The Road to Rowanbrae (26 page)

Understanding her melancholia, Gregor tried to cheer her up by talking about the Findlaters, whom Mysie had asked to be their witnesses in the Registry Office. Within minutes, she was laughing along with him as he reminded her of some of the droll remarks Jess and Jake had come out with when they were in the hotel having a special meal afterwards. They didn't try to put on a show of manners,' he smiled, ‘and I can see why you have always liked them, Maisie. They don't pretend to be anything other than they are – good, solid country folk.'

‘They've always been good to me,' Mysie said, earnestly. ‘Jess made friends with me the first day I was at Rowanbrae.'

‘It probably seemed strange to them that I am a bridegroom for the first time at fifty-nine, but they didn't let it show, and, anyway, I feel quite young today.'

‘You'll always be young to me, whatever age you are. And don't forget I'll be forty-six at the beginning of September.'

‘You look the same as you did when I thought you were only seventeen, and you said you were twenty-seven, remember?'

‘You teased me and said it was really old.'

‘Oh, Maisie, after all the years I've dreamt of it, I can't believe that we are actually married.'

Unaccountably, she felt a rush of shyness, but smiled as she said, ‘Neither can I, Gregor, dear. But we really are husband and wife now, and … why are we wasting time talking?'

P
ART
T
HREE

Chapter Twenty-four

1935

The kitchen of the small semi-detached house in Marquis Road, Woodside, was festooned with dripping baby clothes, the sink was clogged with potato peelings and tea leaves as usual, and dirty dishes littered the draining board. Sandy Duncan turned on his wife in exasperation. ‘Good God, Libby, this place is like a dump. Do you never think of cleaning it up?'

‘You ken fine what a handfu' the bairn is.' Ash dropped from the cigarette between the girl's vermillion lips as she spoke.

‘You promised you'd change, but you're still a bloody slut.'

‘If your hoity-toity clients could only hear you now,' she jeered, ‘they wouldna think so much o' you.'

He drew a deep breath. ‘Libby, I'm sorry for saying that, but I can't take much more of this. Please, for Sam's sake if not for mine, won't you at least make an effort to be clean?'

Flinging her cigarette butt into the fire, she stood up. ‘I will try, honest I will, but … Sandy, darlin', you havena kissed me since you come hame.'

He flung his arms round her and kissed her. ‘Oh, Libby,' he sighed, as her soft body arched against his. He couldn't stay angry with her for long, and she knew it.

It was some time later before he helped her to tidy up the kitchen, smiling ruefully when she said, ‘You wouldna want onybody else but me, would you?'

Their three-month old son chose that moment to tell them he was hungry, and Sandy watched his wife unbuttoning her blouse after he lifted the infant out of the pram. The full breasts with the dark circles round the pink nipples never failed to arouse him, but he had known all along that what he felt for her was purely physical. At other times, he was so irritated by her slovenly ways that he felt like strangling her, but with any luck she would improve when Sam was less demanding. He
was
a handful, but he was the most beautiful baby in the whole world, with his black fuzzy hair and huge blue eyes. He was perfect, Sandy mused, and more than compensated for everything else, including the break with his mother.

Libby, another cigarette in her mouth, watched his changing expressions, fully aware that he had come perilously near to having a proper row with her earlier. She knew that her only hold on him was her body. If he ever tired of her, if he ever found somebody else, he wouldn't think twice about leaving her. Glancing down at her infant, suckling from her as if he'd been starved for the past twenty-four hours, she felt better. Sandy would surely never abandon his son, but it might be best not to give him any cause to quarrel with her again. He might just walk out on her if he was angry.

‘Was … were …' she corrected herself because Sandy often frowned at her manner of speaking, ‘were you busy the day?'

‘Very busy. You know, I can't understand Gregor. He's been giving me more and more of his clients lately. It's almost as if he were intending to retire, or fade out, but I don't mind. It's extra money for me, and I'm in demand now. People have even been asking for me, and telling me I've been recommended by their friends. I believe I could set up on my own already, but I suppose I should wait a year or so yet.'

‘You don't really like Gregor Wallace, do you?' It puzzled Libby that he was still working with his stepfather when he had fallen out with his mother.

‘I don't dislike him, either,' Sandy said, honestly. ‘I was upset when he told me they were married, because he'd never mentioned it before, but, after all, he's my bread and butter.'

‘Do you never think of making it up with your mother?' It didn't matter to Libby that they'd had nothing to do with the woman for months, but now that she was Gregor Wallace's wife, it might be a good thing to keep in with her.

