Chapter 5: Not Quite -Cordon Bleu-

“Count me out!” Phil exploded. “I’m the manager and I don’t do cooking.”

There were four of us standing at the end of the jetty on Lochan Glas. I had just told the others that two out of the three staff members would not be available for the next day or so. Phil was clearly angry, while Jenny, the younger of the two women, looked entirely unperturbed. Elaine was looking bewildered and rather frightened, I thought.

“I’ll cook,” I heard myself say. “There are only four of us and I’ve had that many to dinner many a time.”

A week ago, I would have strolled off and let them sort things out amongst themselves but now I was more aware of other people. Elaine is rich, using her money as a barrier keeping life’s troubles away. She tries to appear hard and self-reliant but there is a lonely, insecure woman very close to the surface.

“I don’t mind helping,” Jenny chipped in. “Perhaps Phil would give you a sherry, Elaine – on the house, of course.”

The offer of cooking had calmed the older woman somewhat, but it was the inspired offer of a free drink that restored her good humour. I think that rich people become so accustomed to being the ones expected to pay for everything that a free drink seems like a major victory. ‘They must really like me if they are offering me a gift,’ seems to be their rationale.

Her good humour quite restored, she took Phil’s arm and set off towards the farmhouse at the heart of the Retreat. Jenny and I fell in behind them and, after a couple of paces, she took my arm, so we entered the house like the animals going into the Ark. Phil steered Elaine to the left into the bar and reception area while Jenny and I turned right, through the dining room and into the kitchen.

I wanted time to look around the freezers and fridges to select something I could cook for dinner. Lunch was not included in the price of our stay but there was usually soup and sandwiches available. It was Jenny who spotted that the missing cook had left post it notes all over the kitchen. We were directed to the locations of the bread and filling for lunch as well as the steaks and vegetables defrosting for our evening meal.

Jenny and I grinned at each other. We were going to earn credit for our willingness to cook but the hard part had been done by Kate and Jon before they flew to Loch Dochard.

“We could join the others,” I pointed out. “But I think I’d rather sit in here with a cup of tea.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep the post it notes a secret between us. Don’t get me wrong: I really like Elaine but it’s a rare treat to be away from her eagle eye.”

“I’d be mad to exchange the company of a pretty woman for that pair of fossils.”

“Where do you expect to find this pretty woman, you want to chat up?”

“Jenny, I do believe you’re flirting.”

We laughed together, a little too loudly it seemed because Phil stuck his head round the door asking if everything was all right.

“We were laughing because we had just realised what we have let ourselves in for. You know manic laughter that you do when you should really weep.”

I marvelled at the ability of women to tell a convincing lie without pause for thought.

He left us then, closing the door carefully behind him. Jenny was crushing a tea-towel to her face to suppress her giggles, and I had to concentrate hard to pour the tea without spilling it. We took our cups to the side of the room furthest from the bar where we could talk freely.

“You have hidden depths, young lady,” I told her when we were settled on a couple of stools.

“I didn’t think you even noticed the shallows when Kate was around.”

I am close to fifty years old, and it is very flattering that so many people think it is unremarkable that I would consider a relationship with Kate who is little more than twenty. I do like the girl but there is no spark between us that will take us beyond friendship. It was suddenly important to me to explain this to Jenny, so the new me went right ahead and did so:

“Kate is easy to read but I’ve puzzled over you since I arrived. You’re kind and gentle with Elaine even when she is giving you a hard time and you are a talented artist taking pains to ensure she doesn’t find out.”

She swirled the dregs of her tea around in the cup while I spoke, and I waited until she looked up at me before I continued.

“As a matter of fact, I’ve been planning to ask you if I can buy one of your chalk cartoons. I caught a glimpse that first day when I came up behind you when you were sketching.”

“Ok, you’ve had your fun. I just want you to know that I take art very seriously. You can tease me about anything else but not about my drawings.”

She was clearly enraged, and I sat with my mouth open, not knowing what to say. Then her face softened, she reached out and squeezed my forearm, whispering: “Please!”

“I collect art! I actually go to galleries, buy the odd painting and hang it on my wall.”

“Are you trying to tell me that a fleeting glimpse of a half-finished sketch has you reaching for your wallet?”

“I could see it was lively, but I was really hoping you had a cartoon of Lochan Glas in your portfolio.”

“How much will you pay?”

“Well for an unmounted chalk drawing by an unknown artist I’d expect to pay sixty to a hundred and twenty.”

“Let me get this straight: you will give me a hundred- and twenty-pounds sterling for one of my daubs?”

“That’s a bit more than I had in mind. Would you settle for a hundred?”

Jenny’s anger had long since given way to astonishment but now she blushed and looked confused. It was true that I had only glimpsed her hastily hidden sketch, but I was sure I was right in believing she had talent.

