It was, the girls secretly felt, so different from the streets of home as to be almost alien. How would it compare to the place they were going? As Frank rustled his map, they remained quiet, still keeping their eyes on the views from the train, relieved, in a way, whenever they came to tiny stations. Here, at least, were signs of life.
‘I think this is Loch Carron we’re looking at now,’ Frank said at last. ‘Homeward stretch, girls! Not too far now to Kyle.’
‘Not the end of the journey, though,’ Monnie commented. ‘We’ve still to get a bus.’
‘Yes, but we can have something to eat first.’
‘And coffee!’ Lynette said cheerfully. ‘Oh joy! Think I might just make it to the hostel if I get the tank filled.’
‘You’re like Popeye dying for his spinach,’ Monnie said laughing. ‘I know, because I’m the same.’
It was a strange sensation to leave the train, which had taken them through such wild and empty country, for the bustle and normality of Kyle of Lochalsh, the base of the ferry to Skye. Here was a large and busy centre, with harbour and pier, lifeboat station and smart hotel, cafes and shops. And people – plenty of them – the sight of which fuelled the girls’ spirits almost as well as the coffee and quick snack they had at one of the cafes.
‘Civilization,’ Lynette said in a low voice. ‘I loved that train trip, but – I don’t know – maybe I’m a townee at heart.’
‘Don’t say that,’ Monnie answered, glancing at Frank. ‘You’ll settle in, no trouble.’
‘All I want is for you girls to be happy about what you’re doing,’ Frank said at once. ‘It’s never going to be too late for you to go back, you know.’
‘Who said anything about going back?’ cried Lynette. ‘Hey, I’m not giving up before I’ve started. The plan was to come with you, Dad, and that’s what we’ve done. So forget going back.’
‘All right.’ He nodded. ‘Let’s go forward, then. It’s time we went for that bus.’
Six
It was a very old bus. Maybe even pre-war, with high, faded leather seats rather close together and small, narrow windows. Clean, though, and a pleasant refuge from the wind that had been rattling around everybody waiting at the bus stop.
‘Glenelg?’ asked the driver, who was tanned and lined and a little grey, as Frank took his turn to pay.
‘No, three to Conair, please.’
‘Three, it is.’
While he punched out their tickets and gave Frank change, the driver’s smile was friendly, his eyes curious – as were the eyes of the other passengers watching as the Foresters took their seats. It was plain everyone on the bus knew everyone else, except for two young men at the back, who were probably climbers, and these three strangers, who probably weren’t. So, who might they be? The Foresters could almost hear the question going through the locals’ minds.
‘Now this bit of the journey, I do remember,’ Frank whispered to the girls as the bus set off down the side of Loch Duich making for Shiel Bridge, from where it would turn to the unclassified road to Glenelg. ‘We drove all round here with Bobby Gregor. Know what we used to call it? Calendar Land.’
‘Calendar Land?’ Monnie repeated. ‘Why?’
‘Why? Just take a look out of the window. Everything on this route looks like a picture on a calendar.’ Frank laughed. ‘Wait till we get to Dornie and you see Eilean Donan! Don’t know how many times I’ve sent pictures of that castle to folks.’
Dornie? Eilean Donan? As soon as the girls saw the pretty village of Dornie, with the fairy-tale castle of Eilean Donan rising from its little island close by, they understood what their father was talking about. Calendar Land. The words aptly summed up this new part of the world that was different again from the wild countryside they’d seen from the train. Yet there was grandeur here, too, with towering snow-capped mountains on the south side of the glen. Also, when they began to climb Mam Ratagan after the turn at Shiel Bridge, Frank, looking back, pointed out a great ridge of peaks he said was famous.
‘The Five Sisters of Kintail,’ he told them. ‘You’ll remember them from the maps?’
‘Och, I’m just looking at where we are now!” Lynette cried. ‘Talk about switchbacks! I don’t envy the driver taking us over this lot!’
‘Ah, now, ’tis nothing,’ the listening driver called out, smiling. ‘I could do it blindfold, so I could, I have been doing it so long. And it’s worth it, eh, for the views?’
‘The Five Sisters,’ Frank agreed. ‘Another calendar favourite.’
‘They are that! And have a story you should hear. Agnes, why don’t you tell it to the visitors?’
Who’s Agnes? wondered the Foresters.
She turned out to be a woman sitting just behind them. Heavy-shouldered, with large hands resting on her shopping bag, she had a bold, good-looking face. High cheekbones, straight, thin nose, eyes blue, keen and clear. From a scarf wound round her head, her hair was escaping, in thick yellow strands.
