Chapter 32 #2
She found a village shop, about to close, and managed to persuade the owner to let her select some postcards.
There was also a post office counter at the back where she purchased stamps to go with them.
As she walked back she caught the appetizing smell of fish frying, and from above music floated down from a radio—the Beatles singing “Yesterday.” Again it seemed to fit the mood.
Yesterday I was far away, she thought to herself.
And who knew what tomorrow would bring. The sun sank behind the mountains and the world was plunged into sudden darkness.
Lights twinkled into the harbour and from across on the mainland the ferry emerged, its lights shining on the water.
Emma watched until it came into port and disgorged its passengers and cars.
After a few minutes all had dispersed and the world fell silent.
She went back to the hotel, sat in the lounge and wrote her first postcard.
Dear Miss Blackburn,
(She was still not comfortable with calling her Iris.)
I have arrived on Skye, just as Melrose described it. I’m staying at the Kings Arms Hotel (which does exist), and I’ve seen Dun Akyn castle which alas is a ruin. Tomorrow I’ll be driven around by Young Jock—I think Melrose met his father, who was Young Jock then! More tomorrow.
Emma
The salmon was as good as promised, served with parsley sauce, potatoes and peas.
After dinner she lay on her bed reading one of the Melrose novels.
It was dark and gritty, and Emma found it hard going.
The established Melrose was so different from the sensitive young man in the current novel.
She put it away and turned off the light.
Emma slept well and enjoyed a hearty breakfast. I’d better do a lot of walking while I’m here or I’ll get as fat as a pig, she thought.
The view outside her window showed a bright and hopeful sky, and she hesitated to wear her new waterproof.
Still she knew from what she had read that weather can change quickly in these parts and took it with her to the lounge to await Young Jock.
He arrived at ten, a skinny young man with dark hair and serious eyes, exactly as Iris had described his father.
“Would you be Miss Callander?” he asked in a soft local brogue.
“I am indeed.” Emma stood up and shook his hand. “And you are most definitely Young Jock.” She was about to say that he looked just like his father had at the same age but stopped herself. That would make things too complicated.
“Aye. That’s me. Now what would you be wanting? Mistress Bruce said you’re writing some sort of book?”
“That’s right. I’m actually helping a writer with her book, and she needs to get all the scenery correct.”
“Aye. Well we can certainly do that if you tell me where you need to go.”
“I thought I should first do a tour of the island so I get a feel for the place and know where everything is situated,” Emma said.
“Good idea.” He gave an encouraging nod. “Should I take you on the usual tourist loop that I do?”
“Why not?” Emma said. “I’m sure that’s what my cowriter would have done when she visited.”
“It will be quite a long day,” Jock cautioned. “Skye is not exactly small and the roads are nae the best, to say nothing of negotiating sheep and cattle everywhere we go.”
“It will be an adventure.” Emma smiled. “And it’s a lovely day, so let’s make the most of it.”
“So far,” he said. “Ye ne’er can tell here. The weather is a tricky thing. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst here, that’s what we say.”
“Then I’ll bring my mack just in case.”
“Right then. Let’s get going, shall we?” He went to stand up but she held up a hand.
“So we should probably settle how you’d like to be paid before we start. If I hire you for the day, how much would you charge?”
He quoted what Emma thought was a reasonable amount, given the price of petrol, and she nodded. “That sounds fair.”
The taxi was a solid-looking blue Hillman Husky and they set off, driving out of Kyleakin and heading north along the coast. Jock drove carefully and confidently. He told her he’d been recently married and was glad of the extra work now as they were hoping to start a family.
“You’re not married yourself then yet? Making the most of being fancy-free?”
“I just haven’t met the right chap, I suppose,” she said and explained her life in Australia. He showed immediate interest. “My wife is talking about emigrating,” he said. “Lots of opportunity there, is it? A good life?”
“Yes, I think so,” Emma agreed. “Sunshine and plentiful food and they really want new immigrants.”
“There’s other young folk I know thinking the same thing,” Jock said.
“Not much opportunity on the island and the shipbuilding is almost dead in Glasgow. I don’t fancy London or Manchester.
But a new country with plenty of room—that sounds quite appealing.
