“You are perfectly within your rights to tell me to mind my own business, Mr. Campbell, but my wife and I consider Fiona to be one of our family, ever since her Granny died, and we care deeply what happens to her.”
George stretched his neck and shrugged his shoulders in discomfort at having spoken to a client in such a manner. Truth be told, he would never have chosen to introduce the personal element into his business dealings but Jeanette had insisted that they were responsible for looking after the young woman in lieu of her parents and family. The words she had said were burned on George’s brain.
“We would hope someone would do the same for our two should, God forbid, anything occur that would remove them from our care.”
Tears had fallen as Jeanette gave this speech and the sight of those tears had undone George to such a degree that he had made the promise now being fulfilled in excruciating embarrassment for him.
He raised his eyes to see how his comment had been received by the handsome young man seated before him across the width of his desk.
Gordon Campbell appeared totally confused by this turn of events. He had made an appointment to discuss updating his will, and, out of nowhere, the previously-reserved solicitor, Mr. McLennan, had launched into a statement about a young woman he had met only a couple of times.
“Hold on a minute!” he protested. “I take it you are talking about Fiona Jameson? I hardly know her. We met over estate matters and I invited her to go to the pictures in Oban with me out of politeness and because I don’t know many people here in the town. Are you saying someone has reported to you that I have done something to harm Fiona?”
Gordon jumped to his feet and scraped the chair back over the floor as he continued to speak in an increasingly aggrieved tone. “I have heard the rumours about small towns and the gossip mill that exists there, but this is simply ridiculous. I can assure you, Mr. McLennan, that Fiona is safe from any further meetings or dates with me. I hope that satisfies you, sir.”
Before George could summon up a single word to refute his client’s impassioned accusations, the young man had stormed out of the office and clattered down the stairs at such speed that the secretary came rushing in to see what had happened to her boss.
“Are you all right, Mr. McLennan? Did that man assault you in any way? He left in such a hurry, I was afraid you might be lying in a pool of blood on the floor.”
George found his voice soon enough to reassure his secretary of his continued health but as soon as she had left he was engulfed in horror at what he had done. Not only had he insulted a new client, and newcomer to the town, but he had also ruined whatever chance there had been of a relationship between Fiona and the fellow.
His first impulse was to blame Jeanette. Then he realized he would have to tell his wife about this sad incident in order to assign blame to her. In the process he would, no doubt, be required to listen to her complaints at the way in which he had mishandled the entire situation.
This prospect did not appeal to him at all.
Best to keep quiet for now, and wait to see if things work out on their own.
Fiona had been excessively busy catching up with work assignments since her Land Rover had been restored to full operational status. She set out early each morning to fetch the vehicle from the main car park in town where she had special permission to park overnight. The narrow road between her cottage and the sea path left no room for private parking of any kind.
She usually enjoyed the short walk. It allowed her to sample the weather and look over the sea shore before any but the sea-going fishing trawlers disturbed the calm of the day. Occasionally she would spot some wild life as the early mist gradually lifted over the water. Recently she had the thrill of seeing a sea eagle soaring on its eight feet wingspan and silently scanning the shore for fish. She had stopped still and removed her camera from her deep uniform jacket pocket and slowly brought the viewfinder to her eyes. She could see why the sea eagles had been named ‘Flying Barn Doors’. They really were enormous creatures with distinctive white tail, yellow legs and yellow ‘meat cleaver’ bill. This one was an adult at almost three feet in length and must be one of the group of sixteen birds introduced back into Scotland from Norway in 2010.
She had carefully depressed the button and snapped the first picture then continued to shoot while the eagle was in sight, without taking the time to see if her efforts were successful. Experience had taught her that if she took a sufficient number of photographs some would usually be suitable for enlarging.
In addition, she would occasionally find something in a picture she had not intended to capture and that one was always the very best shot.
She smiled at the memory. An enlarged photograph of that recent morning’s eagle encounter was now hanging on Callum Moir’s veterinary surgery wall and, she had been told, receiving rave reviews.
There was nothing unusual to see this particular morning. In truth, she was more focused internally than on the exterior world.
