‘Who’s that?’ she whispered.
I elbowed her in the ribs to shut her up. And made the error of saying aloud breezily, ‘Oh, hello, Frank.’
Ellen leaned back against the glass and concrete frame of the telephone box, smirking, fanning herself mockingly with one hand. She mouthed at me, FRANK!
Bloody flipping hell, I thought, and there wasn’t anything I could do to take it back that I’d called him such a familiar name, or cover it up.
‘Julie?’ he said. ‘Where are you?’
I tried frantically to beat Ellen away from the receiver and almost instantly gave up because it was too hard to maintain dignity in the tone of my voice while I was engaged in a brawl with Ellen at such close quarters.
‘I’m just up the road at the post office,’ I said evenly, taking deep breaths. ‘I wanted Mother to know I’ve been invited out to supper –’
Ellen mouthed mockingly, Invited out to supper – oooooh!
I paused, forcing myself to sound measured and cool. ‘Is my brother about? I mean Jamie, not Sandy. I’d like to talk to Jamie.’
‘I’ll get him, but, Julie, I’m so pleased I’ve got you on the ’phone. I just spoke to the Procurator Fiscal. He’d like to avoid a fatal accident inquiry in court, and there won’t be any further precognition. He told me he doesn’t want to know any more about the habits of travelling tinkers when it’s clear the unfortunate fellow couldn’t swim. He was very short-tempered about it. But he’s uncomfortable telling the doctor to issue a death certificate without the rest of the remains, so we’re to go on searching for another two weeks and then he’ll review the situation.’
Ellen was grimacing hideously at everything he said, and at this point it was necessary to stuff another penny into the telephone, giving a sense of false urgency to my call.
When he came back on the line, Frank added hastily, ‘I’ll just get your brother.’
Ellen gave me a little space – not much – for the simple task of telling Jamie to let Mother know I was coming home late.
When Ellen heard me insisting that the car was in a safe place she got annoyed with the waste of her pennies and snatched the receiver out of my hand. ‘You come too!’ she ordered Jamie. ‘Then you can be sure Lady Julia gets home safely.’
‘Tell him to bring me a sweater!’ I added.
I heard Jamie’s far-off voice say, ‘Pardon? Speak up!’
‘M’lady wants a wrap.’ Ellen spoke through her nose, giving her best impression of landed gentry. ‘The mink or the ermine will do –’
‘Oh, stow it, Ellen McEwen!’
We wrestled again for control of the receiver.
Jamie was laughing down the line on the other end. ‘Which sweater?’ I heard him ask, and the warning pips clicked on to let us know our last penny was about to run out.
I was beset with a host of afterthoughts. ‘Bring coffee! Bring roses for Mrs McEwen! Bring Sandy!’ I cried just before the line went dead.
A mournful dirge on the pipes came skirling up the lane as we sloshed back towards Inchfort Field, laden with the cans of water from Boatman’s Well.
‘That’s Euan,’ Ellen said grimly. ‘Let’s see if we can change his tune.’
It wasn’t a nice evening. The air was close and damp, with low cloud hanging sullenly overhead, as if it wanted to burst and had been told not to. We’d only been back a minute or so before Jamie and Sandy came lurching out of the mist down by the Salmon Stane, Sandy carrying what was obviously a workman’s paraffin lamp from the estate in one hand and an armful of red roses in the other. All the kiddies came pelting up for the safety of the tents, and everyone else froze in suspicion because they couldn’t tell who it was at first.
Then another thought occurred to me: I suddenly worried it might be awkward to have so many Beaufort-Stuarts from the Big House descending on the McEwens’ camp. I tried to swoop in to the rescue.
‘My brothers … Ellen, you know Jamie. This is Sandy.’
‘Sandy Beaufort-Stuart,’ he introduced himself, distributing his burdens and shaking hands all round. ‘Thought you might appreciate this last offering from the Earl of Strathfearn …’ And he produced, from inside his tweed jacket, not only a packet of French coffee but also a dusty bottle of Grandad’s favourite single malt, aged well beyond the thirty-six years the label boasted.
Ellen suddenly remembered a thing I’d told her about Sandy. ‘That’s you, aye?’ she said. ‘The Earl of Strathfearn.’
Sandy looked surprised, then laughed. ‘Why, yes! I suppose it is. But the drink is thanks to the late Earl.’
Sandy went round pouring a dram for anyone who had a cup, chatting amiably.
‘Aye, I’m cataloguing the Murray Collection now. I understand there’s quite a few fine pieces contributed by yourself, Mr McEwen? No, I don’t get a penny to call my own, nor any of the land, but if I’m lucky they’ll elect me as a representative peer for Scotland some day, and I’ll get a vote in the House of Lords. Imagine being able to shake things up down in London! What new legislation is troubling you at the moment?’
There was a little bit of an uproar as everyone started to offer opinions at once.
Later, laughter, and Sandy drinking with Alan McEwen and the Cameron men, and Aunt Bessie scolding Euan for his mournful piping. The roses, which the McEwens would never be able to take with them when they left, got divided up by the little girls who stuck them in their hair and behind their ears. The skirly got served up along with oatcakes and sweet new boiled potatoes and a great slab of butter that Jamie had liberated from the icebox at the Big House.
In the blue-white gloom of the misty North Sea haar, one of the Camerons joined in with Euan on a fiddle, and there was a woman I didn’t recognise playing an accordion, and Sandy and Jamie and Ellen and I ended up in a foursome reel, skipping and skidding over the damp grass.
‘See, you didnae need your mink after all,’ Ellen said in between tunes as I abandoned my sweater. ‘This’ll keep you warm.’
And the fiddle and pipes launched into ‘Strip the Willow’. It was so damp and misty that you couldn’t even see the Salmon Stane at the bottom of the field, but I wasn’t chilly at all.
I think my most constant dance partner was Alan McEwen! Gallantly polite and formal, he reminded me of Grandad. Euan was stuck on the pipes. I’d have danced with Euan McEwen. I don’t suppose he’d have been brave enough to dance with me. He hadn’t Ellen’s bold streak and there were plenty of friends and cousins to fill in the gaps, though not so many of our own age set.