Wild Melody (13 page)

income of our own. Mr Henderson made over a massive part of his personal

fortune and investments to finance the Trust.' They were standing by a

window looking into a big untidy back garden with an overgrown lawn.

Andrew sighed. 'You're going to work here, Catriona, so you might as well

know. Inflation has hit our income pretty hard. In fact there were hints that

we might have to do without help in the office, which is why, in a way, I was

surprised when you actually materialised.'

He smiled ruefully. 'But there will have to be cuts in other ways, and this I'm

afraid will mean goodbye yet again to aH-serts of alterations and

improvements I'd hoped for, although it's true to say I might not have got

them anyway.'

'But if the money was there . . .' Catriona was puzzled.

Andrew gave her a straight look. 'It's Mrs Henderson,' he said quietly. 'She

doesn't really approve of the centre and never has. She's quite open about

it—believes Heaven helps those who help themselves. And she doesn't

agree with the rather
ad hoc
way we rim things here. She calls the residents

inmates—not to their faces, I hasten to add—and feels I should summon

them for morning prayer and grace before meals.'

'But that isn't your province, surely.'

'In a way I suppose it is, from her point of view.' He dragged aside the collar

of his sweater, revealing the clerical collar beneath. 'I hope it doesn't put you

off.'

'Not in the slightest, although you're not like any minister I've ever met,'

Catriona laughed.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. 'I'll take that as a compliment, perhaps. Now

come and meet Jean. There'll be a fair crowd in the kitchen part of the house

and they'll eye you a bit at first. But don't try and push things and they'll

soon treat you as part of the furniture.'

Catriona did find the sudden silence that greeted her entrance with Andrew

rather unnerving. She was not used to being the cynosure of so many eyes,

but Jean's pleasant smile as she turned from the cooker wheare large pots of

an appetising-looking stew were simmering, soon compensated. She was a

slightly plump girl, in the way that good cooks often are, with softly curling

brown hair, and Catriona took to her at once.

It was soon arranged that Catriona should share the midday meal at the

centre in return for lending a hand with the serving and clearing away.

'I'm afraid you get roped in for everything in this place,' Jean said

apologetically. 'Have you had any nursery school experience, by any

chance?'

'Sorry, no,' Catriona laughed. 'Have you a lot of young ones in just now?'

'Yes, but it may not last. Things can change quite rapidly in a matter of days

as people readjust and move on.' Jean's tone was placid and Catriona

thought she was probably an ideal person to be in charge of such a fluid

set-up as this appeared.

Later, as she helped Jean set places at the long trestle . tables in the rather

bare dining room, she asked for some help in identifying the current crop of

residents.

'I could tell you their names, but I doubt if you'd remember. They'll start

approaching you themselves in a day or two and you'll probably get the

story of their lives along with their names—except for Mitch, that is.'

Catriona's interest sharpened. 'Who's Mitch?'

Jean laid a knife and fork rather precisely on the plastic table covering

before replying. 'That's just it. Who is she? She behaves as if she has

amnesia, but Andrew and I are not convinced. She doesn't show any of the

genuine symptoms. She arrived in the middle of the night three weeks ago

carrying a guitar in a case and that was all.'

'Does she play the guitar?'

'Not since she arrived, to my knowledge. If you go into the lounge you can't

miss her. She sits in the corner cuddling the darned thing. One of the

youngsters asked her to give them a tune soon after she arrived and she

nearly attacked him. Andrew had to step in fast.'

'That's quite an unusual happening, then?'

'Violence? Yes, thank heaven. When you consider what a mixed bag of

people we accommodate, it's a wonder that it doesn't happen more often.

Usually people welcome some sort of contact, however superficial, with the

other residents. But not Mitch. She's left severely alone now—and she

shows no sign of wanting to stand on her own feet or move on. It's a bad

sign, I'm afraid. We have had our tragedies in the past, but I don't want her

to be one of them.'

Jean's voice was serious and Catriona waited in silence for a moment or two

before asking, 'How do you know she's called Mitch?'

'We don't.' Jean lifted a tray of plastic beakers from a cupboard and began to

set one at each place. 'She had a nightmare one night soon after she came

here—woke everyone in her room screaming "Mitch, Mitch!" Wouldn't or

couldn't explain, of course, so we decided to call her that for reference

purposes.' She sighed. 'Andrew would like to put her in touch with Dr

Winters, the psychiatrist at the General, but he doesn't feel there would be

much point until we can make at least some sort of breakthrough with her

ourselves. She totally rejects the idea of any kind of treatment at the

moment, and we don't put pressure on anyone here—so checkmate.'

Catriona felt oddly curious about the enigmatic Mitch and was conscious of

real disappointment when the girl failed to show up for the midday meal.

After it was cleared away, she and Andrew began to make inroads on the

chaos in the office and she was amazed to find how quickly the time passed.

She got home before Sally, who was rehearsing a new play for a lunchtime

theatre club and had warned she might be late.

Catriona measured out spaghetti and assembled the ingredients for a

bolognese sauce, before deciding that a bath and a shampoo were what she

needed after her dusty afternoon. Half an hour later, she felt cleaner and at

peace with the world as she sat on the hearthrug in her old red dressing

gown, busying herself with hair-dryer and brush. When the doorbell

sounded, she groaned a little. Sally was prone to forget her key when other

considerations were paramount. She padded to the door and flung it wide,

gazing with astonishment at the young man standing awkwardly outside.

'Hello, Catriona,' Jeremy said eventually. 'I can see I've called at a bad time.

