Anne Douglas (7 page)

‘I want to.’

At the top of Scott Street, however, he paused. ‘Lindy?’ he whispered.

‘Yes, Rod?’

‘Will you just answer me something? You say things have changed between you and Neil – is that true for you as well as him?’

‘I could never let him go, I know that.’

‘He threatened he would go? Not see you?’

‘I had to make a choice.’

‘And you chose him?’ Rod looked away. ‘Oh, well, then, there’s no more to be said. Why didn’t you tell me this before?’

‘I didn’t want to,’ she answered softly. ‘Oh, Rod, let’s say goodbye here, no’ at the shop.’ She put her hand on his arm and looked into his eyes.

‘I wish we didn’t have to say goodbye at all, but it’s the way things have worked out, eh? Tell me you understand.’

‘I’m trying to,’ he said quietly, taking her hand from his arm and holding it. ‘But if you should, you know, change your mind . . . have second thoughts . . . will you let me know?’

She nodded, releasing her hand, her eyes still on his. ‘I didn’t know you for long,’ she whispered, ‘but I’ll never forget you, Rod, never!’

With a last, sad look, she kissed him on the cheek and ran. Ran and ran, down Scott Street to Murchie’s Provisions, never looking back, while Rod stood watching, unmoving until, having seen her vanish inside, he turned slowly away. Only then did he remember he’d never told her how to contact him. She didn’t have his home address, or work address, or telephone number. Should he run after her? Send a note to the shop? He shook his head. Seemed to him there was no point. She’d made her choice – the tried and trusted Neil, not him. And he couldn’t see that wretched writer guy ever letting her go.

Days went by, then weeks, so that early spring became May and there was all the public interest of King George’s Silver Jubilee – not that it affected anyone in Scott Street very much. But then came summer, with things for Lindy still seeming the same, nothing changing between herself and Neil as much as she’d thought it might.

Sometimes she asked herself, what had she expected? Neil was certainly no longer just a friend – she couldn’t say that. When they went out together there was more closeness between them, more holding of hands, more passionate kisses, and she was happy enough, yet she couldn’t help wondering where was it going, this relationship of theirs? They had given up discussing the future and never mentioned marriage, which in the past they’d discounted. They seemed to be content to carry on, not quite as before, but still a long way from putting into words anything definite.

Of course, when she reached the point of understanding this, Lindy had to decide what she wanted herself – and there was the problem. She had made her choice, had realized she couldn’t say goodbye to Neil and had said goodbye to Rod instead, yet still couldn’t be sure what her and Neil’s next step should be. Marriage was the usual end to a long-standing courtship. But was she being courted?

Did she still want something else first? Hadn’t Neil himself said that one day she’d be free of Murchie’s Provisions and that they’d both fly away to something new? Yes, he’d said that – to fly away was what she’d always wanted and, she had to admit, still wanted. Yet there was nothing on the horizon, nothing in her life that even gave her hope that it might happen. Maybe she should just settle for Neil’s love, then, for she was sure the love was there, even if it wasn’t spelled out. Back she came, full circle, to not knowing just where they were going.

Meanwhile, the recession was as deep as ever, and times just as harsh worldwide, with the added anxiety that Germany and Italy seemed to be gearing up for aggression. So far no one had been able to stop them. Where would it all end? cried the papers, and even ordinary folk who didn’t usually take much notice of international problems were beginning to echo the question. Where
would
it all end?

‘Know what I think?’ Struan asked one evening, when tea had been cleared away and he was still sitting at the table opposite his father. ‘It might be a good idea for me to join the Territorials.’

‘You what?’ cried George. Stung from his usual calm, he was sitting up straight, his eyes flashing with rare fire. ‘Struan, are you crazy?’

‘Hey, why all the fuss?’ Struan was raising his eyebrows as Myra and Lindy turned from doing the washing-up at the sink to look at him. ‘It’s a good idea to join; it’s only part time but you get paid when you turn up, and you get training for war.’

‘Training for war? What are you saying?’ George’s placid features were suffused with colour, his eyes still showing his emotion. ‘Who says there’s going to be another war? After what I went through – after what we all went through – nobody in their senses would want to go through it again. I’ll no’ have you talking such damn’ nonsense as wanting to join the TA. Let this be an end of it!’

‘If it’s only weekends, where’s the harm?’ asked Myra. ‘I think Struan’s right – it’s a good idea. Brings in extra money – what’s wrong with that?’

