Lorna Cook - The Forbidden Promise

As dawn rolled around Constance pulled aside the heavy velvet curtains that shrouded her bedroom windows. Light streamed into her room through the Splinternet tape that had crisscrossed the large windows ever since war had been declared the year earlier. The housekeeper had been diligent but Constance found it hard to believe German bombers would find Invermoray a worthwhile target. The base at Kinloss and the ships at Lossiemouth held far more interest, surely. She put her hand flat on the cold glass and looked across the loch, through the tree line, in the direction of the ghillie’s cottage. But it was in vain. It could not be seen from the house. The sun rose gently above the mountains in the distance, heralding the morning, making the loch sparkle. He would be leaving soon. Maybe he had gone already.

Her stomach knotted as guilt gripped her. She couldn’t believe what she had done. She couldn’t face the fact she’d just abandoned this man. He had no one to help him. He’d asked her for help. He hadn’t eaten anything. Hadn’t drunk anything. Had the water been shut off at the cottage? He might be in shock. He wasn’t thinking straight. He was probably hoping she’d come back so she could offer to telephone his squadron and take him back. And even if not, he’d been fighting in the skies over England long enough for it to have affected him so badly he was considering deserting. He was clearly traumatised. She had to help him.

Constance brushed her matted hair, which smelled damp and of loch water, threw on any clothes she could find – yanking a blouse and skirt from her wardrobe and hopping her way into her brown lace-up shoes. She tried to pin her hair as she moved down the stairs, two at a time, but she was making a poor effort of it.

From the bottom of the stairs she heard her father’s bedroom door open. She glanced upward in the direction of the sound. He must have taken himself to bed at some point and was now emerging for the day. The rest of the family and staff would be up and moving, if not already. Constance moved quicker, fearful of being seen. How would she explain where she was going, and why? At the side of the house she took the path that skirted the formal gardens. It would take her longer to reach the cottage but there was less chance of being seen. Constance avoided the loch shore, moving between the trees. When she was out of sight of the house she ran the rest of the way, bracken snapping under her feet as she sprinted through the wood.

He might already be gone. What time was it? She didn’t have her watch. Five o’clock in the morning? When she reached the ghillie’s cottage Constance almost slammed into the wooden door, she was running so fast. Breathless, she lifted the latch, pushed open the door and stumbled inside.

The door to the library flew open so suddenly it made Kate jump. She’d been gazing so absent-mindedly at the handwritten names in the family Bible that she’d almost forgotten the argument that had been taking place in the entrance hall between mother and son. James stood in the doorway and seethed. He appeared unable to speak, his lips forming a thin line. The pen mark that crossed through Constance McLay’s name was forgotten as Kate closed the book gently – expecting her marching orders from the sullen James.

It was Liz who broke the silence, stepping round her son and across the threshold of the room. ‘James will take you to your room, show you where things are, give you a bit of a tour. Perhaps you’d like to freshen up after a day’s travel? And then we’ll dine together, in about an hour or so. Just pop down to the kitchen. We only use the dining room for big occasions. Not that your arriving isn’t a big occasion but … well … you know what I mean.’ Liz blushed.

Kate found it hard to mask her surprise. She glanced at James. So, she was allowed to stay. The vein throbbing at the side of his temple indicated he was less than happy about being overruled by his mother and he now stood in a silence that spoke volumes.

‘Thanks, Liz. That sounds lovely,’ Kate replied, pointedly ignoring acknowledging the son in case the slightest thing she said sent him over the edge entirely. James merely stared at her, turned and walked into the hallway.

‘Are you coming?’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Or am I showing myself to your room?’

Almost running after him, Kate found him about five stairs up, holding a suitcase in each hand, his chin pointed up as he ascended the staircase. Portraits lined the walls along the staircase but James moved at such a speed Kate wasn’t able to get a very good look at them. Two of the paintings were faintly interesting: a young woman in a silver-grey evening dress, dark hair rolled and clipped near her ears and her brown eyes looking directly at Kate – or the artist, depending on how you thought about it.

The portrait by the side of it was of a very good-looking young man facing side-on in a sky blue RAF uniform. Both looked as if they’d been painted in the 1940s. Kate paused to take in the brushstrokes and the genial expression on the young man’s face. The pictures had been moved about fairly recently. The paint surrounding these was a different colour, brighter than the rest of the slightly faded paint on the wall, indicating that the portraits that had hung there not long before had been covering a larger space.

Then Kate noticed she was alone. James had disappeared entirely and despite trying for an air of elegance, she scurried up the stairs to look for him. At the top of the staircase the corridor stretched both left and right. Kate turned left and stared down the lengthy hallway. Faded, almost threadbare red runner carpet ran down the centre of the corridor and pot plants on tall brass stands stood by the walls. Old framed pencil drawings hung between the numerous dark wooden doors that probably led to bedrooms. But there was no James. Kate turned back on herself and saw he was at the other end of the corridor past the stairs, watching her but making no sound. He’d let her turn completely the wrong way and had simply waited for her to realise. Kate smiled thinly despite the fact she was really starting to dislike James.

He opened a door and walked inside, taking her suitcases with him. Kate moved quickly down the corridor and then wondered why she was hurrying when he was behaving so childishly. She began ambling, looking at the pencil sketches of the estate that lined this side of the hallway. After about thirty seconds, James peered round the door to see where she was. She saw him out of the corner of her eye but made no move to acknowledge him. She didn’t know why he brought out this side in her. James folded his arms and exhaled loudly. When she didn’t move, he coughed to attract her attention.