Sun Dance (17 page)

“Anthony, it’s good to meet yah. Your sterling reputation goes before you,” the Chairman’s reference to currency as an indicator of merit, bordered on a faux pas. The hand grip lingered, a show of bonhomie covered two men attempting to assess each other from behind dark glasses. Choosing to ignore the gaff, Anthony responded with a wide smile, “You too. I know, Chairman you operate a highly progressive energy consortium, I’m sure we’ll have common ground.”

“Call me, Andy, please. Anyhow, how’d yah like this lil’ol’ sailing packet, man?” Anderson’s arm swept round the cabin as he mocked the native twang. Waving his visitors towards the push-button leather easy chairs, Nuen’s Chairman and principle shareholder tapped one side of his nose, “Handy office for keeping an eye on the offshore perks.” The trio laughed and any slight tension passed as they bandied pleasantries. Balancing an array of elaborate silver utensils on one hand, the crewman set down and poured the gentlemen’s morning coffee. A “thank you, Marley,” abruptly dismissed him.

Carefully steering the conversation, Andrew turned to the ex-politician, “You see a good deal of the Middle East these days, Anthony, the Gaza problem, I don’t suppose it’ll be solved until Hamas is neutralised and even then what do you do with these people?”

“Please, spare me the Anthony, friends call me, Tone, don’t know why.” Too wily to be drawn easily, he picked up his cup, “Yes, I’m out there quite a bit, on a peace mission. It’s my strong suit,” and draining the last of his coffee, “Naturally your country’s continued support for Israel is a vital factor in that issue and for the wider area too, given Israel’s present nuclear capability and the potential development of weapons elsewhere in the region. Don’t forget, the Pakistan/India situation is an equal worry but that’s not my remit,” adding, “for the moment.”.

“Tone, I’m glad you mention the nuclear situations we all face,” the Chairman didn’t miss his opening. “Josh may have told you, Nuen is a major player on this front, worldwide in fact--- Turkey, the Saudi’s, and the rest, apart from Iran, that is.“ Tone nodded. Andrew concentrated his remarks, “Unfortunately we aren’t making development progress in the U.K. as fast as we would like to do. Your renewable energy lobby is gaining ground and I’m told especially so in Scotland. Damn Scottish Nationalists are saying no to nuclear power, they even want to close our joint nuclear submarine base. Think of the jobs that would lose.”

“That won’t happen, Andrew,” the politician was adamant. “The Scots have just lost their two biggest banks in taxpayer bailouts. Don’t forget the Westminster treasury holds the Scottish purse,” and with a schoolboy grin, “or should I say, their sporran. No seriously, their independence is holed below the waterline. This nuclear game is safe with London and I’m sure your good ship Nuen won’t go down either.” The trio laughed heartily as the ex-politician leant forward confidentially. “More importantly gentlemen, there are well advanced plans for the next generation of nuclear facilities in Britain. Sure planning impediments have to be eased back a little, but tendering isn’t too far away,” and looking intently at the pair, “you may well be interested?”

Anderson and Goldberg exchanged a swift glance, “Well, Tone, as you’re well aware the capital market is a mite difficult at the moment.” Sir Joshua entered the conversation, “I fly into Saudi next week. The pile of petro-dollars isn’t as deep as it was at $150 a barrel and believe me there’s quite a queue but swapping oil for uranium has its appeal, make no mistake, gentlemen we’ve got to move smartly before these solar farm projects begin to corner too much cash. Spain, Australia, central Africa, they’re waking up to its potential. Climate change and an about turn in policy at the White House are both on their side.”

Goldberg glanced again at his Chairman, “Let’s not forget, on the plus side, printing money is taking off. Governments have no option; they’re just bankers with a heavy millstone they don’t know how to manage and with half the national workforce in the bureaucracy, they’re running out of tricks. There’s never been a sounder time to gather up as much borrowing as possible, interest’s down at a saver’s suicide rate. Printing money, supply and demand, too many readies sloshing around,” Sir Joshua’s eyes gleamed. “Just wait for inflation to take off and it will. That cuts through your debts like a knife through cheese. If Nuen were to hold some useful energy and nuclear weapon contracts,” he looked from one to another, the inference of his unfinished sentence more potent than words and better suited to a political mindset.

