A Forbidden Liaison with Miss Grant Page 11

  ‘You’ve been doing your homework!’

  ‘Do I go to top of the class, teacher? There are a number of islands dotted around the Forth estuary, but this is reputed to be one of the most memorable.’

  ‘Is it? Why?’

  Grayson laughed, turning her around. ‘Because of that.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness!’ Laughing, she gazed up at the massive ruin. ‘I didn’t even notice it when we landed. What on earth is it?’

  ‘An Augustine abbey built in the twelfth century. Shall we take a look?’

  ‘Yes! What about your coat?’

  ‘I’ll leave it in the boat, it will be safe enough if I pull it up the beach a bit. Do you want to leave your bonnet?’

  ‘And my shawl.’ Constance handed it to him, tilting her head up to the sun while he attended to the boat. ‘It’s such a bonny day.’

  There was a scrape of wood on the pebbly foreshore. ‘You’ll need to have a care not to burn.’

  ‘I won’t, though I’ll probably get a few more freckles. You forget, until I came to Edinburgh I was a hardy wee soul from the Highlands who only ever wore a bonnet on a Sunday.’

  ‘And who wandered barefoot in the heather,’ Grayson said, taking her hand. ‘Aye, right.’

  She laughed, her fingers twining around his, enjoying the feel of her skin on his without her gloves getting in the way. ‘Looking back, I wonder that my parents adapted to their way of life so well. My mother never talked of her family, but from the little Pearl has told me, I know that they were quite well off. She’d have had no experience of cooking or baking, never mind doing the laundry, yet I never once heard her complain. Quite the opposite, she and my father were very, very happy. Oh, my goodness, would you look at that?’

  From the beach the abbey looked like a ruin, but now they had made their way around the roofless church, the full extent of the monastic buildings was revealed. ‘It’s absolutely magnificent,’ Constance said, surveying it in awe.

  A massive tower stood at one corner complete with battlements. A chapel, steep-roofed, hexagonal in shape, was built on to the tower and beyond it, the monastic buildings were constructed around a courtyard. There was a hush to the place, an air of peace and tranquillity that kept them both silent as they explored, astonished to find the cloisters intact, and any number of rooms, one leading to another. They were empty, their windows un-shuttered, but otherwise in perfect repair.

  ‘You can almost imagine the monks sitting here, taking their porridge in the morning,’ Constance whispered.

  ‘Or drinking their beer,’ Grayson said, peering through one of the windows. ‘You’d think a place like this would be full of ghosts, but you don’t get that feeling, do you?’

  ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’

  He took her hand again as they made their way back outside, blinking in the sunshine of the courtyard. ‘When you’re gone, you’re gone. I don’t think the dead come back to haunt us, but I think their spirit lives on, in those they’ve left behind. I see Eliza in Shona. It’s funny, you’d think it would be Neil, for he’s her spit, but it’s not about looks. It’s the way Shona smiles sometimes, or the way she picks up a book, frowning at the cover before she opens it. The way she’s lost to the world when she’s reading, and you can say something three times over and she won’t hear you.’

  ‘That must be—strange? Difficult?’

  ‘No, no it’s not. I don’t think Eliza is up there,’ Grayson said, tilting his head at the cloudless sky. ‘She’s not looking down on me, keeping a watchful eye over us—I don’t believe that. When she died, I wished I did think that, it would have provided some solace, but I couldn’t persuade myself. What I do believe though, is she lives on in Neil and Shona, though that’s such a bloody cliché.’

  ‘Like most clichés, true enough though.’

  ‘It’s one of the reasons I wouldn’t ever put a stop to Shona and Neil visiting their grandparents. Much as I’d like to. If only they could bring themselves to see that my children take their heritage as much from me as their mother, things would be a damn sight easier. But a Maddox from Govan cannot compete with a Murray from—’ He broke off as they came to the edge of the courtyard, facing out on the other side of the island back towards Leith. ‘Never mind. This place is much more extensive than I realised. Look, there’s traces of a wall there, shall we follow it round, see where it leads?’ He smiled down at her. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to spoil the day by being maudlin.’

