Page 30 of The Midnight Secret

‘Stay away from me!’ she cried.

‘You have misunderstood...!’ he called after her as she ran towards the door and out into the corridor. It was quiet – most people were now back in their rooms getting ready for drinks before dinner. Flora sprinted along the corridor, down the stairs, not stopping until her own suite was within sight.

James looked up from the bed as she burst in, out of breath.

‘Flora?’ he asked, dropping his book, immediately concerned. ‘What is it?’

She stared at him as he got up and came over to her. How could she tell him the fear she had felt in that moment whenshe had thought Tucker was going to lay his hands upon her? It had reminded her of that night in Edward Rushton’s apartment in Paris.Let him have you, Pepperly had counselled, thinking only of his money.

But Tucker hadn’t laid a finger on her. He hadn’t even said anything outright, merely implied a grubby little innuendo with his usual misplaced manner. For the first time, she checked herself. He hadn’t chased after her, nor deliberately stepped into her path to obstruct her departure...Had he risen to standing from manners, not ill intent? Had she overreacted? Were her nerves so friable she had imagined something that wasn’t there?

‘N-nothing,’ she murmured. ‘...I just felt like running.’

There was a pause as he pulled her into him. ‘My wild island girl,’ he grinned, kissing her hair. ‘I might have taken the girl out of St Kilda, but I’ll never take St Kilda out of the girl.’

Chapter Nine

MHAIRI

Boxing Day 1930

Oban

Debussy played over the wireless, Donald’s hand clasping hers as he whirled her in sweeping circles around the room so that her skirt billowed out. She was still wearing her pinny, stained with gravy marks, and they were a little out of time, neither one of them sure if they were attempting a waltz or a foxtrot, but they didn’t care; the perfection of the moment came down to its spontaneity, heart and sense of fun.

Donald’s eyes fastened upon her and she marvelled, as she always did, at their blueness, the softness of his rough hands as he held her. These were the moments when she was reminded that life was good, that beauty lay within the small things: a shared smile, an unexpected dance...

They had been in their own feathered nest for almost two days now, and she didn’t want even to open a window and let the outside world in. Everything she needed was within these four walls. The wireless had been his Christmas gift to her; he had spent weeks saving up, putting aside whateverpennies he could, reasoning that if the wild flowers she picked from the verges and the wood behind the town could bring beauty to their spartan home, music could add another layer too.

He spun her out, making her laugh at the unexpected move and catching her easily with his strong arms. He dipped her low – and kept her there, kissing her gently before the fire, just as there came a knock at the door. It wasn’t unexpected, but Mhairi wished it could have come an hour from now. Or even a minute.

Donald sighed, pulling her back up and kissing her on the lips once more – but the tenderness of their private moment was already gone. He was nervous, she knew.

The knock came again. It had a percussive rhythm to it and, as Donald crossed the room, Mhairi, needing something to do, straightened the tablecloth. It was an old bedsheet she had washed and embroidered and she’d set a small posy of red campion in a glass. She looked around the space, trying to see it through a visitor’s eyes: she had cleaned the windows so the glass sparkled, trying to let in as much light as possible, though the days were so short now anyway. The coal fire was heaped high and crackling so that the room had a rosy warmth. And of course, the mellifluous strings of Debussy soared, tipped and swayed in the background.

Donald looked back at her, both of them holding their breath, before he opened the door.

‘David!’ he exclaimed with robust pleasure. ‘It’s a fair treat to see you again.’ Mhairi watched as the two men shook hands. ‘Come in, come in.’

‘I’m afraid I bothered your neighbours trying to find you. I ended two along by mistake,’ David said, removing his hat as he entered their home.

‘Easily done,’ Donald nodded. ‘I trust they were helpful?’

David’s eyes darted over to where Mhairi stood. ‘...Aye,’ he said.

‘How are you, David?’ she asked, greeting him with a sisterly hug. Flora’s big brother had always felt like a brother to her too, and it was only as she set eyes upon him now that she realized how much she had missed him. Her loneliness here was like a hunger gnawing away at her all the time.

‘All the better for seeing you, Mhairi...Both of you,’ he added, glancing awkwardly at Donald. He wasn’t yet accustomed to seeing them as a couple. The last time they’d all been together, Donald had been standing on the HMSHarebellwith Mary and their newborn son...Mhairi knew David couldn’t possibly comprehend the earthquakes that had shifted their world for them to have fallen into this new position. There was much to discuss, clearly – but not yet. Manners had to prevail over curiosity.

David looked down at the small package he was holding, wrapped in brown paper. ‘A cake,’ he said, holding it out to her.

Mhairi’s eyes brightened.

‘From my ma,’ he added quickly, seeing her hopes rise and then fall back. ‘She thought you’d like it for Christmas.’

She swallowed. ‘...How kind!’ she said, trying to hide the disappointment that it wasn’t something from her own mother. There had been no word from them since her parents had arrived on Harris for her wedding to Alexander McLennan, only to discover she had jilted him. Her letter warning them not to come had arrived too late, and while she didn’t know exactly what Alexander had told them, there was no doubt he had painted her as the villain of the piece – a situation only compounded by Mhairi giving Donald his alibi for the nightof the factor’s murder, thereby revealing their affair. She’d known word of that must have reached back to Lochaline when her letters had started coming back to Oban stampedReturned to Sender.She had tried ringing the Lochaline telephone box across the lane from the cottages, hoping she could explain, but Christina MacQueen had told her in a frosty voice that her parents were ‘out’, and she had been met with a wall of silence ever since. Her family was ashamed of her, she knew. She had become that worst of things: ‘a disgrace’. So David’s telegram saying he would be visiting had given her hope that he might bring some token of affection from them: a letter, a blanket, a cake.

She carried the little package through to their small kitchen area as David shrugged off his coat and rubbed his hands before the fire. It was sleeting outside, a bitter easterly wind shaking the tailcoat of strong storms in Europe. He seemed nervous and on edge, the easy-going David of old left somewhere in the past.

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