Chapter 25

Ian noticed that the others were a little circumspect in what they said in front of Edward that lunchtime.

"I suppose puffins don't take sticks down their holes do they?" Dorothea had asked.

Dick shook his head. "Only dried grass and that sort of thing."

After Edward had eaten his macaroni cheese and his raspberries and cream, and been allowed to get down from the table and go and play with Ian's old wooden blocks in the next room, the discussion started in earnest. Ian was a little surprised at how much Titty took the lead and how much the other two seemed to expect it.

"You had better tell us all you know about this fellow, Dot." Titty said. "He's not what he pretends to be. If he just wanted to mooch about or walk, why not say so? Why pretend to be interested in birds?"

"We met him at a dance, in Malta. At least, I met him. I danced with him a couple of times." Dorothea glanced at Ian.

"He didn't ask me to dance." Ian said, in a completely serious voice, and was pleased to have made Dorothea smile.

"John said he was a family friend of some lieutenant, I forget the name. There was a bit of an air of I don't know what to do with this fellow, please take him off my hands."

"That sounds rather like John." said John's sister, grinning. "So did this Mr Crayford say anything about coming here when he was in Malta."

"No, he did mention that he had an uncle who had lived on a boat and was keen on birds, when I mentioned Dick was keen on them. But he didn't say anything about liking them himself."

"Could he have worked out you had any connection with Dick?" Titty asked.

"I don't think so. John introduced me as Lady St George."

"Anyway, sweetheart, the only thing I've ever had published to do with birds was the piece about the Great Northern Divers, and that was well before the war." Dick pointed out.

"Did Mr Crayford see you dance with Ian?" Titty asked.

"Probably," Dot said. "We danced a fair bit."

"Five times." said Ian. "But I don't see how he would have made the connection with (he named the island). And even if he had asked someone else who I was, they probably wouldn't have known. And even if they had known, it wouldn't have helped them. All they would know was that I was a McGinty, not the. There are thousands by the same name. Quite a lot of them don't even live in Scotland. There would be no reason to connect me with here. There's at least two other Major McGintys that I know of and one isn't even in a Scottish regiment."

"So it isn't a connection with Dick or with Ian." said Titty.

"Some people at the dance would have known that Dorothea was a writer. Certainly one of my partners was full of having had afternoon tea with such a famous writer." Ian was watching Dorothea as he said this. So that was what was meant by "blushing prettily." It had seemed such an improbable phrase, and Ian had felt rather scornful when he encountered it in stories by other, lesser writers in Young Women's Weekly. (He must give them back to Jean.) Dorothea really did look very attractive indeed when she blushed.

"Did you meet him at all after the dance, Dorothea?" Ian asked her.

"We ran into him a couple of times in Valetta, when I was with Nancy and the girls, and he always made a point of stopping and speaking to us."

"And he always spoke to you first?" Titty asked frowning.

Dorothea nodded.

"Do people normally do that?" Dick asked. "I mean if it's just introducing someone so you can dance?"

Titty and Dorothea exchanged glances.

"People do, sometimes." Titty said. "It depends on the people you both know and what sort of dance it was and so on."

Dorothea frowned thoughtfully. "He somehow gave the impression that he might be the sort of person who knew the Wimseys – the Duke and Duchess, I mean, not Harriet and Peter. And it was just an impression – he didn't say he did. But if he was – well the Duchess is just the sort of person to be very sticky about "presuming on a ballroom introduction." She'd probably complain even if I'd spoken to him first. It somehow doesn't quite match up."

"Did Nancy say anything more about him in her letter?" Titty asked.

"I haven't even read it yet." Dorothea pulled it out of her pocket and skim read it. Her face grew graver.

….seemed odd enough for John to ask young Marlow about it. (If Marlow happens to see me about, he sidles off if he possibly can. John thinks he suspects me of intending to ask Sympathetic Questions about his home life. Marlow apparently suffers from a surfeit of sisters.)

"Cheek of it." said Titty.