‘I'll never make it up with her. How could you expect me to, after the things she said about you?'

Libby left it at that. She had kept the cutting announcing Gina's wedding, so they could always borrow from her if they ever ran short. Gina's in-laws had a big house in Cults, so they must be rolling in money.

Gina Bisset was quite happy with life. Her husband adored her and gave her everything she asked, so the two wardrobes were packed with beautiful dresses, coats and costumes, dozens of pairs of shoes with handbags and hats to match. The only fly in the ointment was Campbell's mother, who constantly asked, in her supercilious manner, ‘And when will we be hearing the patter of tiny feet?' Gina had no intention of having babies, even if the Bissets wanted her to have a son to carry on their name. They couldn't honestly expect her to spoil her figure? She was very proud of her flat stomach and firm young breasts, which she studied in the mirror every morning for any signs of sagging. She was only seventeen, and it should be a long time before that happened, but one never knew.

When it was time to dress for dinner, she laid down her book and ran upstairs. The bedroom had been tidied since she left it in the morning – Campbell had told their maid that she did not have to tidy up after his wife, although Gina considered that it was what the girl was paid for – and she went out on to the landing to shout, ‘Molly, run a bath for me.'

After hauling dress after dress out of both wardrobes, she decided on the navy crepe-de-chine with powder blue ribbon slotted through the embroidered holes round the neck. She didn't look her best in it, but she wasn't going anywhere tonight. Then she rummaged in the dressing-table for her favourite brassiere and suspender belt and left the drawer half open with items of underwear hanging out. In the bathroom, she shook more than half a jar of bath salts into the water before she stepped in and lay back, letting the fragrant steam envelop her. This was the life. She was born to be a lady, no matter what the true circumstances of her birth were. But she did not want to be reminded of that – it was too revolting.

Returning to the bedroom, she fastened the narrow suspender belt and rolled on her stockings. The luxurious sensuousness of the pure silk against her legs cheered her considerably. At school, before her marriage, she had worn thick, black woollen stockings in winter, and white, cotton three-quarter-length socks in summer, and this was so pleasurably different. She smiled as she drew on the frilled French knickers which drove Campbell wild. At first, he had treated her as if she were a fragile doll, which was rather nice, but lately he'd been less gentle, and she liked that better. She had been inexperienced when they married, but it hadn't taken her long to learn how to fire his passions, and it amused her to watch him fighting a losing battle to keep them under control.

She had just gone downstairs, all the discarded dresses left scattered across the bed, when Campbell came home, taking her in his arms and making her heartbeats quicken with his kisses.

When they went into the dining room, he said, ‘Gina, I think we should invite some friends in one evening – yours and mine.'

She knew that he was anxious to show her off, but she didn't want any competition. ‘My friends are still at school, but ask yours. I'd like to meet them.'

A week later, Gina was revelling in the admiration of her husband's friends, all bachelors and all around twenty. She could tell that they envied Campbell by the way they ogled her, and before the evening came to an end, she had perfected the knack of knowing when to stop flirting with them. With some, it was sooner than others, but she could recognise the danger point and she didn't want to go beyond that and jeopardise her marriage – not yet, anyway.

When they went to bed, about 1.30 am, Campbell had drunk so much that he was incapable of sustaining his passion, and Gina lay awake beside him, hurt and frustrated, and wishing that she had taken up the slurred, leering offers of one of the guests.

A lump came into Gregor's throat as he looked at his sleeping wife. She seemed so young, so innocent, and yet … He had sworn to himself, on the day they were married, that he would forget all about her past life, but sometimes he couldn't help remembering. Every word she had told him was emblazoned on his mind. It wasn't Jeems Duncan that bothered him – she had been forced into that union – it was Doddie Wilson who aroused the jealousy in him. According to Maisie, he had been young and very good-looking and she had loved him desperately.

She still loved Doddie, Gregor felt occasionally. She never spoke about it, but he had noticed a far-away, dreamy look in her eyes if they were out with friends and anyone mentioned having had a relative killed in the war. It was as if she was remembering her lost love, but it was awful to be jealous of someone who had been dead for so many years. He would have fought tooth and nail for his wife if it had been a man of flesh and blood, but he could do nothing against a ghost.

‘Gregor.'

He started, not realising that he had fallen into a brown study. ‘Yes, my dear?'

‘What were you thinking about? You looked so serious.'

‘I was thinking how much I love you, and that
is
serious.'

