Fiona settled quickly into a routine. None of her neighbours in Oban would suspect that she was not living in the cottage. Her hours were often erratic and unless someone looked to see if her Land Rover was parked in the town lot overnight, they would be unlikely to think anything unusual was happening.
That was exactly how Fiona wanted things for the time being.
She continued to concentrate on her work during the day but as the evening drew nearer, she had difficulty keeping her feelings under control. She could not wait to rush back to the castle, track down Gordon, (usually by looking for Hector’s noble head sticking up from bracken or heather), and make her way carefully to his side. If he was with the ghillies and their clients fly-fishing in the dusk on the estate’s rivers, she would wait until she had caught his attention then tiptoe off back to his office with Hector for a guardian. Gordon came to the office later to join her and they would relax with coffee from the drip coffee maker she had installed there, discussing their respective days and planning the evening.
Fiona discovered there was a daily woman who tidied, changed beds and prepared an evening meal for Gordon. He had refused to let Fiona cook for him, declaring there was more than enough for two and she needed her rest in the evenings. Fiona was delighted to accede to this request and to spend the time getting to know Gordon in more than a physical way. She was increasingly impressed with the depth of the man. He had ambitious plans for the estate and wanted to implement sustainable environmental methods of stocking and hunting the livestock. He was not against the installation of the huge, controversial wind vanes to create electricity but insisted they should be far enough distant from the castle as to be invisible on the skyline and not near any animal trails.
Fiona was an eager participant in their discussions. It seemed that everything she had learned in her courses and everything she saw in her daily work had an application to Gordon’s future development plan.
She had spent a day with children from the Eigg Primary School who had won an award for having a Green Tree program at school. The students grew tree seeds and planted the saplings on their island to replace the forests that once flourished in the sheltered vales there.
Gordon had already instigated a similar project at Glenmorie Castle and a line of sturdy oaks and sycamores was progressing up the bare slopes of old hill ranges. He had also, to Fiona’s delight, re-homed a family of otters from an animal sanctuary and the frisky fellows were to be seen in one of the more secluded rivers, away from the paying customers. Watching them lie on their backs sleeping in a sunny stream with their paws clasped over their chests like little old men, was one of the joys the couple shared on Sunday rambles on the estate.
Fiona Jameson could not believe how happy she was. To have found such a compatible mate was far beyond her expectations. She had dated local Oban boys once or twice but the occasions were rare because of her taxi driving schedule and the chance that she would have to cancel at the last minute if Grant could not do a night delivery. She was glad to have an excuse. Her life was so different from that of the secondary school kids in her classes. She had worked from the day she got her driving license and done odd jobs for years before that. She did not have the time to focus on her appearance or the money to buy the make-up and clothes the other girls desired. She had always felt older than her classmates and shared few of their interests. In her mind they were characterized as “silly lassies” and she dismissed them and their mindless pursuit of fashion and boyfriends.
Now she was a woman with a lover. It was as if she had skipped over a few stages on the way to a fulfilling adult relationship. Gone were the tentative advances and insecure longings she had known only from romance novels, most of which had been left in the taxi by some traveller who had read assiduously all the way to Fort William or Inverness. She had found the real love of her life and it was wondrous indeed. She trusted Gordon utterly with her heart. She had found no flaw in the man to mar her happiness. He was perfect for her.
On reflection, there was only one fly in the ointment. Fiona was bursting to tell someone how she felt, face to face.
Her thoughts flew to Anna Mason. At the first opportunity she must check to see if Anna and her beau, Lawren, were still in the McCaig Farmhouse. If so, she would arrange to visit there as soon as possible. She could hardly wait. Anna was sure to understand her feelings about Gordon. Anna would share her joy and they could compare notes.
The opportunity arose the very next day. Fiona was working locally. The seas and weather permitting, she was to board a motor boat at the harbour and ride to Cutler’s Rock in the Sound of Kerrera, not far off shore, to see the seaweed cultivation farm there. In ancient times farmers relied on seaweed to fertilize their fields and the rich source of nutrients was now coming back into style. When the right kind of seaweed was cultivated and dried it could be exported as an inexpensive way to feed the fields of subsistence farmers who lived in lands far from the sea.
