Hotel By The Loch Page 5

  In the car she said to Alex, ‘Miriam ought to go out more. I never thought to ask Laurie earlier about a partner for her.’

  Alex was slowing down at a cross-roads and did not answer for a few moments. Then he said, ‘Perhaps she’ll enjoy a quiet evening with the new manager.’

  Fenella laughed happily. ‘Playing snakes and ladders?’

  ‘Happy families, perhaps,’ he suggested, and his tone sounded abrupt. He was apparently not in the liveliest of moods, but on arrival at the dance he recovered his usual easy manner.

  Laurie had collected a large party of friends most of whom Fenella knew.

  ‘You look marvellous in that dress, Fenella,’ Laurie commented.

  ‘Fenella always looks marvellous,’ interposed Alex. ‘She’s not an untidy schoolgirl like you,’ he added with brotherly candour.

  ‘Take no notice of him,’ said Fenella hastily. ‘You look sweet.’

  Laurie glanced down ruefully at her white dress. ‘I’d rather look sophisticated,’ she grumbled, and turned away to greet other friends.

  Fenella had guessed that the hotel at Aviemore would be full of smartly-dressed visitors staying for the winter sports in the Cairngorms. This dance was no local event where the men wore the kilt and all the girls obligingly subdued themselves in simple white dresses with only a clan sash for relief.

  So she had taken extra care with her appearance tonight, piling her pale golden hair high in a swept-up style to suit the elegant glamour of the new dress with its bodice embroidered in sparkling rainbow beads and sequins, and a long slim skirt that was comfortable enough for dancing.

  Almost halfway through the evening when Fenella and Alex were returning to their table, she caught sight of a broad-shouldered man with dark hair, his head downbent as he listened to Laurie.

  Fenella drew in her breath sharply. It couldn’t be—He swung round as Fenella approached and her incredulous doubts were resolved. Mr. Cam-Ram himself, no less.

  Laurie smiled at Fenella. ‘You know Cameron Ramsay, of course.’ She turned towards him. ‘And you’ve met Alex, my brother. So now everyone knows everyone.’ With a murmured apology she skipped off to talk to other friends.

  Fenella was at a loss for something to say. Finally she said coldly, ‘I didn’t know you were coming, Mr. Ramsay.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ asked Alex. ‘I could have given you a lift in the car.’

  ‘I hope I haven’t spoiled the evening for you, Miss Sutherland,’ Mr. Ramsay said politely.

  ‘No, of course not.’ Fenella looked wildly for Alex, but he had mysteriously disappeared.

  ‘Shall we dance?’

  She was about to make an excuse that she was tired and wanted to rest, but almost without her volition, she was in his arms and borne away among the dancers.

  ‘You look very charming,’ he told her. ‘I’ve not seen you in such a glamorous outfit.’

  ‘I wonder what you expect to achieve by these fulsome, honeyed words,’ she said.

  ‘The acid tongue is still the same whether you’re wearing silks or a woollen cardigan,’ he observed.

  ‘I could say the same about you. Or does a dinner jacket and black tie alter your character?’

  ‘Not much. But at least give me credit for trying to be more civilized than when I’m wearing a duffel coat and no tie.’

  ‘I suppose Laurie invited you?’ she queried.

  ‘Yes. Should I have refused?’

  ‘Not on my account,’ she retorted.

  ‘Thank you. I’m glad I came.’

  For a few moments they danced without speaking and Fenella realized that his dancing was that of an expert, smooth, effortless, easy to follow and much better than Alex’s.

  ‘You dance very well, Mr. Ramsay,’ she said in her most stilted tone.

  ‘We learn it in Canada by hopping from log to log in the lumber camps,’ he answered politely.

  She glared at him, knowing that he was making fun of her. His hazel eyes gleamed with amusement and for two pins she would have wrenched herself out of his arms and joined the rest of the party at Laurie’s table. But she controlled herself, knowing that he would regard an angry scene as a triumph.

  ‘Why did you think I couldn’t dance?’ he asked.

  When she made no reply, he continued, ‘Because I’m a crashing water-buffalo?’

  Her face flooded with colour. ‘How mean-spirited you are! You shouldn’t repeat what you weren’t supposed to overhear.’

