Free The Tender Glory by Jean S. Macleod

it wouldn’t upset you too much.” Alison was thinking about Leone, who probably had played as well as sung. “It was a most generous offer on Tessa’s part.”
    “She needs young company.” His weather-beaten face creased in a smile. “I feel you would be good for her.”
    “I can’t promise to come very often, just at present,” Alison told him. “There’s so much to do at Craigie Hill, but later on I’ll have more time on my hands, I expect. I haven’t forgotten Caithness’s long winters!”
    “They can be very pleasant if one knows how to make the most of them,” he pointed out. “I fish a lot and the young people have been skiing on the moors these past few years. We may be isolated up here, but we do know how to enjoy ourselves.”
    “I used to love the winters,” Alison confessed. “When the lochs were frozen over there was lots of fun, skating and sledging on the hills. Are you—more or less settled with us, Major Searle?”
    He looked guardedly towards the house.
    “It’s difficult to say. Nothing would please me better, but it will all depend on Tessa.”
    Whether she marries Huntley Daviot or not, Alison thought. “We leased the Lodge for six months the summer before last,” he continued reminiscently. “My older daughter, Leone—Leone Searle, you know—needed a rest. She had been advised by her doctors to get right away from the concert platform for a spell and we saw this place advertised. She fell in love with it at once.” And she also fell in love with Huntley.
    “It can be lovely in summer,” Alison agreed.
    “It did Leone good to be here.” He sighed. “It was only Tessa who hated it at first, but after a while she seemed to settle in, and when there was talk of us leaving it was Tessa who minded most. She had made friends.” He hesitated. “Your brother among them.”
    “Robin?”
    “Yes. He was a very generous young man, including her in everything. They went to Scrabster a lot, and over to the Orkneys, sailing. Tessa soon became an expert. The summer before last they raced for a whole week at St. Margaret’s Hope and I went up with them to renew my acquaintance with Scapa Flow. I was there during the war. Did you ever see the chapel the Italian prisoners built? It was a work of art and love. These men made the most of their captivity, by jove! The only pity is that it hasn’t been looked after.”
    He would have run on endlessly, glad of an audience even at that early hour, but Alison had her round to finish. Tessa hadn’t put in an appearance so she supposed she was still in bed. The curtains remained drawn at the windows of both downstairs rooms, although she could be busy in the kitchen.
    “Will you tell Tessa I’ll come to see her quite soon?” she said, letting in her clutch. “And thank you for offering me the use of the piano.”
    “You’re welcome, m’dear,” he assured her. “Come whenever you can.”
    For no particular reason she thought that he looked a rather forlorn figure standing there with the milk bottles in his arms, the old soldier who had fought his last fight, the war horse put out to grass.
    Sterne appeared completely deserted when she reached the headland, but the fence had been mended and the gate securely fastened. The aftermath of the storm lay all along the shore, the tide-wrack piled high on the rocks and the waves still pounding the foot of the cliffs. Yet high above her as she drove along the narrow, twisting road the sky was blue and clear. There was a stillness that could almost be felt, and far inland, above Morven and Coire na Feama, the seagulls were making their way back towards the coast. The flash of sunlight lay across the moors and on the forest pines. Where there were trees in this vast, empty land they were strong and beautiful. She envied the people who planted trees.
    Putting down the lobster-pot, which she was returning, she opened the gate. There was no sign of life anywhere, not even the sheep. They had been