The Dog Who Came In From The Cold

Chapter 64: Inconclusive Conversation

Dinner was served at seven o’clock.

“We like to eat early in the summer months,” Stephanie said to Barbara. “The evenings here are so lovely – so long drawn out. It gives us a chance to get things done after the meal.”

“Such as going for a walk,” said Hugh. He looked at Barbara invitingly. “Would you like that?”

“Of course.”

He was accompanying her into the dining room, and took her arm as they went through the door. She nestled against him briefly, fondly, almost conspiratorially; she sensed that he was aware of her slight feeling of awkwardness – this was his family, his home, and she was the outsider. No matter how warm and welcoming a family may be, there is always a period of restraint, of mutual examination and testing, before a new member is taken to heart; no amount of social confidence could change that.

Barbara took her place at the dinner table under the stern gaze of a Highland ghillie, caught in paint, gaffing a salmon and, it seemed, looking directly at her as he did so. Was this Hugh’s taste in art, she asked herself – wounded stags at bay, Perthshire hillsides with indolent Highland cattle, impossibly gloomy glens with mists descending? She realised that this was yet another thing she did not yet know about him. They had never discussed art, never been to a gallery together. You’re marrying a stranger, she thought; and for a moment she wondered whether it would be wisest to call the whole thing off. Not immediately, of course; she would wait until the end of the weekend and see how she felt then. No, she could never do that. Never.

The hour or so at the table moved slowly. She was conscious that Hugh was watching her, as if he were trying to ascertain her reaction to his parents. When she caught his eye, he appeared to want to convey something to her – an unspoken apology, it seemed. Please understand, he said. Please understand that these are my parents, but none of us chooses our parents, and I am not the same as them. It was such a common message, one that almost everybody, at one time or another, sends to friends. And the reply that comes back is usually one of sympathy and understanding. “Yes, I see what you mean,” it says. “But they’re really not all that bad, and you should see mine!”

The conversation was mainly between Hugh and his father, with occasional interventions from Stephanie, who made an effort to include Barbara in their exchanges.

“I’m so interested to hear you’re a literary agent,” she said. “I’ve been writing—”

Hugh did not allow her to finish. “Barbara is not that sort of agent, Mother,” he interjected. “She deals with a very different sort of book.”

Stephanie tried again. “But I thought that—”

Again Hugh interrupted. “For example, she has the most interesting autobiography at the moment. It seems that—”

Stephanie stared at her son. “My own book—”

Sorley cleared his throat. “I’ve been reading the most entertaining—”

And Hugh again: “Please pass the salt.”

Barbara said, “Does Ardnamurchan get a lot of rain?”

At the end of the meal Barbara and Hugh left for their walk. The sun was still quite high above the hills to the west; although it was shortly after eight, at these latitudes, and in high summer, it would be a good two hours before it sank below the Hebridean Sea. “We’ve got time to get to the waterfall.” Hugh said. “Would you like that?”

Barbara looked up at the hillside behind the house. There was a small expanse of cleared grazing and then, beyond that, rough land: heather, bracken, outcrops of granite.

“There’s a path,” said Hugh, taking off his jersey and tying it around his waist. “It’s mild, isn’t it?”

It was. Earlier in the evening there had been a breeze and this had now abated, leaving the air languid, warm on the skin. On impulse, Barbara moved to his side and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I’m so happy,” she said. And then, embarrassed at her sudden show of emotion, “I just am. I normally don’t go round telling people that I’m happy, like some Pollyanna, but I just am.”

“And I’m happy too,” said Hugh. But then he frowned. “Why shouldn’t you tell people you’re happy? Why do people expect you to be miserable?’

“Do they?” she asked.

“Yes, I think they do.” He hesitated, but only briefly. “Sometimes it seems as if people think that misery is the natural human condition. Misery and conflict.”

“For some it is,” said Barbara. “For a lot of people, in fact.”

Hugh’s expression was one of disappointment. “You really feel that?”

Yes, she did; and she explained, “I’m not saying that we have to feel miserable – obviously we don’t. But we can’t ignore the real misery of the world. We’d have to bury our heads in the sand, wouldn’t we?”

Hugh defended his stance. He did not ignore the misery of the world, he said, but it did not dominate his thinking. Why should it? What was the point? “You can know all about suffering,” he said, “and you can still smile, and see the beauty of the world, and experience … experience joy, I suppose.”

She touched his forearm. “Of course. Of course, you’re right. And I’m not ashamed by happiness.” She paused. “You’ve made me happy. It’s you. Meeting you.” Which was true. Before she met Hugh she had been unhappy; she had been plain old Barbara Ragg – which was how she thought of herself – tagging after a man who had little time for her, living in fear of his rejection. And now everything was different. It was Hugh who had brought about this metamorphosis in her life.

All this at the start of the walk, before they set foot on the path that followed the course of the burn and then turned off into the fold of the hills; now Hugh took her arm and led her towards the path, matching his step to hers. “Fine,” he said. “That’s fine, because I’m happier now than I’ve ever been. Ever. I’m not exaggerating.”

She began to say something, but he stopped her, placing a finger against her lips. “We need to start,” he said. “If we’re going to swim, we need to get up there before the sun goes down.”

She shivered. They were going to swim under a waterfall. She looked up at the sky; it was a vast echoing vault of blue, empty apart from a sudden dart of swifts, dipping and swinging on some exultant mission of their own.