Can I come in?'

'I suppose so.' Catriona gave the belt of her robe a tightening tug and stepped

aside reluctantly to allow him into the flat.

He glanced around. 'Sally not in?'

'I'm expecting her at any time.' Catriona was amazed to find how controlled

her voice sounded in spite of the turmoil inside her. For weeks now she had

longed for this moment, had hungered for the sight and sound of him, and

now he was here.

He walked over to the fireplace and stood looking down at the rug. Catriona

had forgotten how attractive he was and she stood, her arms folded tensely

across her, watching him and remembering with fresh pain how happy they

had been together.

With a sigh, he pulled a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket

and offered them to her. She shook her head and he lit one for himself.

'Did—did you want something?' she asked diffidently, when he showed no

sign of breaking the silence. He turned and looked at her, the usually

laughing blue eyes dark with trouble.

'I shouldn't be here, Trina, and I know it, but I had to come. I've tried to keep

away ... I really have. I don't know what to say to you.'

'What is there to say?' Catriona asked wearily. 'It was my own fault, Jeremy.

Women's magazines are full of advice to girls not to take holiday romances

too seriously, and I did. You don't have to feel badly about it. . .' Her voice

tailed away miserably.

'But I do.' He came over to her and stood looking down into her face. 'I

wasn't just amusing myself. I loved you. I meant everything I said, and I

wanted to marry you . ..'

'I don't think you should say any more,' Catriona interrupted him. She felt

suddenly desperately uncomfortable. 'Don't forget you're engaged and . ..'

'Forget it!' He gave a short, mirthless laugh. 'I get little chance to do that.

Helen's been staying with us and she and Mother have done nothing but talk

about weddings and houses and furnishings until I could—break out.'

'Women like to talk of such things.' Catriona felt defensive about her own

sex. 'I'd have thought that was what you would have wanted too.'

'Me?' He shook his head. 'I don't know what I want, Trina. I had it all worked

out when I came back to London, but once I was back, everything started

to—crumble somehow. All there seemed to be was work and more work,

and when that eased off, Mother had Helen waiting.' He looked at her, his

mouth wry. 'I see it now. Why couldn't I see it then?'

Catriona lifted a hand and pushed it wearily through her still-damp hair. 'I

don't know what you want me to say,' she said unhappily. 'You've made

your choice, after all.'

'I think I had it made for me,' he said quickly.

'Then you must be a fool.' Catriona spoke sharply and without weighing her

words. 'It's a poor sort of man that lets his womenfolk decide his whole

future rather than stand on his own feet. .She was shocked into silence by the

expression on Jeremy's face. She could see at once that she had hurt and

offended him, and she realised with a pang that it was the first time that she

had ever been openly critical of him. It occurred to her, too, judging by what

Jason had once said, that open criticism by anyone of his actions had

probably been lacking in Jeremy's life up to now.

'I thought you'd understand at least.' He sounded wounded.

'There's not a lot to understand,' she spoke more pacifically. 'You did ask

Helen to marry you, after all, and people don't do that in this day and age

unless they're in love. If you're having second thoughts now, they'll pass, I

daresay.'

'I just don't know you like this.' His voice was genuinely perplexed.

'Perhaps I've had time to grow up a little since that summer in Torvaig.' She

tried to sound gentle, but some of the hurt of betrayal came through the

simplicity of her words.

'Is that what my dear uncle's been doing—helping you grow up?' he asked,

and she winced at the unexpected spite in his tone. This was a side of

Jeremy she had never seen before. She wanted to hit back at him, but she did

not know what to say. He was nearer the target than he knew, she thought

painfully.

'How did you come to meet him?'

'I was looking for you. Someone, your former landlady, gave me his

address.'

'Oh—yes, I'd forgotten.' He looked at her frowningly. 'But I still don't

understand ... I mean, you're hardly Jason's type.'

'Hardly,' she said. Her throat felt constricted. 'But then I did think I was

yours, and I was wrong about that too.'

He pitched his cigarette stub into an ash-tray and reached for her. 'Oh, Trina,

my sweet!'

She stepped backwards, trying to avoid his encircling arms in a kind of

panic. 'Jeremy—no! It's not right, please!'

He didn't listen. 'Trina, ever since that night I've been thinking of you—of

nothing else but you. Let me kiss you, sweetheart, please. I won't be able to

bear it otherwise.'

Even as his lips touched hers, Catriona heard, with her heart sinking, the

perennial cry of the spoiled child in his words. Oh, what was the matter with

her? She was in Jeremy's arms, his passionate kisses were raining on her

face. She should have been in the seventh heaven, and instead her

predominating impulse was to pull herself free.

'What's the matter?' He stared down at her, his face flushed, puzzled by her

lack of response.

'What about Helen? That's the matter,' Catriona said, but she was not even

sure that was true any more.

'I'll think of something. Sweetheart, you must trust me.' He tried to take her

in his arms again, but she evaded his embrace.

I did trust you, something inside her was screaming. Trusted you enough to

leave everything I knew and come hundreds of miles to this

concrete—prison of a city! Her hand crept to her mouth as if she had spoken

the words aloud. She knew she had been unfair to her new home and that the

changes in her life had certainly not been entirely for the worse. She thought

of the centre and the challenges it presented, and of Jean and Andrew with

whom she might become close friends. She thought of Sally's

companionable gaiety. And then her mind closed down, refusing to yield to

the next image which came unbidden and unwelcome, thrusting away the

dark sardonic face of the man who had taught her in one brief lesson the