Yet Dr Burton, reflected Laura, comforting herself with the thought, seemed to have ended his researches with a divided mind. He was even prepared to accept the hypothesis that there might exist some sort of
Laura enjoyed her late breakfast, decided to spend the morning shopping, loitering and writing letters, have lunch at the hotel and then make her way to Freagair and hope to put up there for the night If the one hotel at Freagair could not take her, there was always Strathpeffer.
The hotel at Freagair had a room for her. She ate Scotch broth, trout and good Scotch beef for her dinner, refused the sweet and asked for roes on toast, drank a half bottle of undistinguished Burgundy and went to bed in good time, having decided upon an early start for Garadh so that she would be able to call upon Mrs Stewart before lunch.
She arranged to return to the hotel for the following night, breakfasted at eight and was on the road by a quarter to nine. She had been warned that after the first ten miles the road was single-track all the way to Crioch and, a mile out of that resort of wide and shining sands, single-track again to her destination. There were passing places, but it could take a long time to make the full journey.
Laura, however, was lucky. There was very little traffic, the hired car behaved well and the road was extremely beautiful. The morning was sunny, although not particularly warm, and although the narrow road needed concentrated attention, she was aware of green hills to her right, a sluggish, broad river bordered by rough pasture to her left, and beyond the shallow valley there were the mountains. A single-track railway line ran alongside the river.
Later, on the right, she passed a smallish loch with islands, one of which was wooded, another of which had been built on (she had a glimpse of a white house) and the rest were no more than rocks.
Later, she passed another house, but it was beyond the river and the railway and, although she noticed the trackways which opened off the road, she did not see the house.
Some miles further on she came into Tigh-Osda, at which the single-track railway terminated, and, except for a disfiguring new hydro-electric plant, the views for the rest of the way were superb. The long windings of the narrow road descended to a loch twelve miles long, guarded by grim mountains on the far side, partly wooded on the near side, islanded and tantalisingly beautiful. Laura drove slowly past it and although she still kept a wary eye on the road for approaching cars and passing-places, she managed to see enough of its loveliness to make her decide to come that way again at some time and enjoy it to the fall.
At Crioch, on the coast, she passed a post-office and wondered whether to stop and send her employer a card, but a glance at the clock on the dashboard suggested that it might be better to press on, for she had an invitation to lunch at Garadh and did not want to be late.
From Crioch, through Baile (a tiny hamlet where fishermen lived) and all the way to Garadh, the road ran along the coast. The day became warmer, the sun still shone and Laura was almost sorry when she reached the great gates of the Garadh policies and realised that this was journey’s end. The gates were wide open, as though in hospitable welcome, and this impression was reinforced by the presence of her hostess waiting on the terrace to greet her.
‘So this is Garadh,’ said Laura, when they had introduced themselves. ‘It’s indescribable. I expected something rather wonderful, but this beats anything I’d thought of.’
‘You shall see it all when you’ve had your lunch. Did you have a good journey?’ said her hostess, taking her into the house. ‘Lunch will come to the table as soon as you’re ready.’
Laura washed her hands and tidied her hair in a broad, low-ceilinged room to which Mrs Stewart showed her and from which a shy, smiling housemaid took her to the dining-room door. There was a fire in the room, Madeira wine on the enormous sideboard and a pleasant, homely atmosphere everywhere. Laura was very glad indeed that she had come.
After lunch there was a good cup of tea served in beautiful china and poured from a pot of Georgian silver. Tea, said her hostess, she greatly preferred to coffee after mid-day meals. After this they went into the grounds. From what she had seen when she had driven up to the house and while she had been standing beside Mrs Stewart for a moment or two on the terrace, Laura had realised that the policies were extensive, but she had not fully grasped what an acreage they must cover nor how truly superb were the seascapes and the natural scenery, even apart from the glories of the gardens themselves.
Across the sea-loch whose weedy tides slapped idly and in slow motion against the rocky walls rose the stern, dark outlines of the humped and massive Ben Caraid, and on the homeward side, running far out into the shallow water, was a long peninsula which formed part of the Garadh estate. Garadh was indeed a garden, a magnificent garden which had been contrived by the owner’s grandfather on what had once been barren, heartless sandstone and patches of sour peat.
It was not ordinarily particularly enjoyable to Laura to linger among the treasures of gardening fanatics or to listen with patient courtesy while these poured out, in considerable detail and even more Latin, a wealth of information about their insignificant-looking plants, but this occasion was different. In spite of the details and the Latin nomenclature, Laura enjoyed herself. The very extensive garden had been romantically conceived, for all the soil had been transported to it from far, far away, earth had been banked and trees grown to protect it, and, by the time Laura saw it, it was, in effect, a miniature Kew.
To her right, as she peered with well-simulated interest at Anacyclus Depressus, Cotoneaster Frigida Prostate, Leontopodium Alpinum and the rest of the fifty-nine species which the rock-garden had on display, were palm trees and an Australian tree fern, while in the opposite direction was a group of northern pines. Between the two lay the house, comfortable, large and built in Colonial style, to which they returned at half-past four to what Laura called ‘a real Edinburgh tea.’ After tea they went out again for the days were already long and the light good until late evening.
‘Come and see the rhododendrons,’ said Mrs Stewart. ‘Many are over, but we get some of them in flower, different species and hybrids, you know, from April almost until the autumn. We have some, indeed, which flower in February and March.’
They left the house, passed beside the rock garden which Laura had already seen and stood a while by the jetty and a small boat-house to look across the sea-loch to Ben Caraid’s formidable cliffs and shadowed corries.
‘It is a lovely place!’ said Laura. ‘I suppose it’s not really cold here, even in winter?’
‘The trees and the banks give a great deal of shelter, and the sea, this side, is warm, but we get snow, of course. I mind well – four years ago last Hogmanay it was – I had guests snowed up here for the best part of two