There was the slightly annoying situation with Gordon Campbell. She thought they had made quite a nice connection when they had gone to the Phoenix Cinema. They had laughed at the same places in the film and found agreement, over a cup of coffee in the nearby restaurant, about the more stereotypical parts of Disney’s interpretations of Scottish accents and traditions. She had noticed one or two side glances at them from the locals as they sat chatting but surely that was not enough to discourage him.
Gordon had politely escorted her to her cottage door afterwards although any of the Oban population could have told him she was more than capable of fending off any late night drunks by herself.
They had shaken hands at the door and he thanked her for her company. It all seemed perfectly pleasant and appropriate. And yet, no phone call; no note; no anything in the week since.
Had she done something to put him off? She reran the evening in her mind once more and could find nothing on which to pin this disappointment. Not that she was well experienced in such situations. She could have missed a crucial moment when she had said or done something ‘offputting’ as Granny would say. The trouble was that her inexperience gave her no clues to work with.
Ach, well! I have other things to concentrate on today. If Gordon Campbell is too snooty to want to spend time with me, it’s his loss.
She climbed into the Land Rover after checking the tires, then she turned on the windscreen wipers and watched as the mist and dew scattered from her view.
As the powerful engine warmed up, she glanced over the checklist on the clipboard on the front seat beside her.
Keep a lookout for:
a) Greenland White-Fronted Geese. Now protected by international agreement.
b) Red squirrels in the area, particularly near housing estates.
c) Grey seal cows feeding pups on rocky shores. Note numbers.
d) Watch for flocks of swallows gathering.
Meet:
1) Scottish Natural Heritage officer, Kenneth MacNeil, at 1:00pm sharp in the Fort William office for an interim review.
2) Party of American tourists who want to hear about the recent work of the John Muir Trust in Skye. 3:30pm.
Contact Labour Party member of the Scottish Parliament, Rhoda Grant, by phone link for additional comments and information for the American group.
As she glanced over the list of the day’s activities she wondered if it would be too forward of her to stop in to see Gordon Campbell on her way home from Skye to Oban. She was in two minds about this and thought she would decide later in the day depending on how things went for her.
She had a folder of report copies for Kenneth MacNeil but he should already have access to everything she had been doing since she started in the job. She felt reasonably confident that he would have nothing negative to comment on. She pulled back her shoulders and took a deep breath as she headed north in the car.
Attitude is everything! Not over-confident, but self-assured; that’s the ticket!
The mental trick must have worked well, for Fiona had a positive report from Kenneth MacNeil, who was acknowledged as a difficult man to please in the Wildlife Service corps. He had actually stated that Fiona Jameson might make a name for herself in the future if she carried on in this way. She was elated to have this support at the beginning of her apprentice year and it confirmed her belief that her whole life had led up to this career choice.
She drove across the bridge linking the mainland with the Isle of Skye in a great good humour and soon found the party of Americans in their hotel in Dunvegan. They greeted her warmly and occupied the first fifteen minutes with exclamations of delight about Skye’s rugged mountains and the lovely children they had met who were responsible for building a dry-stone wall as part of their school project.
Fiona’s purpose was to supply information about John Muir. The Americans had already visited Dunbar on the east coast of Scotland and spent several hours in his birthplace there; a modest three-storey house on the High Street which had been expertly converted into a museum.
She judged that the Americans knew as much as she did about the Scot, born in 1838, who was more famous in the United States than he was in his native land. When she had learned about John Muir in her university courses, she, and most of her class, were amazed at what this lowly young man had accomplished. His work as the pioneer of conservation was extraordinary and resulted in a campaign to preserve the Yosemite Valley in California and subsequently the Sierra Club movement in the states, of which the current group of visitors were avid members.
“I cannot believe the power and determination of that young man,” enthused one of the women.
“He had a stern, religious father who would have beaten down any youngster, and yet he escaped from his home as often as he could and found solace in the beauty of the countryside around him.”
“Quite true, Hildy,” commented another of the ladies who sported a hair style in a strange shade of lilac. “John Muir has had an enormous influence on the national parks system in North America and now we have learned that in his own Scotland, the Trust in his name continues his work to preserve wild lands and wild places such as we have seen here on Skye.”
