Highland Fling (21 page)

‘Of course, if you’d rather spend the evening at Dalmain House with – him –’

‘His name is Henry.’

‘It would be. If you’d rather spend the evening with Henry, I quite understand. But the choice is yours.’

‘I know!’

He looked back towards where Henry and Lady Dalmain’s friends were standing. ‘I won’t press you for an answer now, because
Henry
looks as if he’s on his way back and you have some thinking to do, but I’ll ring you later.’

Determinedly not looking at him, she rearranged the flapjack with the serving tongs, breaking off a large chunk of one bit, rendering it unsaleable, as she did so.

‘How will you do that, when you haven’t got the number?’

‘Well, you could give it to me. Or I could just call round in person. Whichever you prefer.’

Her fingers were slippery as she burrowed in her pocket for a pen. ‘I’ll give you the number.’ The thought of Ross Grant turning up at Dalmain House, having to explain him, was too dreadful. She grabbed a napkin and wrote the number on it. ‘Here!’

‘Thank you.’ He gave her another penetrating glance
before leaving, just as Henry and Lady Dalmain arrived at the counter.

‘What were you talking to that man about?’ demanded Henry.

‘I was just giving him directions,’ she said calmly, wondering why she didn’t feel guilty for lying.

‘Oh. I thought you gave him something.’

‘A paper napkin with directions on it. Now, are you going to eat something or just interrogate me? We’ll be packing up soon.’

Later, Henry found her in the kitchen of Dalmain House, mashing potatoes. They hadn’t set out to be mashed potatoes, but had taken that career move when they became so overboiled. It was, thought Jenny, going to be impossible for them not to taste watery. She added a large lump of butter, which, in self-defence, she’d started buying herself.

‘Darling!’ Henry was indignant that she didn’t instantly throw down her masher. ‘You might be a bit more pleased to see me! I have driven over seven hundred miles to see you!’

Jenny relinquished her weapon and allowed herself to be kissed. ‘I thought you were up here on business.’

‘I am,’ said Henry, ‘but I wanted to see you too. I wondered when you were coming home.’

‘I’m not sure. There’s a lot to get done.’

He gave her the mocking smile she had once thought so attractive and that now irritated her more than she could say. ‘But, sweetie, you’re always telling me how efficient you are! Surely you’re not having trouble organising the closure of a tin-pot woollen mill!’

Jenny turned back to her potatoes to stop herself hitting him with the masher. ‘I’m trying not to close it down; that’s the point!’ She opened the oven door. Several slices of smoked haddock lay in a Pyrex dish, flinching from the milk that lapped at their sides. ‘Do you think there’s time to turn all this into fish pie?’

Henry shrugged. ‘You do make awfully good fish pie, sweetie, but, personally, I’m starving.’

She glanced at her watch. It was already nearly eight. Bloody Ross Grant! Why hadn’t he rung her? She wasn’t going to go out with him, but she wanted the chance to turn him down. ‘Henry, why don’t you go and change for dinner? I’ll get on faster by myself.’

Felicity came in, but waited for Henry to leave before saying, ‘Gosh, he’s really nice, isn’t he? He’s been brilliant with Mama.’

‘Are you going to help, Felicity? If not, I am rather busy.’

‘Oh! No, I came to tell you that there’s a man on the phone for you. God knows who. Take it in Mama’s room. She’s in the drawing room, having a drink.’

‘Right!’ Jenny flew up the stairs to take Ross’s call. Boy, was she going to turn him down! She picked up the phone. ‘Hello?’

‘Sorry I didn’t ring before. I had to rescue a sheep. I’ve only just got back. So, have you made up your mind?’

She sucked in a deep breath through her clenched teeth. ‘I’ll meet you at the bottom of the drive at nine,’ she snapped, and slammed the phone down.

Chapter Thirteen

As Jenny stumbled down the drive in the dark, wearing an old coat she had pulled off the newel post, she wondered how she’d ever got this far.

