“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.
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