“I think so.”
“She doesn’t usually make friends as quickly as that.” He put the tray down on a low table, shoving aside some magazines and old newspapers to make room for it.
“Is she your dog?”
“At the moment she is. Have you got a dog?”
“No.” His voice was bleak. Oliver decided to change the subject. “Why not have the soup before it gets cold?” And while they started in on their meal, he took away the fireguard, put on another log, poured himself a whisky and soda, and settled in the old sagging armchair by the side of the hearth.
They ate in silence. Jody had soon finished his soup, eaten all the bread and butter, drunk a couple of tumblers of milk and then started in on the apples; but his sister only ate a little of her broth and then laid down the spoon as if she were no longer hungry.
“Not nice?” Oliver asked.
“Delicious. But I couldn’t eat any more.”
“Aren’t you hungry? You have to be hungry.”
Jody chipped in. “She never is.”
“A drink, perhaps?”
“No, thank you.”
The subject was closed. Oliver said, “Your brother and I had a talk when he was having a bath. You’re Jody and Caroline Cliburn.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m Oliver Cairney. Did he tell you?”
“Yes, he did. He just did.”
“You’ve come from London?”
“Yes.”
“And you ditched the car at the bottom of my drive.”
“Yes.”
“And you were heading for Strathcorrie?”
“Yes. Our brother works there. In the hotel.”
“And he’s expecting you?”
“We sent him a telegram. He’ll be wondering what’s happened to us.”
Oliver looked at his watch. “It’s nearly midnight. But if you like I can try and get through on the telephone. There may be a night porter on duty.”
She looked grateful. “Oh, would you do that?”
“I can always try.” But the telephone was dead. “The lines must be down. It’s the storm.”
“But what shall we do?”
“There’s nothing you can do except stay here.”
“But Angus…”
“As I said to Jody, he’ll realize what’s happened.”
“And tomorrow?”
“If the road isn’t blocked we can get to Strathcorrie by some means or other. I’ve a Land-Rover if the worse comes to the worst.”
“And if the road is blocked?”
“Let’s worry about that when it happens.”
“The thing is … well, we haven’t got an awful lot of time. We’re meant to be back in London on Friday.”
Oliver looked down at his drink, gently rocking the glass in his hand. “Is there anyone in London we should get in touch with? Let them know that you are safe?”
Jody looked at his sister. After a little she said, “But there’s no telephone.”
“But when we do have a telephone?”
She said, “No. We don’t have to get in touch with anyone.”
He was sure she was lying. He watched her face, saw the high cheekbones, the short blunt nose, the wide mouth. She had dark smudges beneath her eyes, and her hair was very long, pale, straight as silk. For an instant her eyes met his, and then she turned away. Oliver decided not to pursue the subject. “I only wondered,” he said, mildly.
* * *
In the morning, when Caroline awoke, the snow light was reflected on the white ceiling of the big bedroom. She lay, drowsy, pillowed in goose-down and linen; heard a dog bark, and presently the grinding sound of an approaching tractor. She reached for her watch and saw that it was already past nine o’clock. She got out of bed and padded to the window and drew back the pink curtains, and was assailed by a blast of light so blinding that she blinked.
The world was white. The sky clear, and blue as a robin’s egg. Long shadows lay like bruises on the sparkling ground, everything was softened and rounded by the snow. It lay along the branches of pines, and piled in white hats on the top of fence posts. Caroline threw open the window and leaned out and the air was cold and fragrant and stimulating as iced wine.
Remembering the horrors of the night before, she tried to get her bearings. In front of the house was a large open space, probably a lawn, ringed by the driveway. She saw the tall avenue up which she and Jody had struggled, leading away, down over the crest of a hill. In the distance, between folds of sloping pastures, the main road wound between dry stone walls. A car was moving, very slowly.
The tractor she had heard was coming up the avenue. As she watched, it appeared from behind a huge clump of rhododendrons, and churned carefully around the perimeter of the lawn and so out of sight behind the house.
