September

  Yes, she missed it, but after deliberation had decided that Pennyburn was too small and modest for such an extravagant addition. It would make the house look pretentious and foolish, and she was not about to inflict such an indignity upon her new home. And it was scarcely a hardship to sit in her sheltered and sunny garden and try to do the crossword there.

  She was in her garden now, and had been out working all afternoon, staking clumps of Michaelmas daisies before the autumn winds arrived to fell them flat. It was a day to start thinking about autumn. Not cold but fresh, with a certain smell about the air, a briskness. The farmers were harvesting, and the distant rumble of combine harvesters working in tall fields of barley was seasonal and strangely reassuring. The sky was blue but sailing with clouds blown in from the west. A blinking day, the old country people called it, as the sun went in and out.

  Unlike many people, Violet did not mourn the passing of the summer and the prospect of a long dark winter ahead. “How can you bear to live in Scotland?” she was sometimes asked. “The weather so unpredictable, so much rain, so cold.” But Violet knew that she could not bear to live anywhere else, and never yearned to move away. When Geordie was alive they had travelled together extensively. They had explored Venice and Istanbul, paced the art galleries of Florence and Madrid. One year they had taken an archaeological cruise to Greece; another time had sailed the fjords of Norway, as far north as the Arctic Circle and the midnight sun. But without him, she knew no urge to journey abroad. She preferred to stay right here, where her roots were deep, surrounded by a countryside that she had known since she was a child. As for the weather, she disregarded it, caring not if it froze or snowed or blew or rained or scorched, provided she could be out of doors and part of it all.

  Which was proved by her complexion, weather-beaten and lined as an old farmworker’s. But again, at seventy-seven, what did a few wrinkles matter? A small price to pay for an energetic and active old age.

  She drove in the last stake, twisted the last length of wire. Finished. She stepped back on to the grass to survey her work. The canes showed, but once the Michaelmas daisies had thickened out a bit, they would be concealed. She looked at her watch. Nearly half past three. She sighed, always reluctant to stop gardening and go indoors. But she stripped off her gloves and dropped them into her wheelbarrow, then collected her tools, the last of the canes, the drum of wire, and barrowed the lot around the house to her garage, where all was stowed neatly away until the next day’s labour.

  Then she went into the house by the kitchen door, toeing off her rubber boots and hanging her jacket on a hook. In the kitchen, she filled the kettle and switched it on to boil. She laid a tray with two cups and saucers, a milk jug, a sugar bowl, and a plate of chocolate digestive biscuits. (Virginia would not eat anything at teatime but Violet was never averse to a small snack.)

  She went upstairs to her bedroom, washed her hands, found a pair of shoes, tidied her hair, slapped a bit of face-powder on to her shining nose. As she did this, she heard the car come up the hill and turn into the lane. A moment later came the slam of its door, her own front door opening, and Virginia’s voice.

  “Vi!”

  “Just coming.”

  She settled her pearls, fixed a stray wisp of hair, and went downstairs. Her daughter-in-law stood in the hall waiting for her; her long legs were in corduroys and a leather jacket was slung around her shoulders. She had a new hairdo, Violet noticed, drawn back from her brow and fastened at the nape of her neck with a ribbon bow. She looked, as always, casually elegant, and happier than Violet had seen her for a long time.

  “Virginia. How lovely to have you home again. And how chic you look. I love the hair.” They kissed. “Did you have it done in London?”

  “Yes. I thought perhaps it was time I changed my image.” She looked about her. “Where’s Henry?”

  “He’s out ferreting with Willy Snoddy.”

  “Oh, Vi.”

  “It’s all right. He’ll be home in half an hour.”

  “I didn’t mean that. I meant what’s he doing spending his time with that old reprobate?”

  “Well, there are no children to play with because they’re all in school. And he got talking to Willy when he came to cut the grass this week, and Willy invited him to go ferreting. He seemed very keen to go, so I said he could. You don’t disapprove, do you?”

