Northern Sunset

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“And if it doesn’t? If it makes him withdraw even further? Oh, Mac, I’m so frightened for him! I’m sure he’s only considering this terminal because he thinks it will be best for the rest of us. If you could have seen him this afternoon when he was talking about the accident….”

“But don’t you see?” Mac demanded, suddenly excited. “He did talk about it. Who knows, this desire to allow them on to Falla might be a deeply hidden longing to return to his old life.”

“Then you think I should agree?”

He got up and came over to her, his eyes kind and understanding. “Not just agree, Cat, but actively encourage him. Can you do that?”

She had to turn away so that he wouldn’t see the despair in her eyes.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “You know how I feel about the industry.”

“Aye, you’re a bonny hater,” Mac agreed with a smile which robbed the words of criticism. “But Magnus is right, you owe it to your people to at least let them make explorations.”

Catriona knew when she was defeated. Much as she hated the idea it looked as though she was going to have to give in, but that didn’t mean that she had stopped fighting. One sign that Falla was going to be despoiled, one hint that these intruders were adversely affecting Magnus and they would be gone.

“You can’t go on living like this, Cat,” Mac added gently. “It wasn’t what your parents would have wanted for you. How long is it since you last went out to a dance, or enjoyed yourself at all, come to that?” He tweaked her long braid, and although Catriona had been about to protest that she didn’t mind, that she didn’t miss the fun and glamour of London, she was suddenly conscious of the picture she must present in her heavy sweater and shabby jeans, and grimaced slightly.

Having persuaded Mac to stay and eat with them, and assured him that Findlay would take him back to Lerwick, she collected cutlery from a drawer and started to place it on the table. She and Magnus always ate in the kitchen; for one thing it was always warm, and that had become an important consideration in their lives.

The meal she had planned was only simple: omelettes made from the eggs she had gathered that afternoon, homemade bread, and some scones she had just placed in the oven. Magnus walked in as she was beating the eggs. His walk had brought the colour to a face which had grown unnaturally pale, and Catriona was pleased to see that he greeted their visitor with enthusiasm. As she had hoped he would, Mac introduced the subject of the proposed oil terminal, and as Catriona moved deftly about the old-fashioned kitchen the two men discussed the possible outcome if the geologists’ report was favourable.

Both men praised her cooking, but Catriona couldn’t help noticing that Magnus merely toyed with his food, pushing the omelette around his plate. Mac, who had been a widower for very many years, cleaned his plate appreciatively.

“Are you going to give the go-ahead, then?” he asked Magnus as Catriona poured their tea.

“I don’t see that we have much option, and at least at this stage they’re only investigating.”

“Well, if you write the letter, I’ll post it for you in Lerwick,” Mac offered, ignoring Catriona’s faint frown. “No point in letting the grass grow under your feet if you’ve made up your minds, is there now?” he commented when Magnus hesitated.

“You think they’d leave it over until spring now,” Catriona commented. “The daylight is so short at this time of the year, always supposing the weather is good enough to allow them to get here each day.”

Mac frowned.

“But surely they’ll be staying here on Falla?”

Catriona splashed hot tea on the table and mopped it up with hands that shook. This was something she had never thought of, but she as from Magnus’s face that he had.

“Come on Catriona,” Mac coaxed. “You can’t honestly expect them to travel here each day? Where’s your common sense?”

“They’ll have to won’t they?” she said curtly. “Unless some of the islanders put them up.”

She cleared away their plates while the men drank their tea, and then offered to drive Mac down to the harbour when he insisted that he ought to leave. Magnus was listening to the radio and shook his head when Catriona invited him to go with them.

“He’s like a hermit,” she complained as Mac helped her into the Land Rover. “I tried to persuade him to go to Lerwick with me, but he wouldn’t.”

But he had written a letter agreeing to allow the geologists to examine the voe, and it was now in Mac’s shabby raincoat pocket. There were no lights to guide her along the narrow unmade road, but Catriona did not need them.

“Well, if Mohammed won’t go to the mountain, have you thought about bringing the mountain to him?” Mac questioned, making her eye him queryingly. “You said Magnus was like a hermit,” he explained patiently. “And it isn’t good for him to shut himself away like this, Cat. He’s a healthy male of twenty-nine and he needs other human company. If he won’t seek out that company then you’ll have to bring it to him.”

“By doing what?” Catriona asked sarcastically. “Capturing it wholesale?”

“No need to go to such extremes,” Mac chuckled, ignoring her angry stare. “Not when you’ve got a ready-made solution right on your doorstep. Think, Cat,” he urged when she stared at him. “Those geologists are going to need a case, somewhere to sleep and eat, and you’ve got all those empty bedrooms….”