‘Maybe the brewery will tell him,’ snapped George. ‘Maybe they won’t want their workers taking on extra duties, and with things as they are anybody who does might be the first to get the sack. You ken we’re all on a knife edge, eh? Stick to what you’ve got, Struan, and don’t be risking it.’

‘Och, I’m going out,’ Struan muttered, jumping to his feet. ‘I was just being patriotic, eh? I mean, when you hear about the Germans rearming and Mussolini threatening Abyssinia and all that, the TA might well be needed.’

‘And then there’s the money,’ put in Myra. ‘Have to think o’ that.’

‘I’ll have no more talk o’ war in this house,’ George declared and, leaving his chair, took his cap from its peg and jammed it on his head. ‘Myra, I’m going out and all. I reckon I could do with a pint tonight, to clear ma head.’

‘Coming with me, then?’ asked Struan from the door.

‘No, thanks. I don’t want you spouting about Germany and all that sort o’ thing. I’ll go to the Falcon, see a few mates.’

‘Suit yourself.’ Struan shrugged. ‘I’m going to knock a few billiard balls about in the Feathers, anyway. Give ’em hell. That’s what I feel like.’

‘Well!’ Myra exclaimed as the door shut on the two men. ‘All right for some, eh? Just walk out whenever they like, straight into the pub. Nowhere for us to go, is there? Mind you, your dad’s usually happy to stay in. Shows he’s upset.’

‘He hasn’t forgotten the war,’ said Lindy. ‘Who would, if they were in it?’

‘Let’s just hope there’s never another.’ Myra’s look on Lindy was considering. ‘Talking o’ going out, aren’t you seeing Neil tonight?’

‘He’s gone to his class again. I’m going to do some more on that dress I’m making.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying, Lindy, it should be a wedding dress you’re making now. I mean, when are you and Neil going to name the day?’

‘No talk of that yet, Aunt Myra.’

‘No? What’s the delay? He’s got a good job; you’ve no need to wait.’

‘We’re happy as we are,’ Lindy said firmly.

And hoped it was true.

It was July and the afternoon warm when Lindy was having her tea break at the shop counter and taking the chance, while Myra served old Mrs Knox, their only customer, to look at the job adverts in the paper. Nothing, as usual.

She tossed the paper aside and crumbled a ginger biscuit. What was the point in even looking? Unless you wanted domestic service there was no hope of a move from what she had, and as no more had been said of her losing her job at Murchie’s, she supposed she should be grateful she’d still got it. On the other hand, she couldn’t resist seeing what was available, even though she didn’t actually know what she wanted, and could only be sure she’d know it when she saw it. Surely, one day, her luck would turn?

‘Lindy,’ she heard someone gasp, and looked up to find Jemima standing at the counter. She was wearing a linen dress and a light jacket, was carefully made up, her hair as neatly done as ever, and might have looked her usual self – except that her eyelids were red. She had obviously been crying.

‘Jemima!’ Lindy exclaimed. ‘What’s wrong? Why are you here today? It’s no’ your Wednesday.’

‘My Wednesday.’ Jemima gave a strange smile. ‘My day off? Lindy, I don’t need days off now, I’ve got no job.’

‘No job?’

Lindy was speechless. People now were always losing jobs; unemployment was everywhere, but not – surely not – Jemima? So well settled with rich Mrs Dalrymple, so well-suited, so happy? Oh, it couldn’t be true!

Casting a glance to where her stepmother was gossiping with Mrs Knox, Lindy came running from behind the counter to throw her arms round her friend. ‘Jemima, what are you saying? You, of all people, losing your job? It’s no’ true, eh?’

‘It’s true. But that’s no’ the worst of it. Oh, God, no! Lindy, something awful has happened to Mrs Dalrymple, something you’ll never believe. It’s too terrible, too out o’ the blue!’

‘What? What’s happened? Is she ill?’

‘No, no, she’s no’ ill.’ Jemima dropped her voice and looked around the almost empty shop until she met Myra’s gaze zooming in on her. She turned back to Lindy and grabbed her arm. ‘Look, I’d better go, but can you meet me this evening? Call for me and we’ll go out, eh?’

‘Yes, I’ll call for you, but tell me, quick – what’s happened to Mrs Dalrymple?’

‘She’s lost all her money.’ Jemima’s voice was so low, so hesitant, it was clear she could hardly bring herself to get the words out. ‘Pretty much everything, Lindy. Look, I’ll away. See you tonight.’

