Бетти Нильс – The Silver Thaw (страница 4)

They left early with Badger sitting beside Mr Crosbie in front; he would drive the Bentley back home again and come to fetch them on their return. Amelia, sitting in the back, daydreamed gently. It would be perfect weather, of course, even if chilly, and Tom and she would hire a car and explore. She was certain that her father wouldn’t mind at all if he were left to fish on his own; he’d been doing it for years and she suspected that although he tolerated her company he wasn’t quite happy about Tom. They liked each other well enough… She frowned a little and switched her thoughts to the pleasanter one of the future—the wedding, the house they would find together and furnish and should she take Cordon Bleu cooking lessons or would Bonny be able to teach her how to cook? She wondered how much money she would need to housekeep; it was deplorable, but she really didn’t know.

Tom reached Heathrow five minutes after they arrived there themselves; he parked his car, picked up his case and joined them quietly, shaking hands with her father and smiling at her as he held hers briefly. After her daydreaming it seemed rather a let-down.

She didn’t like flying, but it saved time, and as the plane was only half full, she didn’t get the feeling that she was travelling in a rather crowded bus. The weather was good too; England disappeared and with nothing but the sea below to look at she turned to Tom beside her. He was asleep and she smiled gently; probably he’d missed most of the night’s rest and it must have been an almighty rush to get to the airport. She sat back quietly until the stewardess came round with the lunch trays and wakened Tom.

And almost before they had finished their coffee they were coming down over the countless islands round Bergen. The weather wasn’t so good now, grey and great blankets of cloud which enveloped them until they touched down, when Amelia wasn’t surprised to find that it was raining.

But who cared? she asked Tom as they followed her father into the arrival hall. They were on holiday.

CHAPTER TWO

THEY WERE TO spend the night at the Norge hotel and leave the following morning by an air taxi Mr Crosbie had booked previously. Amelia would have preferred to have travelled to Stokmarknes by boat or road, but her father had come to fish and that as soon as possible. However, they had the rest of the day in which to explore Bergen and once settled into their rooms, she declared her intention of seeing as much of the town as she could.

‘It’s raining,’ objected her father.

‘I’ve got my anorak,’ she pointed out reasonably. ‘Besides, you know quite well that you’ll not mind in the least if it rains every day once you get a rod in your hands.’ She smiled at him and made for the door with Tom close behind her. ‘We’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner.’

They set off, walking the few yards down Ole Bulls Plass into the main shopping street, Torgalm, a wide thoroughfare with broad pavements and trees bordering them, only now there were few leaves and those that were left were limp with the rain. But the shops were splendid, their lights welcome in the early gloom of the afternoon. Amelia strolled along, 27 her arm tucked into Tom’s, pausing to look at everything until presently she suggested that they found somewhere for tea. ‘Just a cup,’ she begged. ‘It’s only four o’clock and it might be fun. I’m going to ask in this shop.’

There was a tea-room close by, the saleslady told her in excellent English, and they found it without difficulty, a little way away from the shops, opposite a small beautifully kept park close to the hotel. Inside it lived up to its name with little tables occupied by smart housewives and uniformed waitresses, and to Amelia’s satisfaction the tea was delicious and brought in a tea-pot, nicely set out with cups and saucers, and with it they ate enormous creamy cakes which Tom warned her would spoil her appetite for dinner later on.

‘Oh, pooh,’ she told him robustly, ‘I’m a big girl and I get hungry.’

They wandered back presently and spent the rest of the evening in the hotel, eating deliciously in a beautifully appointed restaurant. Amelia went to bed very contented, sure that the holiday was going to be one of the best she had ever spent.

They flew to Ardenes by air taxi the next morning and then went by hired car down to Stokmarknes. Amelia, who had heard of the Lofoten Islands but never been near them before, was struck dumb by the awe-inspiring scenery. The mountains loomed majestically almost to the edge of the fjords already deeply snow-capped, only here and there small green patches, each with its tiny community, clung to their skirts. Sitting behind the Norwegian driver as he followed the one road across the islands, she began to wonder what Stokmarknes would be like.

