The Firebird

‘This looks fine,’ I said.

Rob held his coat over our heads as we made a run for it over the waterlogged gravel and round to the door on the far side, but with the wind gusting sideways the rain still attacked us, and I was half-soaked by the time we blew into the entryway, pushing the door shut behind us.

The narrow entry hall served double duty as the hotel’s lobby, warmly elegant with panelled wood and carpets and a small desk. Doors stood open on each side to what appeared to be a breakfast room and, opposite, a dining room, and at the hall’s far end a staircase climbed to a half-landing on its way to the first floor.

A woman came to welcome us, dark-haired and tall, with friendly eyes.

We were in luck, she said. They had a room.

I asked, ‘Only the one?’

‘Aye.’ The look she gave me after glancing at Rob seemed to question my sanity for even thinking of sleeping alone. ‘But it does have two beds.’

It was a large room done in burgundy and white and restful green, with a dark mirrored wardrobe that filled one whole wall and a beautiful window that took up one half of another. I dropped my handbag and my borrowed jacket on the smaller bed so Rob would not be moved by chivalry to claim it for himself. He was bigger than I was, and the larger double bed would give him room to sleep more comfortably.

Right now he was standing at the window, looking out. The view was fogged with rain and mist but I could still make out the green expanse of what must be the golf course, with a ridge of dunes beyond it, and the fainter smudge of headlands to the north and south.

His gaze had angled north and I could feel again the waves of his impatience and his restlessness.

‘You can’t go out in that,’ I said, and nodded at the rain.

He turned as if he had forgotten I was even there, and then I saw the tension leave his shoulders as his mouth curved slightly. ‘I could try. The castle’s only over there.’

I couldn’t see it. ‘Where?’

He closed his eyes briefly and sent me the image – a towering ruin of red stone that seemed to rise straight from the sea-battered rocks.

I pushed it aside with a shiver. ‘Yes, well, I don’t want to have to explain to your mother how I lost her son over the cliffs, so forget it.’

The curve of his mouth deepened slightly, but he didn’t argue, and I took advantage of that to suggest we go down and have dinner.

‘The sign downstairs said they serve evening meals starting at five,’ I said, ‘and I’m starving.’

The dining room of the St Olaf Hotel had a lovely warm feel to it, dark wood and red and gold tones and the brass shining bright on the fireplace below a high ceiling with elegant crown mouldings. At one end of the long room stood the bar, with polished bottles in behind, and at the other end a tall bow window jutted out to form a bay just large enough to set a table. Mirrors reflected the soft light of lamps and the walls were a gallery of old framed pictures and prints.

Watching Rob study the specials board, I said, ‘It’s my treat; I’m paying, so order whatever you like.’

‘Why should you pay? It was me who suggested we come further north.’

‘I’m paying.’

He gave a shrug, letting me choose where to sit. ‘Well, all right. But I’m not inexpensive. I’m having the sirloin steak, with battered mushrooms to start.’

It was wonderful food. I had brie wedges followed by crisply fried haddock, and white wine that warmed me so thoroughly from the inside that I ceased worrying about the storm still flinging rain against the window.

‘It’ll pass,’ our waitress told us, her tone sure. ‘The forecast calls for sun the morn.’ She took our empty plates in hand. ‘Are you up for the golf?’

I shook my head. ‘We were hoping to walk up and look round the castle.’

She assured us it was worth the walk. ‘You’ll have to get through the fence, but that’s not so much bother. It’s pulled down in places.’

‘The fence?’ I asked.

‘Oh, aye. It’s all been fenced off, Slains. It’s privately owned, and the plan is to have it converted to holiday flats.’

I couldn’t remember if I’d seen a fence in the image I’d had from Rob earlier of that great ruin set right at the cliff’s edge, but holiday flats at the edge of a precipice sounded a little unsafe.

‘It was never a ruin until the last century,’ our waitress said when I voiced my opinion. ‘There’s a picture there of how it looked afore the Earl of Erroll sold it from the family in 1916, and the later owners stripped it bare and had the roof removed so they’d not have to pay the taxes. That’s when Slains began to fall to ruin.’

‘Oh,’ was all I could think of to say.

‘If you want to learn the history of the castle, we’ve an author here who wrote a book about it. Ye can buy it in the shops,’ she told us proudly.

Rob roused himself from wherever his drifting thoughts had taken him to ask her, ‘What’s that picture, there?’

She followed his gaze to a large framed picture hanging just above my head. ‘That’s the Bullers o’ Buchan, and well worth the walk, if ye still have a mind to go up on the coast path the morn.’ It looked like a large sea cave, only without a roof, leaving it open above to the sky.

I saw Rob’s gaze return to it a few times while we drank our tea and shared a dish of sticky toffee pudding floating warmly in a sea of cream.