Wild Melody (23 page)

Catriona began to chatter again, hardly knowing what she was saying. She

checked when she caught Mitch's eyes on her, gravely questioning, and

realised the salt dampness on her lips was her own tears.

Both Jean, and Andrew when he came back a little while later, insisted that

she should go home and take something for the headache she had invented

on the spur of the moment.

'I'll take you,' Andrew said firmly, shepherding her towards the door,

ignoring her protests that she had work to do.

'But the
ceilidh--
' Catriona resolutely dammed back the tears that were

beginning to well up again at their unquestioning kindness, furious at her

own weakness.

'We'll get by,' Jean assured her. 'Don't forget your friend Sally and her

theatre club crowd are coming to help out. You've done more than enough

already. Just have a good rest.'

But that, Catriona found, was easier said than done. Alone at the flat, she

roamed about restlessly doing small, aimless bits of tidying up, washing

some tights, and preparing herself some scrambled eggs which she did not

want. Later, she went out and bought a newspaper and read it

conscientiously from cover to cover without absorbing a single word. She

tried to do the crossword and abandoned it in irritation because the clues and

little squares kept merging into a meaningless jumble in front of her

abstracted eyes.

At last she got up from her chair, her lips set with determination. She had to

do something positive, or she would be in dire danger of 'giving way'—one

of the cardinal sins as far as Aunt Jessie had been concerned. 'Och, she's a

poor creature—always giving way,' had been her charitable aunt's ultimate

condemnation of anyone who failed to face up to life with her own vigour

and optimism.

But even positive action had its limits. She seemed faced with a choice

between going to the cinema or washing her hair. In the end, the idea of

warm water on her scalp seemed infinitely more appealing than the stuffy

atmosphere of a cinema and, besides, it might help to banish the beginnings

of the real headache that was threatening.

She was just towelling away the excess moisture when the doorbell went.

'Oh, no!' she muttered in disbelief. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of

ignoring the summons, but she knew that whoever was waiting would have

heard the radio playing and would know she was there, and as if to reinforce

the realisation, the doorbell rang again, peremptorily. Catriona stifled a sigh

as she trailed to answer it. At least this time it wouldn't be Jeremy, she

thought as she flung open the door.

The breath left her throat in a little choking gasp as she looked into Jason's

'angry eyes. She tried to slam the door, but he was too quick for her. His

hand closed bruisingly round her arm.

'Get dressed, Catriona,' he said. 'You're needed.'

'I'll do nothing of the sort.' She faced him defiantly. 'And how dare you

burst in here like this without so much as a .. .'

'By your leave?' he finished for her, derisively. 'I'm sorry I haven't more

time for the social niceties, but my errand is fairly urgent. Now, will you

please get some clothes on and come with me.'

'Come where?'

'To the centre, of course.' He raised his eyebrows. 'The
ceilidh's
in full

swing—going a bomb too. Sal and her friends are doing you proud.'

'Then you don't need me.' She wrenched her arm free, glaring at him.

'How right you are,' he said, bitingly. 'As far as I'm personally concerned,

you can stay in this little room and sulk until you rot. But there is someone

who needs you— and it's for her sake I'm here.'

'Mitch?' she faltered.

'Clever girl.' He took her shoulder and propelled her in the direction of the

bedroom door. 'Now, hurry.'

She hung back, resisting him. 'What's happened? You must tell me . ..'

'Nothing's happened. That's why we need you there,' he said. 'Your silent

friend is sitting on the stairs at the centre. Milner—Miss Haydon, we've all

been out in turn, trying to persuade her to come in and join us. Milner feels

this could be a big break-through for the girl and I agree with him. But she

won't budge—behaves as if she doesn't hear—so let's see what your powers

of persuasion can do. You obviously feel that your approach with her is the

right one, so we'll find out just how successful it is. That girl needs to be in

the room with everyone else. She needs to be part of it. It's up to you to get

her in there.'

'You're very altruistic all of a sudden,' she flashed, stung by his tone. 'And

what do you need, Mr Lord? A spot of real-life drama to spice up your

documentary? Will the cameras be on Mitch when she comes through the

door?'

His lips were in a thin hard line. 'I've never hit a woman in my life,' he said

coldly and precisely. 'But in your case I'm prepared to make an exception. I

don't have to explain my motivation to you, but I will say this—filming is

over for the day, probably for good as far as the centre's concerned. We

have as much as we need. Now move yourself, or I swear to God I'll dress

you with my own hands.'

Catriona fled then, her hands clumsy and shaking as she opened the

wardrobe door and fumbled amongst the clothes that hung there, grabbing

the first thing that came to hand. Inevitably it was the violet skirt and the

white silk blouse, and she stared at them stupidly for a moment, the memory

of what had happened the last time she had attempted to wear them surging

back into her brain. She flung them away across the bed as if they had bitten

her and seized a pair of jeans and a dark roll-necked sweater. Her face was

white as she stared at herself in the mirror, but she did nothing to alleviate

her pallor with cosmetics. Her damp hair she scooped back into an elastic

band, then she grabbed up her shoulder bag and walked out of the bedroom

past Jason the door.

He looked her over and his lip curled slightly. 'Party gear?' he asked evenly.

'Working clothes.' Her tone matched his.

They went down to the car in silence which was maintained as they drove to

the centre.

The big hall was filled with shadows when they arrived and Catriona sensed

rather than saw the slim figure sitting motionless on the bottom stair. She

made her way to the other girl's side and sat down beside her. The sound of

music and laughter from the sitting room was plainly audible, and Catriona

knew by Mitch's rigidity that she was listening and aware. She put a hand

lightly on her arm, expecting rejection, but it did not come.