  ‘Nothing can spoil this day.’ Constance lifted his hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles. ‘Have you tried mending bridges with your wife’s parents—did you say their name was Murray? I don’t think you’ve mentioned it before.’

  There was a brief silence. ‘No, I haven’t. Murray is the family name.’

  Constance said nothing, puzzled by his tone, for he’d spoken the name as if it was significant. Did he imagine she might be acquainted with them?

  ‘This looks as if it was the kitchen garden at one time.’ Grayson pointed to a large flat swathe of land enclosed in a shallow wall. ‘It’s not for me to mend bridges. It wasn’t me who burned them. I’ve done my best to appease them over the years, which is more than they’ve ever done for me. If they’d just let things be—but that’s the one thing they can’t do. It would have been better for all of us, if I’d married Bridie Gallagher, who lived in the flat next to my parents, though her father would have had something to say about that mind you. God feared him, rather than the other way around, and on the odd occasion I went to church, as far as he was concerned it was the wrong sort. Old Man Gallagher would have wanted to stick his oar in to how I raised my weans just as much, in his own way as L—as the Murrays. Life would be easier if marriage came without in-laws attached.’

  And that, his tone made clear, was the end of the conversation about the Murrays. ‘Have you any kin of your own?’ Constance asked, deciding that it would be wise to take the hint.

  ‘A few cousins, on both my mother and father’s side. You look surprised.’

  ‘You haven’t mentioned them.’

  ‘I employ three of them. The others, I see two or three times a year. We’re not close, but we keep in touch, and it’s good for Neil and Shona, to see that not everyone lives as they do.’ The faint frown on his brow disappeared. ‘It’s awkward though, being the rich one in the family. My relatives are all hard-working and proud. They’ll take a job from me, but nothing else. I get the feeling that they’re always looking for evidence that I’m getting above myself.’

  ‘You wouldn’t fancy the monastic life?’

  ‘I like my comforts, Constance. Porridge for breakfast and dinner I could cope with, even a vow of silence, but I draw the line at doing without this.’ He pulled her into his arms, kissing her gently. ‘Not yet, any road.’

  The sense of an ending hovered between them. Grayson let her go. The ruined wall turned at a sharp angle. They followed it, past a cluster of outbuildings which might have been shelters for animals, to the next turn, where it led them back towards the beach where they had landed. ‘What about you?’ he asked, breaking the silence. ‘Have you ever thought of seeking out your mother’s kin?’

  It was an obvious question, but an unwelcome one. ‘Why should I, after the way they treated my mother?’

  ‘You can’t know that they all felt the same. There’s maybe some who aren’t even aware of your existence.’

  ‘They are.’

  ‘You sound very sure.’

  ‘Pearl told them.’

  ‘Of course, I forgot. She’s visiting her own kin now, isn’t she? Could you not have gone with her?’

  Another obvious question. ‘No. I’m not completely ruling it out, but it’s not the right time.’ She smiled determinedly. ‘I wouldn’t want to leave poor Angus. And besides, if I had gone with Pearl, we wouldn’t have met.’

  �
�Now that would have been a disaster. Here we are back at the beach, and rather conveniently, the sun’s over the yardarm.’

  ‘Is it? I’ve lost track of time. What’s the significance of the sun being over the yardarm?’

  He laughed. ‘It’s a nautical term, it means it’s time for a drink. Look, here’s a nice sheltered spot on the beach. We’ll have the wall to our backs, and the sun is going round a bit so it will be out of our faces, and there’s this rock to hide us from view if anyone else lands, though I doubt that will happen. Sit there, and I’ll go and fetch our lunch.’

  * * *

  ‘Champagne.’ Grayson announced as he turned the bottle and carefully eased the cork out. ‘I prefer a claret myself, but I reckoned you’d never have tasted it before, and it’s a day for treats. I hope it’s still cold.’ He poured some of the fizzing wine into two glasses, handing her one.

  Constance chinked her flute to his. ‘You’re full of surprises! I had no idea you had smuggled a picnic on to the boat.’

  ‘I hid it under the blanket.’