This was an initiative supported by Marine Scotland and Fiona had been selected to write a report on the effects on sea creatures in the area for Wildlife Services.
“It’s in your back yard, Miss Jameson, so to speak!” she had been informed by Kenneth MacNeil.
Fiona spent the night in her cottage so as to be ready for the boat ride in the morning. Before she went to sleep in her own wee bed she called Anna’s mobile number and was very pleased to hear that familiar voice on the line.
“Anna, it’s you! You are still in Oban. I am so glad. Will you be at home this evening? I really need to talk to you. I am just off to work now but I will drive over around six o’clock. Is that all right?”
“Yes, of course, Fiona! I’ll be happy to see you then.”
Anna was glad about two things related to the unexpected call. Lawren had arranged with Jeanette and George to paint the next stage of their portrait in the early evening before the children were put to bed. Anna and Fiona would have the house to themselves.
Next, she had judged from Fiona’s tone of voice, that there had not yet been a calamity in her love life.
Although Anna would have been prepared to support and comfort the girl, she was exceedingly happy that this would not be required of her. There was nothing so depressing as hearing the demise of a love affair when one was in the midst of a happy love story.
As if he had sensed her thoughts, Lawren entered the kitchen at this exact moment.
“Anna, my love, we are now down to cheese and crackers. The larder is bare and all that delicious cuisine Michelle left for us has been consumed. It’s time for a shopping expedition or I shall faint from lack of nourishment when I return from painting tonight.”
“We can’t have that, sirrah! I’ll call Grant and we shall depart forthwith for Oban and the Castle Tesco and load up with supplies.”
“A goodly plan, my lady! I shall assemble my painting materials and we can drop in to see Liam and Annette together. If Grant brings you back here, I don’t doubt George will provide a ride home for me.”
Better and better, thought Anna.
Despite a very raw and chilly wind blowing spume off the sea, Fiona enjoyed the boat ride to Cutlers Rock. She was well protected by a sou’wester on her head and a standard issue Barbour which covered her from neck to knees.
The problem was that this attire made it almost impossible to move around on the shore where the seaweed ponds were located. Her hat blew off when the wind caught the brim and her coat belled out so that she could not see what was at the level of her feet. She soon divested herself of the outer wear and followed the supervisor of the project who had been sent to escort her and answer any questions. All went well at the start, but the rain began to pour after about an hour and Fiona felt miserable. Her hands became too cold to write.
The supervisor was a hardy type who continued to expound on the principles of marine culture and the methods to protect the seaweed beds from seal and seagull predation. Not until a shaking Fiona had dropped her pencil into a pond from her frozen fingers, did he realize her predicament.
“Och, lass, Ah’m so used to the cold I canna even notice whit you’re doin’ there. Come away by the shed here. Ah’ve aye got a kettle on the hob.”
Fiona followed along gratefully and soon sat by a driftwood fire with an old blanket around her shoulders, sipping a mug of builders’ tea. Her Granny always called a strong cup of tea by that name. “If the spoon can stand up in it all by itself,” she would say, “it’s builders’ tea, not the weak lady’s version you can see right through!”
In the smoky warmth of the shed she finished the notes on her report and asked the supervisor a few more questions about yields and harvesting times. The motor boat for her return trip to shore arrived shortly after she had completed the notes and she thanked her host, pulled on her waterproof coat and waded out to the boat.
They were heading into the wind now but it did not take long to cross the Sound and deposit Fiona on the harbour side. She climbed the slippery steps with care and was soon congratulating herself on saving hours of her day. She would arrive early at Anna’s but no doubt she would get a bowl of hot soup there to warm her thoroughly.
The Land Rover was waiting for her in the parking lot. She threw her heavy coat inside and started the heater as she still felt chilled from the morning’s exposure. As she stowed the report’s pages in her briefcase for later transcription to the laptop, she began to notice a strange odour inside the car.
Looking all around, she could not see a source for the smell which was now becoming quite sickly.
Rolling down the windows did not seem to help. The aroma grew stronger by the minute until Fiona began to feel ill. She switched off the engine and hopped out of the vehicle so she could inspect under the hood in case some youngster had thrown a dead fish inside, but there was no sign of anything nasty.