'Enjoying the party?' She deliberately did not allow her voice to be too

gentle. 'You've chosen a funny vantage point, I must say. It's draughty in this

hall. Aren't you cold?'

She glimpsed the slight movement as Mitch shook her head.

'Well, I am.' Catriona pretended to shiver. 'And if I catch a chill, I shan't be

able to sing—and they're all waiting for me.'

She felt she had struck the right note at last—the easy inconsequential tone

that had characterised most of her one-sided conversations with the tense

figure at her side.

She tried a little laugh. 'I'm nervous—isn't that stupid? But I am, just the

same. It was easy singing at home. I knew everyone, and they were all

friends. But I haven't many friends in London and I'm not used to singing to

a room full of strangers. If I had a friend there it would be different.' She got

up slowly, forcing herself to relax, not to betray her eagerness, the fact that

her nervousness had nothing to do with the audience waiting for her in the

sitting room. Almost casually, she reached her hand down to Mitch. 'Come

and hear me sing,' she invited quietly. 'I shan't be nervous if you're there.'

It seemed like the longest moment of her life as she stood there with-her

hand outstretched, waiting. Even then, she could hardly believe it when

Mitch's small cold hand closed round hers and together they walked through

the dark hall to the sitting room door and the bright lights beyond it.

No one turned to look at them as they entered, Catriona registered with an

inward sigh of relief. Unobtrusively, a space was made for them on one of

the ancient, sagging sofas and they subsided on to it thankfully. Everyone

seemed to be there—all the residents, Sally, Ian and some others she knew

only as faces, and the entire television crew. They were all singing too—an

uninhibited version of 'She'll be coming round the mountain' which

everyone—especially the children—seemed to be enjoying.

But their arrival hadn't gone unnoticed. When the song ended and the

laughter and applause died away, Catriona saw that Ian was on his feet and

beckoning to her. After only a moment's hesitation she relinquished her grip

on Mitch's hand and rose, threading her way through the people sitting on

the floor to the front of the room.

'Well, she's come, people,' Ian called encouragingly to the room at last.

'Better late than never, I suppose!' He unslung his guitar and handed it to

her with a wink and a smile. 'The floor is yours, sweetheart.'

Someone pushed a stool at her and Catriona hitched herself on to it, her

mouth dry and her stomach churning.

'Here's one you all know,' she said, only the slightest quiver in her voice

betraying her inner turmoil. 'The
Skye Boat Song.'

They were all silent as she sang the refrain and launched into the verse, but

under Ian's vigorous but silent encouragement they were all with her when

the chorus came ?butid again. 'Speed, bonny boat, like a bird on the wing-

onward, the sailors cry.' The applause was tumultuous, dwarfing even her

reception at Moira's party. She would have to sing again, she knew as she

bowed a little stiffly from her perch. Automatically her eyes sought Mitch

and she relaxed a little when she saw the girl was sitting there in the same

place.

Encouraged, she sang the
Lewis Bridal Song
and followed it up with
Black

is the Colour of my True Love's Hair.
Then, knowing that she had them in

her grip, she put down the guitar and sang unaccompanied one of her own

favourites,
She moved through the Fair.
She would have stopped then, but

they wouldn't let her go.

'Come on, ducks.' That was Mrs Lamb. 'It's time these kids were in bed.

Sing 'em a nice lullaby.'

Catriona's mind ran frantically over her repertoire as she picked up Ian's

guitar again. She played a chord softly,iesi- tantjy while she tried to make

up her mind—and then she_ knew What she would sing. The chord had set

off answering vibrations in her memory. It was a risk she was taking, she

knew that, and it could go horribly wrong, but it was worth trying.

'My swan-song, then,' she announced, making herself smile as if she didn't

have a care in the world beyond pleasing them. '
The Eriskay Love Lilt.'

Deliberately, she didn't look at Mitch as her fingers found the opening

chords and her voice beguiled its way into the infinite charm and tenderness

of the old Gaelic song. She saw Andrew sitting openly with Jean, his arm

round her shoulders, draw her close as he recognised the melody—saw

other faces echoing his smiling recognition round the room, and saw Jason,

his face a dark, enigmatic mask leaning against the wall at the back of the

room.

'When I'm lonely, dear white heart,

Black the night, and wild the sea,

By love's light, my foot finds

The old pathway to thee . . .'

Everything—everyone else, including Mitch—was forgotten as the words

came to her. She might have been alone with Jason in the big room. This

time, she had no inhibitions. All the love, the wild longings he had aroused

in her were in her voice. She gave herself to the melody as she wanted to

give herself to him, and all the pain and rejection she had felt in the past

weeks were contained in her words as she sang, 'Sad am I without thee.' She

was so totally immersed in the emotion of the song she was creating, that

she was oblivious to everything else.

The scream when it came cut shockingly across the melody, silencing her

and sending her fingers sliding into discord. Mitch was on her feet, her

hands twisting in agony, her eyes staring across the room into Catriona's.

'Mitch!' she cried again, and there was a world of desolation in the sound.

'Oh, Mitch!'

Catriona found herself thrusting the guitar at Ian. She thought afterwards

she had probably trodden on people in her rush to be the first one at Mitch's

side. Andrew, obviously shaken, was just getting to his feet.

She took the twisting hands, trying not to wince as they seized hers in an

almost unbearable grip. She looked into Mitch's face and spoke slowly and

clearly.

'What's your name?'

'Carol—Carol Barton.' It was only a hoarse whisper, but Catriona's straining