“Look, why don’t you go and get some of your drawings so I can have a better look. If they’re as good as I suspect, I’ll show them to a friend who owns a gallery.”

Even although she wanted to be convinced, it took several more minutes to persuade her to slip out the back door and return to the chalet she shared with Elaine, to make a selection for what I sincerely hoped was my viewing pleasure. I began to worry that I was predicting summer on the basis of seeing a single swallow, so I began preparing lunch to keep my mind off the look I would see on Jenny’s pretty face when I dashed the hopes I had single-handedly raised.

She came back and laid about twenty chalk sketches on the kitchen table while I finished making the sandwiches. I was so relieved to see that I had been right about her talent, that I took out my phone and dialled Piers. I have bought about half a dozen pieces from his gallery in the fifteen or so years I have been collecting art. He is a success in a cut-throat business, but I enjoy his company because, underneath it all, he has a real love of art and likes nothing better than discovering new talent.

He is not at all altruistic. The profit margins are much higher for the works of an unknown artist although the risks are greater. Piers is particularly susceptible to pretty female artists that he can mould into shooting stars.

His receptionist recognised my voice and put me through to his sanctum without delay. Jenny had come close, at my invitation, so she could follow the conversation. She gave a start when Piers spoke that almost knocked the phone out of my hand. There was a good deal of banter between him and me, some of which it would have been better for Jenny not to hear.

When I offered to bring some of her sketches with me on my return to London the following week, he stopped me at once.

“That’s no use to me, Fergus. You should know by now that I sell the whole product, the artist more than her work. I need to see this ugly duckling of yours.”

“We’re in the wilds of Scotland at present but she’ll be going south fairly soon...”

“If you can bring her with you next week,” he interrupted, “and she’s as good as you claim then I might be able to do something with her. Otherwise, forget it, chum.”

Jenny was shaking her head and making it clear that she would not go to London the following week. I tried to get Piers to yield but he was adamant. He had a slot in his schedule, and he had to decide by the end of next week who would be offered the exhibition space.

“You win, Piers,” I finally conceded. “We’ll meet you for lunch next Tuesday – the Ritz suit you?”

“Who’s paying?”

“I will if you show her work, and you will if you turn her down.”

“Elaine will never agree,” Jenny wailed, as soon as I broke the connection.

Jenny grabbed my arm and pulled me round to face her.

“Was that really Piers Hunterston? I heard him talk on television once and I thought I recognised his voice.”

“Yeah, that was him. Pretty hard to mistake those plummy tones.”

I suggested that we serve lunch to Elaine and Phil before we gave way to despair. I took out the soup and sandwiches since Jenny was too agitated to risk being seen. When I returned to the kitchen, I gave a graphic description of our two, half-drunk companions. The sherry bottle was almost empty and the broken seal still lying on the bar showed that it had been full at the start of their binge.

“Will Elaine cope with all that booze?”

Jenny explained that her employer was a happy drunk:

“She gets giggly and girlish at first; a little later she becomes touchy-feely; after that she is magnanimous for a brief period before she lapses into unconsciousness; the next morning, she wakes without a trace of a hangover.”

“What we have to do, young Jenny, is to pounce when she is at her most magnanimous and tell her that you are flying to London on Monday afternoon and will be away for most of the week.”

Phil came in, looking a bit agitated, insisting that Jenny and I join them for coffee. The sherry bottle had very little left in it and I wondered if Elaine had reached the touchy-feely stage before lunch; that would certainly account for his unease. She gave us a friendly wave when we entered the bar but sat quietly smiling as she drank her coffee.

I sensed that we had reached a cusp. The food must have soaked up some of the alcohol allowing a slightly more sober assessment of the next steps. Elaine might easily settle for an afternoon nap; I waited for Phil to suggest something of the sort. What he did instead confounded my reading of the signs, for he went behind the bar and brought out a second bottle of sherry.

It appeared that, like Jenny and I, he wanted Elaine to continue drinking. All I could imagine was that Kate’s rejection of his advances had so reduced his self-esteem that an amorous approach even from Elaine would be welcome. She is a well-preserved sixty-something and undeniably attractive in her present friendly mood.

Jenny and I collected the dishes and left the couple alone. We now had to wait until phase three of Elaine’s descent into drunkenness began. In the meantime, we cleaned up after lunch and set out what would be needed for dinner. We talked about our lives: I told her of my business and my family; she told me that Elaine was a distant cousin who had plucked Jenny from the very portals of Art College to be her companion.

There was no direct reference to our planned meeting with Piers although she was keenly interested in my art collection. In particular, she wanted to know how I set about choosing a new painting. I found it difficult to find the words to describe my feelings when I saw something I liked.

“I do it with people too,” I mused. “I like all sorts of people but there are a very few where I feel an urge to get to know them better. Even if that can’t happen, I still feel more attracted to some than to others.”

“So, of the people you have met at the Retreat, who have made the biggest impact?”