The wind was blowing her hair around her face and she reached up to push the loose strands out of her eyes when she realized the awful smell was coming from her uniform jacket.
She remembered her jacket had got a soaking in the rain but that would not account for this horrible stink. She hesitated to analyze the component parts of the stink but got as far as putrid garbage before she retched and dragged the offending garment off immediately. There was a large plastic rubbish bag in the back of the car and the jacket was deposited in there, firmly sealed with a knot. It would require dry cleaning as soon as possible.
Fiona returned to the driver’s seat, wound down all the windows and breathed shallow breaths through her mouth until she had banished her nausea.
What on earth had caused the awful smell?
She ran through the events of the morning in her mind and concluded the only solution had to be the blanket that had been wrapped around her shoulders while she sat by the supervisor’s fire. Heaven only knew what had resided in that old blanket before Fiona’s wet jacket had brought the smell to life.
There was only one thing to do. She could not appear at Anna’s in this condition. She would have to go to the castle, have a bath and change her clothes. Only her old summer things remained at the Oban cottage now, and none of those would be suitable for such a cold day.
With the decision made, she drove out of the town and headed for Glenmorie.
No real harm done, she told herself. She would not arrive at Anna’s as early as she had thought but Anna was not expecting her until six anyway. A scrub in a warm bath would soon put all to rights and she could set out fresh. Gordon was surveying the farther reaches of the estate and would not return until much later. She would still have time for a cozy session with dear Anna.
Traffic was light at this time of day and she sped along the familiar road at a good speed. The Connel Bridge proved to be no obstacle and soon the gates of the estate came into view. Fallen leaves had blown onto the driveway but there were still tall scots pines to mark the curving road. She knew the pines would lose their dark green colour as the weather grew colder and they would appear as stately black sentinels until the spring returned.
When the tower castle came into view, Fiona was surprised to see a Rolls-Royce car parked in front of the entrance doors. She drove past and parked by the stableyard gates. Gordon had not mentioned visitors but then he did not expect her to be in the area at this time of day. Perhaps they were future clients who wanted to see how the operation was run. Fiona felt obliged to do something. Estate workers would be out on the hills for hours and there was no one else around to deal with any enquiries. She would have to provide some basic information. Gordon depended on rich clients to keep the estate solvent.
She approached the large, elegant vehicle tentatively. She had no intention of getting close enough to allow the strangers a whiff of her rancid smell which still permeated her shirt and trousers.
A man emerged from the elegant car and turned toward her. He was tall and well-built wearing a comfortable tweed suit and a trilby hat. His features were partly obscured by a resplendent beard, mustache and sideburns in which grey, white and black strands competed for precedence but his eyes, peering out at her from eyebrows which could only be described as ‘beetling’, were dark and piercing.
“Glad you arrived, young lady. I am not expected but I was hoping to see the estate manager, Gordon Campbell. Do you know where he might be found?”
Fiona was suddenly conscious of the fact that she was standing at some distance from this man wearing an outfit, much the worse for wear. Under normal circumstances she might have welcomed him with a smile and a handshake but that was not going to happen today.
She cleared her throat and managed a feeble, “I’m afraid Mr. Campbell is not around today. I can contact him by mobile phone but it would be some time before he could return.”
The man pursed his lips and seemed annoyed. “Can you give him a message?”
Fiona nodded, but kept her distance, always conscious of the taint of rotten fish around her.
“Tell him I will be at a hotel in Oban for two more days and I would like to see him before I leave.”
Fiona hesitated to ask for a contact number then realized she still had no idea who this stranger was.
He was about to settle back into the luxurious interior of his car when Fiona thought to ask for a business card. This was produced from the dashboard and she nipped forward quickly to secure it, bouncing back immediately as the door was closed.
With a sigh of relief, she walked back to the stableyard gates intending to enter the tower house by the rear door and run up to the bathroom before anyone, man or beast, could get near her. On the way she glanced at the business card. Yes, there was a contact number.
