Highland Fling (22 page)

‘About why I’m a VA?’ Jenny took another sip of whisky, aware that the Dalmain House whisky she consumed so much of was very poor stuff compared to this soft, straw-coloured drink. ‘The firm I worked for went bust. The workers, me included, were all dumped, with nothing, not even our last month’s pay cheque. The bosses all walked away with a small fortune and started up another business. I decided I wanted to be in control of my own destiny from then on.’

‘And will you mind going back to working on your own, after you’ve been working here with other people?’

It was a worryingly pertinent question. Life had been extremely difficult and high pressure since she’d been in Scotland, and while she couldn’t really say she’d loved every minute, she had felt totally alive. The thought of the Home Counties, Henry, and all that entailed, did seem very flat and pointless.

‘I don’t know. I don’t have much choice in the matter.’

‘You could be proactive about it. You could demand to be made manager of the mills.’

She frowned. ‘I don’t think so. That job should go to Kirsty – she’s brilliant, but has never been allowed responsibility – if there is such a job, and the whole place doesn’t go belly up.’

‘Why did it get into such a state, do you think?’

‘The mill? Well, I don’t really know, but I don’t think Philip, the owner, ever really had much interest in it. His answer was to just borrow money and get through the next few months. He wouldn’t ever look at what the basic problem was.’

‘And what was that?’

‘Well, ifs only my opinion, and I haven’t been there five minutes, but I think he should have stopped trying to produce what everyone else produced, only less profitably, and look for other, more unusual markets. Diversify, in other words.’

‘Mm. It’s an interesting concept.’

‘Only if you’re interested in mills, which I don’t expect you are.’ One of her other Home Counties rules was that you took it in turns to do the talking, at least, if you were a woman. In Jenny’s experience, men usually felt this meant the woman saying, ‘Yes, Henry,’ every so often. ‘So, what brought you to the area?’

‘It’s a long story. If I tell it, you’ll probably go to sleep again.’

‘Try me – but don’t take offence if I do. I’ve had far too much to drink.’

He laughed. ‘Well, there isn’t a lot. I work from
home, which is why I’m free to live where I like, and I love this area. It’s where my mother’s family come from. And I’ve always wanted to become a member of a mountain rescue team.’

‘But I thought you told me you were on holiday? That first time?’

‘I’d taken the day off.’

Jenny frowned. ‘So you came up here just so you could join a mountain rescue team. Why are you so keen?’

‘That story will definitely send you to sleep.’

‘Go on,’ she prompted softly. ‘I don’t feel nearly so sleepy now. Unless you’d rather not tell me about it.’

He frowned. ‘Strangely, I don’t think I would mind telling you, although I never usually talk about it at all.’

‘Go on.’

‘I was about fourteen. A friend and I decided we’d go up Snowdon. We made all the preparations. He’d been up before, said it was easy. A train runs up there, for God’s sake, but at the last moment, he couldn’t come. Can’t remember why now, but I decided to go on my own. Pure bravado, I expect. I’d told the people I was staying with – they were keen hill-walkers – that I was going to climb Snowdon, and I didn’t want people to think I’d been scared or anything.’

He paused. Jenny said nothing. The secret to being a good listener was to listen, not to talk.

‘It was fine to begin with. You could see where the trail went. I wasn’t ill-equipped. I had proper walking boots, a good anorak, some sandwiches. But I missed the path, and the weather began to deteriorate. I got to a place where I couldn’t go down, only up, and
eventually I couldn’t do that any more. I found a ledge and sort of leant against it, clinging on for dear life. I shouted for help, it seemed the only thing I could do, but you can’t actually do that for very long, it takes too much energy.’

He paused. ‘Would you like another drink?’

Jenny shook her head. ‘What happened then?’

‘I kept on calling, whenever I could gather the strength. I knew I mustn’t go to sleep, but I was starting to lose my grip. I thought I was going to die.’ He frowned. ‘Strangely, I didn’t feel frightened of death, exactly, more of what would happen if I didn’t die.’