  ‘Well thank you for a lovely and thoughtful almost-birthday. You’ve gone to so much trouble.’ She took a sip, then sneezed. ‘Bubbles! And it’s freezing.’

  ‘I put it in the water when I pulled the boat up.’ He had already spread the blanket on the sand. Opening the wicker basket, he was pleased to discover that Oman’s had not let him down. ‘A terrine, baked chicken, some crayfish with a sauce, ham hough in a jelly, a smoked cheese and raspberries. Not bad, if I say so myself.’

  ‘I love raspberries, they are so much more tart than strawberries.’ Constance was setting out the food on the plates. ‘This is a veritable feast. You’re really spoiling me. I have never had a picnic on a beach before.’

  ‘Another first, then. I don’t think I’ve ever had a picnic like this either, not even when I was working in Marseilles. Do you want to help yourself?’

  ‘No, you serve me please. You do it so beautifully.’

  She was sitting with her back against the wall, her legs curled up underneath her. Her hair was a charming tangle, half down over her shoulders, wisps of it blowing over her forehead. He could swear there were at least a dozen more freckles on her nose. He thought them charming, but he knew better than to say so. He leaned over, unable to resist bestowing a brief kiss on her lips.

  ‘You taste of champagne,’ she said. ‘I feel quite deliciously decadent. If I was a lady of leisure, I’d do this every day.’

  Grayson handed her a plate with a small selection of each dish, and helped himself to the rest of the chicken. ‘Even ladies of leisure can’t command the Scottish weather. Picnicking in the rain and the wind isn’t so much fun.’

  ‘I suppose not. This terrine is absolutely delicious.’

  ‘I’ll have some in a minute.’

  ‘You like to eat one thing at a time, and I like to have a bit of everything. We’re different that way. And you don’t like champagne, do you? You have hardly touched yours and I’ve nearly finished mine.’

  ‘Have some more. There’s a bottle of hock here, I’ll have some of that instead. What else would you do if you were a lady of leisure, other than sit about on the beach?’

  ‘Oh, I like to be doing something. In truth, I’m not cut out to be a lady of leisure at all.’

  ‘But isn’t that exactly what you are, apart from walking Angus and running errands for Pearl?’

  Constance paused and took another sip of champagne. ‘They both can be quite demanding in their own way.’

  He always knew when she was prevaricating. It wasn’t only that she looked away, the tone of her voice went just a wee bit higher. They were strangers that were about to pass in the night, Grayson reminded himself. Whatever she was holding back, she wasn’t the only one. ‘If I didn’t have my children and my yard to look after, I think what I’d do is have a paddle steamer kitted out as my home from home, and take off, see how far it would get me.’

  ‘How far would that be? I think you said that none had crossed the Atlantic yet?’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to go that far.’ He took some terrine and topped up their glasses. ‘Back to the Mediterranean, maybe. I’d sail around some of the islands. Sardinia, Crete, Corfu, Cyprus. Some of the smaller ones off Greece that I’ve never seen. The sun would shine all day. The sky and the sea would be the same colour of turquoise blue. The sands would be golden. Would you come with me?’

  ‘In a heartbeat. Would we sleep on deck, under the stars?’

  ‘Definitely. We’d fall asleep to the gentle lap of water against the hull, and we’d wake to watch the sun come up—and it would come up, every single morning without fail.’

  ‘What about our crew, where would they sleep?’

  Grayson laughed. ‘Stop being so practical! You’ll be mentioning mosquitoes next. Can I help you to some more to eat?’

  ‘Just some raspberries, thank you.’ Constance sat back, stretching her legs out. ‘I wonder if the King will dine so well when he is in Edinburgh. One thing is for sure, he won’t be eating haggis or sheep’s heid or—what was that other thing?’

  ‘Hodge-podge. I heard he has a taste for Glenlivet whisky.’

  ‘“The news has flown frae mouth to mouth, the North for ance has bang’d the South. The de’il a Scotsman’s die of drouth, Carle, now the King’s come!” I’m not sure if the “drouth” referred to is Glenlivet, but it could be.’

  ‘What the hell was that you were spouting?’

