Cassandra By Chance

‘I’m not—you can’t think how marvellous it’s going to be, going to sleep in peace and quiet without traffic tearing past the windows all night.’

‘She was offered a Sister’s post,’ Tom told his wife as he sat down, and Rachel exclaimed: ‘Cassy, how marvellous for you—you didn’t refuse it because of us, did you?’ She sounded concerned.

Cassandra shook her head. ‘Of course not. I was telling Tom, if I had taken it, I should have got into a rut and stayed for ever and ever. Now I’m free to take my midder when I want. I’ve enough money to tide me over for a bit—besides, you’ve given me much more than I shall ever need.’ She broke off. ‘What do you do when you want to shop—I mean really shop?’

Rachel laughed. ‘You park the kids with Mrs MacDonnell, the schoolteacher. She’ll take them home for their dinner and you collect them when you get back from Oban. You can take the Landrover to the ferry and leave it near the quay and collect it on your way back—I’ve been doing that every few weeks.’

‘Well,’ said Cassandra, ‘I don’t suppose I shall want to go at all—I just wanted to know.’

Andrew, sitting beside her, said suddenly, ‘There’s a village shop—it’s super, you can buy anything there.’

His aunt gave him an understanding look. ‘Toffee?’ she suggested. ‘Crayons, pen-knives, balls of string and those awful things that change colour when you suck them? I’ve no doubt we shall do very well. What time do you leave?’ She turned to her brother-in-law.

‘Tomorrow afternoon. We’ll all go to the ferry and you can drive the kids back afterwards, Cassy. Our plane leaves Glasgow in the evening—we’ll spend the night in London and go on to Greece in the morning.’ He stretched luxuriously. ‘Six weeks’ holiday!’ he purred. ‘I can hardly believe it!’

‘You deserve it,’ remarked his wife. ‘This book’s been a bit of a grind, hasn’t it?’

He nodded. ‘But at least I’ve got the Roman Empire out of my system for ever. I always wanted to write about it, but never again—too much research. The next one will be a modern novel. I daresay I’ll get some ideas for it while we’re away.’

Rachel groaned. ‘Which means you’ll write all day and I’ll have to sit and knit.’

‘I didn’t know you could,’ observed Cassandra.

‘I can’t, that’s what makes it so difficult.’

Tom laughed. ‘My poor darling, I promise you I’ll only take notes—very brief ones.’ He got up from his chair. ‘How about taking Cassandra up to her room?’

They all trooped upstairs, Tom ahead with the luggage, the girls arm in arm and the children darting from side to side and getting in everyone’s way. Her bedroom was in the front of the house with a view of the sea, and if she craned her neck out of the window, the mountains as well. It was most comfortably furnished and pleasantly warm, with cheerful carpeting to match the cherry red curtains and bedspread. She began to unpack with everyone sitting around watching her as she handed out the small presents she had brought with her. They had been difficult to choose because she hadn’t a great deal of money and Tom was able to give Rachel and the children almost everything they could want. All the same, everyone exclaimed delightedly over their gifts and finally Rachel produced one for Cassandra—a thick hand-knitted Arran sweater. ‘To wear around,’ she explained. ‘I expect you’ve got some thick skirts and slacks with you—the children are great walkers and so are you, aren’t you? And there’s nothing much else you can wear here. Have you got some stout shoes?’

For answer Cassandra unearthed a sturdy pair from her case. ‘And my boots, and I suppose I can borrow someone’s Wellies.’

They all trooped downstairs then and had lunch, then did the last-minute packing while Mrs Todd, who came in to help, did the washing up.

The rain had ceased by the time they had finished and Cassandra changed into her new sweater and a pair of slacks, tied a scarf over her hair, and joined her relations for a walk. They went first to the village, where she made the acquaintance of Mrs MacGill, who owned the shop, and on the way out of it, the pastor, an almost middle-aged man, very thin and stooping, with hair combed tidily over the bald patch on the top of his head, and thick glasses. He shook hands with Cassandra, expressed himself delighted to make her acquaintance and hoped that she would go to the Manse one day and take tea with himself and his sister. He added, a little sternly, that he would see her in church on the following Sunday, and walked away rather abruptly.

They were well clear of the village, going along a rough track winding up the wooded hillside, when Tom observed, ‘You’ve made a hit, Cassy—I’ve never known old John Campbell issue an invitation to anyone until at least a month after he’s met them.’

‘Will you marry him?’ inquired Penny. ‘I don’t think I should like that, Aunt Cassandra.’

‘No, well—I don’t think I should myself, poppet, and as I don’t suppose there’s the slightest possibility of that happening, I think I’ll forget about it and concentrate on a prince in shining armour.’

‘So awkward,’ murmured Rachel, ‘the armour, I mean. However did they manage to give a girl a good hug, do you suppose?’

This interesting point held everybody’s attention for some time, it certainly lasted until they had reached the brow of the hill where they were met by a splendid wind and a vast expanse of grey sea and sky.

‘No view at all,’ said Tom in disgust, ‘and it looks like bad weather. We’d better get back, I think. We can go down the other path.’

They got home before the rain, glowing from walking fast, and the sitting-room looked very inviting as they crowded in. They made toast and ate a great deal of cake as well, and drank quantities of tea from an enormous teapot. It was nice, Cassandra reflected, that Rachel had never allowed Tom’s success and money to interfere with the happy home life she had achieved for them all. The house was roomy, well furnished and there was every comfort one could reasonably wish for, but the children weren’t spoilt; there was no obvious luxury, although she knew that Rachel could have anything she wanted and more besides.