So tell me, are there really kangaroos hopping around everywhere? ”
“Not in the city,” Emma laughed, “but out where I grew up we had wallabies on the lawn every evening. And kookaburras and maggies—I mean magpies. Lots of interesting birds. And quite a few bad things too: poisonous snakes and redback spiders. I almost got bitten by a funnel-web spider when I was a toddler. It was hiding inside my rain boot. They can kill you.”
“Don’t tell my missus that.” He laughed, too. “She hates spiders, even the harmless ones.”
“I should warn you there are also huntsmen then,” she said. “Hairy spiders as big as your hand. They’re fairly harmless but they look frightening.”
“Then we’re definitely not going.” He shook his head. “If Alice saw one of them she’d be off back to Scotland in an instant.”
As they had talked the road had veered inland, passing through what looked like cultivated fields, although whatever had been growing in them—some kind of grain—had now been harvested.
They rejoined the coast, moved through several small settlements, then veered inland again, over a series of treeless hills, just as Emma had seen on her trip from the ferry.
To their left a series of impressive mountains rose.
“Those would be the Red Cuillin,” Jock said.
“Not quite as challenging for the climbers as the big stuff on the other side. We’ve some really top-class mountains over there on the west. I spend much of my summers driving people who have fallen and injured themselves to the hospital.
Of course I don’t transport the bodies of the ones who don’t make it. ” He smiled cheerfully.
“Are you a climber yourself?” she asked.
He laughed. “I don’t have a head for heights. I get dizzy standing on a ladder hanging a picture.”
At last the road joined a rocky shoreline, with more islands dotting the sea ahead of them. It hugged the coast, going in and out of narrow inlets, then climbing up into the wild again until they came into what looked like a bigger village.
“This is Portree,” Jock said. “Capital of the island. Not exactly a metropolis, is it? And nothing happens here.” Emma could have guessed that from Melrose’s description.
It was a pretty little place with a row of pastel-painted houses nestled below a wooded cliff and a harbour with several fishing boats tied up.
“We’ll not stop here now,” Jock said. “Not if we want to do the circuit of the north. That’s what most of the tourists want to see, unless they are climbers.
” And off they went again. The countryside ahead was spectacular, with green hills on one side and a blue sea on the other.
Waterfalls cascaded down hillsides, and the road passed over rushing streams on old stone humpbacked bridges.
Everything felt so fresh and different that Emma sat forward in her seat, trying to take in every aspect of the view.
They pulled off at a viewpoint to see a waterfall plunging from cliffs onto the rocks of the seashore and Emma took photographs.
Then on again until Jock pointed out a strange rock formation rising like a jagged pillar beside steep, rocky crags.
“That’s the Old Man of Storr,” Jock said proudly. “On another day we can come back and you can climb up to it. There’s a magnificent view, but we don’t have time today.” They pulled into the car park and Emma went up the trail far enough to photograph the rock.
“How do you like it so far?” Jock asked.
“It’s all so wild,” Emma said. “So remote feeling, so untouched. And so green. There’s nothing like it in Australia.”
Jock looked pleased, as if he’d handed her a present. “Are you feeling hungry yet?” he asked.
“I am, actually.” Emma looked at her watch and was surprised to see it was already one o’clock.
“There’s a wee café as we head over to the west side of the peninsula,” he said. “I hope it’s stayed open at this time of the year. If not, we’ll have to go back to Portree.” He paused, frowning. “We should have asked Mistress Bruce for sandwiches.”
“Oh, it’s fine, Jock,” she said. “I’m enjoying every moment.”
The café was open, and they both had ham sandwiches and coffee. As they were eating, Emma asked, “So tell me, are there really any castles that are still lived in on the island?”
“Oh aye.” He nodded. “I was planning to show you Dunvegan. It’s a verra grand place. Seat of the MacLeods, you know. We’re not far from it.”
Again Emma sat alert in her seat as they drove through a wooded area. The trees were mainly deciduous, oaks and birch with leaves already turning yellow and brown. The track was covered in a carpet of leaves, and there were puddles of water from recent rains. Then they turned into a car park.
“Are you wanting to take a tour of the house?” he asked.