stretched back her head.
The final bars rang out, the tumbling sound of the octave scale passage loud and passionate. Charlotte kept her eyes shut for what seemed like forever. Then she turned to Elizabeth and whispered, ‘Is that not the most beautiful piece of music?’ She was breathless.
The room had changed. It had been cold before, but Elizabeth felt a fire had just been lit and she was sitting directly beside the flames.
‘Yes it is, Miss, that was fine, really fine.’
Charlotte smiled and leant towards Elizabeth. She held her rosy cheeks between her palms and was about to give her a kiss when the door opened.
They both turned to see Margaret Barrie standing there, rigid. ‘Excuse me, Miss, it’s time to take Elizabeth home.’ She gestured to Elizabeth to join her at the door, her face sombre.
‘Oh, Margaret, I’d hoped to take her to the kirk while I practise the organ for Sunday.’
‘That willnae be possible, Miss.’ She nodded to Elizabeth. ‘Out now, go and fetch your bonnet frae the kitchen.’
Charlotte stood up to her full height at the piano.
‘I thought it was just psalms you were playing for her, Miss?’
‘Psalms, hymns and other things, Margaret. There is surely no harm in that?’
‘As long as you play music for her that your father would approve of, Miss,’ Margaret said, a sour expression on her face.
‘Yes, Margaret.’ Charlotte sighed and removed the music from the stand.
Margaret slammed the door behind her as she left.
Chapter Twenty
2014
‘Why did the farmers decide to ruin the landscape with all those fields of rapeseed?’ Christine sneezed as she looked out her window at the passing mass of yellow.
‘I know, hideous isn’t it,’ said Mags. ‘What would they have grown here in the past?’
‘Well, the flax for Dundee’s linen industry was all grown locally, here in Angus.’
‘Flax flowers are that gorgeous blue colour, aren’t they? That must have looked awesome, fields of blue everywhere.’
They came to a signpost and Mags veered left. ‘Let’s stop for a coffee in Forfar. I’ve got some brownies with me if the baking’s rubbish.’
‘You can’t take your own food into a café, Mags,’ Christine tutted.
‘Watch me,’ said Mags, parking the car.
As they walked towards the coffee shop, Mags said, ‘I keep meaning to ask you this, Chris. Now that Jack’s doing so much better, are you going to stop pursuing that man from Pontyprydd who drove into them?’
‘Pontefract, Mags. Colin Clarkson. Yes, I told you already I’m going to let it go. Always hated the name Colin anyway.’ Christine sighed. ‘Jack still gets pretty tired. It’s taken its toll, you know. And he’s still got a bit of a limp. Every time I see him it breaks my heart.’
Mags couldn’t read the expression on Chris’s face; she had no idea if she would really stop this quest for revenge. But she’d had enough of pandering to her bossy cousin’smoods since the accident. She’d always been a bit obsessive, but now she was almost paranoid about that Clarkson man. And her constant fretting about Jack had to stop. Most of it was in her imagination, he’d hardly any limp at all.
And Chris never asked how Mags was doing. Mags thought this trip might be the time to talk about her own worries over her cake business. Or even tell her about the drunken discussion at book club, but she doubted Chris would be interested; she’d become totally self-absorbed.
Inside the café, Mags peered at the cakes in the glass stand. ‘Are the scones freshly baked today?’
‘Not sure. Think so. If not I can heat one up for you. Butter and jam?’ The young girl gave her a look her mum would have described as ‘glaikit’.
‘Er, no thanks, just a coffee for me, please’ Mags turned to Christine. ‘You want something to eat?’
‘Just a coffee. You go and get a seat, Mags, I’ll get these.’
Mags wandered over to the window table and sat down. She watched Christine take
The final bars rang out, the tumbling sound of the octave scale passage loud and passionate. Charlotte kept her eyes shut for what seemed like forever. Then she turned to Elizabeth and whispered, ‘Is that not the most beautiful piece of music?’ She was breathless.
The room had changed. It had been cold before, but Elizabeth felt a fire had just been lit and she was sitting directly beside the flames.
‘Yes it is, Miss, that was fine, really fine.’
Charlotte smiled and leant towards Elizabeth. She held her rosy cheeks between her palms and was about to give her a kiss when the door opened.
They both turned to see Margaret Barrie standing there, rigid. ‘Excuse me, Miss, it’s time to take Elizabeth home.’ She gestured to Elizabeth to join her at the door, her face sombre.
‘Oh, Margaret, I’d hoped to take her to the kirk while I practise the organ for Sunday.’
‘That willnae be possible, Miss.’ She nodded to Elizabeth. ‘Out now, go and fetch your bonnet frae the kitchen.’
Charlotte stood up to her full height at the piano.
‘I thought it was just psalms you were playing for her, Miss?’
‘Psalms, hymns and other things, Margaret. There is surely no harm in that?’
‘As long as you play music for her that your father would approve of, Miss,’ Margaret said, a sour expression on her face.
‘Yes, Margaret.’ Charlotte sighed and removed the music from the stand.
Margaret slammed the door behind her as she left.
Chapter Twenty
2014
‘Why did the farmers decide to ruin the landscape with all those fields of rapeseed?’ Christine sneezed as she looked out her window at the passing mass of yellow.
‘I know, hideous isn’t it,’ said Mags. ‘What would they have grown here in the past?’
‘Well, the flax for Dundee’s linen industry was all grown locally, here in Angus.’
‘Flax flowers are that gorgeous blue colour, aren’t they? That must have looked awesome, fields of blue everywhere.’
They came to a signpost and Mags veered left. ‘Let’s stop for a coffee in Forfar. I’ve got some brownies with me if the baking’s rubbish.’
‘You can’t take your own food into a café, Mags,’ Christine tutted.
‘Watch me,’ said Mags, parking the car.
As they walked towards the coffee shop, Mags said, ‘I keep meaning to ask you this, Chris. Now that Jack’s doing so much better, are you going to stop pursuing that man from Pontyprydd who drove into them?’
‘Pontefract, Mags. Colin Clarkson. Yes, I told you already I’m going to let it go. Always hated the name Colin anyway.’ Christine sighed. ‘Jack still gets pretty tired. It’s taken its toll, you know. And he’s still got a bit of a limp. Every time I see him it breaks my heart.’
Mags couldn’t read the expression on Chris’s face; she had no idea if she would really stop this quest for revenge. But she’d had enough of pandering to her bossy cousin’smoods since the accident. She’d always been a bit obsessive, but now she was almost paranoid about that Clarkson man. And her constant fretting about Jack had to stop. Most of it was in her imagination, he’d hardly any limp at all.
And Chris never asked how Mags was doing. Mags thought this trip might be the time to talk about her own worries over her cake business. Or even tell her about the drunken discussion at book club, but she doubted Chris would be interested; she’d become totally self-absorbed.
Inside the café, Mags peered at the cakes in the glass stand. ‘Are the scones freshly baked today?’
‘Not sure. Think so. If not I can heat one up for you. Butter and jam?’ The young girl gave her a look her mum would have described as ‘glaikit’.
‘Er, no thanks, just a coffee for me, please’ Mags turned to Christine. ‘You want something to eat?’
‘Just a coffee. You go and get a seat, Mags, I’ll get these.’
Mags wandered over to the window table and sat down. She watched Christine take
Similar Books