  ‘Of course not!’ he replied with mock humility. ‘I have only a duffel coat and gumboot mentality, whatever I’m wearing.’

  She looked up into his face. Then she began to laugh.

  ‘You’re an impossible man!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Splendid! I’ve achieved the impossible, too. This is the first time I’ve had a smile from you. Miss Sutherland. May I hope that it won’t be the last?’

  ‘That depends,’ she answered stubbornly, and at that moment lost step.

  His arm tightened around her waist to control her slight stumble.

  ‘Your fault, I think,’ he said smoothly. ‘I shall have to insist on a better performance from you.’

  She opened her mouth to make some fiery remark, but the band had stopped playing.

  ‘Two people have to be in accord if they are to dance well together,’ she said pompously, as they crossed the floor.

  ‘I entirely agree.’

  Laurie grabbed his arm and prepared to introduce him to some other acquaintances.

  Fenella decided that she would certainly avoid dancing again with Mr. Ramsay. She had come here to enjoy herself tonight, not indulge in a wrangling match.

  An hour or so after midnight when people were beginning to drift away, Alex spoke to Fenella. ‘Would you mind very much if I didn’t take you home?’

  She laughed in a startled way. ‘Have I to walk?’

  ‘Of course not, stupid. But Laurie wants me to drive some friends of hers back to their hotel and then take her on to the house where she’s staying the weekend. I thought Ramsay could drive you home.’

  ‘Oh, did you, Alex?’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t mind your going off to take other people home, but you can please find some other chauffeur for me.’

  Alex grinned. ‘Afraid of the man?’

  ‘Certainly not!’

  ‘You won’t be alone with him. You didn’t give me time to tell you that two other people will be in his car. He’ll drop them off somewhere this side of Trachan village.’

  She breathed her relief. ‘Oh, in that case, I’ll put up with him for the last half-mile.’

  Alex gave her his cordial smile. ‘Good girl! I knew you’d be reasonable as always.’ He bent to kiss her lightly on the cheek. ‘Enjoyed the dance?’

  ‘Er—yes, I think, on the whole.’

  He gave her a couple of taps on her shoulder and went off in search of his car-load.

  In Mr. Ramsay’s car, Fenella sat in the back and chatted to the couple who were her companions. When they alighted, Mr. Ramsay asked if she would not prefer to sit in front with him.

  ‘I’m quite comfortable here, thank you,’ she answered. He nodded and drove off. It began to dawn on her that the last half-mile or so was taking him a long time. She peered out into the darkness, but could see only the looming outlines of the hills.

  ‘Why haven’t we gone through Trachan?’ she demanded.

  ‘Because we haven’t come to it yet. D’you think I can make the car fly at the speed of light?’

  ‘I can’t see where we are,’ she complained.

  ‘Then you don’t know the district very well, do you?’

  ‘I think you’ve probably lost your way,’ she said smugly.

  ‘Not this time. Not yet,’ he answered, as his headlights revealed a high, grassy bank.

  Fenella leaned forward. ‘Why, we’re at least twenty miles from home. Alex told me—’ her voice trailed off. Alex had not said how far from Trachan the other couple would a
light.

  Mr. Ramsay did not speak at all for two or three miles. Then he said, ‘I suppose you won’t still be at Gairmorlie for the grand opening day?’

  ‘Is it still the middle of April?’

  ‘Certainly. You didn’t believe it was the first of April?’ She giggled. ‘It might just as well be that date as any other. The hotel will never be ready.’

  ‘Will you bet on it?’

  ‘No,’ she answered quickly. ‘That might bring my father bad luck.’

  ‘You could stay and see for yourself if my boasting comes true or if you’re back in London, I’ll send you a postcard,’ he promised.

  ‘I shan’t be going to London yet,’ she told him. ‘My father is going to need a lot of attention when he comes out of hospital, and that won’t be for at least a month.’

  ‘Six weeks or more,’ he corrected her.

  ‘How d’you know?’

  ‘I enquired at the hospital,’ he answered. ‘So you’re going to be quite delayed in taking up your London job if you’re going to wait for your father to come home. You’ll have plenty of time on your hands.’

