed shields. Tattered banners, their colours long faded so that they were of a uniform

greyness, hung lifelessly from their staffs which protruded from the walls. A huge carved chest

stood against the wall under the curve of the staircase. On it two enormous ornate silver

candelabra were still spiked with white candles. Beside it a rusty, rather lopsided suit of armour

looked doleful and pathetic. Everything was old, dusty and decrepit.

Ross appeared, his tall wide-shouldered figure seeming strangely out of place, dressed as he

was in dark trousers, a turtle-necked sweater and a tweed jacket. Sally had the oddest feeling

that he should have been wearing the pointed helmet and chain mail of a Norman knight.

He eyed her observantly and his grin mocked her.

You look slightly pale. Is the ghost of Willy the Hatchet walking tonight? Hes supposed to

appear at full moon.

Sallys skin goose-pimpled. She knew the story of the medieval William the Hatchet who had

apparently gone berserk one day and had applied a hatchet to his wife, her lover and then to

himself.

I ... I ... heard a scrabbling noise in the walls.

Rats, he replied laconically as his gaze roved round the hall assessingly. The place hasntchanged much in ten years except that there are probably more rats, more woodworm and

more dry rot.

Och, no! wailed Sally, as she tried to stave off the disillusion which was creeping inexorably

into her mind. This was the dream house of her childhood and adolescent years, around which

she had woven so many dreams. Now this ruthless realist was attempting to destroy its

romance as he hoped to destroy its structure.

Och, yes, he jeered softly. He walked across to the staircase and placed a hand on the carved

wooden balustrade which had been superimposed on the original stone one. Then he beckoned

to her and she went over to him.

Look, he pointed with a blunt forefinger and she looked. Scarred wood, dry and brittle,


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marred the symmetry of the carving.

And here, the cool hard voice persisted, and she looked again at another disfiguring patch of

dry rot.

Couldnt it be cut out and patched? she quavered defensively.

His glance was disparaging and he did not bother to reply, but moved away towards the

passage which led to the living quarters of the house. He opened a panelled door, put his hand

to the wall inside, found a switch and light from a Jacobean wrought-iron chandelier shed a

weak yellow glow over the Jacobean refectory table and its accompanying high-backed chairs.

What a lovely room! exclaimed Sally, looking round at the pine-panelled walls, at the long

green velvet draperies looped back from lead-paned windows. What lovely furniture!

The panelling is full of woodworm and rats, commented Ross, and the furniture is probably

ready to fall to pieces.

He started to examine the panelling and Sally, after a sad glance at the lovely chairs, followed

him. The panelling she could see was riddled with small holes.

Woodworm, announced Ross succinctly.

But isnt it possible to inject something into it? asked Sally hopefully. Im sure Ive heard Aunt

Jessie mention that theres a cure for it these days.

Ross shook his head negatively.

Too late. Its been like that for years.

His appraising glance surveyed the dresser with its assortment of heavy pewter pots and

platters and passed on to the three small black-framed watercolours which hung on the wall

beside it.

The only things worth preserving in this room are the pewter and the paintings, he said.

He left her side and went to look at the pictures more closely, while Sally followed curiously.

Once more a feeling of intense delight ousted the encroaching disillusion as she regarded the

paintings. All three depicted various views of Winterston and were painted in a vigorous,

distinct style.

Who painted them? she asked.

My mother, he replied curtly. It seems she showed great promise as an artist when young.

She must have found her talent useful to while away the monotonous and hateful hours and

days she spent in this house.

Sally gave him a startled sidelong glance. He was removing one of the pictures from the wall. In

the place where it had hung a dusty cobweb draped the panelling.

Where does your mother live now? she asked curiously.


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He had placed the picture on the table and had returned to lift down another, but at her

question he paused and turned to look at her.

Do you mean to say you dont know? I thought it was one of the stories which did the rounds

of the gossips annually, he remarked cynically. It happened before you were born. She was

drowned, off the Point. I was about five at the time.

He made the statement in a flat unemotional voice and turned back to take down the next

picture. Sally clenched her teeth together to quell the spontaneous upsurge of sympathy which

his words aroused. She guessed instinctively that he would spurn any show of sentiment on her

part. Her curiosity concerning his mothers death would have to be satisfied by someone else.

Aunt Jessie would know the full story.

No, I didnt know, she answered quietly. Im sorry. What will you do with the pictures?