  Constance gave a peal of laughter. ‘A poem, written by Walter Scott himself, to welcome the King. Though it’s such terrible doggerel that he’s not actually put his name to it.’

  ‘“Carle, now the King’s come.” What on earth does that mean?’

  ‘I’m not actually sure. Hail fellow, well met, or something, if indeed it means anything at all. He could well have invented it.’

  ‘I wish he hadn’t bothered. I’ve never heard such drivel.’

  ‘It goes on for page after page. I’m not entirely sure what the point of it is, save to list out the names of those and such as those who will be standing in line to kiss the royal hand.’

  ‘Sounds to me like Walter Scott kissing the royal...’

  ‘No! Do not dare say it.’ Constance’s eyes were alight with laughter. ‘Especially not since I fear the royal rear will be on display in a kilt.’

  ‘Enough, you’re putting me off my food. Here, have the last of the champagne.’

  ‘I’ve had far too much, it’s going to my head, and it’s warm.’

  ‘Do you fancy a paddle to cool down?’

  ‘Another first?’ Constance drained her glass. ‘Look away, while I take off my shoes and stockings.’

  ‘If I absolutely have to.’

  ‘You absolutely have to.’

  The rustling of her petticoats was a torment. Grayson took off his boots and stockings, thinking to join her, but when he stepped out of the shadow of the rock to watch her walk barefoot down the sands, he changed his mind. She was dancing around every little pebble, her hand held out quite unnecessarily for balance. He looked on rapt, utterly endeared. She squealed when the first wave hit her, jumping back like a child, and he laughed aloud. Clutching her gown, she made a second careful foray into the water, standing calf-deep quite still, facing out to sea. Her hair had come completely undone. Her dress, held out of the water, was pulled tight against her bottom. She stooped to pick up a shell or a stone, wobbled, recovered, turned around to wave at him, and he had that feeling that happened so very rarely, that he would always remember this, the perfection of the moment, the complete and utter joy of it, the sense that he was in exactly the right place at the right time.

  Constance picked her way back across the sand. ‘It was freezing, but wonderful. Here, this is for you.’ She handed him the pink-tinged shell. ‘Isn’t it beautiful? Do you know what
it is from?’

  ‘A sea snail. Thank you.’

  She sat down beside him on the edge of the blanket, digging her toes into the sand. ‘I won’t ever forget today.’

  ‘Your feet must be covered in sand. Here,’ he said, kneeling beside her, grabbing the linen cloth that had covered the food. ‘Let me dry them for you.’

  ‘I can do it myself.’

  ‘I’m sure you can.’

  Resting her foot on his knee, he began carefully wipe the damp sand from it, working between her toes, aware of her eyes fixed on him the whole time, of the silence between them that spoke volumes. When he was done, he kissed each toe and set about the other foot. He could hear her breathing. He had never been so deeply aroused, yet he didn’t think that anything would come of it, would have been happy to go on like this, holding her feet on his lap, and nothing more. Save when he was done with her second foot she said his name, pulling herself up beside him, wrapping her arms around him, kissing him with such intent that it didn’t even occur to him to resist.

  He hadn’t known that kisses could speak volumes, that so much could be said by simply looking into a person’s eyes. He saw his own longing reflected in hers. Desire too, but it went deeper than that. This was right. It would be wrong for them to resist. The day had been leading up to this. The week had been leading up to it. Maybe even more than that.

  They sank back on to the rug, kissing. There was no sense of urgency, only a sense of certainty. They would get there, but not yet. He kissed her eyes, and her nose and her cheeks and her mouth. He kissed her neck, and the skin behind her ears, and her mouth. She was running her hands over him all the time, slowly, not with abandon but as if she wanted to trace his shape.

  He kissed the hollow of her throat, and the swell of her breasts above the neckline of her gown. He wanted to kiss her all over, but her clothes were too complicated, and he didn’t want to stop to remove them. He pulled her on top of him, and she wrapped her legs either side of him, sweet torture dragging a groan from deep inside him. She ran her tongue over his bottom lip. He rolled her on to her back again, pushing her petticoats up, moving down between her legs. There were other places to plant kisses.