  Virginia laughed and shook her head. “No, of course not. It’s just rather unexpected. Do you think Henry realises what ferreting entails? It’s quite a bloodthirsty business.”

  “I’ve no idea. We’ll doubtless hear all about it when he gets back. Willy will see that he’s on time, I know.”

  “I always thought you thought the old drunk was quite undependable.”

  “He wouldn’t dare break his promise to me, and he never gets drunk in the afternoons. Now, how are you? Did you have a good time?”

  “A great time. Here…” She thrust a flat package, impressively wrapped, into Violet’s hands. “I brought you a present from the big city.”

  “My dear, you didn’t need to.”

  “It’s a thank-you for having Henry.”

  “I’ve loved having him. But he’s longing to see you and go home to Balnaid. He was all packed up and ready long before breakfast this morning. Now, I want to hear all about everything. Come and watch me open my present.”

  She led the way into her sitting room and settled herself in comfort in her own fireside chair. It was a relief to get the weight off her feet. Virginia perched herself on the arm of the sofa and watched. Violet undid the ribbon bow and unwrapped the paper. A flat box, orange and brown, was revealed. She removed the lid. Inside, folded and silken beneath the layers of tissue paper, was a Hermès scarf.

  “Oh, Virginia. This is far too much.”

  “No more than you deserve.”

  “But having Henry was a treat.”

  “I’ve brought him a present, too. It’s in the car. I thought he could open it here, before I take him home.”

  The scarf was all pinks and blues and greens. Just the thing for brightening up that grey woollen dress. “I can’t thank you enough — I’m really delighted with it. And now…” She folded the scarf, returned it to its box, and set it aside. “Let’s have a cup of tea, and you can tell me everything that’s happened in London. I want to hear all the details…”

  “When did you get back?”

  “Yesterday evening, on the shuttle. Edmund met me at Turnhouse and we went into Edinburgh and had dinner at Rafaelli’s, and after that we drove home to Balnaid.”

  “I hope” — Violet fixed Virginia with a firm stare — “that you used the time together to sort out your differences.”

  Virginia had the grace to look abashed. “Oh, Vi. Did it show so much?”

  “It was obvious to anyone but a blind man. I didn’t say anything, but you must realise that it’s very worrying for Henry if you and his father are not on good terms.”

  “Did Henry talk to you about it?”

  “Yes, he did. He’s much upset. I think he feels that going to Templehall is bad enough, but having you and Edmund at each other’s throats is more than he can bear.”

  “We weren’t exactly at each other’s throats.”

  “Icy politeness is almost worse.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry. And Edmund and I have made it up. By that I don’t mean anything’s changed. Edmund won’t budge from his decision, and I still think it’s a dreadful mistake. But at least we’ve called a truce.” She smiled and held out a slender wrist circled by a wide bracelet of gold. “Over dinner, he gave me this. It’s a welcome-home present. So I’d be churlish to carry on sulking.”

  “That is a great relief to me. I managed to persuade Henry that you would both have come to your senses and would be friends again. And I’m grateful to you both, because now I don’t feel that I am letting him down. He needs a lot of reassurance, Virginia. A lot of security.”

  “Oh, Vi, don’t I know it??
??

  “And there’s another thing. He’s very bothered about Edie. He’s frightened of Lottie. He thinks that Lottie might harm Edie in some way.”

  Virginia frowned. “Did he say so?”

  “We talked about it.”

  “Do you think he’s right?”

  “Children are perceptive. Like dogs. They recognise evil where, perhaps, we adults don’t see it.”

  “Evil is a strong word, Vi. I know she gives me the shivers, but I’ve always told myself she’s just harmlessly dotty.”

  “I really don’t know,” said Violet. “But I’ve promised Henry that we will all keep a weather eye on the situation. And if he talks to you about it, you must listen to him, and try to set his mind at rest.”