I think I can claim them as mine. Ill take them with me when we leave. As I had guessed, the

whole place is falling to pieces. It shouldnt take long to knock it downa week, maybe.

Sally watched him lift the third picture from the wall and struggled to hide her consternation

at the thought of the house being pulled apart, seeing with her minds eye the walls swaying

and crumbling into untidy heaps of stone.

Ross laid the third picture on the table with the others and proceeded to wipe the dust from

all three with his handkerchief. Then as if aware that she was watching him he turned his head

suddenly, gave her a quick underbrowed glance and smiled. Immediately the impression of

ruthlessness which his square aggressive chin and stubborn lower lip gave was dispersed.

Youre looking at me as if you really disapprove of me, he accused. What have I done toearn such a fierce glare?

Sally blinked and looked away, disconcerted by the charm of his smile and by the indulgent

expression in his eyes. He must still regard her as an eleven-year-old whom he had to humour.

For some reason she did not like his indulgent tolerance. She wanted him to realise that she

was twenty, almost twenty-one, and that she possessed an independent spirit which would

neither be trampled upon nor wooed by suspicious gentleness.

This house must have some pleasant memories for you. You lived here at one time and you

spent most of your holidays here. Dont you care for it at all? Doesnt the thought of having to

destroy it disturb you? she attacked.

The smile faded from his face. Cool and wary again, he seemed to consider her words

seriously for a few seconds.

Im not unduly disturbed. The house is rotting and rat-ridden and unsafe. It should have been

pulled down years ago. I told Aunt Elena many times to cut her losses and dispose of the estate

to someone who had the money to buy. His mouth curled cynically. She didnt listen to me, of

course. As for memories, I remember only part of the time I spent here, and few of my

memories concern the house. I believe people to be more important than stone and mortar.

He gave her another underbrowed glance and the curl to his mouth grew more pronounced ashe said,


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Everyone, everything is subject to change at some time or other. Winterston has proved to

be no exception.

His words jarred on Sally and she retorted spiritedlys Some things stay the same.

You mean you like to think that nothing changes?

The mountains, the sea ... they dont change, she countered.

How pleasant to grow up and still preserve some illusions! he murmured. Even mountains

change slowly, inexorably.

On the defensive, refusing to be beaten, Sally challenged defiantly,

Love doesnt change.

Time will come and take my love away, he quoted, and smiled again as if he found her

challenge juvenile and just a little foolish. Love changes more than most sentiments. Its afeeling of the moment, to be enjoyed while its there. Shakespeare had it taped: In delay there

lies no plenty. He stopped and his smile widened into a mischievous grin. Perhaps Id better

not finish the quotation. Youre so square and so prim and proper, you might take me seriously

and think Im making a pass at you.

Sally was annoyed. She had never been described as a square before, nor prim and proper,

and they were descriptions she would never have applied to herselfat least not before the

accident.

Im not a square, and Im not prim ... She saw mockery glimmer in his eyes and stopped in

time just as she was about to admit to not being proper. I wouldnt think you were making a

pass at me because I know thats the last thing youd want to do where Im concerned. You

dont like me any more than I like you, she finished furiously, more shaken by his teasing than

she cared to admit.

The mockery vanished. The coolness returned and with it the ruthlessness.

In that case I may as well finish the quotation and improve your education: Then come kiss

me, sweet and twenty, Youths a stuff will not endure.

Sallys cheeks burned. She could no longer return his clear cool gaze. She wished suddenlythat she had held her tongue, then wondered immediately and irrelevantly why she was able to

overcome her tongue-tiedness when she was with Ross.

I thought blushing went out with long skirts and smelling salts, Ross prodded wickedly.

Youre even more square than Id thought. Could it be that youve never been kissed? Maybe

thats something I should alter for you, after all.

Sally retreated at once and he laughed. To her relief he moved away from her towards the

door, saying,

Another time, perhaps. Lets finish our tour of the house. You should see as much as you canwhile youre here. Its your only chance. Ill leave the pictures here and pick them up on our

way out.


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He switched off the lights and went out of the room, leaving her alone in the dark. She

followed hurriedly, as he must have known she would, and caught up with him as she pushed

open another door further down the passage. He flicked a switch and light from three wrought-

iron chandeliers revealed another big room whose stone walls were hung with tapestries

depicting classical scenes. A wide fireplace was set in the middle of one wall. The furniture was

a mixture of Jacobean and heavy Victorian with a few choice pieces of Sheraton. There was no

impression of comfort. The scattered rugs on the floor looked thin and worn, and Sally thought

they had done little to protect the feet from the cold of the stone flags and the draughts which

would whistle beneath the doors in the winter time.

