Chapter Thirteen
Meg corralled me instantly and dragged me into the kitchen to fix my manicure.
“I wondered where you’d gone off to. Just having a wee wander, were you?” she said, pulling two chairs up to the corner of the table.
“Not very successfully,” I said. “I never even found the loch. I thought we were right beside it.”
“We are, but it’s behind the Cover,” she said.
“The Cover?”
“The Urquhart Woods. But no one calls them that. It’s a dead giveaway that you’re an outsider.”
“I think my accent already takes care of that,” I said.
She spread out a towel, shook a bottle of red polish, and unscrewed the top. As she got to work on my left hand, she explained that while it wasn’t officially possible to buy nail varnish, it was sold as “ladder stop” at the drugstore. The idea of using bright red lacquer to stop runs in stockings was so absurd I laughed, and she laughed, too, pointing out that there weren’t any stockings to get runs in anyway. And then I felt guilty, because I was wearing a pair at that very moment.
She glanced at my face, then back at my freshly painted fingers, which lay draped over hers. “This color matches your lipstick perfectly.”
“I’ve always worn red.”
“Good. ‘Red is the New Badge of Courage,’ you know. And it brings out your lovely green eyes.” She tilted her head from side to side to inspect her handiwork.
Then she sighed. “I’m down to the dregs of my own lipstick. At this point I’m digging it out with a stick, and there’s none to be had in Drumnadrochit of any color. I’ll have to go to Inverness, although Lord knows when I’ll find the time, or the coin.”
“I have an extra tube,” I said.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” she said, setting my hand carefully on the towel.
“I insist! And anyway, I’m using your rollers.”
“Well, since you put it that way…You’re lucky you can stand sleeping on them,” she said, looking up quickly. “Your hair turned out beautifully. Those are some nice victory curls, right there.”
I decided that when my father sent for me, I was going to leave all my stockings and makeup behind with Meg.
—
Dinner was trout, simply done, served with a generous helping of boiled kale and a heap of potatoes. Meg brought me a half pint of port and ginger.
Once again I cleaned my plate, and once again the tall, thin Conall, whom Meg had identified as a Scottish Deerhound, released a disappointed sigh. He’d joined me by the fire as soon as I’d come down, and I was grateful for the company.
It wasn’t until Mr. Ross turned the radio on to let it warm up that I realized how late it was, and that Ellis still wasn’t back. What had been a fleeting notion the night before returned more urgently, along with all my fear and bafflement. What if he didn’t come back at all?
Before he absconded to Inverness, it had never once occurred to me that Ellis might abandon me, but the more I thought about it, the more possible it seemed. If he did leave me, his mother would lobby that much harder for his continued financial support and eventual return to the family seat. A divorce was scandalous, but scandals could be swept under carpets. I could be replaced by a more suitable wife, and the Colonel and Edith Stone Hyde could have grandchildren who were not just three quarters of the right kind, but of entirely the right kind. Upon even further reflection, I realized that the whole purpose of the trip—restoring Ellis’s honor—had been mooted the second he was caught in a lie, and that he might very well not want to show his face in Drumnadrochit again. But to leave me behind?
Disappearing without a word was a cowardly way to leave a woman. Beyond cowardly, given that for all he knew I’d been turned out that morning.
When the broadcaster uttered the words “flying bombs,” it broke my miserable reverie. Doodlebugs had flattened hundreds of houses in East London, killing 143 people. Survivors were picking through the rubble with sticks, salvaging what they could of their personal belongings, and more than forty-five hundred people were sleeping on platforms in the Underground.
The lumberjacks and the locals, some wearing their uniforms from the Great War, stared at the radio in silent, united resolve.
—
Just after the broadcast ended, Ellis and Hank rushed through the door in a gust of wind and swirl of snow, giggling. Anger flared up in me.
“Darling!” said Ellis, spotting me immediately and coming to kiss me. I turned my face so his lips landed on my ear. His hot liquored breath wafted past my face.
“What kind of a welcome is that?” he said, struggling out of his coat and throwing it over the arm of the couch. He plopped down next to me and looked at my plate. “Good Lord, Maddie. What did you do—lick it clean?”
Hank snapped his fingers in the air and said, “Three whiskeys! Make them doubles.”