The Land Rover swerved abruptly and came to a halt.

“No way,” Catriona announced determinedly.

Very gently Mac removed her hands from the steering wheel and held them in his own.

“Now it isn’t very often that I talk to you like a Dutch uncle, but on this occasion I’m going to have to. What happened to Magnus was tragic, but it was an accident, Cat, no more and no less.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Catriona protested. “United Oil knew how explosive the situation was; they could have ordered their people to leave while it was still safe, instead of which they kept them there, knowing they were in danger.”

“You’re not being rational,” Mac protested. “The Middle East has always been explosive, and companies are responsible to shareholders, you know, they can’t do just as they please. Magnus himself has no animosity. It’s getting out of all proportion, Cat. I know you’re bitter, and I can understand why. Don’t you think it doesn’t break me up inside too when I see Magnus and remember how he was? But assisting him to hide from the world isn’t going to help him in the long run. He’s ready to start on the road to recovery, I’m sure of it. Okay, he might never be able to go back to his old job, but the mere fact that he hasn’t refused to have these men on Falla must tell you something.”

“It tells me that he puts everyone else before himself,” Catriona protested stubbornly, tears suddenly filming her eyes as she laid her head on Mac’s shoulder.

“Oh, Mac, when he said they could come, I was so surprised, so full of hope, but the moment I mentioned the geologists he retreated again. He couldn’t stand having them in the house—I just know it!”

“And I think you’re underestimating him, Cat. It won’t do any harm to give it a try, and it could do a hell of a lot of good. Just listening to them talk might help break through the barriers.”

“He’ll never agree to it.”

“Then don’t tell him,” Mac retorted with a promptness that told Catriona that he had been prepared for her question. “Simply present him with a fait accompli. I wouldn’t advise it, if I didn’t think it was in his best interests, Cat,” he told her soberly, and Catriona knew that he meant it. He wasn’t just their doctor, he was also a close and caring friend, and yet having these people in the house wasn’t just totally opposed to her own personal views, it was also tantamount to stabbing her brother in the back with a very sharp knife.

“Fiona’s coming to stay with me over Christmas,” Mac added casually. “She’s a wee bit hurt that Magnus continues to ignore her letters.”

Fiona MacDonald was Mac’s niece, a nurse in a large Edinburgh hospital with a sensible outlook on life, and Catriona liked her. During their teens Fiona and Magnus had been very close and had kept in contact right up until the time of Magnus’s accident, since when he had refused point-blank to write to her. “I don’t want her pity,” was all he had said in response to Catriona’s query. “Let her keep that for her patients.”

Now a sudden thought struck her.

“Mac, were Fiona and Magnus ever romantically involved?” she asked curiously.

Mac shook his head.

“I don’t know, my dear, but if they were don’t you think that’s their business? The trouble with those two is that they’re both givers, and givers seldom have the ability to take what they want from life.”

Unlike her nocturnal room-mate, Catriona thought suddenly, dismayed that she should have thought of him. But having done so, she could not deny that he was most definitely not a “giver”. No, he was quite plainly a man who took what he wanted from life.

When she had seen Mac safely on board the yaol, she turned back to the Land Rover, but instead of driving straight home she stopped by the ancient keep of the old castle and climbed out. The tower had been a favourite haunt of her childhood. The weathered walls were still high enough to offer some shelter from the wind and often she had lain within their protective shelter, peering out to sea through the wind-tossed flowers. It was here that she had come when they brought the news about her parents and here that Magnus had found her, comforting her without a word being spoken.

Was Mac wrong when he claimed that the geologists’ presence in their home might break through Magnus’s prison walls? She knew she could not afford to take the chance that he might be, and with a heart heavy with bitter resentment she walked back to the Land Rover.

She might be forced to welcome these intruders for her brother’s sake, but for herself she would continue to hate them. Not one of the men with whom Magnus had worked had made any attempt to get in touch with him since his accident; no one from United Oil had taken the trouble to come out to Falla and see him, and although Catriona would never have admitted it to her brother she was desperately afraid that when he claimed that his old companions would despise and denigrate him now, he was speaking the truth. Oilmen were hard men, without emotion or compassion, and now they were going to invade their sanctuary and spread God alone knew what havoc among them.

A FORTNIGHT WENT BY without any response to Magnus’s letter, and then a severe storm prevented the mail boat from calling, and Catriona had almost begun to think that the whole thing had blown over.