‘Did you think about your family? Your mother? Did she know you were out there? In danger?’

He shook his head. ‘My mother died when I was seven. There was only my dad. He was staying with friends abroad and he didn’t know where I was.’

‘But what about the friends you were staying with? Wouldn’t they have raised the alarm?’

‘They had no reason to. I’d gone there by train, and I was due to go back by train, but not until much later.’

‘God!’

Ross smiled. ‘Well yes, that thought did occur to me too.’

‘That there was one, or there wasn’t?’

He shrugged. ‘That he was there, but that it didn’t matter to the world if I lived or died.’

Jenny found her stomach tying itself in knots. Ross, on the other hand, seemed more relaxed. ‘Eventually, after a spell of calling, I thought I heard someone call back. I won’t go into the details, but four hours later, after a fairly hairy time, I was back down the
mountain. But if it hadn’t been for a lot of people risking their lives for me, I wouldn’t have been. It was their skill and training that saved my life, but it could have been at the expense of their own. They told me afterwards that I was in an exceptionally difficult situation – hard to get me from the bottom, harder to get me from the top.’

‘So, what happened?’

‘It’s all a bit of a blur. I was starting to suffer from hypothermia by that time. I spent the night in hospital, under observation, and in the morning I went back to the friends I was staying with. They had been told what had happened, and were pretty shocked. They rang my father, thinking he’d want to fly home and pick me up, but he didn’t.’

‘Why not?’

He shook his head slightly and turned his glass round. ‘I don’t know. I was out of danger by then. Perhaps he felt there was no point in putting a stop to his holiday when I was OK.’

Jenny didn’t respond. Her own father had been dead for four years now, but she knew that while he was alive, there would be no journey he wouldn’t undertake for her, no holiday plans he wouldn’t break.

Ross sighed. ‘Now, I’ve talked far too much. Let me get you another of those.’ He picked up her glass and went with it to the bar.

Ross’s story clung to Jenny, as if she had been stuck on that mountain herself. The thought of the boy, alone on a peak, holding onto that ledge with his hands, steadily growing colder and weaker, wouldn’t leave her.

Ross came back with her whisky and a cup of coffee
for himself. Jenny blinked and tried to look bright and attentive. He smiled, as if touched by her effort but not convinced.

‘So, what happened then?’ She was determined to keep awake. ‘You obviously didn’t forswear mountains for ever. I would have done.’

‘I did for a bit, but no, I learnt to climb properly, and did it as a hobby for years. Although hill-walking is what I like best.’

‘Then?’

‘Then, when I was in a position to, like now, I wanted to give something back. I think I was embarrassed that my father didn’t do anything for the people who rescued me at the time. He seemed to think that it was their job, that they did it for the glory or something. So that’s why I tried to persuade the local team to take me on here.’

‘And have they?’

‘They will do. But I have to live here for a year before they’ll let me join.’

‘Do you have to do much training? Prove you’re fit?’

He shook his head. ‘They kind of assume that if hill-walking is your hobby, you are fit. But there are training exercises. I was given a very thorough interview by the team leader who finally said I could join if I commit myself to the area by living here.’

‘I would have thought they’d have been grateful for anyone willing and able to do it.’

‘For some teams, I’m sure that’s the case. But round here there’s a bit of competition for places.’

‘So why here? Why not in Snowdon?’

‘As I said, my mother’s family came from these parts.’ He stopped, as if there was more to tell.

Jenny didn’t press him, she just looked at him. She wanted nothing more than to take him in her arms. The irony of it didn’t escape her. She had wasted a lot of energy disliking this man.

He looked back at her. He seemed calm, relaxed. She, thinking of the fourteen-year-old boy whose father stayed on holiday with friends when his son had nearly died on a mountain, didn’t know if it was the boy she wanted to hug, or the man.

‘Do you see much of your father now?’ she asked.