Mr. Ross ignored him completely. Meg raised her eyebrows and got three glasses from beneath the counter.
“None for me, thank you,” I said, lifting my port and ginger. “I’m still working on this.”
Hank threw his coat on top of Ellis’s and flopped into the chair opposite.
“Where were you?” I asked Ellis.
“In Inverness. Didn’t that girl tell you?”
“Her name is Anna. And yes, she did.”
“Then what are you upset about? And where are those whiskeys?” he asked, raising his voice and looking around.
Meg appeared with the drinks and slammed them down on the table.
Hank picked his up and took a gulp. “What’s on the menu?” he asked. “I could eat a horse.”
Meg crossed her arms over her chest. “I could get you a beetroot sandwich, I suppose,” she said.
“What did she have?” Ellis said, tilting his head toward my plate.
Meg lifted her chin. “She had trout. The last piece, as it happens.”
“We have ration books,” said Ellis, nodding encouragingly at Hank.
“Yes! Indeed we do,” Hank said, leaning over to dig through one of the duffel bags. He pulled out the books and fanned them like playing cards.
“So, what’s on the menu now?” he asked, grinning.
Meg snatched them from him and said, “Beetroot sandwiches.”
Ellis went stony-faced. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“It most certainly is not,” said Meg.
“The hotel in Inverness had beef rissoles. And electricity,” said Ellis.
“Then I suggest you go back to the hotel in Inverness,” she said, spinning on her heel and striding off.
“Fine! We’ll have the sandwiches!” Ellis called after her. He threw himself against the back of the couch and drank steadily, tipping the glass to his lips without ever putting it down. When it was finally empty, he set it back on the table.
He looked again at my plate. “It’s not like you to overeat. I hope you’re not going to make a habit of it.”
I was too stunned to reply.
Hank shook his head. “Darling girl, pay no attention. He’s sozzled. Here, have a ciggy…” He held the case across the table in offering.
I intended to just brush it away, but both our hands were in motion and I somehow ended up smacking it. Cigarettes flew all over. The case bounced off Hank’s chest.
The rest of the room went silent. All heads turned toward us.
“Ow,” said Hank, examining his chest. He brushed off his sweater and collected the cigarettes. “Maddie, look what you’ve done. You’ve broken two.”
The landlord crossed the room in long strides and stood in front of us, hands on hips. He looked at Ellis for a very long time, and then at me, and finally, at Hank.
“Is everything all right, then?”
“You’d better ask her,” said Ellis. “She’s the one launching missiles.”
“Everything is fine,” I said quietly, staring at his heavy black boots. I could not look him in the face.
“You’re sure of that?”
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you, Mr. Ross.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Thank you, yes,” I said, thoroughly chastened. “Everything’s fine.”
After a slight pause, he said, “I’m very glad to hear it.”
When he left, Ellis leaned toward me and said, “Have you lost your mind? What is wrong with you? You can’t go around lobbing objects at people in public!”
“I didn’t mean to lob anything,” I said, looking desperately at Hank. “It was an accident. I’m sorry, Hank.”
He nodded and waved dismissively. “S’all right.”
“Well, I don’t believe it was an accident,” said Ellis. “You’ve been acting like a total bitch from the second we walked through the door.”
I caught my breath. Never in my life had anyone spoken to me like that. Even during her tirade on New Year’s Day my mother-in-law had referred to me in the third person. And because everyone in the room was still looking at us, they’d all heard.
“Ellis!” Hank hissed, somehow appearing sober. “Get control of yourself.”
As I stood, crossed the room, and disappeared into the stairwell, I was fully aware that all eyes were on me, with the exception of my husband’s.
—
This was by no means the first time Ellis had drunk enough to act outrageously—at one party, he’d overturned a full tray of drinks when he felt the waiter was serving them in the wrong order. The frequency of these episodes had increased steadily since his color blindness was diagnosed, but before that night he had never directed his rage at me. I had always been the one who could calm him down and persuade him it was time to go home.
I was doubly sure I’d done the right thing in appealing to my father, and hoped he wouldn’t let me down. I also hoped that Ellis would find the monster during my absence, and that it would have the curative effect he was so sure it would, because if it didn’t, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just had a glimpse of the future.