  “Of course.”

  “Now.” With that necessary exchange safely disposed of, Violet steered the conversation in a more cheerful direction. “Tell me about London. Did you get a dress? And what else did you do? And did you see Alexa?”

  “Yes.” Virginia leaned forward to refill her cup from the teapot. “Yes, I did get a dress, and yes, I did see Alexa. That’s what I want to talk to you about. I’ve already told Edmund.”

  Violet’s heart sank. What on earth was happening now?

  “She’s all right?”

  “Never better.” Virginia leaned back in her chair. “There is a man in her life.”

  “Alexa has a young man? But that’s splendid news! I was beginning to think that nothing exciting was ever going to happen to the dear child.”

  “They’re living together, Vi.”

  For an instant, Violet was silenced. Then: “Living together?”

  “Yes. And I’m not telling tales out of school. She particularly asked me to let you know.”

  “And where are they living together?”

  “At Ovington Street.”

  “But…” Violet, flustered, sought for words. “But…how long has this been going on?”

  “About two months.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s called Noel Keeling.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He’s in advertising.”

  “How old is he?”

  “About my age. Good-looking. Very charming.”

  About Virginia’s age. A dreadful thought occurred to Violet. “I hope he’s not already married.”

  “No. A very eligible bachelor.”

  “And Alexa…?”

  “Alexa is radiantly happy.”

  “Do you think they will marry?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Is he kind to her?”

  “I think so. I only saw him for a little while. He came home from the office and we all had a drink together. He brought Alexa flowers. And he didn’t know I was going to be there, so he didn’t buy them to impress me.”

  Violet fell silent, trying to come to terms with this astonishing revelation. They were living together. Alexa was living with a man. Sharing a bed, sharing a life. Unmarried. She did not approve but her own opinions were best kept to herself. All that mattered was that Alexa should know that they all would support her, whatever might happen.

  “What did Edmund say when you told him?”

  Virginia shrugged. “Not a lot. He’s certainly not about to fly to London with a loaded shotgun. But I think he is concerned, if only for the fact that Alexa is a girl of some wealth…she has that house and she has the money she inherited from Lady Cheriton. Which, as Edmund pointed out, is considerable.”

  “He’s afraid this young man is after her money?”

  “It’s a possibility, Vi.”

  “You’ve met him. What do you think of him?”

  “I liked him…”

  “But you have reservations?”

  “He’s so personable. Cool. Like I said, charming. I’m not certain if I trust him…”

  “Oh dear.”

  “But that’s just me talking. I may be making a total misjudgment.”

  “What can we do?”

  “We can’t do anything. Alexa is twenty-one, she must make her own decisions.”

  Violet knew that this was true. But Alexa…so far away. In London.

  “If only we could meet him. That would put everything on a much more normal footing.”

  “I entirely agree with you, and you will meet him.” Violet glanced at her daughter-in-law and saw that she was smiling, looking as pleased with herself as the cat that got the cream. “I’m afraid I stuck my oar in and made noises like a mother. I talked to the two of them and they’ve agreed to come north together for the weekend of the Steyntons’ dance. They’re going to stay at Balnaid.”

  “Oh, what a clever idea!” Violet could have kissed Virginia, so delighted was she. “What a brilliant girl you are. Quite the best way of doing things, without making too much of an occasion of it.”

  “That’s what I thought. And even Edmund approves. But we’ll have to be very casual and tactful and matter-of-fact. No suggestive glances or meaningful remarks.”

  “You mean I’m not to say anything about their getting married?” Virginia nodded. Violet thought about this. “I wouldn’t, you know. I’m sufficiently modern to know when to hold my tongue. But, by living together, young people create for themselves such difficult situations. They make it so difficult for us. If we make too much of the young man, then he will think he is being pressurised and he’ll back off and break Alexa’s heart. And if we don’t make enough of him, Alexa will think we disapprove and that will break her heart.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that. She’s grown up a lot. She has much more confidence. She’s changed.”