‘Me?’ she asked, clearly not displeased at the idea.
‘You know all the stories,’ someone said, and the driver joined in.
‘Aye, be telling them, Agnes. ’Twill take their minds off the road, I am thinking.’
‘We’d like to hear it, too,’ one of the climbers shouted from the back, and Monnie, swivelling round, thought he had rather a pleasant face. She wondered if he and his companion were going to the hostel. Perhaps not. They looked to be around thirty. Might consider themselves too old, even though there was no age bar, as far as Monnie knew.
‘Well, then, there’s more than one story about the mountains there, but this is the one I know,’ Agnes began, her Highland voice soft and lilting.
‘Long ago, there were seven sisters hereabouts, daughters of a farmer. Two brothers came visiting from a foreign land and married two of the sisters, which left five, you see, without husbands. So, these brothers said they would return home with their brides but send their five brothers to come back over the sea and marry the sisters who were left. Which, as you can imagine, made them very happy.’
‘But guess what happened!’ interrupted the driver. ‘Ah, ’twas awful sad, eh?’
‘Now don’t be rushing me, Tim MacLean,’ Agnes remonstrated coolly, then relaxed and continued. ‘But, yes, it was awful sad. The sisters waited and waited, but no brothers came and in the end they gave up the waiting and went to a local wizard. What they asked him then was very strange, but it was to turn them into the peaks of mountains. Five peaks, you see, for the five sisters, so that their beauty would be preserved for ever.’ Agnes raised her large hands. ‘Which I think you’ll agree, it was.’
‘Oh, yes, those peaks are beautiful,’ Lynette said quickly, but Monnie was sighing.
‘Too sad, though, to think of the sisters waiting and waiting and no one coming.’
‘Happens, you know, even today,’ a woman near Agnes murmured. ‘Remember Maggie Lindsay, engaged to that fellow from Inverness? Borrowed the money for the ring and never came back? Then there was—’
‘Ah, now, never mind those miserable tales,’ Agnes said quickly, her eyes fixed on the Forester girls. ‘Tell me, my dears, are you from Edinburgh, then?’
‘We are,’ Lynette replied.
‘Thought so, could tell by your voices.’ Agnes sighed with satisfaction. ‘Oh, I love to hear the city accents!’
‘On holiday, eh?’ the driver asked. ‘A little bit early, maybe, for the good weather.’
‘Not on holiday,’ said Frank. ‘I’m Frank Forester, the new warden of the hostel at Conair. And these are my daughters.’
The new warden? There were murmurs of interest from the passengers. Fancy, the warden and his family, on their bus!
‘The warden?’ Agnes repeated. ‘Why, ’tis nice to meet you, then, Mr Forester, and your daughters. We all know Mr MacKay, and his wife, too. Such a lovely couple as they are. And away to Canada to be with their son.’
‘I am meeting Mr MacKay today,’ Frank said. ‘We are on our way to the hostel now.’
‘And isn’t that lovely?’ someone murmured. ‘Be watching out for Agnes’s boy, then. He’ll be delivering your fish.’
‘Beautiful fresh fish,’ Agnes declared. ‘Sure, you’ll meet my laddie. But we wish you all the best, Mr Forester, and your girls, too. ’Twill be strange for you, to be in our part of the world after Edinburgh, but anything you want, you’ve only to ask.’
Voices chimed in. Anything they wanted, they’d only to ask.
‘Here comes Glenelg,’ the driver announced. ‘Your place is next, Mr Forester.’
‘How pretty,’ Monnie whispered to Lynette, looking out at Glenelg Bay with its direct views to Skye, and the straggling village street of whitewashed cottages. ‘Looks like there’s a hotel, too, and a little ferry.’
‘Seems to be the place to live. Plenty getting out.’
When the bus moved on, however, there were still several passengers left, including Agnes and the two climbers, which made Monnie wonder again if the men were making for the hostel. But when Frank asked with a friendly smile if they were bound for Conair, they said they were going on to the Talisman, the hotel further on. Best of luck, though, to the new warden, they added, wishing him all the best.
‘Didn’t fancy Conair House yourselves?’ Frank asked.
‘Not this time.’
So, they’d stayed at the hostel before, Monnie thought. Perhaps fancied a little more comfort now? Not that it was of any interest; she didn’t suppose she would see the climbers again.
