The Skylark's Secret(52)
Flora, 1942
It was a crisp morning, the air as pure as the water in the burns that ran off the hills, when Mairi and Bridie met Roy and Hal at the jetty to show them the way to Keeper’s Cottage.
Flora was pleased they’d be able to spend time together that day, although she couldn’t help missing Alec all the more. As she tidied away the things she’d used to bake a batch of scones, she tried to shake off her own preoccupations, smiling at the sound of Bridie’s voice approaching on the road.
In the cramped kitchen, Iain shook hands with the Americans and showed them the flies that were best for tempting graylings while Ruaridh prepared rods for them. They were just gathering everything together in preparation for the walk into the hills when there was a knock at the door.
‘Alec! You’re back!’ Flora flung her arms around his neck and he hugged her tightly to him. All her doubts and fears seemed to dissolve in his embrace.
‘We got in in the early hours. The convoy leaves tomorrow so I’ve not got long. I wanted to spend every minute I could with you.’ He was more than happy to join the fishing expedition, and stuck the tin of flies that Iain gave him into his jacket pocket.
The grass crunched underfoot, each blade sugar-coated with frost, as the small group hiked up the path alongside the burn, their laughter disturbing a stag that had been nosing the wintry ground in search of forage and causing him to bound away, his hooves drumming on the frozen earth as he tossed his antlers in annoyance.
The waters of the lochan were still and black when they reached the heights, but the weak sun had melted the frost and Flora was warm from the climb. She’d thrust one hand into her coat pocket and Alec held the other tight, the heat of his skin mingling with hers to keep her fingers from being nipped by the chill.
They set down their gear in the shelter of the old bothy and Alec helped Mairi and Roy tie flies to their lines.
‘Back home we like nothing better than to spend our summer evenings fishing in the ponds in the slough on the farm,’ said Roy. ‘Not that you need fancy flies for perch – they’ll eat pretty much anything you care to put on your hook.’
‘What’s the trick with these here graylings then?’ asked Hal.
Bridie, who’d refused a rod, settled herself next to him on the bank.
‘You need to cast out towards the deeper water. They’ll be down in the depths, where it’s a wee bit warmer.’ Ruaridh pointed out the best areas, away from the skeletal, winter-bleached reeds at the water’s edge.
The group spread out and silence fell as they concentrated on casting, the only sounds the hissing of the lines through the air and the quiet hum of the reels, overlain by an occasional stamping of feet in heavy boots to keep the circulation going. Even Bridie sat quietly, contented to gaze at Hal as he watched the water. At first, nothing stirred. But then the mirror-like surface broke as a fish rose, tempted by the feathered flies that had begun to land there. In a flash of silver, it reached for Ruaridh’s hook, but missed and disappeared back into the depths, leaving ever-widening circles that spread across the lochan.
‘That’s good,’ Alec commented quietly. ‘At least we know they’re there.’
Hal was the first to hook one, giving a whoop as the tip of his rod bent with the tautening of the line.
‘Well done,’ called Alec. ‘Play it in gently now, they’re soft-mouthed.’
Bridie ran to get the landing net and carefully scooped in the catch.
‘That’s a good-sized grayling,’ Ruaridh said, with a nod of approval.
A couple of hours later, once they had four fish in the wicker creel, the short-lived daylight began to dim, fine wisps of cirrus cloud veiling the weakening sun as it drifted towards the western horizon, heralding a change in the weather.
‘Brrr.’ Bridie shivered. ‘I’m frozen stiff.’
Hal grinned, wrapping a long arm around her shoulders. ‘Here you go, let’s get you all warmed up!’
As they reeled in their lines for the final time, Flora and Mairi exchanged a smile, noticing that Bridie was in no hurry to pull away from Hal’s embrace.
Back at the cottage, Flora set the kettle on the stove while Mairi put out cups and Bridie buttered a plate of scones. The fishing party sat round the kitchen table, stretching sock-clad feet towards the warmth of the range to thaw out frozen toes.
Roy smiled at Mairi, cupping his mug of tea. ‘That sure was a great day. It’s been good to feel life is normal again, just for a few hours.’ He carefully set down his cup and reached to take one of her hands in his beneath the cover of the table.
The others all pretended not to notice, and reached out eagerly as Bridie handed round the plate of scones again.
As she leaned against the range, waiting for the water to reboil so that she could top up the teapot, Flora watched the group gathered in her kitchen, filling the room with their easy words and ready laughter that warmed the soul. Today had indeed been a good day, one to treasure. Because tomorrow Ruaridh would climb the hill to his post at the signal station and Alec, Roy and Hal would be back on board their ships. And then, when the time came, the tugs would draw back the boom nets and the signal would be given. The ships would slowly get underway and the convoy would begin its perilous journey, slipping from the safe embrace of Loch Ewe and plunging into the ice-grey grip of the Arctic sea.