Chilled and depressed by the cold damp atmosphere, she was beginning to realise that

perhaps the house was well named Winterston, since even on a mild spring night it was cold

and cheerless.

This is commonly known as the tapestry room, for obvious reasons, mocked Ross. He had

hardly spoken when a mouse which had been playing on an escritoire near the doorway leapt

down and scurried over Sallys feet. She shrieked and turned blindly to Ross, clutching at himfor reassurance. He put an arm round her shoulders and held her closely.

What was it? she whispered into the smooth tweed of his jacket.

A week sleekit, cowrin, timrous beastie ... A field- mouse at least one inch long, all grey

and furry, and terrified of us, he replied, and his voice shook with laughter.

Och, I thought it was a rat, said Sally, pulling away from him embarrassedly, conscious of a

disturbing desire to stay within the circle of his arms.

Apparently indifferent to the incident, he started to walk round the room examining thefurniture, peering up at the raftered ceiling, touching the threadbare tapestries.

Attracted by three portraits which hung above the fireplace, Sally stood in front of the dark

cavernous hearth and stared up at the painted faces of a man and two women who were

dressed in Regency-style clothes.

Vicious-looking tyrant, isnt he? remarked Ross, coming to stand beside hen The two

women were his wives. He was Aunt Elenas great-grandfather ... and incidentally my mothers

great-grandfather too ... and therefore my great-great-grandfather. How incredible! Ive never

thought of that before. Its no use looking for any family resemblance, though.

Once again he sounded thoroughly amused, but although she knew he was making fun Sally

glanced at him. It was true he did not resemble the man in the painting. But Miss Wallace had.

She had possessed the same pale eyes and the same pursed adamant mouth.

There isnt much worth preserving in here either, commented Ross. The whole lot should be

burnt.

Och, no, Sally objected. The escritoire and the spinet ... theyre worth keeping ... oh, and

this love-seat here.

Moving quickly and lightly to the chair, she sat down on it. It was covered with dimpled green

velvet which had lost some of its pile and which was very faded. Sally stroked the velvet and


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imagined the lovers who had shared it in the past. Perhaps the man in the portrait had sat on it

with his wives ... one at a time, of course.

Lost in her dreaming, she smiled at her thought and was unaware that Ross had sat down

beside her until he spoke crisply.

If you like it so much, Im sure I could arrange for you to have it.

Could you really? Sally looked at him, her face alight with pleasure. I would like to have it. I

could recover it and there would be room for it in my bedroom. Then she noticed the faintly

cynical curl at the corner of his mouth again and woke up from her daydreaming completely.

No, I couldnt. It must stay where it belongs, with all the other lovely things, because

Winterston must not be destroyed.

Ross leaned back and folded his arms across his chest and stretched his long legs before him.

Sally realised suddenly how close he was to her and that his head with its untidy sun- bleached

brown hair was near to her hand where it rested on the mahogany frame of the chair back.

Resisting an irrational desire to rake her fingers through his hair, she removed her hand

stealthily, sat up straight and as far away from him as the confines of the chair would allow her.

I cant understand why you want to preserve the place, said Ross abruptly. Your family have

no connections with it.

It has always been here. It belongs here. I dont want Winterston to be changed, or Portbride

to be changed.

Youre afraid of change because youre afraid of life, he jeered unkindly, then frowned and

muttered more to himself

than to her, You didnt used to be. Youve changed, but you want everything else to stay the

same. How unrealistic you are!

Jolted and jarred by his criticism, Sally sat on the edge of the chair, her head turned away

from him as she tried to control the unusual desire to burst into tears which almost

overwhelmed her.

What reasons were given in the original petition against the building of the tanks ... for the

preservation of Winterston? he asked.

The main objection was that the building of the tanks would mar an attractive part of the

countryside and that in destroying the house a fine example of baronial architecture belonging

to a family which played a great part in the history of Scotland would be lost for ever.

She had turned to face him in order to deliver this speech. When she finished speaking he

gave her an underbrowed sardonic glance.

