Fortunes of the Heart (14 page)

When she rejoined Kate, the younger woman made a show of
dusting off her hands and putting her shawl to rights. Then as if addressing a
public meeting, and with a defiant gleam in her eye, said: “Aye. I soon told
him. There was no way I was going doon the
wafter
to
Rothesay
withoot
my holiday hamper. Apart from
anything else, he surely
couldnae
expect my poor wee
bairn to suffer the one nappy for two whole weeks.”

There was a whoop of delight, not only at these words
themselves and the fact that this domestic problem had been discussed with the
gallant Captain no less, but also at the mental picture of both sight and
stench which they conjured up in the minds of her audience.

Once the ship had reversed all the way back again to Govan
Wharf, the woman, with her daintily booted foot, stirred her still somewhat
inebriated husband into action. With suitable expletives for the daft scunner,
that he most assuredly was for having left the damned hamper on the quayside in
the first place, she sent him on his route down the gangway. By the time,
obviously still in a drunken haze, he staggered back on board with his burden,
to the shouts of encouragement and ribaldry of his fellow passengers, an
impromptu choir, faces abeam with delight at this diversion, were already
singing with verve, gusto, but little accuracy for the known words:

Oh, we’re no awa tae bide awa We’re no awa tae leave ye

For we did come back to see ye.

The voyage doon the waiter to Rothesay was at last well and
truly started. This time, there would be no going back.

Chapter
23

The German Band was still playing as the Marquis of Bute
sailed majestically on, in calm seas past Toward Lighthouse. With the sun
shining down from a cloudless sky, most people were sitting out on the top
deck, where every inch of space on the slatted wooden seats was occupied, as
indeed was every upturned suitcase and each wicker hamper.

On all sides, passengers lazed away the trip, all the while
tapping their feet in time to the music. Even so, the faces of most of the
passengers were turned not towards the musicians, but instead were tilted up to
the sun. By now, most of the men had loosened their ties and unfastened collar
studs. Some had even freed their ties altogether and these garlands were now
waving in the gentle summer breeze. Sunday-best jackets had been discarded and
the metal clips of a variety of braces and armbands glistened in the sun and
sent off shafts of light which dazzled the eye. Like badges of office, the
knotted, squared-off handkerchiefs posed atop each boiled beetroot of a
perspiring face. Scraps of conversation batted back and forth, a dog barked,
children laughed or screamed, and over and above it all, the band played a
medley of light airs.

Then, at a nod from the violinist, they launched into a
different time, the words of which invited all and sundry to

‘Come and see the baby, any time they cared to call.’

At once, people sat up straighter and tapped their feet with
greater urgency as they hurried in full-flight of imagination to see ‘the baby
who looks sae neat and swanky, like a
dumplin
in a
hanky.’ Even Kate, although not actually joining in the singing, nevertheless
relaxed sufficiently to drum her fingers on top of the ship’s handrail in time
to the rhythm.

Had the song been Irish, the words of which had been known
to her, then Kate would have been singing as heartily as the rest of the
holidaymakers. However, for the moment, she was more than content to enjoy the
sun, the balmy sea breezes, and the music. Had Kate been able to make time
stand still, then that very moment was the one she would have chosen to
preserve for eternity. Immersed in the heady, electric air of carnival and
gaiety, with her family around her, the sun shining high above, and the vessel
sailing along in tranquil seas. At that exact point in time, life was good, oh,
so very good for Kate Kinnon.

But time, indeed life itself, stands still for no-one and
almost as if they realised it, suddenly the children at her side began
fidgeting, already bored with gazing out dutifully at the waves, the screeching
seagulls, and the mainland hills beyond. Pearce was sitting at some little
distance from his wife and family. Although in the middle of a crowd of excited
chattering holidaymakers, he alone was no part of it. Engrossed in reading his
favourite and well-thumbed anthology of poetry, there he sat, a rock of stolid
respectability and calm, in the midst of the seething, shouting, laughing, and
lustily-singing mass of humanity on all sides of him.

