The Skylark's Secret(64)
Away from the fun and the laughter and the applause of the concert hall, on the long summer evenings once supper was cleared away and she was free, Flora would hike on her own up the hill to the lochan. Sometimes she’d fish for the brown trout that glided between the stems of the waterlilies; but more often she would sit, lost in her thoughts as she gazed out at the distant sea, imagining Alec away there, somewhere, and wondering whether the waves that met the rocks at the mouth of the loch might have encountered his ship as they rolled towards Scotland’s northern shores. As she sat beside the silvered pool cupped in the palm of the hills, the deer kept watch, silent and still, from the heights above her and, higher still, the song of the skylarks floated on the evening air.
At last, in late August, the fronds of bracken began to turn to bronze and the branches of the rowans hung heavy with clusters of scarlet berries. When the first skeins of geese appeared in the skies above the loch, their hoarse cries announcing the end of summer, the boom nets were drawn aside to allow three merchant ships through as the next Arctic convoy began to muster. Ruaridh was a useful source of information, monitoring the latest arrivals from his post at the signal station on the hill, and he kept Flora, Mairi and Bridie informed.
‘They’re British ships so far, come up the east coast from Tilbury and Hull. But they say there’s another Atlantic convoy on the way and some of the American Merchant Marine are carrying supplies for Russia. So we may well see Roy and Hal before too long.’
Bridie and Mairi had received no postcards from the brothers for a couple of weeks now. They had a feeling that this was either very good news or very bad, and so they scanned the horizon even more frequently than usual with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Flora had heard from Alec that he was still on patrolling duties off the coast of Iceland, but she, too, waited impatiently for the Isla to return.
As the sun rose above the hills, Flora and Mairi were preparing their ambulance for the day, going through their routine checks. Mairi made sure they had the necessary supplies in the first-aid kit, while Flora wiped away the heavy condensation that the chill of the night had deposited on the windscreen. They had orders to run a patient over to the hospital and to pick up two soldiers who were being discharged, dropping them back at their camp on the return journey.
It was one of those calm days of early autumn when the land and sea seemed to have been given a fresh coat of paint: the water was the purest aquamarine and the green of the hills was splashed here and there with the gold of turning larches. Even so, the two soldiers – who had turned out to be from the Indian regiment encamped above Mellangaun – looked a little miserable as the girls dropped them off.
‘I feel so sorry for them,’ Mairi said. ‘It must be a terrible shock to their systems, having to live in tents up here in the wilds. They’ll be used to the heat and the dust, not the rain and the mud. And as for the food – well, it’s no wonder that pair ended up with such bad stomach pains. Not that the hospital food will have made them feel any better.’
‘I know,’ Flora agreed. ‘But even so, their spirits haven’t been crushed enough to stop them proposing to us on the drive back from Gairloch.’
‘Right enough,’ conceded Mairi. ‘The weather doesn’t seem to have dampened their romantic notions. But they’re probably just lonely . . .’ She broke off abruptly, distracted by the sight of a ship that had just appeared around the point. Shielding her eyes against the sunlight, she leaned forward in her seat, straining to make out the ensign being raised above the deck. It unfurled itself slowly in the insistent tugging of the light breeze, revealing the unmistakable stars and stripes of the American flag.
Flora pulled the truck to a halt on the roadside above the bay where the British merchantmen lay at anchor. The girls watched as the tugs manoeuvred to open the boom nets, allowing the ship to slip into the safe haven of Loch Ewe.
And then all at once Mairi leapt from the cab, waving her WRNS cap above her head. And the autumn sunlight glinted on the blond hair of the two sailors who waved back at her, equally enthusiastically, from their stations on deck beside the flagstaff.
The far side of the loch was crowded with merchant ships now, and the naval escort had gathered in the bay at Mellon Charles. Next week, the first convoy of the season would depart from Loch Ewe, but for now the water could hardly be seen between the vessels of the densely packed flotilla.
The hall at Aultbea was equally packed out for the Friday night dance when Flora, Mairi and Bridie walked in with their own escorts, Alec, Roy and Hal. By popular demand, the Aultbea Songbirds would be singing a couple of numbers later on, but first they took to the floor as the band struck up, determined to make the most of their few days together.
When Alec had arrived back from his duties, Flora had felt awkward in his company. The flash of temper she’d witnessed in him – so unlike his usual gentleness – had continued to unnerve her. She’d tried to put it out of her mind, telling herself it was just the stress of the convoys and the thought of being away at sea again for so many. But she’d come to realise that in the moment when he’d smashed his fist into the wall she’d recognised something else in him, something that made her physically recoil: a likeness to his father. She couldn’t push the thought away, nor the memory of the bruises that she’d glimpsed on the underside of Lady Helen’s wrist that evening when she’d helped with the dinner.