“You just have your breakfast and you can get up when you feel like it,” said Maggie.
As I pulled the breakfast tray across onto my lap I suddenly noticed that the second pillow beside me had been disturbed. In fact the rest of the bed seemed to bear evidence of having been occupied. I looked at it with a puzzled frown and then I looked at Maggie. She showed no reaction but moved the tray gently onto my lap and left the room with a quiet smile.
My dream resurfaced. It was still clear and vivid. Or perhaps it had not been all dream. Maybe there had been some reality mixed up in there? There was no way I could be sure so I shrugged my shoulders and, realising that I was ravenous, attacked the food.
As I ate I started to think about what I was going to do next. I had to inform Mike and Pierre of my predicament. I needed to plan with them what we should do about Dewar. But first of all I had to recover. In the state I was in that might take a few days.
I got myself out of bed with a great deal of difficulty and a considerable amount of pain. I went in to the bathroom. There was a toothbrush and some toothpaste. There was soap. There was a full-length mirror. I looked at myself. I was a mess. I took in the state of my feet, my scarred hands and the scratches on my body. I also discovered, looking around, that I had no clothes. There was a large soft towelling dressing gown hanging on the back of the door. I put it on and sat down for a few minutes. Then I got up and went over and looked out of the window. Nothing but mountains in all directions.
I had no alternative but to go downstairs in the dressing gown. I picked up the tray and made my way slowly downtairs listening carefully. There seemed to be no one else around.
Maggie was in the reception area. Barefoot I made no noise coming down the stairs. I cleared my throat so as not to give her a fright and emerged into the hallway with the tray.
“That was a magnificent breakfast,” I said, when she looked up.
“Good. You seem better this morning.” “Much better, thanks to you,” I said. “By the way, my name is Bob. I don’t think I was in a state to tell you that last night. Bob Bruce.”
“Nice to meet you, Bob. Just put the tray down there. I’ll take it into the kitchen in a minute.”
“Maggie, could I ask you what you’ve done with my clothes?”
“They’ve all been washed and are in the dryer. They’ll be dry in about half an hour.”
“I feel I owe you an explanation about how I came to be brought here last night,” I said.
Maggie came round from behind her desk. “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “I’ll take this away” indicating the tray. “Why don’t you sit in there while I make us both a cup of coffee and then you can tell me all about it?”
She disappeared through a door and I went into the room she had indicated and found myself in a snug little lounge. I took the most comfortable looking armchair available and thought about what I should do now. I knew I was going to be fine, if uncomfortable for a few days. I didn’t need a doctor. My scratched body was not a real problem – more an annoyance. My hands would do. The big problem was my feet. I thought it would be a while before I could do much walking and I was going to need a softer pair of shoes.
I must, however, phone someone to come and pick me up. Heather was probably nearest.
Maggie came in a few minutes later with two mugs of steaming coffee and sat down in one of the other armchairs. I looked at her. She looked as fresh as a Highland morning and was looking across at me solicitously.
“Shall I tell you my story?” I asked. Without going into too much detail I explained how I had apparently got on the wrong side of someone who had seemingly arranged for me to be kidnapped and dumped in the mountains. I didn’t bother about all the background and said that I thought the people who had done this had probably only done it to frighten me. I didn’t want Maggie thinking that it had been attempted murder, even although I was sure that that was what it was.
“The first thing I have to do is inform my sister so that she can come and pick me up because I have no means of transport. She lives in Doune. How long would it take her to get here?”
Maggie reckoned it would be about two hours. “There’s a phone over there you can use.”
I dialled Heather’s number and it was promptly answered.
“Heather, it’s Bob. I have a slight problem which I wondered if you could help me with. I’m up in the Cairngorms and my car has broken down. Is there any chance you could come and pick me up?”
I didn’t want to tell her the whole story over the phone. It would only worry her.
“Does it need to be today? I’ve got the boys. Unless I bring them too.”
“No, don’t do that. If you can’t come today . . . Let me think . . .”
I looked over at Maggie who was leafing through a magazine, not wanting to pry on my conversation. The pages stopped turning.
“And you can’t do tomorrow either?” “No.”
“What about the day after?” The pages started turning again and although her head was bent down I could just discern a small smile flitting across her face.
“Fine. You need to come to the hotel in Lochbervie and I’ll see you at the beginning of the afternoon. And, by the way, if Mike or Pierre calls you, tell them I’ll phone them when I get back.”
I put the receiver back. “That’s alright, isn’t it?” “Of course,” said Maggie comfortingly. “I don’t have any bookings this week so you can take it easy and recover properly.”
She fetched my clothes when they were dry and I was able to go up and get dressed. We found some bandages and some ointment to treat my feet and she managed to produce a much too large pair of trainers which I could get my bandaged feet into.
“They used to belong to my son,” she explained, “But he left a few things behind when he went away.”
That led on to her recounting to me a bit about herself. She had two sons, twenty-eight and twenty-two. One, who had joined the Merchant Navy, was at the moment somewhere on the other side of the world and the other was working down in London.
“My husband left me six years ago and went off with his new partner to Glasgow. He didn’t really fit into the landscape here and, as soon as the boys left, he moved out. These things happen. The hotel was my father’s and I manage to make ends meet with it even although it’s a bit off the beaten track.”
Over a glass of wine in the bar I told her a short version of my story – about Liz and Callum, what I had done with my life, where I now lived and the ways I passed my time.
Maggie suggested lunch so we repaired to the kitchen and found some pâté in the fridge. My hunger had come back and I needed to make up for the last two days.
“How are the feet now?” she asked. “Up to a short walk?”
“As long as it’s on paths and the mist doesn’t come down,” I said ruefully.
We found another of her son’s left behinds – an anorak that was about my size and went out by the back of the hotel, locking everything up behind us.
We managed about two miles. My feet started to ease up after fifteen minutes or so and we profited from the warm sun, the wonderful views and got back to the hotel later in the afternoon, refreshed and relaxed.
It had been as pleasant an afternoon as I had had since Liz had died. I realised what a difference female company is compared to chatting with the lads at the golf club whose only topics of conversation seem to be sport or politics. Conversation was easy with Maggie. She was starved of it up here in the hills, she told me.
“You’ve no idea how the locals are not really interested in anything that happens more than about fifty miles away. Talk about navel-gazing. The Highlander’s breadth of interest seems to be not much further than the next mountain!”