Kate sighed at the sight of him in such a situation. At this
distance and observing him as she would objectively assess a total stranger,
she had to admit: Yes, you’re a handsome devil. With that sprinkling of grey at
the temples you’re looking more distinguished than ever. From the look of you,
you could be an eminent professor or some such grand person. With your dark
good looks and superior air, that way you have of tilting your head and looking
down your nose at the common herd, you stand out like a sore, if definitely
highborn, thumb.

Kate sighed again.

The day I see you sitting out on the deck of a Clyde steamer
in your braces, with a knotted handkerchief on your head, that’ll be the day
you’ve decided to join the rest of the human race.

Even the mental picture of her husband thus attired brought
a smile to her face and it was with the laugh of a carefree holidaymaker that
she bent down to attend to the children.

“Danny Boy, why don’t you and Jenny go for a wee walk around
the top deck? She would like that and as long as you keep an eye on her, she’ll
surely behave herself. All right, son?”

Danny, although not exactly over the moon with anticipation
at such a prospect, did however agree.

Then, astute as ever, with a twinkle in his eye:

“I know what you really mean, Mammy, You want me to keep her
as far away from Dadda as possible. Right?”

Kate, despite herself, burst out laughing. Then, assuming a
mock air of censure with pursed lips and an admonitory finger, she leant
forward.

“Tut, tut, Daniel, my boy. That’s quite enough cheek from
you. Any more of that and you’ll be at the receiving end of what your pals back
in Glasgow call a
skelpit
bum.”

Jenny and Daniel collapsed in gales of laughter. It was not
merely their Mammy’s ineffectual attempt at a broad Glasgow accent which had
amused them, they were almost hysterical with delight at her use of the word
bum, a word normally banned in the polite Kinnon household.

Still laughing, Kate leant forward and ruffled her son’s
curly dark hair, which despite his many plastering-down efforts, always managed
to spring back to vibrant life. She smiled fondly at his freckled, cheeky
little face.

“Right. my lad, be off with you before I put my threat into
action. And mind now, keep a good eye on Jenny. For she’s up to more tricks
than a basketful of puppies.”

Kate turned to Isabella who for the past ten minutes or so
had been dancing an impromptu and completely unselfconscious Highland Fling in
time to the German Band’s lively music. The nearby holidaymakers, with wild
cheers and ribald comments, had applauded her exhibition. Now, flushed with
triumph and slightly out of breath, Isabella was holding on to Hannah’s
go-chair for support.

Isabella’s lovely hair was as blonde as Daniel’s was raven
black. With her recent exertions, the broad tartan ribbon, especially bought
for the holiday, had come loose. In the normal way, Hannah was the only one of
the girls to sport a ribbon in her hair, but on one of her recent visits to
Paddy’s Market, Kate had been lucky enough to buy cheaply an end roll of
brightly-coloured tartan ribbon. It was a riot of various shades of red and
yellow, which the stallholder, eager to make a sale, assured Kate was the
official dress MacMillan tartan.

Kate now bent forward and retied the length of ribbon, then
finished by taking one of Isabella’s fat, sausage ringlets in her hand and
twisting the heavy yet silky blonde hair over and around her fingers.

Isabella looked up and smiled her own special sweet little
smile at her Mammy. With the sun on her face, and its rays sending off shafts
of pure spun gold from her mass of ringlets, Isabella looked like an angel –
almost too pure, too perfect and altogether too ethereal for this cruel world.

Kate’s cup of happiness was complete as she looked at this
lovely child of her heart, so different in every way from poor Hannah, with her
coarse dark hair, her sloe-eyes, and her poor deranged mind.

With her other hand, Kate stretched forward and stroked
Hannah’s cheek.

’Tis no wonder that Isabella is Pearce’s favourite child.
With those delicate looks, that colouring and her inborn air of elegance,
she’ll be a beauty by the time she’s in her teens. Even more, she’ll be a real
lady.

Kate had a secret smile to herself as she thought: Much as
it grieves me to admit it, but my wee Isabella takes after Pearce’s side of the
family. Nothing of the starving, poverty-stricken Irish peasant about her. No
wonder that Pearce has such great plans for her in the years ahead. Wouldn’t
surprise me in the least if he were to return in triumph to Ireland with a
grown-up Isabella on his arm. and insist that his family pay her due homage,
perhaps even hold a coming-out ball at Laggan House for the young beauty. Ah,
well, Kate my girl, time will tell.