As expected, Fiona could not add much to the group’s knowledge but she had a role to play in encouraging them to contribute to the John Muir Trust itself. Monetary awards were given each year to deserving projects in Scotland. Fiona had seen the difference made to the walkers’ path at Sandwood Bay after Trust money had been spent to restore its former beauty.
It took only a few minutes talk with the MSP, Rhoda Grant, to persuade the Americans to part with a large cheque from their John Muir U.S. chapter.
Fiona answered questions about her role as a wildlife officer and showed a selection of photographs from her camera’s memory. One of the women wanted Fiona to send her a print of the sea eagle and left contact information to enable her to do so.
A damn fine day was Fiona’s concluding thought after she bade farewell to the ladies.
Crossing over the bridge again, she thought about the significance of bridges in life. They formed links between mainland and island allowing people to pass over easily in any weather but they also permitted connections between families to be formed. She had stopped in, briefly, to the McCaig Estate Farm House to welcome Anna’s brother and family to Scotland and that visit had reminded her how important Anna’s role was in forging links. Were it not for Anna’s arrival in Oban and her influence on local events and people, Bev would never have married Alan Matthews, several island women might not have had profitable jobs with A Plus, and Fiona herself would not have found a friend and family in Jeanette, George and the children, as well, of course, as the vital role Anna had played in her own life.
These musings led Fiona to reconsider Gordon Campbell. What if he was meant to be a linking-type of person in her life? If she ignored that possibility she might be affecting her own future and that of others as yet unknown to her.
She rolled down the windows and took a deep breath of the sea-salted air.
It’s not normal for me to be thinking this way. I must be influenced by these enthusiastic women from across the sea who have brought my softer side to the fore. I have always prided myself on independence. I often claimed I could do it all by myself and, for most of my life, that is exactly how I have survived.
As soon as this thought occurred, Fiona realized it was not the whole truth. Her Granny had supplied the orphaned child with a loving home for years. Much of her ‘independence’ was encouraged by that wise woman who knew she would be long gone when her granddaughter was still a young woman with her way to make in the world. Undoubtedly her work ethic came from Granny who never let a waking hour go by without some useful task accomplished. The very cottage Fiona lived in was thanks to her Granny’s generosity. The taxi business that had kept her solvent had been supported by her driving partner, Grant, for many years. Clients like George McLennan had actively promoted her services and, of course, introduced her to Anna Mason.
How could she pride herself on her independence when, in fact, she had leaned on the strength of so many people?
A wave of shame swept over her and she acknowledged that a little humility was required.
In this chastened frame of mind, Fiona decided to pay a visit to Glenmorie Castle on the off chance that Gordon Campbell was working indoors rather than out on the moors.
After all, it’s on my way home. It can’t do any harm to offer an olive branch of peace. Or should that be a branch of heather?
It did not take long to find the Castle driveway. As she approached the stately tower house a flock of white doves from the nearby dovecot circled around her Land Rover and Fiona took this as a good sign related to her thoughts about olive branches and peacemaking.
She opened the stableyard gates and walked through the cobbled yard toward the estate office. The light was dimming as the day wound to a close and she saw lamplight spilling onto the cobbles near the entrance. He must be there!
Her heart skipped a beat and she wished she had taken the time to tidy her hair and put on some lipstick. Too late now!
Gordon Campbell looked up from the paperwork littering his desk and saw the outline of Fiona Jameson at his office door. He was genuinely surprised to see her but after a long, hard day with a party of inexperienced hunters who had almost shot one of his prized retrievers and scared off every deer and grouse in the entire area, he lacked the mental energy to send her packing. He would not, however, let her escape without understanding how she had embarrassed him in the town.
He opened the door for Fiona and at once she felt a chill in the atmosphere that had nothing to do with the deepening dusk.
“Well, this is a surprise! I hadn’t expected to see you again, Fiona.”
“Why not? I was passing this way and thought I could check up on the wildcat project.”
The convenient lie had come swiftly to Fiona’s mind when she sensed the atmosphere. This visit might be short and not so sweet after all.