  ‘You mean that I’m going to be a nuisance around the place?’ she demanded.

  ‘I didn’t say that. Your persecution complex is showing.’

  ‘I could help Miriam, I suppose,’ she said slowly. She was thinking that while she was so divided between staying near her father and working in London she might as well be occupied instead of idling around the hotel.

  ‘I don’t know if Mrs. Erskine would relish the help you could give her. You don’t seem to know anything about hotel management.’

  She laughed. ‘Good heavens! I’ve lived in the hotel all my life.’

  ‘And what d’you know about running it?’

  He slowed down and stopped the car. ‘Look, Miss Sutherland, if you think you can take on a job in the Gairmorlie, say so and we’ll discuss it, but I’m not driving along these roads with you hurling remarks at the back of my neck. Either come in the front or keep quiet.’

  He held the nearside door open and the seconds ticked by. As he slammed it shut, she said quickly, ‘Wait! I’ll come.’

  When he started the car again, there was a long pause while each waited for the other to speak.

  At last Fenella could contain herself no longer. ‘If I wanted a job in the hotel, what would you say?’

  He grinned at the roadway ahead. ‘My comment would probably be unprintable.’

  ‘I’m not all that useless,’ she objected with spirit. She was nettled by his apparent reluctance to use her services.

  ‘And you’re not particularly useful, are you?’ he taunted.

  ‘At least I know some of the hotel visitors who come year after year, and that’s more than you do,’ she said hotly.

  ‘Yes, I admit that,’ he conceded, ‘but the handful of people you know is only a very small proportion of those we hope will eventually come during the high season.’

  She was silent for a time and he continued, more gently now, ‘ Miss Sutherland, if you want to work I can find you plenty to do, but you’ll be employed by me in the ordinary way, with the appropriate salary. No extra privileges because you’re the daughter of the former owner—’

  ‘Who is now a director of your company, anyway,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Yes, but I’m the manager of this particular hotel.’

  ‘You do like power, don’t you?’ She glanced sideways at his set face.

  ‘Certainly. In my job I need it.’

  After a few moments she asked, ‘What sort of job would you give me? Scullery-maid?’

  ‘Even scullery-maids have to be efficient.’ He laughed softly. ‘I think we might find you a position slightly higher in the scale, something that won’t offend your dignity. That is, of course, if you’re really sincere about wanting to work at the hotel.’

  ‘Then I’ll undertake to stay here for the season,’ she said decisively.

  That would surely be making the best use of both worlds, she thought. In the autumn when the hotel closed, her father would be better in health, more reconciled to his new status, and by then she could probably find another opening as dress designer in London. Besides, it was a long time since she had been able to enjoy a whole Scottish summer at Gairmorlie.

  ‘I’m not prepared to accept any rash promises you make at this hour of early morning,’ he answered. ‘We’ll discuss it later when you’ve had time to think exactly what you’re in for.’

  His tone was like a cold douche and her sudden enthusiasm was quenched.

  ‘If this is the way you treat all prospective members of your staff,’ she said when she could control her voice, ‘you won’t get very far in this part of the world. The Scots won’t tolerate it.’

  He grunted with amusement. ‘I’ve more than a Scottish name,’ he told her. ‘Although I was born in Canada, both my parents are Scots and my grandfather emigrated from a glen only fifty miles or so from here.’

  By now he had arrived at the Gairmorlie and drove carefully along the rough drive still littered with mounds of earth, tree branches and oil drums. He helped her from the car so that the hem of her dress would not be soiled and opened the entrance door for her.

  Miriam had left a flask of coffee in the kitchen, and Fenella was grateful.

  ‘Come and have some,’ she invited Mr. Ramsay.

  He took the cup she had poured, drained it almost at a gulp and said abruptly, ‘I’ll lock up, Miss Sutherland. Good night.’

  She stared at his retreating back. He seemed incapable of real enjoyment. Had he never learned that some of the best moments of an evening out occurred over a late-night or early-morning cup of coffee and a sandwich? She and Alex would have laughed as they recounted the absurd or dramatic happenings of the evening.

  Fenella pulled her white fur cape around her shoulders. Mr. Ramsay was adept at giving one the shivers.

