Gently with Love Read Free

wasn’t as though it happened in England.’
    I ghosted a shrug. ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘Oh, there’s no reason to make a mystery of it. But the truth is that we’ve had no contact with them since I came back to England. Not that I saw much of them before. I went on a visit once with Colin. They didn’t approve of me. The children have been up there, but not since the row after Colin’s death.’
    ‘They may like to know about the wedding.’
    Verna gave the ring a wrench. ‘Then it’s up to someone else to tell them. After our last exchange of letters they won’t be expecting it from me.’
    ‘I’ll tell them,’ Anne said quickly. ‘I know how to handle Grandad Mackenzie.’
    ‘But please, no invitations,’ her mother said. ‘It’s probably too late, but you never know.’
    So that was that: and a little saddening, in view of Colin’s attachment to his family. They had all come down for his own wedding and they had made a strong impression on me. James Mackenzie, his father, was skipper and owner of a trawler; a tall, romantic-featured man, with – it was unusual at that time – long, flowing hair. Since the wedding was an important family occasion he had donned Highland jacket and kilt, and altogether cut a striking figure in the sleepy Devonshire town. I recalled his ringing Gaelic greeting and the warm embrace he gave his son, and the pride in Colin’s voice as he presented me to his father. They loved each other. Verna’s neglect must have given James Mackenzie mortal offence. On the whole I could sympathize with her wish to avoid a confrontation with her formidable father-in-law. He would be in his seventies now but still, I imagined, hale and strong, and perhaps not the less awe-inspiring for his grey locks and matured authority. His wife, who was younger than himself, had been a handsome woman in 1938, and had shown herself in no way behind him in her affection for Colin. With them had come Colin’s elder brother, Iain, who was mate on the trawler, and his sister, Marie, whom I must confess I greatly fancied. I wondered what had happened to them all in the intervening years but it was plain that the present occasion was not to gratify my curiosity.
    We returned to the lounge for our coffee. Alex and Earle talked of their work; Anne, who was sitting a little apart, seemed as engrossed as they with the subject. I sat by Verna. On a stand by the window I had noticed a piece of native carving, and I decided to use it as a lever to bring Colin back into the conversation: I pointed to it.
    ‘Your husband always had a weakness for picking up junk.’
    ‘Oh, that.’ Verna glanced at it indifferently. ‘You can buy them for nothing in the bazaars in Salisbury.’
    ‘I expect you had lots of them.’
    She frowned. ‘It was Colin’s taste, not mine. His den in the bungalow was choc-a-bloc with them, each one labelled with the tribe it came from. But of course, I couldn’t bring them all back. Anne brought that one for a souvenir. The rest were sold at the auction. It was a rush at the end.’
    ‘Did Colin like Rhodesia?’
    ‘He loved the country. He was a bit stuffy about the administration. You knew Colin. He wasn’t above offending people if they didn’t think quite as he did.’
    ‘What exactly was he doing when he was killed?’
    ‘He was sent on a pacification mission.’
    ‘A dangerous job?’
    ‘Yes.’ She made a mouth. ‘They probably sent him on it to get rid of him.’
    I hesitated. ‘Who?’
    ‘I told you he wasn’t above offending people.’
    She rose abruptly to take my cup, when I became aware of Anne’s blue eyes regarding me. Again I felt a sensation of shock: it was so like looking up and catching Colin’s eye. But there was no smile in the eyes that met mine, just that intent, impenetrable gaze. It was I who had to smile. Then she responded and looked away.
    ‘Of course,’ Verna said firmly, ‘there is a certain advantage in having a son in the BBC. He gets to