His listeners sat in reflective silence, until broken by ‘Tone’. “I fly into Jerusalem next week, Josh, but I can easily come home via Bahrain, or Ryadh, if it’s any help.” Goldberg looked pleased, “I’m sure we have mutual friends out there.” His voice took on a slightly aggressive edge, “By the way, Tone, I’ve warned you before, this U.K. problem with radioactive waste disposal, remember meeting the Swiss scientist, that report we saw? If we’re not careful and its details blow to the Greens it could stymie the whole job. I take it the man and his report are still out there somewhere?”

The ex-politician moved uneasily, “Truth is I’m not too sure on that point, but don’t worry. I’ll follow that up the moment I’m back in London.”

With an appraising glance at his Chairman, Goldberg pressed on in a surprisingly sharp manner, “Look here, Tone, Nuen’s going for underground waste storage with potential for handling international shipments. The development site we require demands three main criteria, a stable rock formation, minimum population density, suitably remote and thirdly,” his normally evasive eyes fastened on the politician, “an area already under government ownership, so if needs be we can move fast with the least involvement of meddling planners or public enquires and such like delaying tactics which these bloody environmentalist trot out. National security is always a useful screen, wards off this blasted Freedom of Information nonsense.”

Seldom was the scientist so outspoken; it created a moment’s void. Andrew responded, hoping to cover any embarrassment, “Gentlemen, fresh coffee? Marley!” he shouted. The crewman materialised in seconds. He’s too damn close, could be eavesdropping. Showing his displeasure the Chairman snapped, “Tell the chef we’ll take lunch under the awning in twenty minutes and get about your duties.” The Caribbean face remained impassive, “Yes sir.”

Enough business for the moment, guessed Anderson. As the trio responded to the crewman’s quiet words, “Lunch is served, sir,” and moved to the companionway, he put an arm on the ex-politician’s shoulder, “How would a seat on Nuen’s board appeal to you, Tone?”

“That’s a most interesting thought, “replied the ex-politician, smiling.

The woman stood up and lifting a pail of frothing milk, she put an arm across the cow’s back. Dancing eyes smiled, deep set penetrating eyes, full of the rays of an evening sun that bounced off the sea. Her mass of golden hair caught its light and fell glowing on her shoulders in natural waves. Wild as the passions I’d known these months, her steady gaze was the contact of those fleeting seconds, that first charged meeting when our eyes saw into each other came cascading, overflowing with the emotions of that moment. How often she’d been with me, had remained a fantasy helping me through the shadows, those depressing weeks when emptiness devoured my thoughts like the wasting corpse I saw myself to be. I’d longed to glimpse her eyes again, know the woman who lay behind that secret moment.

I remained motionless, staring into the eyes which had been my source of strength. In daydreams I’d stroked her hair, held this woman to me, told all, confessed her eyes had kept me living. Fulfilling wish or inexplicable turn of fate, I cared nothing of that; the beauty of her eyes had brought me to this meeting. They were the heart of my dreams.

Smiling eyes, her cheeks pink and bright, she patted the cow, “This is Morag.” No expansive hello, no mighty expression of surprise or astonishment, simple. We stood staring at each other, savouring the meeting, the immediate joining of a presence between us, tangible and lovely. After a long pause she held out her hand and very quietly, “and I’m Eilidh.”

Without leaving her eyes, I stepped forward, searching for the words which had so often come to me in fantasy embraces. Instead I took her hand in silence and held it, shy and nervous.

“May I carry the pail?” How pathetic, childish. Rich yellow milk frothed over its rim. The woman’s arms bare to her elbow, smooth and brown, just a plain blouse, open at the neck, a turquoise shade, it set off her golden hair truly as the green sea enhances the beaches of sunshine.

We walked towards the house. “How did you enjoy your visit to Sandray?” her voice, soft and musical, matching those I’d met in Castleton as I come off the ferry.

“One of life’s more unusual days; as revealing as it’s been rewarding,” I hated what I’d said the second it left my lips. I didn’t mean to sound formal, or evasive, I only wanted to pour out the whole inconceivable happenings. Framing adequate words became impossible. What had been for all these months an imaginary, unreachable woman on a tube train, was walking with me, on an island, on an evening slowly, so slowly, melting the Atlantic into purple.