With gales blowing Mac had been unable to call, although he had spoken to them by telephone. Since her return to the island Catriona had never ceased to be grateful to her parents for installing this luxury.

“Any news about the terminal?” he enquired when he had assured himself that they were both well.

“Don’t remind me of it,” Catriona begged. “I keep hoping it will all go away.”

Mac laughed. Catriona was covered in cobwebs. She had been cleaning out the bedrooms, unearthing linen sheets from cupboards mercifully free of damp and moth. The house had been furnished long before the days of such things as central heating, when women knew how to store and cherish good linen.

Although there had been no further word from the oil company about the terminal, Catriona did not intend to be caught off guard if they did decide to go ahead.

CHAPTER THREE (#uc6886e7a-d308-5db5-9b1f-787521b73cff)

THEY were another week closer to Christmas and enjoying a brief spell of relatively mild weather. The Shetlands, although not enjoying hot summers, did not experience unduly cold winters, only the wind changed, from playfulness to fierce intensity.

Catriona had been washing sheets, taking advantage of the brief daylight to get them dry and keeping an eye on them from the kitchen window. It wasn’t unusual for Shetlanders to lose their washing to the sea when the wind came up, and she had no intention of letting that happen, not after having gone to all the trouble of doing it.

Magnus was in the library. Catriona heard the telephone ring and guessed that it was Mac. Magnus seemed morose later when she went in with the cup of coffee she had made him, and when her light attempts at conversation all went ignored, she retreated quietly as she had learned to do when these moods held him.

Her back was aching from cleaning floors covered in dust and washing windows that hadn’t been touched in years. If she was going to be forced to endure the presence of these oilmen she wasn’t going to give them the opportunity to criticise their lodgings. She had half expected Magnus to query her busyness, but he didn’t even seem to be aware of it.

She had made a Christmas cake—a luxury she had permitted them because she knew that Magnus loved it—and as she lifted it out of the oven to cool she remembered that they were getting low on peat. The crofters had cut them a fresh pile—enough to last them through the winter and it was duly drying, but Catriona could not carry it down to the outhouse by herself and she was reluctant to task Magnus to help. The storms sometimes washed wood up on to the beaches, and tempted by the thought of a brisk walk she called Russet, and pulled on a shabby anorak which had once belonged to Magnus but which she now kept in the kitchen for winter forays to feed the hens and collect their eggs.

The sky was completely clear, but no Shetlander would have been deceived. They knew all too well how quickly a storm could blow up, seemingly out of nowhere.

She headed for a beach relatively close to the house where she knew that driftwood was often washed up, and parking the Land Rover on the firm strip of sand exposed by the tide, opened the door and climbed out, Russet racing round in excited circles at her heels.

The islanders used the tough Shetland ponies to carry wood and peat to their homes, and as she trudged tiredly along the beach under the weight of sea-soaked debris she had managed to gather, Catriona could not help reflecting how much easier it would have been to whistle commands to the Land Rover and have it come trotting obediently over to her.

The sea had been generous and in an hour she had managed to collect a sizeable amount of wood. The islanders still recounted with great relish the rich pickings which had once been had from the doomed Spanish Armada, as the unwieldy ships, driven before the wind, had been wrecked all along this coastline. Many still lay where they had sunk, and in summer amateur divers investigated their rotting hulls, hoping to find rare treasure in the silent depths.

Russet found a piece of wood, and obligingly Catriona threw it for him, laughing as the dog tried to chase a lingering gull and failed miserably.

On impulse, instead of heading straight back to the house she drove down to the harbour and found Findlay as she had hoped to do, busy mending lobster pots outside his croft.

“A tidy catch, but it will take some drying out,” the fisherman commented, examining the contents of the Land Rover. “Have you no peat, then?”

“Plenty,” Catriona assured him, “but it needs moving down off the hill, and I didn’t want to bother Magnus.”

“Aye, like as not he’ll be brooding over this business of the voe.”

That Findlay knew about the proposed terminal did not surprise her, and sitting on the low stone wall of the harbour, Catriona eyed him helplessly.

“What do you think about it, Fin?”

He took his time before replying—a Highland trait, although the Shetlanders were a different race from the people of the Western Isles and did not speak with their soft, Gaelic-accented Scots.

“We canna hold back progress, lassie,” he said at last. “Time was when a young man thought himself lucky to have a fishing boat and a croft to call his own and with those he felt able to call himself any man’s equal, but those days are gone.”

“Magnus says it would be selfish to deprive the people of the prosperity the terminal will bring.”

