Stranger on Rhanna Read online

  Darting forward to closer examine the window coverings her attention was abruptly diverted by the sight of Elspeth Morrison, the sharp-tongued housekeeper of Slochmhor, and Captain Isaac McIntosh, one time sea skipper, standing close together at the war memorial. It was them! As bold as brass the two of them, meeting at their favourite place. The scandal of it, both of them old enough to know better, behaving like two young lovers in full view of the public eye – and doing it beside a monument that deserved only humble homage from respectable citizens.

  Behag vacated the Post Office with alacrity. She was most interested in the affairs of Elspeth and Captain Mac these days. For some time now, a rumour had persisted that he was thinking of moving in with Elspeth though ‘just as a lodger, of course’.

  Behag didn’t believe that for a minute. Since the demise of his wife, Captain Mac had been casting his eye over the single women of the district. At first he had shown a keen interest in Aunt Grace, as she was known to everybody, but ‘just another Jezebel’, as decided by Behag, disapproval tautening her thin lips. Then Grace had surprised everyone by marrying old Joe who had now gone to ‘join the mermaids in some far off shore’ as Grace romantically put it. It was a well-known fact that Bob the Shepherd had had his eye on Grace for a long time and had been biding his time till the coast was clear, and Behag was shocked at the idea of twice-married Grace contemplating taking the plunge for the third time.

  But first and foremost in her mind was ‘the affair’, as she liked to put it, between Elspeth and Captain Mac, and Behag was agog to know what exactly was going on between the pair. Pretending that she was perusing the uninspiring contents of the Post Office window, she kept her head tucked well down so that Totie wouldn’t espy her there and wonder what she was doing.

  Although the window was anything but clean – another black mark against Totie – it reflected enough of the village to allow Behag to observe a good deal of what was happening in the immediate vicinity. The crafty old woman often made use of available windows in this way and likened the reflections she saw to ‘a night at the picture house after a good day’s shopping in town’.

  Not that the rigid confines of her life had ever afforded her much access to either, but on one occasion, whilst visiting a sick relative in Oban, she had surreptitiously slipped into a cinema to see Magnificent Obsession and to her shame had shed a few tears in the darkened hall. In no way could ‘the affair’ between Elspeth and Mac be termed a Magnificent Obsession, more like a Shameless Disaster in Behag’s mind, and any tears she might shed over them were born of sheer frustration, since not by one word had they given away their plans to anyone. Nevertheless, Behag followed their every move with far more devoted attention than she had ever given to any romantic liaison on a silver screen, and she watched the reflected images with utmost curiosity.

  Captain Mac, his white hair and beard combed to watered-down obedience, was standing very close to Elspeth’s scrawny figure while they talked animatedly, and Behag fairly itched to know just what they had to say that was so interesting. She wondered if she dare take a walk past the war memorial. Elspeth had a sarcastic tongue in her head and wouldn’t think twice about airing her views if she thought for one moment that she was being watched. Behag hesitated while she argued with herself. It was a free country, she had as much right as anyone to visit the memorial and pause for a moment while she remembered the young men of Rhanna who had given their lives in the wars, and – here her eyes gleamed – there was that wee wooden bench set into a niche in the stone so that folk could sit and gaze out to sea while they pondered and prayed and gave thanks for their peace-filled existence.

  Also, if she went down the lane between the Post Office and the butcher’s shop, she could double back to the war memorial via Todd the Shod’s and in that way Elspeth needn’t see her at all. She could sit on the bench and listen to her heart’s content and no one need be any the wiser.

  Quivering with purpose she immediately made tracks for the lane and was so deep in thought she jumped like a scalded cat when a loud, mournful voice suddenly proclaimed, ‘Tis yourself, Miss Beag – a fine day, is it not? I just came outside to take a wee breath o’ air to myself and feeling all the better for seeing yourself as well.’

  Behag came down to earth with a thump, quite literally, twisting her ankle on a cobblestone as she turned too hastily to perceive the bedraggled form of Sandy McKnight leaning against the open side door of his butcher’s shop. He was a small, miserable-looking bachelor who devoted himself to making money whilst pretending that he had no interest whatever in the material side of life.