Only little by little did I overcome shyness and glance openly at her face. A high forehead, neat aquiline nose, a slim jaw line, firm lips and shining skin, tanned and fresh. The strength of character shining through the arresting impact of her eyes failed to hide a girlish femininity. She carried her finely shaped head with the upward tilt I remembered so clearly. The attraction of the woman was riveting, instant and alluring, an arousal beyond any undemanding fascination.

Ella met us at the door, “You haven’t lost the knack of milking a cow, Eilidh,” and taking the pail from me, “Go you through, Eachan, you’re needing a wee toot, he’s through there. You’ll get supper in a little.” It was the first time she’d used the Gaelic of my name and warmth was in its saying. Dazed by the succession of events, I moved to the door, not wanting to leave Eilidh’s presence. She began helping Ella by sieving the milk into a bowl on the draining board beside the sink. “Away you go, you’re the best excuse he’s got tonight,” and her smiling eyes followed me.

“Come in boy.” Glasses were already on the dresser. Eachan poured with the hand of man not inclined to hain the bottle. Quite often in speaking to me they both mixed in words which they expected me to understand. I’d picked out the word ‘hain’. “It’s not Gaelic,” Ella had told me, “it means, to spare, to save something. I’m sure it came to us from the Norse folk. All about here have a touch of the Viking in their blood.”

“Here’s to a remarkable day, Eachan,” Raising the much needed dram and laughing quietly, “It wouldn’t surprise me if you told me Eilidh arrived by longboat this afternoon.”

“Look here a’bhalaich you’re not too far out, her father’s folk are related to Ella, she’s a far out cousin of Ella’s. Anyway, if my memory’s correct, quite a few grandfathers back, Eilidh’s forebear, a Harris man, a Norman MacLeod to name, escaped the slaughter after the Battle of Culloden and got a lift over the Minch on a Wester Ross fishing boat. A risky one for them both, the MacLeod fellow and the fisherman.”

The old man had the gift of bringing alive the atmosphere of bygone times. I listened engrossed, for as his story unfolded, voices from childhood echoed down a long corridor. “You see, an English Naval vessel was scouring the waters of the Hebrides putting the Redcoats, mostly English soldiers, ashore on each island. Many they suspected of being out for the Jacobite Cause, rightly or wrongly, they were shot without a trial. Others were transported on a one way ticket to a prison hulk anchored in the Thames. No way was it safe for him to return to Harris, so he, aye the MacLeod man, came ashore on Halasay and as luck would have it, the Navy ship had sailed north. Well, he wasn’t long ashore when he got his eye on a local girl and you know the way it is, so it’s on Halasay he settled. For sure, the MacLeods knew how to handle a longboat and that’s why Eilidh’s got the sea in her blood,” he winked at me. “So there you are, that’s Eilidh’s pedigree, but you’re safe enough boy, she only came round from Castleton with her dingy.”

I shook my head in wonderment. Memories, I sat on a stool beside an old woman, rocking back and forth as she spoke. My grandmother, my mother’s mother had told me Eachan’s story. Was this MacLeod the same ancestor she’d spoken about? The man who’d escaped from Culloden and the slaughtering by Butcher Cumberland? Were Eilidh and I forty-second cousins, twice removed as they say?

“Supper’s on the table,” Eilidh put her head round the door. Plain, unadorned mutton and potatoes on a scrubtopped wooden table, rich gravy, carrots from the garden, no outlandish fare. Simple, wholesome, home produce, it’d helped my strength return these past weeks. It had kept the old couple healthy for a lifetime. Red wine appeared, I guessed from London.

We ate quietly. Conversation flowed between the two women. Eilidh’s London/Glasgow flight the day previous, who she’d met on the ferry, they spoke away. The old boy teased her, “You’re a long time bringing your man to see us.” “Be patient Eachan, I don’t want to frighten him off by meeting you.” Her lighthearted rejoinder caught me off guard. Aware of a profuse blush I remained silent. Arching her eyebrows and glancing sideways Eilidh smiled.