The Tender Glory by Jean S. Macleod

the brown and gold of the moors. They could trace the path of the storm all the way north, where pines had been uprooted and thrown at crazy angles against each other and where the sea had taken its toll along the coast. Huntley explained to Helen how difficult it was to clear a wood under these conditions when the wrong trees had come down.
    “A gale doesn’t pick and choose,” he said. “Although I appear to have been lucky at Calders. We were about to fell on the far side of the river, anyway.”
    “Surely you won’t touch the avenue up to the house,” Helen said. “The pines are magnificent. I remember them being planted. Your father took great pride in them.”
    “They have to be thinned.” He was gazing straight ahead, not wanting to discuss Calders. “I may sell the house.”
    “Oh, surely not?” Helen couldn’t hide her genuine dismay at the idea. “It’s been in your family for three generations.”
    “Which may be enough.” His voice was harsh. “I have no further use for it.”
    “You’ll come by a use,” Helen persisted, in her forthright way. “I wouldn’t sell till I was sure, if I were you.”
    He pushed the car to its full capacity without answering and they speeded north. Sarclet Head stood out, darkly pinnacled, as they veered inland over the moors, and soon the blue water of Hempriggs lay beside the road, still and calm, reflecting the sky, a captive, inland lochan among the hills.
    Wick was busier than Helen had seen it for some time. She sat quietly now, looking about her, not wanting to talk. These were the streets she knew so well, the familiar shops, the people who were her people. Had she come back among them for the last time?
    Huntley drove straight to the hospital.
    “I’ll wait,” he said in a tone which brooked no argument. Alison’s knees felt weak and she had to bite her teeth into her lower lip to keep it from trembling.
    “Don’t worry, wee dear,” her mother said. “I’ll be as right as rain!”
    A nurse met them at the door.
    “Mrs. Christie? Will you come this way, please?” She looked at Alison. “Are you her daughter? Perhaps you’d like to see your mother settled in?”
    The hardest bit was coming away with the suitcase. Huntley took it from Alison, putting it back into the car. He had been waiting an hour.
    “Would you like to contact the Orbisters right away or will you come for some tea?” he asked.
    “Perhaps I’d better try to contact Jim,” she decided.
    He drove to the taxi office, only to find a young girl in charge. “Can I take a message?” she asked helpfully.
    “No—I’ll come back. When do you expect Mr. Orbister in?”
    “He’s gone to Thurso. He might be back about five.”
    “No luck?” Huntley asked when she came out into the street again.
    Alison shook her head.
    “None, at the moment. Jim won’t be back till five.”
    “Then come and have a cup of tea,” he suggested. “At least it will help to pass the time.”
    “You must want to get home.” She stood irresolutely on the pavement. “I can walk about. It’s quite fine.”
    He took her by the elbow, propelling her firmly towards the car.
    “Stop talking nonsense! You know I can’t leave you like this.” He was no doubt irked by the necessity of looking after her, yet she didn’t want to be left alone. She clung to kindness, although it meant nothing. He could hardly leave her flat after coming all this way with her.
    He parked the car in front of an hotel and they sat over their tea, looking down on the harbour. Like a chain of glowworms the lights on the North and South Heads pricked out, brilliant against the darkness of the sea. They said very little, neither of them feeling the need for speech. At five o’clock Huntley rose to pay his bill.
    “Orbister ought to be back by now,” he suggested.
    Jim’s taxi was parked outside the office door. When he saw Alison he looked surprised, then taken aback.
    “You haven’t come to stay?” he asked in