The House on the Shore (54 page)

Anna glanced at her watch
—
five forty-five.
T
he ti
de would be on the turn by now.

She didn’t have long to wait before a yacht sailed into view, its blue spinnaker catching the breeze as it rounded the headland and headed north.
She could just make out the shape of
a figure behind the helm.

Tears blinded her eyes.
She dashed them away.
If she lived to be eighty, s
he would never forget a single detail of his
handsome
face.
Her thought
s filtered back to the day she
met him, the firm set of his jaw, his intense brown eyes
, and his tall, lean body
.
M
ost of all
,
she
would remember
the warm touch of his body next to hers, an
d the smouldering passion they
shared.
The dull ache of desire filled her senses.

Head bowe
d, her body slumped in despair
and
her heart ach
ed
, she remained
where she was until
the yacht
disappeared from
view.

Luke was right.
W
hat difference did it make where she wrote?
Cape Cod, Scotland, anywhere.
If only she’d been less proud and told him so,
she coul
d be with him on the yacht.

But she hadn’t.
And she wasn’t
.

Cold and stiff, and her eyes nearly swollen shut from her
tears,
she
stumbled
back down the hill, the dogs fol
lowing faithfully at her heels.

Back at the croft she immersed herself in her manuscript.
She lost all track of time.
Hours became days and days became weeks, until
she reached the final chapter.

Six weeks we remained at sea.
Conditions onboard were wretched.
The steerage passengers suffered most.
Confined to narrow berths, they were expected to work despite having paid for their passage.
The stench from below decks was vile and pervaded every inch of the ship.

We endured violent storms and rough seas,
smallpox
and dysentery.
Eighteen children died
,
many adults also.
Yet Niall and I survived.
Out of the two hundred who joined the ship at Ullapool, one hundred and twenty ragged souls stepped ashore in Newfoundland
.

As my husband was of gentle birth we were fortunate.
Unlike many of the Highlanders who left Scotland that July, we did not sail into a life of servitude.
We had coin and within a few weeks had purchased a small plot of land.
With the aid of our clansmen we built a log cabin, making it our home.
W
hilst I longed for the Sight to come to me so that I might see our future, it never did.

This new land is not Scotland, nor never shall be.
W
e shall stay here until we walk the earth no more.
Then and only then, shall we return to the hills and glens of our homeland.

Anna leaned back in her chair and read the words on the page.
A lump formed in her throat.
While she couldn’t comprehend how the victims of the Clearances had felt at leaving their homeland, she
underst
oo
d
how it felt to be parted from someone you truly loved.

She stared out of the window.
The wind had wiped the loch into a frenzy of
white-capped
waves.
Autumn was nearly over and
she had
to decide whether to stay in the croft or move back to Edinburgh.

With her manuscript complete and ready to submit to a literary agent, there was only one other thing she felt she must do.

And that was to write to Luke.

She got up from the kitchen table, threw another log into the firebox of the Aga
.
She
filled the kettle
and waited for it to boil
.
There were so ma
ny things she ought to tell him.
Morag’s continued
recovery
,
and the fact that she ha
d finished her manuscript, but she knew
he would want
to hear
about those
.
The shrill whistle of the kettle interrupted her thoughts
.
She made a mug of tea
and carried it
back to the table.
Rhona, sensing the sadness of her mood, came and sat
by her
feet.
Anna reached down and absent
ly patted the silky black head.

It was only when the sun started to slip below the horizon and the kitchen filled with shadows, that she felt able to put pen to paper.

Her
first
draft
waffled on for pages, never really saying what
it
should.
As the mound of screwed up paper balls grew in number, Anna despaired of ever finding the
right
words
to explain her feelings
.
There was only one way to do this,
and
that was to keep the letter s
hort
,
and write from the heart.

Darling Luke,

T
hank you for giving me the best summer of my life.
At the time I thought I was
d
oing the right thing in letting you go, but I was wrong.
I miss you more and more each day.
If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, please write back
.

Love, Anna
.

She read the
letter
a second time
then added her signature to the bottom of the page.
S
eal
ing
the envelope
, she
placed it on top of the box containing her manuscript.
If she hurried, she could get
it in the mail
before
the post office
closed
.

