hall and buy him an aeroplane so he can hop from island to island.’
‘Our own flying doctor,’ said Rory. ‘Why the hell has he come back?’
‘I think he wanted to get out of London,’ said Buster. ‘His marriage broke up.’
‘Not surprised,’ said Rory. ‘No woman in her right senses could stand him.’
‘Finn Maclean is Marina’s elder brother,’ Coco explained to me. ‘Rory and he don’t get on, you understand. He never got on with Rory’s father either — he kept complaining about the poorness of the tenants.’
‘He’s an arrogant sod,’ said Rory. ‘You won’t like him.’
‘I rather like him,’ mused Coco. ‘He does not have the bedroom manner, but he is all man.’
Life on Irasa, I decided, certainly wasn’t going to be dull. The unpredictable Marina running rings round her ancient husband; Rory feuding with Finn Maclean, who was ‘all man’; plus Buster and Coco, a knockabout comedy act in themselves.
‘This is a nice hotel,’ said Coco meditatively, trying on some of my scent. ‘Can you get Buster and me a room here, Rory?’
‘No I can’t,’ said Rory. ‘I happen to be on my honeymoon, and I’d like to get on with it without your assistance.’
Chapter Five
After a fortnight, Rory started getting restless and decided to return to England. We stopped in London and booked in at the Ritz. I must say I did enjoy being rich — it was such bliss not having to look at the prices on the menu.
We were in the middle of dinner, I lingering over a crepe suzette because it was so delicious and Rory halfway through his second bottle of wine, gazing moodily out at Green Park, where the yellow leaves whirled and eddied away from the wet black branches of the plane trees.
Suddenly he summoned a waiter:
‘I want my bill,’ he said, adding to me, ‘finish up that revolting pudding, we’re going home tonight.’
‘But we’re booked in here,’ I protested.
‘Doesn’t matter. If we hurry, we can catch the sleeper.’
‘But it’s Friday night,’ I said, ‘we’ll never get a bed.’
‘Want to bet?’ said Rory.
We tore across London in a taxi, fortunately the streets were deserted, and reached Euston station just five minutes before the train was due to pull out.
‘You’ll never get on,’ said the man at the booking office, ‘it’s fully booked.’
‘What did I tell you,’ I grumbled. ‘We’ll have to sleep in a cattle truck.’
‘Stop whining,’ said Rory. His eyes roved round the station. Suddenly they lit on one of those motorized trolleys that carry parcels round stations and are always running one over on the platform. It was coming towards us. Stepping forward, Rory flagged it down.
The driver was so surprised he screeched to a halt and watched in amazement as Rory piled our suitcases on.
‘What the bleeding hell do you think you’re doing, mate?’ he said.
‘Drive us up Platform 5 to the first-class sleeper for Glasgow,’ said Rory.
‘You want me to do what?’ asked the driver.
‘Go on,’ said Rory icily, ‘we’ll miss the train if you don’t hurry.’
He climbed on and pulled me up beside him.
‘We can’t,’ I whispered in horror, ‘we’ll get arrested.’
‘Shut up,’ snarled Rory. ‘Go on,’ he added to the driver, ‘we haven’t got all bloody day.’
There was something about Rory’s manner, a combination of arrogance and an expectation that everyone was going to do exactly what he wanted, that made it almost impossible to oppose him. Grumbling that he’d get the sack for this, the driver set off.
‘Can’t you go any faster?’ asked Rory coldly.
The driver eyed the fiver in Rory’s hand.
‘You won’t get a penny of this,’ said Rory, ‘unless we catch that train.’
We gathered speed and amazingly stormed through the barrier unopposed and up the platform. Train doors were being slammed as we reached the sleeper.
‘Put the luggage on the train,’ said Rory to the driver, and strolled over to the attendant who was giving his lists a last-minute check.
I edged away, terrified there was going to be a scene.
‘I’m afraid we’re booked solid, sir,’ I heard the attendant say.
‘Didn’t the Ritz ring through?’ said Rory, his voice taking on that carrying, bitchy, upper-class ring.
‘Afraid not, sir,’ said the attendant.
‘Bloody disgrace. Can’t rely on anyone these days. Expect your side slipped up, one of your staff must have forgotten to pass on the message.’
The attendant quailed before Rory’s steely gaze. He took off his peak cap and scratched his head.
‘Well, what are you going to do about it?’ said Rory. ‘I’m on my way back from my honeymoon, my wife is quite exhausted. We booked a sleeper and now you’re trying to tell me you’ve given it away.’
As the attendant looked in my direction, I edged further away, trying to merge into a slot machine.
‘I really don’t know what to say, sir.’
‘If you value your job,’ said Rory, ‘you’d better do something about it.’
Two minutes later an enraged middle-aged couple in pyjamas were being shunted into a carriage down the train.
‘I’m awfully sorry, sir,’ the attendant was saying.
‘You might have thanked him,’ I said, sitting down on the bed, and admiring the splendour of our first-class compartment.
‘One doesn’t thank peasants,’ said Rory, pulling off his tie.
Chapter Six
We drove towards the ferry which was to carry us to Irasa. I glanced at Rory hunched over the wheel, demons at his back, the beautiful face sullen with bad temper. His black mood had been coming on for several hours now.
At last we reached the ferry. Under a grey and black sky a mountainous sea came hurtling towards us, thundering, moaning and screaming, and dirty with flying foam.
‘Hello, Mr Balniel,’ said the man on the gate. ‘I wish you’d brought some better weather. It’s been raining six weeks in Irasa, even the seagulls are wearing sou’westers.’
On the boat the sky darkened noticeably, the temperature dropped and the gulls were blown sideways like pieces of rag in the wind.
I’m not sure Scotland’s quite me, I later thought disloyally, as we bumped along one-track roads with occasional glimpses of sulky-looking sea.
On our left a huge forbidding castle lowered out of the mist.
‘Nice little weekend cottage,’ I said.
‘That’s where Buster and Coco live,’ said Rory. ‘This is us.’