Fine phrases, but not yours, he jibed. How can you believe such nonsense? Architecturally

Winterston is a very bad example of baronial architecture. Historically neither the house nor

the family are of great importance. Structurally its rotten and a menace. If it isnt pulled down

it will fall down. Who wrote the petition?

Miss Wallace.


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An eccentric who put stone and mortar and pride of lineage before human feelings, he jibed

caustically.

And Craig Dawson.

Who is he?

An architect. He works for the department of Town and Country Planning in the County

Council offices. He was against the tanks from the start because he loves this place as much as I

do. He was very friendly with Miss Wallace. He was very upset when she died.

Was he now? murmured Ross, turning his head to look at her sharply. Tell me more.

You must have known him. He belongs to Portbride. His father was the manager of the Royal

Bank in Ritchie Street. Rosss eyes narrowed as he searched his memory.

I remember. A thin dark boy, rather like a weasel.

Sally, who had often admired Craigs fine-featured face topped by smooth black hair, was

rather irritated by the description.

Yes, hes a dark and thin ... but he isnt like a weasel.

Youre prejudiced in his favour, I suppose, because like you he wants to preserve this old

ruin, taunted Ross with a grin. Have you seen him recently?

Sally caught her lower lip between her teeth as the betraying colour flooded her cheeks

again. Before the accident she and Craig had been going about together regularly. Brought

together by the petition, they had discovered that they had a few other interests in common.There had been nothing exciting or particularly romantic in their relationship, but for Sally it

had been something new and she had rather enjoyed having a regular date at the weekends

like the other girls in the office.

But after the accident, or rather after seeing the scar on her face, Craig had politely

withdrawn his interest.

Dropped you like a hot coal, did he? probed Ross softly. Then youre well rid of him, so stop

pining for what might have been. And now Im going to have a look round upstairs. Coming?

He was on his feet and striding away from her, flinging the careless questioning familiar

invitation over his shoulder.

He thoughtheavens, what did he think?that she was pining because her love was

unrequited, because Craig had given her the cold shoulder? She must tell him it wasnt true.

She must tell him that though she had been initially hurt at Craigs withdrawal the pain hadnt

lasted long because she hadnt been in love with him.

Ross, wait!

She was too late. He had gone. Hastily she followed, arriving in the hallway to see himdisappearing into the gloom at the bend of the stairs, the light from his torch spearing the

darkness before him.


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Her feet slipping on the worn stone stairs, she hurried after him, determined not to be left

alone. She reached his side as he tried the switches at the top of the stairs. They clicked, but no

light appeared. Hmm, good thing I know my way around here, he commented, then turned

right and strode along a wide passage, Sally at his heels. She longed to hold on to the tail of his

jacket, but pride and an idea that he might misconstrue such an action prevented her from

doing so. He stopped and the torchs beam flickered over a panelled door. He opened the door

and tried the light switch. Nothing happened. The torchlight swept over the large room which

was furnished with big furniture, laden with dust.

Aunt Elenas room, Ross remarked briefly, and closed the door again.

They peered into two other rooms similarly furnished. In the fourth and smaller room,

however, the beam of light revealed a single bed, chests of drawers, a small desk and a

bookcase.

Ah, theyre still here. Pleasure and satisfaction warmed Rosss voice as he walked across to

the bookcase to examine some of the books.

Was this your room when you stayed here? asked Sally.

Yes. I used to lie awake here when I was small listening to the rats, wondering when my

mother would come back. Later when I came in my school vacations I used to come and go by

way of this window.

He moved across to the narrow latticed window which had been modernised at some time to

open. In obedience to his persistent pushing it burst open and the cool night air rushed in, a

welcome refreshment after the musty odour of the house.

Her curiosity roused by his statement, Sally went over to the window and as if impelled by the

same thought they leant together over the stone sill. Below them the triangular leaves of

tenacious ivy creeper which cloaked the side of the house shivered with silvery reflected

moonlight.

You climbed down the creeper? guessed Sally. Why?

Because Aunt Elena didnt allow me to go out at night. She thought I ought to stay here with

her, and not mix with the youths of the town. She disapproved of such dissipated

entertainments as the cinema, the fairground and the Saturday night dances. So I had to go

secretly.

Sally glanced at his rugged profile. Her right shoulder was jammed against his left one and she

was suddenly aware of the lively rebellious spirit she had known when a child and felt a warm

kinship with him.

Did she ever find out? she asked interestedly.

