The Baker's Daughter (15 page)

Erika's speech was hesitant and Rona quickly realised that her guest spoke very little English.

‘Thank you,' said Erika. ‘It is kind of you. To ask me.'

‘Not at all,' Rona tried to recover herself. ‘We are glad to meet you.'

Where she wondered, had Doug met Erika? They seemed such a strange pairing and yet
Doug
was clearly besotted and could hardly keep his eyes off Erika.

She was pleasant and wholesome, Rona thought—a clear, fresh complexion and her fair hair done in braids that were looped around her head. She wore a simple dark blue suit and a spotless white blouse edged with lace, and no make-up at all. Quite different from all Doug's previous girlfriends.

This, thought Rona was going to be a little difficult. She had not expected that Doug's new girlfriend would speak so little English. So she tried to make up for the long silences by smiling and talking about Kirkton and Fife—she knew very little about Austria, though she remembered school geography lessons about the mountains and the river Danube, was it? But she could hardly keep the conversation going all afternoon by talking about the rivers of Austria.

Father was a kindly and good-natured host, though he, too, was fairly silent. And as for Doug, he simply gazed at Erika with admiration.

‘Please sit down at the table.' Rona gestured.

‘Can I help?' Doug leapt up. Rona stared at him. This was the first time he had ever offered.

‘No, thanks,' she said brusquely and carried in the steak and kidney pie, piping hot and with a wonderful and promising aroma.

‘My,
this is a grand change,' said Angus. ‘It's usually pies or bridies for a Sunday tea.'

‘You're doing us proud today, Rona,' said Doug.

‘As if you usually starved,' she said more sharply than she meant, as she handed round the potatoes and carrots.

Erika had a good appetite and praised everything. ‘It's good,' she said, smiling broadly and Rona warmed to her.

She wondered, though, as she dished up the trifle, how they would get through the evening. There was very little to talk about and yet she was longing to ask questions—where did Doug meet her? How had she come to Kirkton? Where did she work? How old was she?

After tea, Doug said, ‘We'll do the dishes.'

Rona was so taken aback that she didn't protest, but allowed Doug to roll up his sleeves and begin washing up, while Erika picked up a dish towel. As she cleared the table she could hear a low murmur of conversation—or at least she could hear Doug's voice and an occasional word from Erika.

Afterwards as Angus settled into his armchair with the
Sunday Post
, Doug put a few records on the radiogram.

But even so, it was a long evening as Rona tried to be polite to this smiling, silent girl.

Finally she produced tea and shortbread. Angus yawned, got up and said, ‘I'm away to my bed.' He shook hands with Erika,
said,
‘Good to meet you,' and made his way upstairs.

‘I'll see you home, Erika,' said Doug at last and helped her with her coat.

‘I have enjoyed it,' she said very slowly and carefully.

‘You must come again soon,' Rona returned politely.

‘I do not speak much English,' she said, ‘but Doug, he teaches me.'

Doug smiled fondly at her. ‘You'll soon learn,' he said.

After they'd gone, Rona tidied the kitchen finding that the cups and plates were all in the wrong place—that was the trouble, she thought, when you let someone else into your kitchen, but her mind was buzzing with questions. Where had Doug met her? Where had she come from? She was determined to ask him when he returned.

‘I'll lock up, will I?' She heard Doug come in, and he put his head round the kitchen door. ‘Grand meal that—thanks.'

‘She doesn't say much, does she?' said Rona.

‘Well,' Doug was defensive, ‘she doesn't speak much English—yet. But she likes you.'

‘Thanks for that.' Rona was tired and inclined to be snappy. ‘She's a bit of a surprise, I must say, after your other girls. Where did you meet her? Where's she from? What happened to her relatives? Where is she
working?'

‘Don't want to know much, do you? I met her on the ferry—she's working in the laundry, she's from Vienna and her parents are dead. That answer your questions?'

‘Well, I suppose so.'

‘And one more thing,' said Doug. ‘I know she's older than me, but I'm serious about her, and she feels the same about me. So you'd better get used to the idea. This is the real thing, this time. See you in the morning.'