“Now you’re here, you might as well come in.”
Fiona bridled at this less-than-polite invitation. She almost turned on her heel and made a quick exit but her pride would not allow this attitude to go unchallenged. She decided to get right to the point.
“You seem to be upset with me about something, Mr. Campbell. I would prefer if you came out with it. I am not an admirer of snide comments.”
Gordon was taken aback by this frontal attack. The women in his family were never usually this confrontational.
He hummed and hawed for a moment then spoke in a more conciliatory tone.
“You may not like snide comments, Miss Jameson, but I greatly dislike being a subject of speculation in the town. I have no idea what information about me you have spread around to all and sundry but a portion of that at least is derogatory.”
Fiona was shocked into temporary silence by this statement and by the tone of voice that still contained a sense of deep hurt. She scrambled in her mind to find the right words to refute these baseless accusations and could find no suitable words at all. The result of her mental confusion was a verbal stutter and a facial expression that could not conceal her total disbelief.
“I,…….. I,………. I’m afraid I have no clue what you are talking about, Gordon. I am not one to spread gossip or innuendo. In fact I have spoken to no one about our date and I am completely innocent of spreading anything derogatory about you, even if I knew anything like that.”
Despite her attempt to keep control of her feelings, Fiona could feel tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She turned away abruptly and reached out for the door handle. Escape from this painful situation was the only thing left that made any sense to her.
She was a few yards away from the office and stumbling over the cobblestones with bleary eyes, when she felt a strong hand on her shoulder.
“God help me, Fiona! I am so sorry for accusing you. Obviously there is a massive misunderstanding. Please forgive me and come back inside.”
She tried to keep her head down so he would not see her tears but he gently put a finger under her chin and raised her face to his then, even more gently, wiped the tears from her cheeks. It was this unexpected and tender action that undid the intrepid Fiona Jameson.
The next thing she knew, his arms were around her and he practically carried her back across the yard and into his office where he deposited her on his chair with clucking sounds of concern that would have done justice to a mother hen.
Fiona recovered her composure and felt a feeling of déjà vu. Wasn’t this what had happened the first time they met? Misunderstandings and confusion had reigned then also. Was that a good omen for the future?
“Look! I can make us a cup of coffee,” he suggested hesitantly. “It’s just instant, I’m afraid, but a hot drink might help right at the moment.”
Fiona was not sure anything would help but as he busied himself with boiling water and spooned coffee out of a large jar, she had time to gather her thoughts. Strangely, the little domestic scene in the office was reassuring to her. So much of her life in the last years had been solitary. Even the university experience in a residence hall had been isolating. Her prior life had been so different from that of her classmates that it was difficult to make friends. The simple act of having a man make coffee for her seemed, now, to assume huge importance.
She accepted the stoneware mug with the chipped edge and turned it around in her hands while she composed her next statement. She had a feeling it was going to be something significant.
Suddenly, two futures rushed up to meet her. One was a life alone and the other offered companionship. She did not know who the companion might be but her choice now would be the key turning point toward, or away from, that destiny.
“Gordon, I am going to be honest with you. I don’t play games the way some females seem to do.
I enjoyed our evening together and I would like to see you again sometime. I know you are new to the area and if you wish, I can introduce you to people you might be interested in, if that is all you want from me. I have many acquaintances in Oban but I am basically a loner. I don’t apologize for this.
I suppose it is the result of life patterns forced on me.”
She took a deep breath and continued.
“Don’t hesitate to send me on my way. It’s your choice. Despite the display of weakness you just saw, I can take the rejection. Don’t worry about that.”
This confession was made while Fiona looked deep into her coffee cup and now she prepared to rise and leave without exposing herself to looks of pity or embarrassment on Gordon Campbell’s face.
She consoled herself with the thought that it was best to bring contentious issues out into the open right at the start of a relationship and not to harbor false hopes.
She would go with some dignity left.
Fiona never made it to the door.
She was turned round roughly by two strong hands. A stern voice instructed her to look at his face.
“You have done me the rare honour of being honest, Fiona Jameson, and I will do the same for you.
But not here.
Follow me!”