***

Morag returned the last sheet of paper to the box and wiped her eye.
“It’s a grand story, lass.
You have a fine way with words.
Thank you for letting me read it.”

“I hope the agent agrees with you.
I
posted
a copy
this afternoon
.”

“You’ll find a publisher, I know you will.”

“Is that the Sight talking or you, Morag?”

“Me.
It’s a strange thing—I’ve not had another vision since the accident.”

Anna smiled.
“I would have thought that was a good thing, not a bad one.”

“Maybe.
Pass me that knitting needle will you.
This cast is driving me
crazy
.
I’ll be glad
when the darn thing comes off.”

“When do you see the specialist again?”

Morag slipped the n
eedle down the side of the cast
and ferociously scratched her healing skin.
“Next week.
I’m fed up with visiting the hospital.
Three operations are enough for anybody.
But it was such a complicated fracture, I’m lucky to be walking again, even if I do have to use a crutch.”

“H
opefully you’ll be able to throw it away soon.”

“I hope so.
All this sitting around doing nothing is making me fat!”

“I’ll admit your face has filled out, but you’re certainly not fat.
Have you heard if the estate has been sold yet?”

“Sandy told me a few folk have shown interest, but with an asking price of over
three
million pounds, I don’t think it will be sold anytime soon.
He also mentioned that a date has been set for that man MacKinnon’s trial.”

“I had a letter from the court.
I’ve been called as a witness.
I’m not looking forward to seeing him
or Alistair
again, even if it is from the opposite side of the courtroom.”

“What about Luke
?
W
on’t they need his testimony, too?”

“I asked Inspector Drury about that.
Apparently they’ve arranged for Luke to give evidence by a video link.
He won’t be attending the hearing.”
Anna felt an odd twinge of disappointment.
It would have been her one and only chance to ask for his forgiveness and tell him she’d changed her mind.

“What a pity.
I would
like
to
see
him again.
He left in such a hurry I didn’t get chance to say goodbye or thank him for rescuing me.”

Anna looked away.
The misery of her last nig
ht with Luke still haunted her.

“He was anxious to get home.”

Morag stared a
t her friend, but said nothing.

“Besides, it’s a long way to come,” Anna continued, “
I thought I told you—he
mentioned
something about having to get ready for an exhibition
.
”

“I still t
hink he should attend in person
.
I’d hate to think of MacKinnon getting off on a technicality.”

“He won’t.
Neither will Alistair.
Inspector Drury assures me there’s more than enough evidence to put them both away for a very long time.”

“Good!
It’s nothing less than either of them deserve.”

Eight Months later.

Morag stared at the painting in her hand.
“I don’t see why you couldn’t wrap it up and just post it back to him.”

“I wouldn’t entrust it to the postal service
,
”
Anna replied.
“I
t’s far too valuable.
It’s the painting that inspired Luke to visit Scotland
.
”
Even now after all these months
,
it still hurt when someone mentioned his name.
It hurt even worse when she said it herself.

“I think he said he found it in a gallery in a place called Bar Harbor.”
She wrapped a suit in tissue paper
and placed it in her suitcase.

“
It’s an awful long way
to go just to return a painting, b
ut see
ing as you’re going to New York
,
I suppose it makes sense to deliver it in person.
Have you noticed something?
There’s no signature.
I wonder who painted it.”

“I wondered if it was a Jamieson.
It looks very similar to his work.”

“Jamie who?”

“F. E. Jamieson.
He’s famous for painting Highland landscapes and coastal scenes.
H
e
painted under other names
,
too.
There’s quite a collection of his work in the Nationa
l Gallery
in Edinburgh.
Do you think I should take this?”
Anna held up a chocolate silk cocktail dress.

Morag nodded enthusiastically.
“You never know what events your agent will expect you to attend.
Are you excited?
You must be.
After all, not every first-time author is lucky enough to snag a New York literary agent.
Tell me again, why do they want to see you?”

Anna let out a sigh.
She’d lost count of the number of times she explained the reason behind her trip.
“They want to discuss
the proposal for
my next book,
and it’s easier to do it face to
face than over the telephone.”

Morag continued to stare at the painting.
“Morag, are you listening?”

Morag snapped back to the present.
“What did you say, dear?”