  Every Sunday without fail he was there in his place in kirk and though he had only been on the island a short time he was now a church elder, aired his many and forceful opinions at church committee meetings and led collections for the Fabric Fund with much devoted energy. He was also a keen advocate of good against evil and loudly denounced all things corrupt and sinful, including in these the evils of tobacco and spirits. But since the day that Todd the Shod had observed him smoking a pipe behind a rock on the seashore, he could have talked himself blue in the face about his piety for all anyone listened.

  Thereafter he had been nicknamed Holy Smoke and whenever he aired his views to the men of the village Tam McKinnon would just smile and say, ‘Himself is just fatuous, he opens that big mouth o’ his and lets out enough air to fill a set o’ bagpipes.’

  Tam wasn’t really sure what ‘fatuous’ meant but it sounded good and impressed his cronies who didn’t know what it meant either, but they took Tam’s word for it and no one else ever said it was out of keeping, not even ninety-seven-year-old Magnus of Croy who knew everything, so it must have been all right.

  It was doubtful if Behag knew the meaning of the word either, although she owned a set of leather-bound dictionaries and encyclopedias that were kept well dusted and carefully placed in a prominent position on a shelf – a legacy from a distant aunt who had only ever spoken the Gaelic and who had been as wise as Behag as to their contents. But to Behag, anything that might be construed as insulting to Holy Smoke met with her full approval. Her dislike of the ‘butcher man’ was legendary, she shuddered every time she looked at his drooping ‘bloodhound’ eyes and the layers of leathery flesh gathered in folds below his chin. When Tam had remarked innocently enough that Holy Smoke’s features very much resembled her own and had gone on to wonder if he was a relative of hers she had nearly had apoplexy and hadn’t spoken to Tam for a month.

  To make matters worse, Holy Smoke had attached himself firmly to her almost from the first day of his arrival on Rhanna, so that she had to employ every ruse she knew in order to avoid meeting him. Whenever she saw him approaching she would scuttle into a shop doorway or sprachle up a bank to hide in a clump of bushes. If none of these were available she was forced to take refuge in a nearby house and people were growing quite accustomed to having Behag suddenly shoot through their door to stand with her eye to the keyhole, or to rush to the nearest window to peep outside from the safety of the window coverings.

  She was therefore all the more incensed to be caught on the hop outside the butcher’s premises and it was with extreme annoyance that she glared into his mournful countenance as he rushed forward to place his narrow shoulder under her arm and say in his rather feminine voice, ‘There, there, Miss Beag, just you hold on to me and we’ll have you inside my shop in no time. Ice! That’s what you need for that ankle and there’s plenty and enough o’ that in my freezer room.’

  ‘Will you let go o’ me!’ panted Behag, struggling with all the might of her shrunken frame to shake him off. ‘I have no need o’ your shop or of your ice! Unhand me this meenit, Sandy McKnight! I will no’ have the gossiping folk o’ this parish bear witness to your intimate handling o’ my person.’

  But Holy Smoke was having none of her protests and spoke to her in a voice that was oily in its attempts to soothe.

  ‘Ach, c’mon, now, you know well enough you like me, Mi
ss Beag, and it’s reciprocal, I assure you. Oh ay, I’ve seen the way you run and hide from me, it’s a wee trick that women have, playing hard to get. I saw it often enough when I worked on the mainland and the island women are no exception. Now, enough o’ your struggles, just you lie against me and I’ll take care o’ you.’

  Behag was so aghast at his words that it was all she could do to breathe, let alone struggle, and in a daze of pain and shock she allowed him to half carry her into his shop where he deposited her on a chair near the counter, a bucket of sawdust on one side of her and a string of fat pork sausages dangling down from the wall on the other.

  ‘Wait you there,’ he instructed masterfully. ‘I’ll no’ be long wi’ the ice.’

  ‘My, my, look what the wind blew in!’ Kate McKinnon’s loud, cheery voice bounced against Behag’s eardrums like a portent of doom. ‘And hangin’ on to Holy Smoke as if he was the blessed St Micheal himself. Spring must be in the air right enough, Behag, wi’ all these wee romances blossoming on all sides o’ us. First we have Captain Mac and Elspeth, now it seems we can add our very own Behag and our dear, good butcher to the list. I never thought o’ this place as being romantic but you just look the part wi’ that string o’ sausages draped round your lugs and that bunch o’ mealy puddings sitting above your head like a chain o’ wee black haloes.’