Ross chuckled.

Of course she did. She was as sharp as a needle. We had a rip-roaring rowshe was my

guardian, you know. I promised to behave if I could follow my own inclinations to be a civil

engineer like my father. She wanted me to go into the Army because all the Wallace men had ...

and she considered me to be a Wallace. She had some strange fixed obsessions about the


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Wallace family ... and about me. She lived alone too much, and living alone in this house would

be enough to send anyone a little crazy.

Sally watched the moon slide behind a cloud and the land become momentarily dark.

Everything was different from what she had imagined from her scanty knowledge of the

Wallace family and the gossip she had heard concerning Ross. Winterston, far from being an

elegant historic mansion, was nothing but a decrepit ruin. Ross, whom she had heard labelledso many times by Craig Dawson and others as an ungrateful, inconsiderate black sheep, had

once been a little boy who had yearned for his mother, a youth who had been determined to

choose his own career. And now he was a man with whom she felt this curious sense of

fellowship as they leaned shoulder to shoulder looking out at the shadowy landscape.

The new knowledge of the house, of Ross and of herself was disturbing. It shattered

numerous preconceptions she had held and left her vulnerable and shaken. She had been so

safe and secure in the world of daydreams in which she had lived since the car crash that she

resented being made to face reality once more and found herself wishing that Ross hadnt

returned and that she hadnt come with him to see the house. Instinctively she guessed he wasthe dynamite that could destroy her peace of mind.

Is there no way of saving the house? she asked in a small voice.

Its been condemned as unfit for habitation. Only a recommendation from the Fine Arts

Commission that it should be preserved can save it now ... and since its been argued that any

tanks built where the house stands would be virtually unseen from the sea, I cant see the

Commission changing its mind.

He raised an arm and pulled the window shut. Sally moved away, sad because the close

moment was over and because the death warrant of the house was sealed and she could donothing about it.

How will you knock it down? she asked.

Probably with a demolition weight swung from the jib of a crane, he replied, giving her a

sharp glance. Well be needing secretarial staff once we get the trailers and huts which will

provide our offices. Why dont you join us? Im sure youre very efficient, and it would be a

change from the Municipal Offices. We pay well.

She was so disconcerted by his suggestion that she had no immediate answer ready. Then the

thought of what it would involve provided her with a decisive reply.

Och no, I couldnt. I couldnt see the place destroyed. I dont want to have any part in its

destruction.

I see. He sounded unconcerned as he turned away. Well, I daresay there are plenty of other

typists in Portbride wholl jump at the chance.

He was away through the door, leaving her once again alone in a dark room. Again she

hurried after him along the passage, following the distant shaft of yellowish light. Down the

wide worn steps of the staircase she flitted. Her foot slipped and twisted. She lost her balanceand fell.


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Hearing her stumble, Ross turned quickly as he reached the bottom of the first flight of steps

and blocked her fall effectively, catching her in his arms. The force of her hurtling body knocked

him backwards against the stone wall behind him. The torch fell from his hand and rolled away

down the lower flight of stairs.

Shocked and breathless, Sally was in no hurry to release herself from his arms this time. She

closed her eyes and leaned against his chest and listened to the rhythmical beat of his heart.

What happened? he asked.

You left me in the dark ... and I couldnt see the stairs, she accused shakily.

Are you afraid of the dark? He seemed surprised.

Not normally, but ... She hesitated, unable to explain her confusion.

But tonight is not normal, he continued for her in a low voice, because youre here in

Winterston with me, and its two oclock in the morning. Is that why youre so uncertain, sodisturbed?

Sally jerked away from him, breaking his hold, fearful of his ability to guess at what she was

thinking. She covered her apprehension with simulated amazement.

Two oclock? Och, what will Aunt Jessie and my father be thinking? The dance finishes at

twelve and Im always home by twenty past at the latest.

Whirling round, she started down the second flight of stairs into the dimly lit hall. Halfway

down Ross caught up with her and the pressure of his hand on her arm forced her to move

more slowly.

Do you want to break your neck? he asked. This staircase is a deathtrap in poor light.

Theres no need for you to worry about Aunt Jessie or your father. Ill do the explaining if they

complain. But I doubt very much if theyll be awake and worrying about you. Now if you were

like Maeve, it would be a different matter.

If you were like Maeve. Now what did he mean by that? Did he mean that if Maeve had

been his companion tonight Aunt Jessie and her father would have good reason to be

concerned?

