Dark hair, shoulder length and naturally curled, a wide mouth that smiled easily, Sissy MacFarland had a creamy complexion that didn't need make-up, lightly sprinkled with freckles, and a figure that most women could only dream of having and every man couldn't help drooling over. She treated their admiring looks and silent whistles with good-natured amusement, not offended, not affected or preening either.
'Can I take orders for dinner?' she asked, looking around, licking the tip of her chewed pencil, using an old notepad to take their orders. She was flushed from cooking, her simple cotton dress had sweat marks under the arm pits and her apron ribbons were undone. She was a mother figure whose curves and heavy breasts encouraged a man to trust her and to want her to cradle him in her lovely strong arms. And when they felt her softness, the desire for those breasts to break free, to be cupped and kissed, made Sissy, sweet Sissy the object of every man's desire. 'Salmon, Jugged hare, roast venison?' She could have said, 'I am free, I am obtainable, I am here for each one of you, I am the woman you dream of!'
The menu received a spontaneous round of applause that set every man laughing, as if knowing each other's minds. 'I'll have that!' Jimmy laughed louder than the others, giving Sissy a wink. 'Eh! Is the rest of him on the menu Gov?' Jimmy pointed to the massive stag's head, still being embraced by MacFarland. 'If it is, I'll have the jugged hare!'
MacFarland didn't seem to get the joke, or the fact that the entire menu was obviously poached. He was getting into a drunken state over his prized stag.
'I brought him down with one shot,' he slurred, misty-eyed with nostalgia bordering on the maudlin. 'They got a big 'un up at the Estate, three grand on his head for anyone lucky enough to get him… BUT, he's not a patch on my boy. I had him mounted in Edinburgh, nineteen fifty-five
Sissy came round taking their orders, getting a lot of smiles and compliments, then she crossed to Steve sitting on the fringe of the group. Steve hadn't taken his eyes off her since the moment she had entered.
'What would you like?' Sissy asked pleasantly and all the lads gave a cheer, knowing full well what Steve would like.
Steve gulped air, trying to speak, but nothing came out. The lads were already encouraging Macfarland for another round of his special malt, only Dillon watched Steve. He saw Sissy repeat her question, saw the deep flush come over Steve's face. Sissy thought Steve was just drunk, she said, 'You want the jugged hare?' and he nodded. Sissy went out, back to the kitchens. Busy in her roles as cook, waitress and receptionist she never gave Steve a second thought, but Dillon had seen his helplessness, his deep humiliation at being unable to reply to a simple query. In the old days there could have been competition, Steve would have been in like Flynn. Then he had it down to a fine art, the shy look from his wide beautiful eyes accompanied by a slow, sexy smile, and the toss of his thick black hair, had the women within seconds. The female species couldn't resist him. Now, dirty lank hair hanging over his flushed crimson face, and drunk, befuddled eyes gave no indication of what he had once been capable of as 'The Puller'; all he could do now was stare helplessly into his whisky glass. It was empty. Dillon placed a fresh glass in front of Steve, rubbed his head, and returned to the lads at the bar. He turned back. Steve was looking at him and it was to Dillon that he gave one of his smiles, as he mouthed, 'Thanks Mate.'
Wearing her best outfit, fresh lipstick and Boots' pale peach eyeshadow, Susie Dillon stood at the waist-high counter of Marway MiniCabs, nervously clutching a Sainsbury's carrier-bag of groceries. She hadn't realised till now (Marway hadn't struck her as a foreign name, when she'd noticed the ad in the evening paper) that Mr Marway was Indian, or Sikh, or something – anyway he wore a turban, and had a small pointed beard. Not that it mattered. A job was a job.
Sitting at the control panel, looking a bit out of place in a well-cut dark suit and immaculate collar and tie, Marway spoke into the microphone on its silver stalk. He flicked a couple of switches, checked off the fares on a clipboard, and then gave his attention back to Susie and her somewhat strained smile.
'Day shift is from nine until three, night shift from four until three, and you'll be driven home.' Marway's voice was a dead fit with his appearance, anyway: tasteful, evenly modulated, an educated man, no question.
'I have two boys at school, so that would be fine,' Susie said, anxious to reassure him. 'My husband is working in Scotland… I'd need someone to show me how the – er -' She made a little nervous gesture towards the control panel.
'Of course.'
Marway got up, smiling, lifted the flap in the counter and extended the palm of his hand, bidding her enter. 'What about right now?'
'You mean start straight away?' Susie said, taken aback.
'If it's convenient, and the pay is acceptable.'
Susie's eyes lit up. 'Oh yes! Yes!' She smiled delightedly, absolutely thrilled. 'I've got the job then? Oh, that's marvellous,' she said, taking his hand and shaking it. 'Thank you!'
It was that simple. Literally walking off the street and into a job. She could hardly believe it. Wait till she told Frank! But that thought didn't exactly fill her with unbounded joy, knowing his old-fashioned views on women going out to work when they had a couple of young kids to look after. Anyway, Susie thought defiantly, that's why she was doing this, for the kids, for the family. They needed money, so why not go out and earn it?
Simpler getting a job than actually doing it, Susie soon discovered. Marway wrote out a sheet of instructions, gave her an A-Z, and left her to get on with it. In-between taking calls and relaying instructions to the drivers, she managed to sneak in a call to her mother, asking her to pick up the boys from school. Bit of a white lie, that, telling Marway the job fitted round the school routine. Helen moaned at first, but then agreed, as Susie knew she would.
Less than an hour later, Helen rang back. Didn't want to panic unduly, but Kenny was complaining of a sore throat and his temperature was up. The panel started buzzing and flashing, calls piling up. In a rush, Susie told her to put him to bed, take up his favourite meal if he could face it, fish fingers and beans, chocolate-chip ice cream. She'd be home soon. 'Has Frank called?' she asked before ringing off, and instantly regretted the question even before Helen's reply came through the headphones, tart as vinegar. 'No, he's not called. But then you know him!'
Susie cut her off and went back to work.
'Marway MiniCabs… is it cash or account?… Be about half an hour, okay… Right, your name…?'
Susie was getting the hang of it now, it hadn't taken too long, and as soon as she had got over her initial fear of fouling up the switchboard, she grew less and less flustered. She was actually beginning to enjoy working and the newfound confidence it gave her. If Frank hadn't called, it was nothing new, she'd spent half their married life waiting for him to call or write – at least in Scotland there was no fear of the call or the telegram to say he was dead.
CHAPTER 16
Apart from the Tower of London, Dillon couldn't recall ever seeing a real castle, complete with turrets and ramparts, before he laid eyes on McGregor Castle, the centrepiece of the vast McGregor Estate. Riding up in the jeep with Jimmy and Cliff, the castle suddenly presented itself at the head of the glen, grey, jutting, uncompromising, outlined against a clear blue sky with faint wisps of cirrus high above. At the wheel, Jimmy gave a low whistle of awe and admiration, and from the back seat Cliff muttered grudgingly, 'Some have it all, don't they? Bet it freezes the bollocks off 'em in winter.'