Highland Fling (40 page)

Meggie chuckled and picked up her baby. ‘See you later, then, Morticia.’

‘Huh! I wish!’

*

Relieved to be free of either anxious, or intrusive, questioning, Jenny took her time to get ready. She had lost weight. Meggie’s red dress looked almost respectable, far less sexy and revealing than it had before. But her face did look a little drawn, and as too much makeup could make her look a whole lot worse, she took the whole lot off and started again. It would take discretion and skill to disguise the shadows. Morticia Addams was one thing, Barbara Cartland another.

Eventually, feeling she’d done the best she could, she went downstairs and joined the others in the drawing room, telling herself that the weakness in her knees was just pre-party nerves.

‘You look great!’ said Meggie gleefully. ‘I think you’d better keep that dress. I’ll never fit into it again.’

‘You might if you stopped breast feeding,’ said Felicity.

‘Which I’m not going to do while Anna needs me,’ snapped Meggie.

‘It certainly looks a lot better than it did before,’ said Lady Dalmain. ‘Of course, some girls positively want to look like tarts on their night off, but not you, Jenny.’

‘Either way, that dress works for me,’ muttered Iain.

‘I’d better have it back then,’ said Meggie.

‘I think you look – very nice,’ said Henry, although the frown that fluttered between his eyebrows made Jenny wonder if he actually meant ‘bloody awful’.

While outwardly smiling rather desperately, inwardly she worried. She didn’t want to see Ross for the first time since they’d made love so uninhibitedly looking like a superannuated streetwalker.

They all packed themselves into Henry’s car, as he and Lachlan had drawn straws, and he had got the
short one. Meggie and Iain were bringing Anna, separately. Jenny had offered to drive, as she didn’t feel alcohol was a good idea for her at the moment, but Henry and Lady Dalmain, who’d both seen her wobble as she came down the stairs, rejected her offer simultaneously – Lady Dalmain on the grounds that she wasn’t fit to drive yet, and Henry, because they wouldn’t all fit into her car, and he certainly wouldn’t let her drive his, even if she hadn’t just had flu.

So Jenny, Felicity and Lachlan got into the back of Henry’s Rover and they set off for the Malcolms’.

Jenny dozed in the back, trying not to think of seeing Ross. He’d said he’d be there, but she was trying not to set her heart on it, and part of her didn’t know what to say to him, anyway. Had they shared a wonderful experience? Or had they had a sordid one-night stand? The horror of this thought made her clear her throat so she could ask Henry to turn round and take her home, but before she could speak, Felicity asked her to sort out the back of her hair for her. By the time she’d done that they had gone too far to make turning back a reasonable request.

The party was already in full swing. The Malcolms lived in a small castle and for a moment, Jenny wondered how much of Fiona’s attraction for Henry was bound up in her magnificent setting. Should she point out that the house probably didn’t go with the job, even if he did get to marry the eldest daughter?

Inside, the ladies were swept upstairs to a bedroom to take off their outer clothing. Lady Dalmain, made handsome by excitement and anticipated pleasure, checked her hair and lipstick just like Jenny and Felicity.

‘What about a touch of blusher?’ Felicity asked Jenny. ‘You look a bit peaky.’

Jenny, who’d washed all her blusher off, shook her head. ‘I’ll be red as a beetroot soon enough.’

‘Will you be up to reeling?’ asked Lady Dalmain, showing unusual concern.

Jenny wanted to say she’d been reeling for the past four days, every time she got out of bed, but just smiled. ‘I probably won’t dance much. I don’t know what to do, anyway.’

‘You’ll be fine. As long as most of the couples know what they’re doing, the odd one who doesn’t can be steered round the course. You look lovely, dear,’ she added, unexpectedly to Felicity. ‘In fact, you both do. Now, let’s go down.’

Jenny had time to wonder what had got into Lady Dalmain to make her so nice, all of a sudden. Perhaps she was looking forward to telling everyone she was going to run an antiquarian bookshop by email.

The ballroom was big enough to allow several sets of eightsome reels to be danced at the same time. Seeing the whirling kilts and dresses made Jenny’s still-wobbly head spin. She wouldn’t be able to see if Ross was there until they stopped. She couldn’t see Meggie or Iain either, and presumed they’d stopped off at home to attend to Anna.

‘Have you had a drink?’ Duncan Ritchie appeared and summoned a young man holding a tray full of tumblers of whisky.