  In bed she fell asleep almost instantly and did not awake until nearly ten o’clock when Miriam brought her breakfast.

  ‘How late!’ exclaimed Fenella. ‘Thank you, Miriam.’

  ‘It’s Sunday and you’ve no need to get up early.’

  As Fenella sat up and began on the toast and scrambled egg she became aware of the uncanny quietness outside.

  ‘What are the men doing? Eating their elevenses?’ she asked.

  ‘Not here today. I told you it was Sunday.’

  Fenella’s eyes opened wide. ‘Oh, so he respects the Scots that much, not to make them work on a Sunday.’

  ‘Yes. It’s very generous of him when he needs every single hour’s work he can get.’

  Fenella laughed. ‘It’s going to be quite a race with time to get this place opened.’

  ‘Tell me about the dance,’ Miriam said, sitting on the foot of the bed.

  Fenella launched into an account of the evening’s gaiety, who was there, what they wore. She forgot that Miriam, tied to quiet evenings, did not know except by name half the people that Fenella mentioned.

  ‘Did Alex bring you home?’ she queried.

  ‘No. He had to ferry another party along with his sister. Mr. Ramsay drove me home.’

  Miriam rose abruptly. ‘Did you have a pleasant ride?’

  ‘On and off.’ Fenella smothered a giggle. She was about to say that she had offered to take a job and stay for the whole of the summer season, but Miriam had moved towards the door.

  ‘I must go downstairs and see what mischief Jamie is up to,’ she murmured.

  Alone, Fenella finished her breakfast, bathed and put on a softly-tailored tweed suit. She brushed her long fair hair, hesitated whether to leave it loose or twist it into a knot. She decided on the knot; more businesslike. Careful make-up, too, was indicated and she used only the merest hint of eye-shadow and a soft-tone lipstick.

  In the mirror she saw herself as an up-and-coming young hotel assistant, an industrious adornment to the Gairmorlie. Fortified by a good breakfast and satisfaction with her ap
pearance, she went in search of Mr. Ramsay, ready to prove to him that last night’s promise was no mere gesture. She really meant to work.

  Mr. Ramsay was nowhere to be seen either in the hotel or grounds.

  Fenella met Jamie sitting on a pile of bricks.

  ‘Has Mr. Ramsay gone out, or isn’t he up yet?’ she asked the boy.

  ‘He went out hours ago,’ replied Jamie.

  ‘Did he say when he’d be back? Lunch-time or later?’

  ‘No. He’s gone walking on the hills.’

  So Fenella’s careful preparation for an interview with a prospective employer was all to no purpose.

  ‘Look, Fenella, I’ve got some more names.’ Jamie held out his plastered arm, now covered not only with scrawled signatures, but little drawings in indelible ink.

  ‘Who did these sketches?’ she asked, laughing in spite of the fact that she easily recognized herself caricatured with a flowing mane, turned-up nose and an exaggerated chin at an impossible angle.

  ‘One of the men. He draws plans and that sort of thing.’ A small sketch of Mr. Ramsay portrayed him with frowning eyebrows and his mouth open, apparently barking out orders. Miriam was less savagely caricatured, but the bearded foreman, McPhail, had been given a huge, bulbous nose and protruding teeth.

  ‘You’ve quite a portrait gallery there, Jamie,’ Fenella observed, laughing. Even as she spoke the boy began to draw fancy oval frames round the portraits so that they resembled miniatures. Now it occurred to Fenella that Miriam and Mr. Ramsay were on the same level, facing each other like two halves of an old-fashioned locket, their names as captions underneath.

  A startling thought entered her head. Could it be that Miriam was looking for a friendship that might develop into something stronger? Certainly Miriam would marry again some time, but Fenella could scarcely visualize Mr. Ramsay either as Miriam’s husband or Jamie’s new father. Yet perhaps the subconscious idea was in Jamie’s mind and he was looking for a father.

  ‘Is there anything to eat?’ he asked, climbing down from the brick pile. ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘I’ll get you something,’ she agreed at once, glad to return to material matters instead of wild conjectures. Miriam was not in the kitchen as Fenella had expected. She opened the door of the huge fridge, poured milk for Jamie and found a wedge of cake. ‘Do you know where your mother is?’ she asked.