It was too cold to be out. She drew back into her bedroom and shut the window. She thought of Jody and went to open the door that led into his room. Inside, it was dark and quiet, only his breathing stirred the silence. He was still fast asleep. She closed the door, and looked for something to put on. But there was only the sweater and the borrowed dressing-gown, so wearing these, but barefoot, she went out of the bedroom and down the passage in the hope of finding someone to help her.
She realized then that it was an enormous house. The passage came out on to a great landing, furnished with carpets and a walnut tallboy, and chairs and a table where someone had laid down a pile of clean shirts, neatly ironed. At the top of the stair, she listened and discerned distant voices. She went downstairs, and following the murmur of voices, found herself at the door of what was presumably the kitchen. She put her hands against the door and pushed, and it swung open and immediately the two people inside stopped talking, and turned to see who it was.
Oliver Cairney, in a thick cream coloured sweater, sat at the kitchen table with a mug of tea in his hand. He had been talking to the woman who stood, peeling potatoes at the sink. Middle-aged, she was, grey-haired, and with her sleeves rolled up, and a flowered pinafore tied in a bow at the back of her waist. The kitchen was warm and smelled of baking bread. Caroline felt like an intruder. She said, “I’m sorry…”
Oliver, who had been momentarily surprised into inactivity, put down the mug and got to his feet.
“Nothing to be sorry about. I thought you’d sleep till lunchtime.”
“Jody’s still asleep.”
“This is Mrs Cooper. Mrs Cooper, this is Caroline Cliburn. I’ve just been telling Mrs Cooper what happened to you.”
Mrs Cooper said, “It was a terrible night and no mistake. All the telephone lines are down.”
Caroline looked at Oliver. “You mean we still can’t get through?”
“No, and won’t be able to for some time. Come and have a cup of tea. Come and have some breakfast. What would you like? Bacon and egg?”
But she didn’t want anything. “Some tea, that would be lovely.” He pulled out a chair for her and she sat at the scrubbed table. “And are we snowed up?”
“Partially. The Strathcorrie road’s blocked, but we can get down to Relkirk.”
Caroline’s heart sank. “And … the car?” She was almost frightened to ask.
“Cooper’s been down on the tractor to investigate.”
“Is it a red tractor?”
“Yes.”
“I saw it coming back up the road.”
“In that case, he’ll be here any moment to let us know what’s going on.” He had found a cup and saucer, and now poured Caroline a cup of tea from the brown teapot which sat, stewing happily, on the Aga. It was very strong, but also very hot and she drank it gratefully. She said, “I can’t find my clothes.”
“That’ll be me,” said Mrs Cooper. “I put them to dry in the hot cupboard. They should be ready by now. But, my word—” she shook her head—“you two must have got a drenching.”
“They did,” said Oliver. “They were like drowned rats.”
By the time Caroline was dressed and downstairs agai
n, the party had been joined by Mr Cooper, with news of the ditched car. He was a country man and his accent so strong that Caroline had difficulty in understanding what he said.
“Oh, aye, we’ll get it oot o’ the ditch richt enough, but there’ll be no life in the engine.”
“Why not?”
“Frozen stiff, I wouldna be surprised.”
Oliver looked at Caroline. “Didn’t you have any antifreeze?”
Caroline looked blank.
“Anti-freeze,” he said again. “It doesn’t mean anything to you?”
She shook her head and he turned back to Cooper. “You’re quite right. Frozen stiff.”
“Should I have had anti-freeze?”
“Well, it’s a good idea.”
“I didn’t know. You see, it isn’t my car.”
“Perhaps you stole it?”
Mrs Cooper made a small sound of disapproval, a drawing-in of the breath between pursed lips. Caroline was not sure whether the disapproval was aimed at Oliver or herself. She said, with dignity, “No, of course not. We were lent it.”
“I see. Well begged, borrowed, or stolen, I suggest we go down and see what can be done with it.”
