O Caledonia

“I say, can you get up there? What fun, I must just have a look.” Before she could move he was galloping up the stairs and into the little room. “It’s hellish hot out there,” he said, wiping sweat off his forehead. He was wearing nothing but a pair of soldierly khaki shorts. “Good God, whatever are all these books?” “Nothing, come on, let’s go,” said Janet, putting the Ovid behind her back. He picked up the Beardsley and stood with his back to her to catch the light. “Well, well,” he said, his voice changing. “Janet, you naughty little thing. I’d never have guessed it of you. Do you come here often, as they say?” “I’ve never ever been in here before, I was just exploring,” squeaked Janet, her throat going dry. He wasn’t listening; he was engrossed in the Beardsley.

Janet decided to sidle past him and run for it. She was afraid. He shot out an arm and grabbed her. “Have a look at this then, Janet, since you’re so bloody interested.” He was panting; he brandished and twirled a dreadful dark pink baton out of the front of his shorts. A dictum from Kennedy’s Latin grammar flashed crazily through Janet’s mind: “Masculine will always be / Things that you can touch and see. (Example: curculio — weevil.)” He pushed his face against hers. “Come on then, give me a kiss.” His clammy mouth moved across her cheek. With all her strength Janet jerked her head back and smashed the corner of the Ars Amatoria into his eye; at the same time she kneed him. He gave a retching gasp. “You bitch, you dirty little bitch,” he hissed. She ran, down the rotten stairs, across the cobbles, up the steep back drive. She heard him pounding after her as she reached the top. She grabbed a sharp chunk of quartz from the bank and spun around, at bay, ready to scream. His face was still red but it was rearranged into a mask of boyish contrition. “Janet, I’m most dreadfully sorry. Please, please, forgive me. I can’t imagine what came over me. Put it down to the heat and those weird books. Now, do please say you’ll accept my apology. Please.” He put his head on one side and looked down at her with a mock woebegone expression. Janet didn’t answer. She dropped the quartz and walked on. He walked beside her. “Look, do you want me to go down on bended knee? What can I do to atone?” Then as they turned down the path by the Heracleum grove, he suddenly changed his tack; he looked her straight in the eyes: “I beg and implore you not to tell anyone about this. May I have your word?” Janet stopped dead. “Bugger off,” she said. He looked astonished, but he turned away. She was astonished too; she did not remember ever seeing or hearing this expression. A great tide of anger rose within her, overwhelmed her. How dared he, how dared he! All her dreams and yearnings for high romance, all her love for Auchnasaugh were pitted against his miserable filthy mind, his disgusting cowardice. He had paused, he was looking at bald, crippled Mouflon as he edged painfully out of Lila’s window. “That thing should be put down,” he was saying. “I’d be glad to…” With a wild shriek Janet charged forward, arms and legs flailing and shoved him headlong into the giant hogweed patch. Down he crashed, clutching frantically at the great Lords of Luna. Down they crashed about him, under him and over him. The sun blazed on the sap as it trickled freely over his bare skin. Janet slipped into the dark haven of Auchnasaugh, seen only by Lila, who kept her counsel.

That evening Janet’s family gathered in the drawing room. The Dibdins had gone, Raymond preceding them by ambulance to a burns unit. Their farewells had been of necessity a trifle brisk; they had made it clear that they would not be returning while the Heracleum grove stood: “I must say, it’s a tiny bit irresponsible, don’t you think?”

“What was the young idiot doing in the hogweed anyhow?” demanded Hector irritably. “Chasing a cat, I expect,” said Rhona. “I warned him about the poison, the day he came,” said virtuous Janet. “And he wanted to kill Mouflon.” “How could he?” With the enemy driven from their gates, they spent an evening of unusual gaiety and kinship before resuming their separate lives.

Chapter Seven