“Oh, God!” she exclaimed. In a second she put all the clues together; his manner of speech, the upright stance, the cravat around his neck and the Oxford-cloth shirt under the worn, but expensive tweeds. The realization was confirmed by the name printed on his card:
Capt. Diarmid Campbell RN (ret’d)
“That was Gordon’s father! He saw me looking like a scared chicken. I was borderline rude to the man who is of ultra importance to the man I love. I didn’t even invite him inside. What will Gordon say?”
She began to shake uncontrollably and walked up the remaining stairs at a slower pace as the import of the meeting weighed in on her. The shaking could be from shock or cold but she knew she had to get dry and warm as quickly as possible. Nothing else could be done before she had reclaimed her confidence.
After soaking in a steaming bath and dressing in clean, dry clothes, Fiona took stock of her situation.
Primarily, she had the duty of informing Gordon that his father was in the area. This she could accomplish but she would also have to confess that she had met him briefly and also the reason why she was at the castle. Gordon might well enquire about how she had described herself. It was likely that he had not told his parents about his association with Fiona. It had been only a short time and doubtless he was waiting for the right moment to tell them.
That was not the right moment out there!
She could always leave the business card in the office and let Gordon draw his own conclusions. If she did not volunteer any information about the meeting, perhaps Gordon would assume she had never met his father.
She looked in the mirror of the bathroom and wondered if the senior Mr. Campbell would recognize her now that she was bathed and decently attired. Was it possible that she could actually pretend they had never met?
“What have I done?” she moaned.
She knew she was not behaving in her normal, self-sufficient way but she felt she could not deal with anything more in this problematic day. She decided to wait until she saw Gordon later in the day and then try to explain what had happened. Face to face she might have a better chance to persuade him to overlook her incompetence and make excuses to his father on her behalf.
Once this solution had entered her mind it was as if a weight had been lifted and she was free once more to pursue her original plan to talk to Anna. Now there were even more reasons to seek Anna’s wise counsel and suddenly she could not abide a further delay.
She fled from what was increasingly becoming ‘the scene of the crime’ in her mind, and gunned the Land Rover all the way to the outskirts of Oban and around by the rough back roads to the McCaig Estate Farmhouse. It felt like coming home again and on this day Fiona needed a safe place to hide for a while.
Anna was waiting at the door with Morag in her arms and Fiona cried out to see them there.
“What’s wrong, Fiona? You look shattered. Has something happened to you?”
The warm, sympathetic voice undid Fiona’s resolve and she collapsed in tears into Anna’s arms, ejecting an alarmed Morag onto the floor.
Anna was immediately concerned for Fiona. In all the time she had known the girl, she had never seen her so upset. She had always met every challenge with resolve and a steady confidence but this different version of Fiona was a quivering wreck.
“Right, my dear, through into the lounge with you. There’s a fire on and I will be in with a tray of tea and a whisky for you and I think some fresh scones and cheese are called for. Lucky for you, Lawren and I did some shopping earlier.”
Fiona did not protest. She made a beeline for the fireside and sank back against the tapestry cushions with a sigh of relief. Everything would be all right now.
Anna found her there a few minutes later, curled up like a child with her head on a cushion. Fiona’s eyes were shut, giving the older woman a chance to look carefully at her features. She was definitely pale and worn looking. Was the new romance, added to the rigours of a new career, taxing her strength? Were things suddenly going wrong between Gordon Campbell and Fiona? She could hardly imagine what would have caused Fiona to react like this. The girl was one of the strongest, most independent females Anna had ever known.
She put the tray down on a table and the small noise woke Fiona up.
“I wasn’t really sleeping,” she said. “I just felt so glad to be here with you.”
“Good!” replied Anna. “Now, start with this whisky. You need a pick-me-up, I think.”
Fiona reached for the glass and took a tiny sip of the amber liquor. Instead of swallowing, she snatched up a napkin and spat the liquid into it. “Sorry, Anna! It just turned my stomach. I think I’ve had a bit too much stress today.”
Anna was shocked but she hid her feelings and poured tea for both of them, saying tea had never been known to upset anyone’s stomach. “Do you think you are ill, Fiona?”
“I don’t know, Anna. But I do know I need to tell you what’s been happening today. You can decide for yourself.”