It was a delightful surprise. True, there was the inevitable fish oil refinery down by the small quay, but the little town itself, strung out along the fjord for perhaps a mile, was charming; its wooden houses, brightly painted and surrounded by birch trees, already orange and red-leafed, bordered each side of the road which ran on through the cluster of houses and small shops, towards Melbu and the Ferry. The hotel, close to the quay, was a square wooden building and Amelia’s heart sank a little when she got out of the car before its door; it looked lonely and uninviting from where she stood. But inside she saw how wrong she had been; it was cosily warm for a start, bright with cheerful lights and comfortable modern furniture, and moreover they were welcomed by a smiling manager whose English was almost as good as theirs. There were, he told them cheerfully, very few visitors, but it was hardly the time of year, although to a keen fisherman that would make no difference, and, he went on, glancing at Amelia, there were some delightful walks in the neighbourhood and a daily bus service. Sortland or Svolvaer were no distance away by road. Meanwhile he would show them to their rooms and doubtless they would enjoy a cup of tea or coffee.

It was going to be great fun after all, she decided, looking with approval round her bedroom. It faced the fjord, so that she could see the constant coming and going on the water, and its furniture, though simple, was very much to her taste. She made short work of tidying herself and went downstairs to find the two men were already in the lounge, deep in discussion with the manager about the hiring of a boat. She heard her father’s satisfied grunt when he was told that the vessel was ready and waiting for him.

‘First thing tomorrow morning,’ he promised Amelia, ‘we’ll take her out and see what we can get.’ He glanced at Tom. ‘You’ll come, of course, Tom?’

‘I’ll be delighted, though I’m not much good with boats, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, never mind that,’ said Crosbie in high good humour. ‘Amelia is a first class crew, she’ll tell you what to do. I understand the weather’s likely to be good for a few days at least—they’ve had one or two snow showers further north, but they haven’t reached these parts, although it’ll probably rain.’

Amelia caught Tom’s eye and smiled and was a little disconcerted to see that although he smiled back, he didn’t look quite happy.

‘Tom and I are going to do a bit of exploring once you’ve got your eye in, Father,’ she said quickly. ‘You’re bound to find several enthusiasts before long, and I daresay they’ll crew for you—besides, when Tom goes back I’ll come out with you every day.’

She turned away to pour out the tea and her father answered her vaguely, his mind already busy with the question of how to get the most out of his stay.

Amelia and Tom went for a walk before dinner. It was already dusk, but the little place was well lighted, and they went from one end of the town to the other, admiring the houses, dotted haphazardly on either side of the road, creeping as far as they could go to the very edge of the fjord on one side, and on the other, tucking themselves against the base of the massive mountains.

‘I could live here,’ declared Amelia. ‘It’s peaceful and cosy and…’

‘A bit isolated,’ finished Tom. ‘Nowhere to go in the evenings, is there?’

‘Ah, I’d sit at home and embroider those lovely tapestries we saw in Bergen, and knit.’

He laughed at her. ‘What? No dinners out, no cinemas, no theatre—you’d get bored.’

‘No.’ She suddenly felt a little irritated with him. ‘I don’t believe the people who live here are bored, I think they’re content and satisfied with their lives—how could you be anything else with all this glorious scenery around?’ She added a shade defiantly, ‘I like it.’

Tom took her arm and turned her round to go back to the hotel. ‘Well, so do I,’ he said placatingly. ‘I’m looking forward to tomorrow.’

It was a splendid morning; blue sky and a cold sun with almost no wind. They breakfasted together and then went down to the boat, not as early as Mr Crosbie would have liked, but Amelia had wanted to sample the variety of breads and rolls arranged on the long table in the restaurant, and try the contents of the great number of dishes laid upon it. She had never had herrings in an onion sauce for breakfast, nor beetroot and cucumber. The cold meats and cheese seemed more like home as well as the great bowl of marmalade, flanked by cranberry jam. She tried as many of them as possible and declared that she would get up earlier in future so that she might have a go at the rest.