  “I couldn’t bear her to be hurt. Not Alexa.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t protect her any longer. The affair has already gone too far.”

  “Yes,” said Violet, feeling in some way admonished. This was no time for apprehensive sentiment. If she was to be of any use to anybody, then she must remain sensible. “You are absolutely right. We must all —”

  But there was no time for more. They heard the front door open and slam shut. “Mummy!”

  Henry was back. Virginia laid down her teacup and sprang to her feet, Alexa forgotten. She made for the door but Henry was there first, bursting in on them, red-cheeked with excitement and the effort of running up the hill.

  “Mummy!”

  She held out her arms, and he flung himself, bodily, into them.

  19

  Saturday the Twenty-seventh

  Edmund was frequently asked, by well-meaning fellow-guests at dinner parties, if he did not find the long commute between Edinburgh and Strathcroy an almost unbearable strain, every morning and evening each day of the week that he was working in Edinburgh. But the truth was that Edmund thought nothing of the miles that he covered. Getting home to Balnaid and his family was more important than the considerable effort that it involved, and only a late business dinner in Edinburgh, an early plane to catch, or impassable winter roads persuaded him to stay in town and spend the night in the flat in Moray Place.

  Besides, he enjoyed driving. His car was both powerful and safe, and the motorway, slicing over the Forth and through Fife to Relkirk, had become as familiar as the back of his hand. Once through Relkirk, he was on to country roads that necessitated slowing down to a more prudent speed, but even so the journey rarely took him more than an hour.

  He used this time to switch off at the end of a day of stress and decision-making, and to let his mind concentrate instead upon the many other, but equally absorbing, facets of his busy life. In winter-time, he listened to the radio. Not the news nor political discussions…he had had enough of both by the time he finally cleared his desk and locked away all confidential documents…but Radio Three, classical concerts and erudite plays. For the rest of the year, as the hours of daylight lengthened and he no longer made the journey in the dark, he found much pleasure and solace in simply watching the unfolding seasons of the countryside. The ploughing, the sowing, the greening
of the trees, the first young lambs in the fields, the crops turning gold, the raspberry pickers out in the long drills of canes, the harvest, the autumn leaves, the first of the snows.

  They were harvesting now, on this fine blowy evening. The scenery was both peaceful and spectacular. Fields and farmlands were washed in fitful sunlight, but the air was so clear that every crag and corrie on the distant hills presented itself with startling visibility. The light flowed over these hills, touching their summits with reflected radiance; the river running alongside the road glittered and sparkled; and the sky, skimming with clouds, was infinite.

  He felt more content than he had for a long time. Virginia was back, restored to him. His gift to her was the nearest he could get to an apology for the things that he had said on the day of the original explosion: accusing her of smothering Henry; wanting to keep him by her side for selfish reasons; never thinking of any person but herself. She had accepted the bracelet with gratitude and love, and her unqualified pleasure was as good as forgiveness.

  Last night, after their dinner at Rafaelli’s, he had driven her home to Balnaid through a twilit countryside and beneath the banner of a spectacular skyscape, rose-pink to the west, and streaked as though by some gargantuan paintbrush with dark charcoal clouds.

  They had returned to an empty house. He could not remember when this had last happened, and it made their homecoming even more special. No dogs, no children; just the two of them. He had dealt with the luggage, then taken two malt whiskies up to their bedroom and sat on the bed and watched her unpack. There was no sense of urgency, because the whole of the house, the night, the sweet darkness belonged to them. Later, he showered; Virginia took a bath. She came to him, scented and cool, and they made the most satisfying and blissful love.

  He knew that the bone of contention still lay between them. Virginia did not want to lose Henry, and Edmund was determined that he should go. But for the time being they had ceased snarling over this particular bone and, with a bit of luck, it would stay buried and forgotten.