Anyway, it might be nothing, but it seems that Mr Crayford mother's family is called Jemmerling. Might be nothing to do with the beastly egg collector of course, and even if it is, he might be perfectly OK really. I'd hate it if someone judged me by the GA. Anyway, perhaps it's just as well he cleared off. John hasn't ever forgiven the egg collector for shooting at the dogs and offering him money to tell where the Divers were. I can't either.

"No one could." Titty said fiercely.

"He thought John was my brother."

"It wouldn't have made any difference to John whether it was you or Roger." Titty said. "Not even then."

"Mr Crayford said he had an uncle who lived on a boat and was keen on birds." Dorothea said thoughtfully.

Ian stood up abruptly and strode off to the kitchen. He came back a few minutes later.

"It does no harm to keep an eye on him – and the birds." Ian said. "Will you be going down to the loch this afternoon, Dick?"

Small children needed afternoon naps, Ian was sure, and didn't new mothers need to lie down with their feet up? Edward gravely explained that, now he was a big brother, he was too old for naps. Somehow – Ian wasn't sure quite how, except that Jean and Dorothea seemed to have found the time to collude on this – Edward was to accompany Dorothea and himself for the afternoon. Jean had volunteered to spend her two hours afternoon break minding Rosemary, who would most probably be asleep and Titty and Dick would go and watch the Divers. Ian supposed he should be glad that Dorothea and Jean were getting on so well. Edward was quite an endearing little chap – it would be no hardship to look after him for the afternoon, but he had hoped to speak to Dorothea by herself.

"What's that flower?" Edward asked as they crossed the track and continued towards the broch.

"Ragwort." said Dorothea and pulled it up.

"It's naughty to pull up flowers." Edward was horrified.

"It poisons horses – gives them jaundice – if they eat it. But I should have asked Ian before I pulled it up. It's his land."

"What's jaundice?"

"Your liver doesn't work and you go yellow."

"Yellow horses are pretty."

"Not that sort of yellow. And the poor horse would have terrible tummy ache."

Edward stumped onwards thoughtfully.

"There's only old Paddy and he doesn't graze here." Ian said. "And they'll mostly leave it alone – except in hay - but pull the stuff up all you like. Do you ride?"

"Not properly." Dorothea said. "but Bredon's taught me to ride a bit on Winifred's – that's my sister-in-law's – horse. All I can really do is not-fall-off at a walk, a trot and a canter."

"Bredon?"

"Gerry's cousin. He'll be the next Duke – or the next but one Duke. Lord Peter's son. He seems to have made up his mind that keeping an eye on me when he can is a sort of duty. It's rather sweet really. "

Rather sweet. Keeping an eye on her. Teaching her to ride. Sort of duty? This Bredon (ridiculous, pretentious name) wasn't a fool. It wasn't even as if he were Dorothea's cousin – just the late Lord St. George's.

"Not of course that I'd ever say that where he could hear it." she continued, "Can you imagine anything much more lowering than being called sweet when you're thirteen?"

"Not a lot." Ian said automatically. He wanted to whirl Dorothea round in his arms and kiss her. It might be better not to. She hadn't, after all, really indicated that she minded that they hadn't yet had much of chance to be alone together. Perhaps she had thought better of the situation and was trying to avoid awkwardness.

They had arrived at the broch. Edward seemed as delighted with it as Ian had hoped.

"Why don't you go all round it and see that you can find?" Ian suggested. "We'll climb on top of it and wait for you there."

Edward nodded, his expression slightly doubting.

"We will only be a few steps away. If you call, we'll hear you." Dorothea reassured him.

Peering over the edge of the broch, they could follow Edward's progress until the seat of his blue shorts disappeared inside the entrance tunnel.

"It's perfectly safe. I checked. Nothing can collapse on him." Ian whispered very softly close to Dorothea's ear.

She hadn't thought that it might. Of course, the fact that it had been safe enough fifteen years ago – or however long it had been… And they knew where he was and would hear at once if anything..and then she remembered the tunnel under Ling Scar and the rock fall…and imagined it was Edward there instead… "Dorothea?"

