The Judas Tree by A. J. Cronin Read Free Book Online Page A

now.
    But it was fresh upon the water and before long it became apparent that the situation he had chosen was exposed.
    â€˜Don’t you think it’s a little breezy on this side, dear?’ Mary ventured, after several minutes. Head inclined to the wind, she was holding on to her hat.
    â€˜Not a bit of it,’ Walter answered curtly. ‘ I want to show Dr Moray all our local points of interest. This gives us an uninterrupted view.’
    The view – undoubtedly unimpaired, since most of the other passengers were in the lee of the cabin – was quite lovely, perhaps the most beautiful in all the Western Highlands. But Walter, though complacently owning its charm with all the proprietorship of a cicerone, was more concerned with the commercial import of the towns which fringed the shore.
    â€˜That’s Scourie over there.’ He pointed. ‘A thriving community. They put in a new gasholder last year. Twenty thousand cubic feet capacity. There’s progress for you. And they have a new sewage disposal project up before the town council. My father knows the Provost. And across on the other side is Port Doran. Can you make out the municipal buildings behind that steeple…?’
    They were all steadily getting colder. Even Willie had turned blue, and had departed, muttering that he was going to look at the engines. But Walter went remorselessly on. What a goddam bore, thought Moray, with his legs stretched out and hands in his pockets. Scarcely listening now, he was watching Mary who, though very silent, occasionally put in a dutiful word of support. He saw that her entire nature changed in the presence of her fiancé. Her sparkle died, all the fun went out of her, she became reserved, sealed up, conscientiously obedient, like a good pupil in the presence of her teacher. She’ll have a hell of a life with that fellow when they’re married, he reflected absently – the wind and Walter’s monologue were making him drowsy.
    At last they threaded the Kyles, swung into Gairsay Bay, and manoeuvred to the pier. Willie, after a search, was retrieved from the warmth of the engine-room and they went ashore.
    â€˜This is nice,’ breathed Mary, with relief.
    The town, a popular resort, had an attractive and prosperous air: a circle of good shops on the front, the hotels mounting up on the wooded hill behind, moorland and mountain beyond. ‘And now for lunch,’ Walter exclaimed, in the manner of one who has something up his sleeve.
    â€˜Oh, yes,’ Mary said cheerfully. ‘ Let’s go to Lang’s. There it is, quite handy.’ She indicated a modest but promising-looking restaurant across the road.
    â€˜My dear,’ Walter said, ‘I wouldn’t dream of taking Dr Moray to Lang’s. Or you either, for that matter.’
    â€˜We always go there when we come with Father,’ Willie remarked dourly. ‘They have rare hot mutton pies. And Comrie’s lemonade.’
    â€˜Yes, let’s, Walter dear.’
    He stilled her with a raised, gloved hand and calmly produced his pièce de résistance of the day.
    â€˜We are going to lunch at the Grand.’
    â€˜Oh, no, Walter. Not the Grand. It’s so … so snobby … and expens …’.
    Walter threw an intimate, confidential smile at Moray, as though to say, These women!
    â€˜It’s the best,’ he murmured. ‘ I have reserved a table in advance from my father’s office.’
    They began to climb the hill towards the Grand, which towered majestically, high above them. The footpath was long, through woods carpeted with bluebells, and steep, in parts excessively so. Occasionally between the trees they caught sight of expensive cars flashing upwards on the main driveway. Moray perceived that the ascent, which Stoddart led like a deerstalker, was tiring Mary. To allow her to rest he stopped and picked a little bunch of bluebells which he tied with a twist of