“Things must change, girl,” Findlay told her gently, reading her mind and knowing the turbulent resentment she was concealing beneath the surface. “Have you not noticed that Falla is becoming an island of old people? We canna live for ever, and the fishing’s not what it was. You must look forward to the future and not backwards to the past.” He put down his lobster basket and got to his feet. “Davie’s taken the boat out, but he should be back soon. When he comes we’ll go up the hill and bring down your peat.”

“There’s no need,” Catriona protested. “Magnus can….”

Findlay shook his head.

“Let him bide, lassie,” he advised her. “Let him bide.”

On the way back to the house Catriona heard the sound of a helicopter and glanced upwards instinctively, her heart lightening as she saw the familiar colours. Mac must have been out to the oil rigs again and had decided to call in on them. The road was not good enough for her to drive too fast, and by the time she was approaching the house the helicopter was rising again. Parking the Land Rover in what had once been the stables and which now housed only chickens, she dashed inside.

The kitchen was empty, but she could hear voices from the library, and without pausing to take off her anorak she hurried into the room, thrusting open the door in eager anticipation, only to become rigid with shock and dismay at the sight which met her unprepared eyes.

Instead of Mac the room seemed to be full of strange men, none of whom seemed to be aware of her existence. Magnus was talking to them, his voice laced with a strain which brought a sheen of sympathetic tears to Catriona’s eyes, her hands bunching into two protesting fists. Who were these men? What were they doing on Falla?

They were all bent over some papers on the desk, and one of them straightened, turning to stare at Catriona, his shock of red hair and burly shoulders vaguely familiar, and then Magnus saw her, the relief in his voice as he pronounced her name making her hurry to his side, her anxious questions stilled.

“Well, if someone can just show us to our quarters, we’ll get settled in make the most of what’s left of the daylight.”

As though by magic a path had cleared to Magnus’s desk and the man who had spoken the coolly authoritative words turned round. Catriona felt the breath leave her lungs on a shocked gasp, her feet like lead as she tried to move and could not.

“Cat, this is Brett Simons,” she heard Magnus say uncertainly. “He’s in charge of the team who’ve come to investigate the voe.”

“Wouldn’t it have been advisable to let us know before you arrived, Mr. Simons?” Catriona demanded, emphasising the question by refusing to return his smile, and wondering at the same time how on earth she was managing to function so normally. Of course Magnus would expect her to be shocked at this sudden visitation, but he could have no way of knowing exactly how earth-shattering that shock had been. No one knew that but her, and perhaps the dark-haired man, with the coolly amused jade green eyes, whom Magnus had called “Brett Simons”—the man who had forced her to share his bed and who had coolly and unmistakable shown her exactly how little effect her presence in it had had upon him!

Her heart had started to beat with panicky hurried movements, and she was conscious of Magnus frowning slightly at her rudeness. Magnus was a stickler for good manners and she knew her sharp words had surprised him.

“Brett telephoned this morning to warn me that they were on the way, Cat,” Magnus informed her reprovingly. “I came to tell you, but you’d already gone out.”

“I expect Miss Peterson dislikes surprise arrivals as much as any other woman,” Brett Simons drawled placatingly, while Catriona seethed in impotent rage. Did he honestly think she needed his help to excuse her behaviour to Magnus? She only had to breathe one word to her brother of what had happened in Lerwick and Brett Simons and his men would be banished from Falla for ever. She took a step towards Magnus and then hesitated remembering Mac’s words. An uncertain glance at Brett Simons’ coolly watchful face told her nothing, but from the looks of his three companions it was plain that they were not used to female opposition to their boss’s desires. Her tongue flicked anxious over her dry lips, her heart thudding uncomfortably.

“I… we expected you to write to us,” she said at last, conscious of a small sigh running round the room as though there had been a collective releasing of breath.

“We were informed that with the bad weather the mailboat wouldn’t be able to call, and once we had the go-ahead we didn’t want to waste any time,” Brett Simons told her smoothly. “I’m sorry if our appearance is unexpected.”

The last word brought Catriona’s head up with a proud jerk, as she searched the green eyes for a hidden meaning. Was he trying to tell her that he knew how much his presence had shocked her? It was going to be bad enough having these men on the island at all, without Brett Simons thinking he had some sort of hold over her.

“Unexpected, but not catastrophic,” she replied lightly. A small movement from Magnus caught her attention, and Brett Simons was banished as she hurried to her brother’s side, her smile warm and understanding. His face was pale, the bleak, haunted look back in his eyes, and now that she knew the reason for his withdrawn mood earlier in the day, Catriona could not help but regret giving in to Mac’s urgings.