‘Here we are, folks,’ Tim MacLean cried, turning his bus off the road into what was no more than a hamlet. A small collection of whitewashed cottages with a shop and post box, a slipway for boats, and a view across the waters, the Sound of Sleat, to the island of Skye.
‘There’s your hostel, Mr Forester. Conair House, eh? I’ll just give you a hand with your luggage.’
Conair House. Their new home. The Foresters, slowly alighting from the bus, stared at the building they could easily recognize from the pictures they’d seen. Yes, it was exactly the same. Scottish Baronial. Victorian. All its towers, cupolas, narrow windows just as they remembered, though now of course there were no young people sitting outside and no sun shone. In fact, the sky was darkening, and the air around the grey stone walls was filled with wintry chill – a chill that the sisters seemed to feel, though their father showed no sign. And Agnes, bouncing out of the bus with the other passengers for Conair, was in high spirits.
‘Is it not the grandest place, then?’ she cried. ‘The grandest place here, of course, for all the rest is cottages. That’s mine there, next to the shop, but we’re all pretty close. And see – there’s Mr and Mrs MacKay coming out to greet you. Best of luck, my dears!’
‘Best of luck!’ echoed the driver, as he drove away, his last two passengers, the climbers, waving and smiling at Lynette and Monnie.
‘Journey’s end,’ Frank murmured. ‘Here we are, girls.’
‘Here we are,’ they said softly.
And felt suddenly incredibly weary.
Seven
Mr and Mrs MacKay were in their fifties. He, tall, spare, and fit-looking, with a bush of greying hair; she, tiny, with dark, permed curls and darting brown eyes. Energetic people, thought Frank. Ideal wardens, no doubt. Would he be as good? As with his girls, his own energy seemed to be flagging.
‘Bill and Rhoda,’ Mr MacKay said, as he and his wife heartily shook Frank’s hand. ‘Good to see you, Mr Forester. Hope you had a good journey?’
‘Please call me Frank. Thanks, we had an excellent trip, enjoyed it all. May I introduce my daughters, Lynette and Monica?’
‘Your daughters?’ Rhoda put her hand to her lips. ‘Oh, how silly of us . . . We thought, you know, your daughters were
little
girls.’
Little? The sisters stared.
‘Sorry if we’re too old,’ Lynette said at last, half smiling, though not in fact amused.
‘Of course not, of course not!’ Rhoda was blushing pink. ‘It’s just that – well, we didn’t think of grown-ups wanting to . . . you know give up their own lives. Oh, dear, am I making things worse?’
‘No, we understand.’ Monnie was swift to ease the moment. ‘But our mother’s dead and we just thought we’d like to be with Dad.’
‘And that’s lovely, dear. Really lovely. Family’s more important than anything.’ Rhoda nodded her head. ‘That’s why we’re joining our son in Canada – we want to see our grandchildren growing up. But come away into the flat and we’ll have a cup of tea before we show you round. You must be exhausted.’
‘Won’t deny it,’ Frank replied. ‘A cup of tea sounds wonderful. It’s very good of you to take so much trouble.’
‘Nonsense,’ Bill said robustly. ‘We’re happy to do what we can. It can be no joke, running a place like this until you know all the ropes. When we’ve given you the tour, we’ll be taking a taxi to the Talisman Hotel, and tomorrow we’re heading for Inverness to stay with friends before we leave.’
‘We’ve sold our house there,’ Rhoda explained, leading the way round the main house to the modern extension. ‘No ties any more. Gives you a funny feeling, you know, starting completely afresh.’
You can say that again, thought Lynette, as she and Monnie set down their cases in the twin-bedded room they were to share. Not too bad was their verdict, but they didn’t linger. Not when tea was in the offing.
The refreshing tea was served by Rhoda with scones and cake in the sitting room of the flat. Empty of all except basic furnishings, this was a pleasant enough room, with fine views of Skye, but would be pleasanter still, the girls decided, when it was truly theirs and had their own things about.
Of course, they should really be looking round the hostel, which was the reason for everything, but just for a while they were content to relax, their father, too. Sit back, admire the view, accept more tea and, perhaps a little more of that excellent coffee cake. ‘Made by Ishbel,’ as Rhoda told them.
‘Ishbel?’ Frank repeated.
‘Mrs MacNicol, from the shop. She does a bit of baking and I can tell you it’s always snapped up!’ Rhoda smiled. ‘If you’re anything like me, you’ll use the shop a lot. She has everything – even stamps, though you have to go to Glenelg or Kyle if you want a proper post office.’