“Well,” said Cooper, putting his old bonnet back on his head with a large red hand, and heading for the door, “If you take the Land-Rover, I’ll go and find a tow-rope and maybe young Geordie to give me a hand, and we’ll see if we can get it out with the tractor.”
When he had gone, Oliver looked at Caroline. “Are you coming?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll need boots.”
“I haven’t got any.”
“There are some here…”
She followed him into an old wash-house, now used as a catch-all for raincoats, rubber boots, dog-baskets, a rusty bicycle or two and a brand-new washing machine. After some searching, Oliver produced a pair of rubber boots which more or less fitted and a black oilskin coat. Caroline put this on and flipped her hair free of the collar, and then, suitably attired, followed him out into the glittering morning.
“Winter snow, spring sun,” said Oliver, with satisfaction as they trod across the pristine snow towards the closed doors of the garage.
“Will the snow last?”
“Probably not. Though it’ll take a bit of melting. Nine inches fell last night.”
“It was spring in London.”
“That’s what your brother said.”
He reached up to unsnib bolts, and opened the wide double doors of the garage. Inside were two cars, the dark green sports saloon and the Land-Rover. “We’ll take the Land-Rover,” he said, “and then we won’t get stuck.”
Caroline climbed in. They backed out of the garage, drove around the house and down the avenue, cautiously following the dark tracks that Mr Cooper’s tractor had already made. The morning was completely quiet, all sound muffled by the snow, and yet there was life about … here tracks ran beneath the trees, and the small starred footprints of random birds. High above, the branches of the beeches met in a soaring arch, a lace-like tangle silhouetted against the pale, bright morning sky.
They came out through the gate, and on to the road and into blinding sunshine. Oliver stopped the Land-Rover by the verge and they both got out. Caroline saw now the humpbacked bridge which had been their downfall, and the disconsolate shape of Caleb’s car, muffled in snow, all askew in the ditch, the ground about it patterned with Mr Cooper’s large-booted footprints. It looked finished, mummified, as though it would never move again. Caroline felt dreadfully guilty.
Oliver got the door open and with care inserted half of himself into the driving-seat, leaving one long leg outside. He turned the key which Caroline had carelessly left in the ignition and there was an agonized sound from the engine and a strong smell of burning. Without saying a word, he got out of the car again and slammed the door shut. “Hopeless,” she heard him mutter, and felt not only guilty but a fool as well.
She said, with some vague notion of defending herself, “I didn’t know about the anti-freeze. I told you it wasn’t my car.”
He made no reply to this, but went around the car, kicking the snow from the back tyres, then crouching on the snowy road to see if the back axle had become wedged against the edge of the ditch.
She found this all very depressing, and all at once, felt near tears. Everything was going wrong. She and Jody were stuck here, with this unsympathetic man. Caleb’s car was useless, there were no telephones to Strathcorrie and the road was blocked. Blinking back tears, she turned to look up the road, which wound on, up and over the crest of a small hill. The snow lay thick and white between the dry stone dykes, a breeze moved, a baby sister of the gale last night, and blew a soft drift of snow, like smoke, off the fields and on to the drifts which were already piled, like glistening sculptures, in the angles of the dykes. Somewhere in the still morning, a curlew dropped from the sky, calling his long liquid cry. And then the air was motionless again.
Behind her, Oliver’s footsteps squeaked across the snow. She turned to face him, hands buried deep in the pockets of the borrowed oilskin.
“It’s had it, I’m afraid,” he told her.
Caroline was horrified. “But can’t it be mended?”
“Oh, yes. Cooper’ll get it out with the tractor, and along to the garage down the road. He’s a good man there. The Mini’ll be ready for you tomorrow, or maybe the day after.” Something in her face made him add, as though trying to bolster her spirits, “Even if you had a car, you can see you’d never be able to drive it to Strathcorrie. The road’s impassable.”
She turned again to look. “But when do you think it’ll be clear?”