Downstairs Ross collected his pictures from the dining room, retrieved the torch and switched

off all but the hall lights. Everywhere he went Sally followed closely and when he told her to

hold the pictures and wait in the hall while he turned off the electricity, she refused.

No, let me come with you, please, Ross, she pleaded, sinking her pride.

He studied her upturned face. Wide eyes glinting green gazed back at him appealingly and he

frowned impatiently.

Whats wrong now? he asked.

N ... nothing, she replied, then shivered uncontrollably. He would laugh at her if she told him

that the dark dismal atmosphere of the house had played upon her imagination so much that


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now she disliked the idea of being left alone, even

for a few minutes.

A ghost walking over your grave? he jeered. Winterston is full of them for people like you.

Here, you can hold my hand if it will help you to feel better.

Once more he was regarding her as a child to be humoured and tolerated. Remembering her

earlier resolve to show him that she was independent and adult, her pride returned and she

tilted her chin.

No, Ill wait outside, she retorted.

Sally, Sally, quite contrary, he taunted. Your name should have been Mary. All right, please

yourself.

Outside the wind had died away and the night was still. The shushing sound of the waves as

they tumbled on the unseen beach, the brilliance of the unclouded moon were familiar,everyday, and their familiarity settled her nerves.

Ross wasnt long in coming and they started to walk back the way they had come. He strode

ahead, erect, purposeful, apparently absorbed by his thoughts, as silent as he had been on the

way out.

Trudging behind him, Sally felt none of the delight she had experienced earlier. Tired,

disappointed and completely shaken out of her escapist daydreaming rut, she was deaf and

blind to the beauty of the night. The harbour lights seemed a long way away and the winding

coastal road seemed interminable.

By the time the fishing boats came into view Ross was a good ten yards ahead of her and she

realised miserably that he must have forgotten her again. If you were like Maeve it would be a

different matter. The words taunted her. If she was Maeve he would have walked with her.

Och, what was the matter with her? She didnt want his arm around her.

When she reached Rosemount he was waiting for her, standing under the solitary street

lamp. She would have walked past him and on into the house without another word, but he

stepped in front of her barring the way. She looked up questioningly. Under the harsh glare of

the street lamp the face under the tossed sun-bleached hair was serious.

I expect after tonights experience you feel you have more reason to dislike me, he said

unexpectedly.

I dont know what you mean, she fenced weakly.

He raised his eyebrows.

No? Now be honest and admit that youre hating me because Ive tried to destroy your

cherished illusions about Winterston ... and Ive come pretty near to succeeding. Or is there

some other reason for that miserable expression on your face?

His words nipped, but Sally was too tired to fight back.


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I wish you hadnt come back, she said dully.

Why? Because Ive woken you up? Youve been hiding away, opting out ... weaving daydreams

about an old house not worth a moments thought. Dreams are no substitute for life, Sally.

Youre sweet and twenty, young and pretty.

Im not pretty ... not with this. The words were torn out of her as she put her hand to herdisfigured cheek.

He removed her hand from her cheek and stared at her intently. Thats entirely a matter of

opinion, he murmured.

Tired and tormented, Sally could stand no more. She pulled her hand from his grasp and cried,

Oh, I wish you hadnt come back! I wish youd go away! and dodging past him she ran into the

house and up to the shelter of her bedroom.


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CHAPTER TWO

It was a bright freshly washed Monday morning. Sally looked up at the small white clouds

which floated across the pale blue sky and signed wistfully. Monday morning and the sun wasshining brightly on the placid sea and complacent hills, all of which had been shrouded by misty

rain the whole weekend.

Entering the cool grey building of the Town Hall, she walked up the stairs to the office which

she shared with two other typists, Betty Oswald and Judy McEachern. The room was quiet and

although it was nearly nine oclock there was no sign of the other two girls. Sally removed the

jacket of her jersey wool suit, tucked her blouse into the top of her skirt and crossed over to her

desk. She removed the dust cover from her typewriter, opened a drawer and took out paper

and carbon paper.

The clock tolled the hour. Nine. Sally frowned. She had never known the room to be so quiet

at this time on a Monday. Usually all the girls who worked in the Municipal Offices gathered

together for talk about their weekend activities, their subjects ranging from new dresses or

shoes they had bought to

Documents

Flora Kidd - My Heart Remembers