‘I’d better not,’ said Jenny. ‘I’ve had a touch of flu.’

‘A dram is just what you need. Henry’s driving, isn’t he? Thought so. Mind you, he didn’t turn down a
drink. He’s over there. With Fiona. Ismene’ – having furnished all three women with drinks, Duncan took Lady Dalmain’s arm – ‘there’s something that might interest you in the dining room.’

‘Well, he didn’t waste any time,’ said Felicity to Lachlan, who had just appeared. ‘Do you think he fancies her?’

Lachlan shrugged gallantly. ‘I dare say he does. She’s a handsome woman. Now, are you dancing, Felicity? What about you, Jenny? Has Henry deserted you?’

‘I’m not up to much, thank you, Lachlan. I’ll just sit and watch.’

Jenny found a chair and sipped the drink she’d decided not to touch, realising that she didn’t feel very well. The thought of watching everyone whirling and whooping, getting drunker and drunker as midnight approached, was making her feel slightly sick. She had been worried about seeing Ross again, didn’t know what on earth you said to a man you’d recently made love to in a very uninhibited way, but hadn’t spoken to since. Now the thought of not seeing him was enough to make her want to take several painkillers and sleep until next year.

Henry appeared, Fiona at his side. ‘Come on, Jen. Come and have a dance. The exercise will make you feel better. Fiona’s dancing with Fergus.’

It seemed less effort to agree than to argue, so Jenny obediently went to the other end of the ballroom and joined the set Fiona was making up. Her parents were part of it and Jenny realised that Henry and Fiona had asked her to dance on their instigation.

‘It’s very simple, you’ll soon get the hang of it,’ said
Mrs Malcolm, looking lovely in green satin with emeralds to match.

Jenny smiled politely, knowing those words meant she’d be more confused when they’d finished than when they’d started. She smiled at Henry, who was standing anxiously across from her and was glad that she’d learned to pas de basque at school, what felt like many, many years ago.

Henry was better at it than she was, and managed to steer, shove, or drag her into position and only stepped on her once. Jenny began to see, if one had not got up from one’s sick bed slightly too early, or was not suffering from something which could be defined as post-orgasmic-stress disorder, Scottish dancing might be very good fun indeed. She was about to give an expurgated version of her thoughts to Mrs Malcolm, when someone tapped her shoulder. It was Ross.

‘Come along, Genevieve. I want you to dance with me.’

‘Is that a real name, or a pet name?’ asked Mrs Malcolm delightedly. ‘So pretty!’

‘It’s my real name,’ Jenny said, as Ross pulled her along.

She frowned slightly as they stood opposite each other, waiting for the other couples to take their places. Was it significant that he’d called her that?

She curtsied to him as the dance required. He was looking very tall and serious, a little pale. He seemed uneasy.

‘Did you get the flu, too?’ she asked, as he led her down the set to the end.

‘No.’

She pas de basqued to a nice boy in a red tartan kilt
with cheeks to match. He was sweating profusely, and her fingers slipped as he turned her round and delivered her into Ross’s waiting hands.

A thought occurred to her, a thought so dreadful she tried to push it out of her mind. But it wouldn’t go. Ross was embarrassed to see her because of what had happened. For him it had just been a one-night stand, a sort of Highland fling, but he knew for her it was more than that. Now he was preparing himself to let her down gently.

She found herself floundering in the dance. Firm hands positioned her, and she was opposite Ross again. Her lips were dry.

‘Is there something you want to tell me?’ she asked. But before he could answer, someone took her hand, turned her, and set her opposite the young man in the kilt. She was hot now too, and feeling dizzy, but she wanted an answer to her question.

‘Well?’ she demanded, when again they were able to talk.

‘Well, what?’

He was being deliberately obtuse, she could see. It might have been because of the difficulty of trying to have a serious discussion while performing complicated dance steps. Or it might have been because he didn’t know how to tell her.

Just in time, she remembered to set to the man opposite, take his hand and land with the man in the kilt who was now sweating onto the floor. Another hazard.

‘I do need to know how I stand,’ she said at the next opportunity. ‘Whatever you’re going to say, it’s all right. But I need to know.’

‘What are you talking about?’ He seemed genuinely confused. Perhaps she’d got it all wrong. Perhaps her judgement was at fault.

A grand chain, when men and women moved in opposite directions taking hands with each other, separated them for several moments.