As the shop door closed on Jemima, Myra moved swiftly from her customer to the counter. ‘Lindy, what’s up with Jemima? What’s she doing here when she should be at work?’

‘I don’t know the details, Aunt Myra, but she came to tell me she’s lost her job.’

‘Lost her job? Never!’

Myra’s eyes were alive with interest, but even though she served Mrs Knox as quickly as possible and returned to Lindy to find out more, Lindy merely repeated that she hadn’t got all the details yet and might know more after she’d seen Jemima that evening. Now was not the time, she’d decided, to discuss Mrs Dalrymple’s misfortune, though probably it would all come out later. In the meantime, Myra would just have to wait.

‘Be sure to tell me what you find out,’ she instructed when it was time that evening for Lindy to run up to Mrs Kerry’s flat. ‘I’m dying to hear why Jemima got the sack.’

‘It was nothing to do with her, Aunt Myra.’

‘Well, just find out what you can, eh?’

‘If it’s no’ confidential,’ Lindy warned coldly.

‘Why, if Jemima can tell you, she can tell me!’ Myra cried. ‘I’m an old friend of her ma’s, remember!’

Without replying Lindy hurried on up the stairs. As though she had time to worry about Myra’s nosiness. All her thoughts were with poor Jemima – and, of course, Mrs Dalrymple.

‘Oh, Lindy, there you are,’ cried Jemima, opening her door. ‘I’m all ready, so let’s away. Ma’s lying down – she’s so worried about what’s happened she’s got a headache.’

‘I’m no’ surprised; she must be that upset for you.’

‘Aye.’ Jemima sniffed as she closed the flat door behind her. ‘It’s all been such a shock and I’m just trying to work out now what to do next. But let’s go to the park, shall we? Then I can tell you all that’s been happening.’

The summer evening was so balmy, so beautifully different from the windy chill Edinburgh could present, and the High Street and Canongate were, in spite of the recession, crowded with visitors. Maybe not spending much, some just strolling around or window shopping, but certainly enjoying themselves; unlike Jemima, so borne down by the bolt from the blue that had hit her almost as hard as her employer. Yet, as Lindy hurried with her down to Holyrood Park, she had the feeling that after the first shock her friend was rallying, not only coming to terms with what had happened, but trying to find something that would help. How on earth could she possibly help, though? It sounded as though only money was going to save the Dalrymples, and where was that going to come from?

The royal park, that stretched so far from the Palace of Holyroodhouse, was itself full of visitors, but such was its size it appeared to be not at all crowded, which suited Lindy and Jemima as they found a place to sit, and sank down together.

‘Now for a cigarette,’ Jemima murmured, lighting up. ‘Oh, that’s grand! You won’t have one, Lindy?’

‘No, thanks.’

Lindy was gazing across the park to Arthur’s Seat, remembering Rod, as she so often did, without the need of a reminder of their day together. It still surprised her that that was really all they’d had together, just that one day, for it seemed as if they’d had so much more.

And might, in fact, have had a future, she sometimes allowed herself to think, but she always stopped herself there, for the truth was she’d made her decision and to dwell on what might have been with Rod would not be fair to Neil. He was the one who was real, who was part of her life. Rod was – well, hadn’t she thought of him once as a ship that passed in the night? Now was not the time to think of him anyway, and, turning her dark blue eyes on Jemima, she waited for her to speak.

‘It’s all so awful, I can hardly talk about it,’ Jemima began, her voice low again as she watched the smoke from her cigarette rise. ‘In fact, it’s so bad Mrs Dalrymple’s in a nursing home – she just can’t face it.’

‘Oh, that sounds bad. A nursing home?’

‘Aye, it’s paid for by friends, you ken – she’s got no relatives and couldn’t afford much herself.’

‘So where did her money go?’

‘Might as well say, like my cigarette, up in smoke.’ Jemima shook her head drearily. ‘Seemingly, Mrs Dalrymple never knew anything about finance, so when she was left her husband’s money she put it all into the care of a family friend. He was a lawyer, very respected, knew all about investments, so Mr Keith told me. He’s the butler, or was, till he got the sack like the rest of us.’

‘Are investments something to do with stocks and shares?’ asked Lindy.

‘Well, I’m no’ sure, but I think when you invest you put money into shares – a company, or something, and then you expect to get more money back than you put in. Unless there’s a crash, like in America, and then you might lose everything. But Mr Dalrymple was very canny – he never lost a penny in that crash, and if only he hadn’t died, Mr Montague would never have been able to swindle Mrs Dalrymple. Which is what he did.’