Suddenly, I realised that I had put myself on the spot: she would run a mile if I so much as hinted that she was the only one I would consider having a relationship with. I stumbled through a recital of my admiration for the musical talents of Jon and Kate; I disclosed that I sensed a softer nature to Elaine that she tried to conceal; I admitted that I did not know whether to feel sorry for Phil or angry with him for the strain he put on the siblings. What I did not say was that Jenny is a pretty girl who I suspect of having a good figure but who takes a lot of trouble to look plain and unattractive. I certainly would not have admitted that I was intrigued enough to want to know her better.

It was getting dark when I went into the bar to ask how they wanted their steaks cooked. They had moved over to a table where they were sitting side by side; I sensed, rather than saw, that Phil had moved slightly away from his companion when the door opened.

“There are tea-lights behind the bar, old chap,” he told me, before I spoke.

I lit two lamps leaving one on the counter and placing the other on the table in front of them. I was back in the kitchen before I remembered that I did not know how they liked their steak. Jenny knew Elaine’s tastes and I reckoned Phil would accept whatever we gave him.

Having survived the more personal topics, Jenny and I found plenty to talk about. We shared similar tastes in art and music, and we spent some time sharing opinions of books we had read. She is very quick-witted, with a rather dry sense of humour and I found myself liking her more and more as our preparations for the evening meal drew to a conclusion.

We became so involved in our chat that I believe we both forgot to watch Elaine for signs that she was entering the magnanimous stage of drunkenness. I helped Phil move her to the dining room and returned to the kitchen, passing Jenny exiting with the pate which was our starter.

Next moment Jenny was signalling me frantically and she hissed: ‘Now’s the time!’ when I entered the dining room. Elaine was sitting beaming at all of us in a slightly unfocused way, so I guessed that my silver tongue was needed to win her approval for the visit to London.

I almost blew it. Elaine was so amenable when I broached the subject that I thought that she had not heard me properly. I started to tell her all over again that Jenny had a marvellous chance to build a future, but it involved spending most of the next week in London.

“I heard you the first time, Fergus dear. Now don’t be a bore or I shall change my mind.”

For the rest of the meal, I described my flights in Rob’s seaplane and my experience casting flies in the direction of trout all too willing to be fooled by the artificial lures. We drank wine with the meal and, before Phil rose to make the coffee, Elaine bid us goodnight and made a reasonably dignified exit on Jenny’s arm.

Phil and I sat together for another few minutes drinking our coffee before he excused himself on the grounds of having work to do in his office. I took the dirty dishes into the kitchen and filled the dishwasher, tidied away the evidence of our preparations and then I retired towards my chalet. It was only a little after ten o’clock.

I was tired but not sleepy, so I decided to have a stroll. I had spent most of the day inside and needed to be out in the fresh air, but I will not disguise my hope that Jenny would feel the same urge. There were lights on the paths from the house to the cabins and another right at the end of the jetty. There was a glow in the window of Chalet Number 1, but it might simply be a night-light.

It was dry and not unduly cold for the beginning of September but there was enough cloud to hide the stars and reduce the moonlight to a feeble glow. I stood looking down into the water for some time before deciding that the movement I could see was due to the tiny ripples and not to the presence of fish.

Fifteen minutes later, I had had enough. I was starting to feel cold, so I turned and walked back up the jetty. I had barely reached the shore when Phil burst out of the house and jogged towards my chalet, every line of his body showing that he was upset about something. I may have moved, or he may have sensed my presence, but he suddenly stopped and turned to where I was standing perhaps ten paces away.

“This is your fault, you bastard!” he yelled when he saw me.

He took several steps towards me, clenching his fists and thrusting his chin out aggressively. I would like to claim that I bravely stood my ground in the face of his impending attack, but my mind simply failed to provide my body with any instructions. I had been hoping for more, slightly flirtatious chat with Jenny and I was slow to adjust to the changed situation. I had not faced this kind of physical threat since I left school, and I was struggling to accept that Phil might actually punch me in the face.

“Everything was fine until you came here. Kate was learning my qualities but then you stuck your rich nose in. Now I’ve been given the sack. I’ve to pack my bags and catch the noon ferry at Kilcreggan Pier tomorrow.”

He had stopped about a foot from me, and I could feel the spray of his spittle as he yelled at me. He was considerably drunker than he had been when he left me half an hour before to go to his office. The effort drained him, and he swayed visibly before he gathered himself together and turned back towards the farmhouse.

“What’s the use?” he mumbled, as he trudged away. “What’s the bloody use?”

Anya had wasted no time in doing as she promised. Was Phil right? Was any of this my fault? I let the old Fergus regain control at that point, shrugging my shoulders and walking away from what was someone else’s problem. As I walked up to my chalet, I thought I caught a movement from the front of Elaine’s cabin, but I walked on without exploring the possibility that Jenny had witnessed the scene.