The Sabbath.
A few hours later as I was strolling somewhere, or back, merely waiting for the world to reopen, George called me from the inn steps.
“There’s a body to meet you, Ian.” He waved towards the quay. I felt pleased. A kindness shown, a kindness sown. Swiftly remembering that I was temporarily Ian McGunn, I waved thanks and went down the stone harbor front. A youngish bloke was sitting on the wall. His pipe was unlit. The Sabbath again, I supposed knowingly.
“How do.” I stood a second. “I’m Ian McGunn.”
“Hello,” he said, smiling. “Jamie Innes.”
“Not angling,” I observed, glad.
“Not on Sunday.” He grinned, blue eyes from a tanned young leather face. “You?”
“No. Fish never did me any harm.”
“Hunter? Deer? Nature watcher?” He ran down a list of lethality, earning a constant headshake.
“Ah, well. Poetry. One slim volume, a few here and there in obscure journals.” How obscure only I knew.
“I’m not a very educated man,” he confessed. “But at least I can tell Shona I met you first.”
Shona? “Shona?” I said as blankly as I’m able.
“We’re engaged. She’s a McGunn. She’ll be pleased to meet you, seeing you’ve possible relatives here.” He rose and invited me to accompany him by tilting his head. “You were saying on the bus. Old May Grimmond from Lybster’s a cousin to Mrs. Ross who keeps the shop, who’s related to George MacNeish at the inn, who…”
Until that moment I’d assumed that the Highlands were a large underpopulated expanse of differing counties. Illusions again. Now I could see a strain of blood ties ran strongly round somnolent old Dubneath. What worried me was that here I suddenly was, Ian McGunn, urgently needing an entire clan’s genealogy, addresses, and photographs.
We walked a few hundred yards before Jamie stopped outside a terraced cottage and pushed open a wooden gate. The cottage door was pulled, and a melodious voice said,
“Welcome, Ian McGunn! You’ll stay for tea.”
“Shona,” Jamie introduced. “That beast’s Ranter.” A dog the size of a horse stared at me with less than ecstasy.
“Er, hello,” I said. The impression was swirling blue, gold, yellow, and a smile. The bird, not the dog. “I, er, trust I’m not inconveniencing…”
“Come in, man. Us here waiting and you so long to call I’ve to send Jamie Innes combing the town seeking you out, wandering all the county before setting foot in the house…”
Gasp. “Erm, thanks, er, Shona…” I honestly believe that a woman meeting a man only takes him in piece by piece—eyes, height, age, smile, face. But a man’s different. We take in the complete woman at one swallow. That’s why particular points—
remembering the color of her eyes, for instance—aren’t really important to a man. It’s also why women get very narked, because they assume we use their scoring system. I couldn’t keep my eyes off Shona, and struggled to keep from being too obvious. She was lovely.
The cottage was prepared for action. Linen tablecloth, plates just so. The most formal tea table you ever did see, while Shona swung her long bright hair and spun herself fetching the teapot and piles of sandwiches. She told Ranter to wait outside. It left calmly, giving me a warning glance.
“And what’s this about you in a common lodging like that MacNeish’s tavern, no more than a pub and you not even bothering to knock on a door—” et cetera.
“Give the man a chance, Shona,” Jamie pleaded.
“Aye, well, if he’s come through the south he’ll only be used to them Edinburgh folk…”
Jamie winked. “We blame Edinburgh for giving us all a bad reputation. There’s a joke.
Edinburgh folk tell callers: Welcome—you’ll have had your tea!”
“What did that MacNeish give you for your dinner, Ian?” Shona demanded from the kitchen.
And we were off into woman chat. By sheer skill I managed to keep off my relatives for the whole visit. Shona was lovely in that spectacular way some women are. Jamie Innes obviously worshiped her, laughing appreciatively at her stories of the schoolchildren even though I’m sure he must have heard them all before.
Getting on for six, Shona rose to shoo Jamie away and summoned me to walk her out.
“Time for chapel,” she commanded. “The Innes clan being famous heathens, Jamie doesn’t go, so you’ll walk me down, Ian.”
“Er, if you wish.”
“And while we do,” she said, bright with anticipation, “I’ll exchange tales of the McGunns with you.”
“Shouldn’t I go with Jamie…?” I tried desperately.
Jamie said, “But I’m outnumbered, Ian. You McGunns use unfair tactics.”
We parted at the gate, Jamie turning up the road, leaving me and Shona to start towards the chapel by the waterfront. She slipped her hand through my arm. There was a low rumble behind us, Ranter stalking. Its eyes were almost on a level with mine. A stair-carpet of a tongue.
“Take no notice of the beast, Ian,” she said happily. “Now we can have a really good gossip.”
“Gossip?” This was it. My heart sank. I invented desperately. “Well, er, I think my granddad came from