And abruptly there was sunshine again, instead of the chill – always the same temperature, Dick had said, whatever the time of year. If we came here in winter, it would seem quite warm. – that could so easily have been…

Ian's voice again, concerned. "Dorothea? You've gone pale. What's the matter?" and then more insistently, "Sit down before you fall down."

And she was sitting down on the grass on top of the Pict House with her head on her knees and Ian's arm around her shoulders. Edward was peering over the edge of the Pict House at her. He was telling her something.

"…and there's a cave with a lion living in it. But don't be frightened, he's a very friendly lion, not the fierce sort."

Edward paused and gazed at his aunt in concern. Deciding the matter called for some further action on his part, he scrambled the rest of the way to the top.

"You really mustn't be frightened of the lion. He hardly ever eats people – only bad ones."

Dorothea managed a smile – aware that it was rather weak. "I'm sure that you and Ian would protect me very well from a dozen lions." she said. "I was just remembering something – but it was a long time ago and nothing for you to worry about."

Edward was well aware of this grown-up propensity for remembering things that made them unhappy. He wasn't sure Uncle Ian, who was after all a new person, would know what to do. He sort of had his arm around Auntie Dot, but it wasn't really a proper cuddle. Edward sat down on the grass next to his aunt.

"When someone is sad, you have to give them a cuddle and then they don't feel sad anymore." Edward explained and wrapped his arms around Auntie Dot.

"That sounds a rather good idea – if you don't mind that is?" he heard Uncle Ian say.

"It seems a very good idea." Auntie Dot said. Her voice sounded funny to Edward because he could feel it with the ear pressed against her side.

And they sat there like that for a bit, both cuddling Auntie Dorothea while she cuddled them with one arm each. After a bit Edward looked at his aunt's face and decided that she didn't look sad and frightened any more. Dearly as he loved her, he had just discovered a perfectly good cave that was probably too small for grown-ups and it would be a pity to waste it.

"Uncle Ian?"

"Yes, Edward?"

"I'm going to explore the cave now and I've prob'ly got to feed the lion. You have to look after Auntie Dot and you must cuddle her if she feels sad."

"That's a very good idea. And maybe a few cuddles just to stop her feeling sad in the first place?" Uncle Ian was looking carefully at Auntie Dot as he said it. Edward felt happy he was taking the job seriously. Sometimes grown-ups didn't take things seriously. Duty done, Edward wriggled off to explore.

"Your nephew is quite the mostly wonderfully intelligent boy I have ever met." Ian said.

"Isn't he?" Dorothea smiled back.

"You really don't mind? I was beginning to think that maybe in Malta… That maybe you'd decided after all… I just didn't want to make things awkward … if…"

"I was beginning to think you didn't mean anything by that evening in Malta, too." she said.

Ian was still smiling. "We're a pair of idiots together then."

The edge of the sunken roof of the Pict house provided them with shelter from the wind, so it didn't matter that Dorothea's hair somehow lost all its pins over the course of the afternoon. Edward scrambled over the edge and joined them occasionally to update them on the wellbeing of the lion and hear how Uncle Ian had used to come here with his father, when he had been Edward's age, and by himself when he had been older and how Uncle Roger had been keeping watch here and fallen asleep and woken up to find a note and a flower in his lemonade bottle.

"Did he fly an aeroplane then?" Edward asked.

"That was a long time before he learned to do that. We were all still at school then, even Uncle John."

Or had that been the summer he had left? She could not remember.

The lion had expressed a wish for lion food, Edward said – Dorothea knew better than to ask what the lion food was meant to be. It looked very much like sprigs of heather and Edward had to go to the lion food shop and fetch it piece by piece to feed to the lion. This gave Dorothea and Ian plenty of time for talking, and kissing and more talking, but it still seemed almost no time until Edward announced that he could see Daddy coming towards them and wasn't it tea-time soon?

"Already?" Ian said, "Why don't you go and tell him about the lion?"