Chapter
24

The first morning of the holiday, they awoke to brilliant
sunshine spilling through the partly-closed curtains. Kate stirred lazily in
bed, and for a hazy, still half-asleep moment, she wondered where on earth she
could possibly be. Then, as she stretched her arms luxuriously and her splayed
hand finally came to rest on Pearce’s arm, it all came back to her in one
glorious, mind-boggling rush of wonderful realisation. Of course. She was on
holiday and not only on the first holiday of her life, but also for the first
time in years, she was truly, in every sense, in her husband’s bed. She smiled
a secret smile and felt the blood rush to her face as she thought: Wasn’t last
night glorious? Oh, if only life could always be like this. But who knows?
Perhaps this is the start of something new and better than I’ve ever known?
Well, time alone will tell, Kate my girl. Meantime, enjoy this heavenly
experience and make the very most of your two weeks.

Pearce was still sleeping soundly so, removing her hand from
where it still lay on his arm, she then edged over to her own side of the bed
and crept out as quietly as possible. That done without causing more than a
slight moan from her husband, Kate then put on her outdoor coat over her best
nightgown.

Who knows, she thought, perhaps one fine day Pearce might
even buy me a lovely dressing gown such as the fine ladies in the Big House
used to wear. Imagine it. Me, a lady’s maid, with a quilted, satin
dressing-gown. Now, wouldn’t that be something to tell the neighbours?

She was still smiling at this happy thought and on her way
to check on the children in the next room, when she stopped with her hand on
the door handle. An even stranger thought had just come to her: After the
carefree passion of last night, my girl, it won’t be a swanky dressing gown
you’ll be after wanting. No, more like it would be a bell tent, voluminous
nightgown. Something to cover the bulge of your belly rather than a glamorous
dressing gown.

Like a mischievous schoolgirl, she giggled into her cupped
hand as she allowed her thoughts to wander idly.

To think such a thing should happen now – especially after
Betty’s warnings about the strength of the Rothesay air. Shouldn’t be surprised
if I take more than a stick of seaside rock back to the
Candleriggs
as a wee souvenir.’

She was still smiling as she went in to rouse the children
in good time for the cooked breakfast which Mrs Graham had promised them.
Normally loathe to get up on mornings back home, on this occasion the children
needed no second bidding and were soon diving about the room in various stages
of undress. With the promise that Mammy herself would see to the brushing of
Hannah’s hair, which was always something of a trial, Jenny was delegated to
the task of getting Hannah dressed in her best summer frock.

Later that same day, replete with food, the family gathered
in the lush acre of garden, ablaze with hydrangeas, fuchsias, and a myriad of
other flowers whose name they had not yet been told. The garden of
Ardbeg
House overlooked the seafront and on such a day,
with the sun overhead, yachts sailing along effortlessly over the waves, and
the urgent cry of seagulls above them, the children and Kate thought they were
in Paradise.

Having drunk their fill of the exquisite scenery, there was
some dissension as to exactly what plans should be made for the glorious summer
day now lying so invitingly before them. Jenny wanted to take her bucket and
spade and head without a moment’s delay for the beach at the Children’s Corner,
there to delve into the making of sand castles with all possible speed;
Isabella desperately wanted to go and see the Exhibition of Highland Dancing,
the advertisement for which she had spelled out carefully and laboriously while
on the boat coming over to the Island; Daniel, with every fibre of his being,
wanted to accept Mrs Graham’s kind offer of the use of the little rowing boat
which she kept permanently moored at her own private stretch of beach just
across the road; Pearce wanted to walk for miles and on the way, explore the
flora and fauna of this magical island with its magnificent palm trees and its
sun-kissed shores lapped by the warming balm of the Gulf Stream; Kate, still
feeling mellow and drunk with happiness, would have been happy to fall in with
anyone’s plans so long as it did not necessitate her leaving this Madeira of
Scotland.