At the speed of light, she had turned the haddock into fish pie, with the aid of a packet of cheese sauce (Felicity’s favourite culinary aid) and some very sweaty orange cheddar. In spite of its shortcomings, this was consumed, and pudding eagerly awaited. Panicking mildly, Jenny threw some partially stewed apples (there wasn’t time to finish cooking them) into a Pyrex dish and sprinkled them with flapjack crumbs. She put this on the table, hoping that Henry wouldn’t comment on its similarity to the first course, and announced to the company that she had to go out. She’d worry about explanations later. They were probably all still sitting at the table, staring at the space she had left.

The Land Rover was parked a little way down the drive.

Ross Grant got out of it as he saw her approach. Without speaking, he opened the passenger door and helped her in. She sat down, and didn’t speak.

For a second the thought flashed into her mind that she’d got into a car with a man she hardly knew. No one knew where she was or where she was going.
She
didn’t know where she was going. She tried very hard to worry, but nothing seemed as bad as an evening watching Henry sucking up to Lady Dalmain, and vice versa.

‘There’s a little pub I know up in the hills. I’m going to take you there.’

‘Fine.’ From somewhere she found her voice, which she took to be an encouraging sign. It was only a drink in a pub, although at that moment not a single casual remark or light topic of conversation occurred to her. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind if she just sat in silence.

‘Wake up. We’re here,’ said Ross.

To her horror Jenny realised that not only had she fallen asleep, but that Ross had noticed. What would he think of her? Then she almost laughed. Why worry? At least if she was asleep she was unlikely to throw anything at him.

‘Sorry,’ she said, yawning. ‘It’s been a long day.’

‘Here, let me help you.’

She found herself swung down off the high seat and supported when her knees buckled slightly as she landed. He took her arm and led her into the pub.

It was strange, she thought, as she felt his arm under hers, how often she had held Henry’s arm, and how it had never felt like this. Now, she allowed herself to be manoeuvred into the lounge bar and seated next to a fire that glowed and crackled and gave out heat.

‘What would you like?’

She dithered, only for a second, but he took control. ‘I can recommend a particularly good single malt. Would you like to try it?’

She nodded, although she knew she should refuse.
She’d already had one of Felicity’s monster drinks, and had had Henry muttering to her, ‘You know I don’t like to see you drink spirits.’

Ross, she noticed, when he came to join her at the table, glasses in hand, was drinking ginger ale. The thought that he might be trying to get her drunk so he could have his evil way with her flickered into her mind and out again. The fact that he wasn’t drinking actually made her feel even safer. Henry sometimes drank a little more than she would have liked, when he was driving. And he would never let her drive his car, insisting it was too powerful for her.

He raised his glass. ‘I hope you like that. It is quite smoky.’

She sipped, and felt several hundred years of peat bog slide down her throat. ‘It’s lovely. But I’d better not have too much. I’ve been drinking already today.’ A shuddering sigh escaped her and she tried to turn it into a smile.

‘You’re tired. Well, please don’t feel obliged to sit there and make polite conversation, although the novelty of that would be entertaining. If you’re bushed, just drink your whisky and enjoy the fire.’

Jenny was a well-brought-up girl from the Home Counties. She was not in the habit of going out and just ‘enjoying the fire’. In her antiquated book of rules, if you were on a date, especially a first date, you asked your escort about himself, and his opinion of the latest world crisis.

‘No, I’m fine really. And if I’m tired, I just think how my friend Meggie must be feeling! She’s hardly out of hospital after her baby, and she can’t even guarantee getting much sleep tonight.’

‘True, but I imagine going to the Highland games was her idea?’

‘Well, yes, but if I’d said no …’ She sighed deeply and suddenly. ‘So, do you go to all the Highland games in the area, or was it just coincidence that you were at that one?’

He shook his head. ‘Not really. I’d heard about Hamish, of course, and the games in his memory, but I wanted to see you.’