‘We can’t talk here,’ said Ross, firmly.

Of course he was right, but Jenny wasn’t satisfied. She wasn’t prepared to shut up and carry on dancing as if nothing momentous had happened between them. She was about to duck out of the dance altogether when she was clasped round the waist by the sweating young man. He was so enthusiastic he lifted her off the floor. When she landed she staggered slightly and Ross caught her.

‘Don’t touch me, you rat!’ she hissed.

‘Jenny, what is the matter?’

‘I’ve had flu. I need to know how I stand with you. For all I know, I might be pregnant!’

A couple of people turned to look at her and she realised she’d spoken more loudly than she’d intended. The dance was coming to an end. In a moment she could run away, find somewhere to cry, and then later, find someone to take her home. If only she could keep it together for a few more minutes.

Some part of the dance she didn’t remember doing before meant she found herself being swung round again, only this time, by Ross. She was dizzy already from whisky and flu; she didn’t need to have her equilibrium further disturbed. When he put her down, she slapped his face. While everyone else was bowing or curtsying to their partner, she walked off the floor,
found her way to the door and, a moment later, to a downstairs cloakroom.

Someone came barging in after her. It was Meggie. ‘Are you OK? I saw what happened. Why did you hit him?’

‘I didn’t hit him; I slapped him!’

‘It comes to the same thing. Violence is never the answer.’

‘Oh, shut up! Oh, I’m sorry, Meggie. I don’t know what’s got into me. I feel awful.’

She still had her head in her hands when she heard someone else open the door. ‘God, why did I have to choose the loo to hide in?’

‘Oh, hello,’ she heard Meggie say.

‘Can you leave us alone for a few moments?’

It was Ross.

‘Is that all right?’ Meggie asked.

‘Of course it’s all right!’ said Ross irritably, and manhandled Meggie out of the door. ‘She doesn’t need a bloody chaperone!’

Jenny stood up. ‘Don’t I?’

‘Look,’ said Ross, his effort to control his temper obvious. ‘What’s got into you? I’m sorry about what happened – at least, I’m not sorry, but I never meant it to turn out that way.’

‘Meant what to turn out that way?’ Jenny was incandescent – with rage, confusion, or some virus, she was in no state to decide.

‘For God’s sake! Are you deliberately trying to misunderstand me? When I dragged you halfway up a mountain and kept you there for the night, I didn’t intend to – to make love to you!’

‘So what did you intend?’ Jenny could see the marks
of her fingers on his cheek. They reproached her horribly.

‘For God’s sake! I was rescuing you! Stopping you getting lost, or freezing to death! You were in real danger. And seducing you was the last thing on my mind. We hardly know each other.’

She wanted to die. She felt abashed. She had been so wanton, so uninhibited. He was probably horrified at her being so willing. Willing enough, indeed, to have unprotected sex – with a man she hardly knew.

‘I’m sorry.’ She didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to get through the next few moments. Her knees were dodgy and she knew if she wasn’t careful she would cry.

His anger evaporated in a deep sigh. ‘You don’t need to be sorry! Look, I really hope you’re not pregnant if you don’t want to be, but if you are –’

‘What?’

‘If you want to, we’ll get married. You can have your dress made out of nuno felt.’

‘No, thank you.’

There was a bang on the door. ‘Is anyone in there? I’m dying for a pee!’

‘Oh God! Can’t you hang on? Or go outside! We’re trying to have a conversation here!’

‘We can’t monopolise the loo!’ protested Jenny. ‘And what if a woman wanted to come in?’

‘Come on then.’ He took hold of her wrist and pulled her up. He opened the door. ‘There you are; it’s all yours.’

Pulling her behind him like a train, he marched along the passage, opening doors and shutting them again. At last he found a small study and switched on
the light. It was crammed with extraneous tables and chairs, which had obviously been dumped there because of the ball.

‘This’ll do.’ He dragged her past the furniture to a small, leather sofa at the back of the room. ‘What do you mean, “no, thank you"?’

‘I mean, no, thank you. If I’m pregnant, I don’t want to marry you. And I’m not sure about the dress either.’

‘Jenny!’ He was furious. ‘What do you mean, saying you don’t want to marry me? For fuck’s sake! We made love. I know we fight all the time, and we don’t know each other all that well, but I thought we loved each other! I distinctly remember you telling me you loved me in the snow hole. Or are you the sort of girl who always says that after sex?’