  Behag uttered not a word, instead she sunk into her shrivelled frame like a frightened snail, her lips folded so tightly they were just a thin hard line in her wrinkled face. It was too much! Much too much! First that pious, insincere hypocrite pawing at her person while his ingratiating voice droned in her ears, now, Kate McKinnon of all people, with her sarcastic innuendoes and a tongue that ‘ran in front o’ her’ as Jim Jim so aptly put it. She would waste no time in letting the whole of Rhanna know of the incident and Behag went cold as she imagined just how Kate would set about embroidering the tale. But worse than any of these was the interpretation that Sandy McKnight had put on her avoidance of him.

  Her ankle throbbed but not as much as her head and she wished, oh, how she wished, that just for once she had left Captain Mac and Elspeth strictly to their own devices.

  Chapter Four

  Tigh na Cladach was warm and welcoming: a cheerful fire burned in the grate; the chintz furniture, the well-filled bookcases and the pictures on the walls were homely yet tasteful. A tray set with cups and saucers and a plate heaped with buttered scones sat on a small table near the fire, while the teapot, keeping warm on the hearth, emitted an occasional puff of fragrant steam.

  Outside the window the great cliffs of Burg rose sheer out of the sea. Little oncoming wavelets made scallops of creamy foam on the silvery curve of the bay; a row of gulls on the garden wall were squabbling quietly amongst themselves while a group of Atlantic seals had arranged themselves decoratively on an outcrop of black reefs that stuck out from the translucent green shallows to the right of the bay.

  Herr Klebb strode over to gaze from the window. He stood there for quite some time before turning back to eye the tea things set by the fire.

  ‘Frau Megan, it is perfect.’ His tones were vibrant with satisfaction. ‘And I see you have been kind enough to also provide me with tea. You have done me proud and I thank you.’

  ‘It’s Tina you should really thank, she lives in the village but comes every day to the Manse to look after me and my husband. When I told her you were coming she and Eve – that’s Tina’s daughter – set to work on this place. I really had nothing to do with the tea but the islanders are very hospitable and to them nothing else in the world beats a good strong cuppy, especially after a long journey. But I know you drink a good deal of coffee in your country, perhaps you might have preferred . . .’

  He held up his hand. ‘No, tea is perfect, each time I come to Britain I acquire more and more a taste for it and from all I have heard of Scotland I have the impression it is something of the national drink.’

  Megan’s hazel eyes sparkled. ‘Well, I don’t think the menfolk of Rhanna would agree with you there, though they would be polite about it and tell you that it was the second national drink.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I know also about the whisky, I have heard a good many tales about the Scottish islands and the illicit whisky stills. Are there any of these left on Rhanna?’

  Megan was rather taken aback, she hadn’t expected this dour, reserved Austrian to display such vigorous curiosity about an island he knew nothing of, but his previously withdrawn manner had completely disappeared in the last few minutes.

  ‘Oh, you’ll have to ask Tam McKinnon about that,’ she said with a faint smile. ‘I believe he and his cronies unearthed an old still some years ago. It was during the time of the last war and the adventures they had with it are still talked about at the ceilidhs, though it happened well before my time on the island.’

  A spark of great interest shone in his eyes. ‘Tam McKinnon – tell me, Frau Megan, are there many McKinnons on Rhanna?’

  At that she laughed outright.

  ‘McKinnons, McKinnons everywhere! And if they aren’t called McKinnon they’re connected with them somehow: cousins, wives, aunts. Oh yes, Herr Klebb, we have McKinnons a-plenty on Rhanna.’ She went to the door. ‘I’ll have to leave you now, but if there’s anything you need we’re at the Manse up there on the Hillock. Don’t hesitate to ask if you want something, and Tina will be back later to make your tea. She’s quite willing to cook your meals and clean for you while you’re here.’

