Two Kinds Of Truth(11)

“So much for Callum giving him a hand,” Alasdair says.

We enter the farmhouse and it’s just as I remember; old and musty, warm and welcoming. The panelled hallway leads to several reception rooms, but we both head for the kitchen, which turns out to be cosy and smelling of pie. A red tartan cloth is spread over the table and a large brown teapot dominates its centre.

“Have you been cooking in preparation of our arrival?”

Alasdair slips me a wink.

“I thought ye needed a bit of meat on ye bones the first time ye came here. I dinnae think much would’ve changed, and I was right. Ye still look as though ye could do with a decent meal inside ye.”

I smile and love him that little bit more.



***



Once I’ve washed away the smell of horses from my hands, I help to set the table for supper. The house is alive with chatter as soon as Jamie and Callum enter the kitchen, both eager to rekindle their strong brotherly bond. If it wasn’t for their clothes, I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart. Both speak Scottish, but Callum can turn his accent off and on like a tap. Yet tonight, chatting with his brother, that sweet lilt to his voice is deliciously clear.

The table is set with an assortment of steaming blue dishes. Callum sits down and pours white wine into four glasses. I pull up a chair and sit beside him. A homemade venison pie has pride of place and is surrounded by hot mashed potato, buttered vegetables and two large gravy boats. The aroma is divine.

Granda offers me a piece of pie and Jamie passes the mash potato to his brother.

“So, what’s yir plans for tomorrow?” he asks as he waits for the dish.

Callum ponders his question, busy spooning hot potato onto his plate.

“I’m not too sure. We haven’t made any plans as such.”

Jamie glances over at me and grins. “Surely, you’ll take Maddie out to the loch? I understand it’s a wee bit cold still, but there’s a flock of goosanders on the water.” His grin broadens and his enthusiasm grows. “It’s a spectacular sight to see. Maybe ye could take a winter picnic and make a day of it?”

I wipe the corners of my mouth with a napkin. “Sounds terrific. Shall we go?” but Callum shakes his head.

“Nah, I’d rather take a rain check if you don’t mind. I’ve never been keen on the feathered variety,” and he averts his gaze, pouring a little gravy over his vegetables.

I hide my disappointment by taking a gulp of wine. The last thing I want is to turn this into a big deal. After all, it’s just a flock of birds. However, it’s clear Alasdair thinks it’s a good idea and won’t let the matter drop.

“Aye, lad, ’tis a sight to see all right, and not one to be missed.” He points a knife in Callum’s direction. “Go, take young Maddie up to the water. You can borrow the Land Rover if ye like?”

Callum frowns. “Are you ganging up on me?”

Alasdair chuckles. “Aye, lad; we are.”

“And you won’t take no for an answer?”

“Och, no. Maddie’s our guest, and it’ll not hurt ye to take her out.”

Callum sighs. “Okay, if I must. But hunting’s more my style.”

Alasdair shakes his head and raises a white brow. “Buck season doesnae start ’til the first of April. You’ve a couple of months to wait yet, lad.”

“Aye, more’s the pity,” Callum replies, stabbing a carrot with a fork and thrusting it into his mouth.

I shudder inside. Hunting is a big part of the McKinley’s lifestyle, but it’s still alien to me. Callum offered to take me hunting once, on our honeymoon, but the thought of killing one of those magnificent beasts seems unnatural. I can’t even bring myself to hold a gun, let alone shoot another living creature. And if I ever saw a stag being pursued by hunters, I’d be horrified; his fear would become my own fear. I do understand it’s all part of their conservation programme, to ensure they don’t become overrun with wild deer, but I still find it hard to come to terms with this part of their way of life.

After supper, we move closer to the fire. Alasdair pulls out a pipe from his cardigan pocket. To my surprise, he doesn’t fill it with loose tobacco like he usually does after a meal.

“I’ve given up smoking,” he explains when he catches my eye. “Sucking on this old thing helps ease my cravings.”

I nod in agreement. “If it helps your health, then that’s all that matters,” I say. “Although, I admit I’m a chocoholic, and there’s no way I’m ever giving any of that up.”

He laughs and pats me on my knee. “Aye, well, the doctor’s advised me to stop. Says at my age I need all the help I can get.”

Callum pulls out a small table, places it by my feet and then brings over a plate of cheese and biscuits. He takes a couple himself, then sits in the chair opposite. “So, what’s been happening on the farm since we last visited?” he asks.

“We had to buy a new tractor,” Jamie tells him, coming over to slide a cracker off the plate. He stuffs the whole biscuit into his mouth, chews it quickly, and then says, “Old Bertha coughed and spluttered her last breath just after the harvest.”

“Aye, and the price of a new vehicle near killed me, I’ll tell ye,” Alasdair roars in exasperation. “Back in the day, I’d have bought twenty houses for the same price.”