Putting her hand up lazily to stroke his cheek, she said, ‘Yes, it is, and I love you, very seriously.' They laughed, but Mysie's heart was full. She
did
love Gregor, with a deeper, more mature love than she had felt for Doddie, but the physical side wasn't so important to her now, and her children occupied her thoughts for most of the time. Gina had been far too young to have her illusions shattered by having her illegitimacy thrown at her. Perhaps she should have been told earlier, but it was hardly something a person could bring up casually, and Sandy hadn't thought before he came out with it so brutally.

Assailed by a desperate longing to know how they were, she said, ‘Gregor, are you sure Sandy never tells you anything?'

‘Quite sure. I wouldn't lie to you, my dear. He tells me nothing about his home life, and I don't want to ask. If he thinks I'm trying to interfere, he may leave and start on his own, and he's not quite ready for that yet. He seems to be happy enough with Libby, and that's all I can tell you.'

‘Oh, I hope he
is
happy – Sandy's the kind who can put on a front, you know. And Gina was too young to be married.'

‘She was older than you were when you …'

‘That was different. She'd been mollycoddled all her life and it must have been a terrible shock to find out …'

‘Yes, it must have been a shock,' Gregor interrupted, ‘but Gina's no hothouse flower. She knows how to get her own way, and, to be quite honest, it's her poor devil of a husband I'm sorry for.'

Summoning up a smile, Mysie thought that, as loving as her husband was, he would never understand.

The rattle of the letter-box made her jump out of bed. ‘Oh, what'll the postie think? It's eight o'clock and the curtains aren't open.'

Gregor swung his legs to the floor. ‘If you hadn't been so stubborn, we'd have had a maid to open the curtains. Anyway, what does it matter who knows we're still in bed?' His last words were lost on Mysie, who was already halfway downstairs.

‘It's from Belle Duff in Burnlea,' she told him, flatly, when he found her in the kitchen reading a letter. ‘Jake Findlater's dead.' Although he had met Jake only once – on the day of his own wedding – he felt a wave of sadness sweep over him, and could see by the tears in his wife's eyes how much the man's death had affected her. ‘Let me read the letter, my dear.'

‘Dear Mysie,' Belle had written, ‘Jess asked me to write and let you know Jake is dead. He got a shot of Fingask's tractor to clear one of his parks but he did not know how to work it and it turned over on top of him. She is biding with me just now for she is awful upset and the frunial is on Wednesday. Yours truly, Belle Duff.'

‘Poor Jake,' Mysie whispered. ‘If I'd known sooner, I'd have gone to comfort Jess, but the funeral's today.'

‘I'll drive you,' Gregor said, quickly. ‘We'll go as soon as we have had breakfast and got dressed. I'll phone my office to let them know I won't be in.'

In less than an hour, they were on their way, Mysie sitting silently until they turned off the main road and were nearing Burnlea. ‘It feels funny coming back here after so long. My stomach's going round and round. Oh, this is Wellbrae we're coming to now, just beyond the church.'

She was running into the house before Gregor got out of the car, and her heart contracted when she saw Alice Thomson and Belle Duff standing one on each side of the seated Jess, who looked old and lost. Her mournful eyes brightening slightly when she saw her old friend, Jess rose stiffly to her feet, and Alice and Belle drew back to let them embrace, but it was some time before they were capable of talking.

‘He was only oot o' the hoose for aboot five minutes,' Jess gulped, 'an' I went to the door to see how he was gettin' on. Oh, Mysie, it was awfu' … I saw it an' I couldna dae a thing.'

‘Dinna think about it, Jess.'

Mysie was aware that no words of comfort or expressions of sympathy would ever put it out of the poor woman's mind.

‘I'm very sorry, Jess,' Gregor murmured as he came over to shake her hand. ‘I didn't know Jake well, but I liked what I saw of him. If there is anything I can do …?'

‘There's naething naebody can dae, but I'm grateful to you for bringing Mysie oot for his frunial.'

Noticing that her eyes were brimming, Gregor turned to Belle. ‘What time is the funeral, Mrs …?'

‘I'm Belle Duff, an' the minister'll be here at quarter by twelve for the service. You'll tak' a cuppie tea to heat you?'

The churchyard being so near Wellbrae, everything was being done from there, and the mourners, mostly strangers to Mysie, returned there after the minister had said a prayer and the coffin had been lowered into the grave. Belle went over to her when Gregor was speaking to Jess. ‘You're lookin' weel, Mysie. I was real pleased for you when Jess tell't me you'd got wed again, but I couldna understand how …?' She stopped in confusion.