A MEETING WITH CALLUM

‘I just feel as if the world had been turned upside down,' said Rona. Usually, she didn't mind February and was happy to put on Wellingtons and splash through the slush to work, but this year everything seemed to have happened so quickly, first with Aunt Lizzie's departure and now Doug.

‘What's she like?' Nancy was curious.

‘Pleasant, quiet—hard to get to know, I'd say.'

‘Doug seems to have got to know her fast enough,' Nancy smiled.

‘They met on the ferry from Dundee to Tayport,' said Rona. ‘Doug had been over to look at a car. He helped her with her luggage, I gather. And that was that.'

‘How
romantic,' sighed Nancy.

‘I wish something like that would happen to me,' said Rona. She added, ‘I haven't been able to find out any more. You know Doug—he'd make a clam seem almost chatty. But I understand she'd been helping a relative in Dundee and now she's working in the laundry and looking after an old lady. I must say,' Rona went on, ‘she seems a hard worker. But what her background is, don't ask me, I've no idea. And I don't think Doug has either. But it doesn't seem to matter to him.'

‘She won't be a gold digger then,' said Nancy.

‘Not if she's after our Doug,' Rona laughed. ‘He never seems to have two pennies to scrape together.'

Rona sighed. There was romance everywhere—except in her own life. Even Nancy shyly mentioned the young man she'd met at the badminton club who'd asked her to the firm's dance at Christmas.

‘I'd like to get to know Erika,' Rona told Nancy. ‘But somehow I don't think I will. She speaks so little English, we can never have a conversation.'

But she spoke too soon.

That February was cold and miserable and Rona was a little worried about her father. He worked so hard, up it seemed in the middle of the night to light the ovens, baking the bread—a short pause for breakfast then out on
the
road with the deliveries. It was a long day and he looked rather tired.

‘Are you all right?' she asked one evening.

‘Me? Aye, I'm fine. Don't fuss, girl,' he said abruptly. Rona didn't ask any more, but she decided to keep an eye on him.

One day he came home, and though she had prepared a tasty stew with carrots and onions, just as he liked it, he seemed to have little appetite and pushed his plate away.

‘It's a grand stew, lass,' he said, ‘but I'm not very hungry.' A little later, he said, ‘I'm away to my bed.'

When Rona went up an hour or so afterwards, she found him tossing and turning. She brought him a hot drink of honey and lemon and laid a hand on his forehead. ‘You're all hot, Father,' she said. ‘I hope it's not this flu that's doing the rounds.' She looked anxious. ‘You'll stay where you are. I'll bring you a hot water bottle. And never mind about the shop. I can manage.'

‘No, no!' He tried to sit up.

‘I've seen you baking the bread often enough,' she said firmly. ‘I'll away and set my alarm.'

When she rose in the cold, dark early hours, Angus was asleep. She tapped on Doug's door and told him to look in on their father. ‘I'll get the doctor if he's no better,' she said.

Doug struggled awake. ‘I'll see to the deliveries,' he said. ‘They'll give me time off at
the
garage.'

‘Thanks,' Rona said gratefully. ‘We'll manage somehow.' That first morning was hard—although she had told Angus she knew what needed to be done, Rona found the work heavy, handling the large trays, pushing them into the oven.

When Elsie arrived at eight, Rona was already exhausted. ‘Make us a cup of tea, there's a good girl,' she said. ‘And then we'll get started.'

It seemed a long day. Rona ran home at dinner time and found her father still feverish and coughing. She called in at the doctor's surgery and asked him to visit, and left a key with a kindly neighbour. She tried to persuade Angus to take a little broth, but he managed only a few spoonfuls.

Then she hurried back to the shop. How on earth were they going to manage, she wondered.

That evening, Rona fell asleep by the fire and woke with a start. This wouldn't do—she had to be up in the middle of the night to light the ovens and begin the day's work. By now Angus was asleep.

‘It's this flu,' the doctor had reassured her earlier in the evening. ‘Keep him warm and give him lots of liquids. And don't let him go back to work till he's completely better.'