“As soon as the snow-plough gets around to it. A fall like this, at the very tail end of the winter, is inclined to disrupt everything. We just have to be patient.”
He opened the door of the Land-Rover for her, and stood, waiting for her to get in. Slowly, Caroline did so. He shut the door and came around and got in behind the wheel. She thought that he would drive her back to the house, but instead he lit a cigarette, and sat smoking it, apparently deep in thought.
Caroline felt apprehensive. Cars were good places to be with a person you liked. But not good if the person was going to ask a lot of questions you didn’t feel like answering.
And the moment he spoke, her fears were justified.
“When did you say you had to be back in London?”
“Friday. That’s when I said we’d be back.”
“Who did you say it to?”
“… Caleb. The man who lent us the car.”
“What about your parents.”
“Our parents are dead.”
“Isn’t there anyone? There must be someone. I can’t believe the pair of you keep house together, on your own.” Despite himself, Oliver grinned at the thought. “The situation would be fraught with the most appalling disasters.”
Caroline did not think this was particularly funny. She said, coldly, “If you must know, we live with my stepmother.”
Oliver looked knowing. “I see.”
“What do you see?”
“A wicked stepmother.”
“She’s not wicked at all. She’s very nice.”
“But she doesn’t know where you are?”
“… yes,” said Caroline, hardly hesitating over the half-truth. And then, more convincingly, “Yes, she does. She knows we’re in Scotland.”
“Does she know why? About brother Angus?”
“Yes. She knows that too.”
“And … coming all this way to find Angus. Was that for any particular reason or just to say hallo?”
“Not entirely.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Isn’t it?”
This was followed by a long pause. After a little Oliver said, with deceptive mildness, “You know, I have the strongest feeling that I’m skating on very thin ice. I think you should know that I don’t give a damn about what you’re up to, but I do feel, very sl
ightly, that I should be responsible for your brother. After all, he’s only … eleven?”
“I can be responsible for Jody.”
His voice was quiet. “You might both have died last night. You know that, don’t you?” Caroline stared at him, and saw, to her astonishment, that he meant what he said.
“But I saw the light before I left the car behind. Otherwise, we’d have stayed, and just sat the storm out.”
“Blizzards are something to be reckoned with in this part of the world. You were lucky.”
“And you were kind. More than kind. And I haven’t thanked you properly. But I still feel that the sooner we get to Angus and out from under your feet, the better.”
“We’ll see how it goes. And incidentally, I have to go out today, I have a lunch appointment in Relkirk. But Mrs Cooper will feed you and Jody, and by the time I’m back, perhaps the Strathcorrie road will be open and I can drive you both up and deliver you to your brother.”
Caroline considered this, and found that for some reason, the idea of Oliver Cairney and Angus Cliburn meeting, was not a good one.
“Surely there’s some way I could…”
“No.” Oliver leaned forward and stubbed out his cigarette. “No, there is no other way of getting to Strathcorrie, short of flying. So you just sit tight and wait for me at Cairney. Understood?”
Caroline opened her mouth to argue, caught his eye, and shut her mouth again. She nodded reluctantly. “All right.”
For a moment she thought he was going to continue the discussion, but his attention was mercifully diverted by the arrival of the tractor, with Mr Cooper at the wheel and a young boy in a knitted hat, perched up on the seat behind him. Oliver got out of the Land-Rover and went to assist them; but it was a tedious business, and by the time Caleb’s car had been swept clear of snow, grit shovelled beneath its wheels, ropes attached to the back axle and two or three abortive attempts made to drag it clear before it finally, protestingly came, it was nearly eleven o’clock. Caroline watched the small cavalcade set off in the direction of the garage, Cooper at the wheel of the tractor, and Geordie in the Mini, steering an unsteady course at the end of the tow rope. She felt terrible.
“I do hope it will be all right,” she told Oliver as he climbed back beside her. “It wouldn’t be so bad if it were my car, but I promised Caleb I’d take such care of it.”