She looked with affection at her sister, sitting curled up in one of the armchairs. She didn’t look her age; her pretty face was smooth and happy and contented—she was a dear; since their parents had died, she had, in the nicest possible way, looked after Cassandra, inviting her for holidays when they went abroad, giving her the pretty things she couldn’t quite afford to buy for herself, but only at birthdays and Christmas, so that Cassandra had never felt patronized. She had even contrived several meetings with young men when she and Tom had been living in London, so that Cassandra should have the opportunity of making their acquaintance. But this hadn’t been entirely successful; there were too many pretty girls around for the young men in question to waste more than a polite few minutes with her. Perhaps if she could have been a sparkling talker she might have achieved something, but she wasn’t, and she had never felt quite at ease with them.

She bit into another slice of cake, thinking how fortunate it was that she could repay Rachel and Tom a little for their kindness by minding the children while they took a holiday. They had wanted to go away together for some time, she knew, but neither of them would consider it unless the children could be looked after by someone they trusted. There were no grandparents now, and Tom’s sister, who lived in London, was heartily disliked by his children—that only left herself, and she had been able to say yes when Rachel had written and asked tentatively if there was any chance of her having a holiday and if so, could she bear to spend it looking after her nephew and niece. She had written back at once and offered to stay as long as they wanted her to, glad of the opportunity to get away from hospital life for a little while.

She loved her work, but a change was good for everyone and for the last six months, while she had been working in theatre, she had fancied herself in love with the young Surgical Registrar, who unfortunately, had barely noticed her—an unrewarding experience which she had the sense to know would get her nowhere. Up here, on this remote island, leading a totally different life, she would forget him quickly enough. She sighed, and Rachel asked anxiously, ‘You won’t miss London, darling?’

‘Me? No. Just think of it, six weeks of this— I shall read and sew and cook and discipline the kids…’

A remark which was greeted with delighted giggles from the children, because the idea of their beloved Aunt Cassandra disciplining anyone or, for that matter, being even faintly stern, was just too funny for words. They were still giggling as they led her away upstairs, where presently a furious uproar signified the fact that they were having their bedtime baths.

The weather had changed when Cassandra got up the next morning; the sun shone from a chilly blue sky, turning the sea to a turbulent green and the hills to yellow and red and brown, and in the distance the snowcapped mountains looked as though they had been painted against the horizon. The village was bright and cosy in the sunshine, its roofs and white walls sparkling, its windows gleaming. The sun was still shining as she drove back from the ferry in the afternoon with the two quiet and rather tearful children. The sky was paler now and already dim around its edges where the dusk was creeping in. Cassandra kept up a flow of cheerful conversation all the way home and as she swung the Landrover up the short track to the house, she asked:

‘How about a walk before tea? Just a short one— Bob needs some exercise and so do I. I’d love to go a little way up the hill behind the house.’

They set off presently, climbing steadily up the path which wound through the trees. It was sheltered from the wind and surprisingly quiet.

‘There’ll be mice here,’ said Cassandra, ‘and rabbits and an owl or two, I daresay, and any number of birds—I wish I knew their names. There’s a squirrel.’

They stood still and watched the creature dart up a tree and Bob, the elderly Labrador, who had grown portly with his advancing years, sat down.

‘Draw him when we get home,’ Penny begged her.

‘Certainly, my dear, if you would like that.’ Her aunt smiled fondly at her and added briskly, ‘Shall we go to that bend in the path and then go back for tea?’

There was a gap in the trees at the path’s turn; it afforded an excellent view of the hill above them, and the sun, gleaming faintly now, shone on something near its summit, in amongst the trees. Cassandra, staring hard, saw that it was a window and what was more, there was a chimney besides, with smoke wreathing above it.

‘A house!’ she exclaimed. ‘Whoever lives there? Why, it’s miles away from the village.’

For the first time since they had parted from their parents, the children perked up.

‘That’s Ogre’s Relish,’ Andrew informed her importantly, and waited confidently for her reply, for unlike other, sillier aunts, she could be depended upon to give the right answers.

‘What an extremely clever name,’ said Cassandra. ‘Do tell.’

She watched his little chest swell with pride. ‘I thought of it—Penny helped,’ he added. ‘There’s a man lives there, and one day I heard Mrs Todd telling Mrs MacGill that he relished his peace and quiet, and of course he’s an ogre because no one’s ever seen him.’

His aunt nodded her complete understanding. ‘Of course. Does he live alone?’

Penny answered her. ‘There’s another man there too—he’s old, and he comes to the shop sometimes and buys things, but he hardly ever speaks and Mrs MacGill says he only buys enough to keep body and soul together. Are ogres poor, Aunt Cassandra?’

‘This one sounds as though he might be.’

‘He can’t see.’

Cassandra stopped to look at her small niece. ‘My darling, are you sure? I mean, not see at all?’

Andrew chipped in: ‘We don’t know, but I heard Daddy tell Mummy, he said. “He can’t see, poor beggar.” That means,’ he explained, just in case his aunt hadn’t quite grasped the point, ‘that he’s not got any money—not if he’s a beggar.’

Cassandra nodded; it seemed hardly the time to start a dull explanation about figures of speech, and even if the poor ogre had enough to live on, it seemed a dreary enough existence. She turned her back on the gap, shivering a little. ‘Let’s go home,’ she said.