‘Easier said than done,' Rona answered. But she was determined to manage the bakery as
well
as she could while Angus was ill. Though Doug was helpful—he did the deliveries, and at home, washed up, set the fires and carried out the ashes.

But the early rise the next morning was a real struggle. As she washed hurriedly and put on her warmest clothes, she wondered how long they could keep going. The weather was bitterly cold too—she remembered the old saying,
As the day lengthens, the cold strengthens.

She had lit the ovens and was kneading the dough for the loaves when she heard a sound, like a sort of tapping. Someone at the shop door? It couldn't possibly be—not at this time of the morning. She went on pounding the dough.

There it was again. She wiped her hands, and went to look out the glass-fronted door of the shop. To her astonishment, a face looked in at her.

‘What are you doing here?' she said, astonished.

‘Please—I come to help.'

Rona opened the door, and there wrapped in a thick woollen coat with a scarf around her head, was Erika.

‘Why did you come?'

‘I come to help,' said Erika simply ‘Doug told me about your father.' She made her way through to the back of the shop to the bakehouse.

Rona
didn't know what to say. It was good of Erika, but she wondered, could she really be of help?

Erika seemed to know what she was thinking. ‘I know about baking bread,' she said. ‘In Vienna, my father has, had, a
konditorei
. You say pastry-cook. He make loaves too, fancy loaves.' As she was talking, she took off her coat—she was wearing a large apron and she rolled up her sleeves. ‘Now you make the dough?'

All through the early morning, Erika worked, saying little, but seeming to know exactly what was wanted. When Elsie arrived at eight as usual, she put on her coat and wound the scarf round her head ‘I go now—to laundry. I come back tomorrow—is OK?'

‘Is very much OK,' said Rona who didn't know how she could have managed.

‘She's been really wonderful,' she told Doug later.

‘I told you she was a wonder,' said Doug—and he beamed with pride.

*        *        *

Gradually Angus regained his strength, though Rona insisted that he didn't come back to the shop until he was completely recovered.

At least now, she didn't feel so desperately alone. There was Doug, helping out with the deliveries, and Elsie working hard in the shop,
and
Erika—a tower of strength, whether she was turning out a batch of brown loaves, or rolling the pastry for sausage rolls and bridies.

What about her parents, Rona wondered. Erika had mentioned her father had been a pastry-cook, but what had happened to her mother, and were there any brothers and sisters?

She was getting to know Erika better, but it was early days and she didn't feel that she could pry. Even though Erika's English was improving every day, it was still difficult to have a long conversation.

Now Angus was regaining his appetite and Rona took pleasure in making dishes that he would enjoy.

‘I've a nice piece of haddock for tonight, Father,' she said.

‘Not steamed in milk, I hope,' said Angus with a twinkle in his eye. ‘I've had enough sick folks' fare to last me for many a day.'

‘Is that so?' Rona tried to look stern. ‘And how would you like it done?'

‘Fried in breadcrumbs,' said Angus. ‘And maybe with chips?'

‘Now I know you're recovering.' Rona was pleased to see that he looked more like his old self.

After tea, Angus sat down in his favourite chair by the fire and picked-up the local paper. He started at the back, as he usually did, scanning the adverts.

‘Well
now, this is a bit of news.'

‘What's that?' Rona sat down opposite him with her mending basket.

‘Harefield Farm—up for sale next week by public roup,' he said. ‘There's five-hundred acres and two cottar houses—I reckon they'll get a good price. Is that not the farm that belongs to young Callum's family?'

‘Yes,' said Rona coolly. ‘It could well be.'

Angus looked sharply across at her. It was some time since young Callum had called at the house—had he and Rona fallen out, he wondered. A pity, if so. He'd liked the lad with his fresh, open face and hearty laugh.

Rona could almost feel her heart thudding. Why was Callum's father selling up? And what would that mean for Callum?

But it doesn't matter to me, she told herself. Ever since they'd had that disagreement—when she had won the beauty competition—they had been like strangers. Sometimes she met him in the town and he'd wave or say, ‘hello', but that was all. And once she had seen him talking to a fair-haired girl at the bus stop, talking and laughing as if they were very good friends.