  ‘That arrangement will suit perfectly.’ He nodded. ‘Oh, and while I remember, I’m expecting more luggage to arrive within the next few days.’ He glanced round the room. ‘I hope you don’t mind if I shift some things around to accommodate it.’

  ‘Oh – no, of course not.’ Megan’s mind was boggling as she tried to imagine what he meant but she didn’t ask: he was preoccupied with his thoughts, the mask of aloofness had settled once more over his strong features. He was frowning as he eyed the furniture as if he was mentally re-arranging it around the room.

  It was then she noticed his hands, strong yet beautifully moulded, the fingers long and supple, the nails short and carefully manicured. In Mark’s study there hung a print of the famous ‘Praying Hands’ by Albrecht Dürer and this stranger’s hands reminded her of them.

  Quietly she took her leave, mystified and fascinated by the man. Getting into her car she drove quickly to the Manse to run inside and shout for her husband.

  ‘In here.’ His deep voice filtered through the door of his study. Her heart accelerated and she was enchanted afresh to be living here in this lovely old house with the Man o’ God as he was fondly referred to by his older parishioners.

  But the Man o’ God was also very much a man of flesh and blood and he had arisen from his desk on hearing her voice and was there to sweep her into his embrace when she came through his door.

  ‘Oh, Mark,’ she kissed his nose, ‘I’ve missed you.’

  He laughed. ‘We saw one another this morning.’

  ‘That was in another life.’ She ran her fingers through his dark hair. ‘So much has happened since then. I had to rush down Glen Fallan to meet the boat and ruined half of Ranald’s lobster pots in the process. After that I almost ran over Dodie on the way back up Glen Fallan to collect my tubes and ended up giving him and two newborn lambs a lift back to Portcull before they died. After that I almost knocked down Elspeth and Captain Mac at the War Memorial, then I passed half the population of Rhanna on my way to Tigh na Cladach. Behag gave me one of her ‘Thou art a Jezebel’ looks as she scurried by on her way to the Post Office, where, I suspect, the entire population of Portcull are gathered to discuss me and my activities.’

  He laughed. ‘I take it that, in the midst of all this hectic activity, you made time to collect our man from the boat.’

  ‘Herr Otto Klebb, now there is a mystery man for you. He’s big and hairy and built like a great brown bear, he likes tea rather than coffee and seems to know a great deal about island
ways though he claims that this is his first time on Scottish soil. He . . .’

  ‘Come on.’ Grinning he took her arm and led her to the window seat, there to clear aside two furry dog bundles that were Muff and Flops respectively. Each warm and sleepy heap groaned at the human intrusion but condescended to make room for master and mistress. ‘Now,’ Mark put his arm round his wife’s shoulder, ‘tell me all about it. Head back, chest out, deep breath, begin.’

  But Megan was rushing on, a vastly changed Megan from the quiet, rather serious young woman who had come to Rhanna almost three years ago to take Doctor McLachlan’s place. With an exaggerated sigh of patient resignation he allowed her to describe her meeting with Herr Klebb and when she finished up by saying, ‘and he’s very interested in the McKinnons, oh not just the likes of Tam and Kate but all the McKinnons that ever were born’, he made a great show of surprise and said, ‘Oh well, if he’s here to study that particular clan we’d better sell him the house because he might just be here forever – and if Kate hears of his interest he’ll never get away anyway, she would talk herself blue in the face about the McKinnons, and these just the ones in her particular family.’

  Elspeth Morrison entered her cottage and made haste to put the kettle on the fire. While she waited for it to boil she stood staring into the flames, a spot of red burning high on each cheek. Her gaunt, oddly immobile face, for once burned with a welter of emotions, her eyes were dark with excitement. At last! At last! Captain Mac had decided that, come the summer, he was going to move in with her.

  ‘Only as a lodger, you understand, Elspeth,’ he had explained earnestly, burying his jolly red beacon of a nose into the depths of an enormous hanky in order to hide his embarrassment. He had thought long and hard before taking this momentous decision and he was at great pains to try and make Elspeth understand that his affection for her was purely platonic. ‘It is an arrangement that will suit us both, I’m sure o’ that, we are each o’ us alone in the world and it will be fine for us to have one another’s company in the dark nights o’ winter.’