‘Oh?’ She suddenly stopped feeling safe and sleepy. Remembered dislike and desire welled up and confused her.

‘It’s all right; I’m not a stalker. There was just something I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘Which is why you asked me for a drink?’

He nodded. ‘Partly. The other part is that you are a very attractive woman, for all your assertiveness.’

Jenny giggled. ‘No one has ever described me as that before.’

He shrugged. ‘But I’m sure you fight for things that matter to you.’

‘Oh yes! Absolutely – to the death! But in a controlled, considered kind of way.’

He laughed. ‘Now that I
would
like to see.’

‘What?’

‘You being controlled and considered.’

Jenny tried very hard not to laugh back. ‘I think I threw that cup of coffee in a very controlled way. It got you just where I intended it to get you.’

‘Did it?’

Jenny shut her eyes and turned away. What was it about his voice that seemed to stroke every erogenous zone? She opened her eyes and turned towards him.
Yes,’ she said briskly. ‘Now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?’

For the first time he seemed slightly uneasy. ‘First, tell me a little about your work. You’re not full time at The Homely Haggis.’

This seemed a safe enough subject. She would give him the usual sound bite, he would look blank, she would explain again, and he would say, ‘Ah yes, I think I understand,’ while not understanding at all, just bored with the subject.

‘I’m what is known as a virtual assistant. Which means –’

He broke in. ‘Actually, I am familiar with the concept. I work with computers myself.’

‘Oh. Well, there’s nothing much more to say.’

‘Yes, there is. VAs usually work from the comfort of their own homes, don’t they?’

‘Well, yes, but at the moment I’m being a bit more hands-on than I am usually.’

‘And you’re working at Dalmain Mills.’

There seemed no point in denying it. His sources of information were obviously excellent. ‘How do you know that? Do you spend all day gossiping?’

‘Not quite.’

Then she remembered. ‘Oh no, you rescue sheep as well, don’t you? What was wrong with it?’

‘It had got over on to its back, but I didn’t bring you here to talk about sheep.’

‘Pity. I have an interest in wool at the moment. Although, apparently, you can’t use Scottish wool for very fine fabrics. But, of course, it’s excellent for tweed.’

He seemed surprised by this snippet. ‘Do you know all about wool, then?’

She shook her head. ‘Not really, in fact, hardly anything. But I have been learning about it since working at the mill. It’s fascinating, when you get into it. Apparently the wool is affected by what the sheep eat.’

He frowned. ‘Surely you don’t need to learn about wool to –’

‘To what?’

‘Be a virtual assistant.’

‘Well no, but as I’m working at a mill at the moment, I do think it’s important to get all the background information you can, particularly –’

‘Particularly if the mill’s in trouble?’

She shrugged. ‘I suppose it’s common knowledge.’

‘So why the interest? Why don’t you just look at the figures, and if they don’t add up, just let commercial forces take over?’

‘Listen! You must have some good instincts! You rescued a sheep, after all. Do you really think it’s morally acceptable just to close down a mill, a working community, just because the numbers don’t add up? Without even
trying
to see if anything can be done about it? Well, I don’t! Of course, it may have to close, but not until I’ve done absolutely everything in my power to keep it going.’

‘I said you were a fighter.’

‘Well, perhaps I am –’

‘I also said you were a very attractive woman.’

Jenny swallowed. Then she took a calming, sensible breath. ‘And you said you wanted to talk to me about something.’

‘Now doesn’t seem a good moment. Can I get you another drink?’

Before she could say no, he had got up, taking her empty glass. She closed her eyes, the warmth of the fire warming her bones.

Seconds later, he woke her up again. ‘So, in your work as a VA, have you rescued any other failing companies?’

‘Oh no. But most of my work is done at long distance.’

‘So why don’t you have a normal job, where you could work with people more often?’

‘My mother tells me that my besetting sin is trying to sort everybody out all of the time, which I suppose may be what I’m trying to do now.’

‘You haven’t answered my question.’