He picked up the spoon lying in his saucer and traced a pattern on the table. ‘No. He lives abroad, and although I did travel a lot at one time, I only visit him about once a year.’ He regarded her, anticipating her reaction. ‘It doesn’t do to be too sentimental, Jenny. Life is tough, full of difficult decisions. It doesn’t help you make them if your mind is clogged up with emotion.’

She nodded, as if agreeing, but how, she wanted to ask, do you get rid of emotion? The feelings that well up, influencing your decisions? Sending you down paths you know you shouldn’t follow?

He didn’t answer her unspoken question. ‘I think I should get you back now. You look three-quarters asleep. I shouldn’t have kept you here talking.’

She looked at her watch. It took a little while for her to make sense of the hands, but she realised that although it felt like one or two in the morning, it was actually only eleven. ‘I don’t know why I’m so tired.’

He laughed. ‘I expect you’ve had a long day insulting customers, throwing coffee on them and boiling tomatoes. It takes it out of you.’

She wanted to snap back with some witty response,
but could only smile inanely. She countered the smile with a frown. ‘You know, I think I
should
go home now. While I still remember the way up to my bedroom.’ Then she put her elbows on the table and put her head in her hands and groaned. ‘Oh God!’

‘What?’ He sounded concerned, and put his hand on her shoulder.

‘I’ve just realised I walked out on everyone halfway through dinner. They’re probably all waiting up, just so they can shout at me. I wish there was a back way in.’

He left his hand on her shoulder. ‘Do you want me to come in with you and create a diversion, so you can slip away unnoticed?’

This made her smile. ‘Would you do that?’

‘Of course.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s all right. I’ll cope. It’s my problem, after all.’ She winced. ‘Although I do feel guilty! In fact, I don’t know why I agreed to come out with you in the first place! I abandoned Henry on his first night here and he’ll never forgive me. Oh hell!’

He stopped her putting her head back down on the table. ‘Come on. Let me get you back. If anyone looks like talking to you, I’ll divert their attention. Start a small fire, or something.’

He took her elbow, led her out of the pub, and helped her into the passenger seat of the Land Rover. She knew she was drunk, but she felt strangely safe with this man whom she hardly knew.

The drive back to Dalmain House was blissful and short. He stopped the Land Rover at the bottom of the drive.

‘I’ll sneak along and find out if people are still up. If
they are, we can walk to the house, and get you in quietly.’

‘There are dogs …’

‘That’s all right. You go in – you’ve got a key?’ She nodded. ‘And if the dogs come, I’ll shut the door and then knock on it, pretend I’m asking the way, or something.’

She sighed. ‘That’s so kind.’

‘Wait here, and I’ll see if all that nonsense is necessary.’

It seemed like only moments before he was back.

‘They’re all still in the drawing room, at the front.’

‘Plan A then.’

‘Yup – just one thing first.’

He helped her down and pushed the heavy door to. Then he put his arms around her and hugged her until she could almost hear her ribs crack. His lips fused to hers in a kiss that made their first kiss seem like a peck on the cheek. She seemed almost to lose consciousness as whisky, desire and passion combined and sent her senses spinning off into the dark night. It went on for ever and was over in a moment.

He supported her as he set her down, and she realised her feet had actually been off the ground. She couldn’t think of what to say, how to send words from her brain to her mouth.

‘I’ll see you on Monday,’ he breathed into her hair.

‘Right.’ She couldn’t, just then, remember if they’d made an arrangement, but Monday seemed fine to her, if it couldn’t be Sunday, or even the rest of Saturday night. It was a lowering thought, but she knew that if he had laid his waxed jacket on to the cold, stony drive and suggested she laid with him on it, she wouldn’t
have hesitated. She burrowed in her bag for her key. As she found it, he took it from her.

She had just got through the door when the dogs started. Jenny fled up the stairs, hearing Ross shut the door and then bang on it, loudly. God, he was a nice man. She dumped her handbag on the hall table and hauled herself upstairs.

Just before she fell asleep, she realised he still hadn’t told her what he’d wanted to see her for. Not caring, a lunatic smile on her lips, she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Fourteen