“I’m just taking this up for Biddy,” she explained, as Jill surveyed the tray she was preparing with raised eyebrows. “It’s early yet. Katie will see to ours when she returns from Salen.”
She phrased her sentence deliberately, and just as deliberately watched for Jill’s reactions as she spoke. There was a moment’s silence, and although outwardly Jill gave no indication of alarm, Sara noticed a certain wariness creep into her eyes.
Then suddenly Jill laughed, turning away from Sara’s sensitive face to sit in Biddy’s empty chair by the fire. She leaned back and crossed her slim legs. Sara felt her watching her through half-closed lids and was vaguely irritated.
“Of course,’’ Jill still smiled blandly, “you were going to Salen yourself, I remember, and you offered to take me. But I didn’t know that Katie was going. You could have given her a lift.”
Someone, for some reason or another, wasn’t telling the truth. Carefully Sara opened the tea-caddy and measured three spoonfuls of tea-leaves into the warmed pot while she considered what Jill had said. If Jill was speaking the truth, then Katie wasn’t. But why should Katie need to pretend that she was in Salen on an errand for Jill? Her time was usually her own between lunch and tea, and she didn’t have to look for an excuse.
“Katie lives in Salen,” she murmured, glancing again at Jill’s smooth face. “I expect she just made up her mind to go and see her aunt. I brought Miss Black back with me to see Biddy. This is why I’m making early tea.”
“Miss Black?” If Sara had hoped subconsciously to startle Jill, she succeeded. She sat up with a jerk, her childish face blank. “Not that old gossip?” she cried angrily. “That old woman talks so much—one can’t believe the half of what she says!”
“Please...!” Sara threw up her hands defensively as she stared, startled, at the girl in the chair. Miss Black, she felt certain, was not a gossip, at least not in the way Jill implied. But Jill was clearly upset that she had come here with her this afternoon. For the hundredth time Sara wondered why she had allowed Jane to persuade her to take this job. A typing job in a large impersonal city office would have been much better. At least it wouldn’t have involved her intimately with a family like the Frasers who believed in riding roughshod over anyone who got in their way. Instead of weeks Sara felt that she had been here for years, so embroiled was she becoming in their affairs.
In self-defence she refused to worry any more about Katie and the stranger, or Jill for that matter, and was just about to add a sharp rejoinder to her initial exclamation when the telephone rang.
Jill, not usually quick to exert herself, jumped up with a surprising alacrity, and almost ran to answer it. With a resigned sigh Sara started to spread bread and butter.
Jill was back in a matter of minutes. “That was Beth Asquith,” she said. Obviously having regained her composure, she sat down again in her chair with a satisfied grin. “She’s mad because Hugh has gone and never told her. She wanted to know if he’ll be back in time for the dance next Friday night.”
“Dance?” Sara’s eyebrows rose fractionally in spite of the traitorous surge of joy which rushed through her. She had thought they might have gone to London together.
“Oh, the ceilidh, you know.” Jill’s chattering tongue ran on. “Beth’s mum gives a rather special one each June. Sometimes we come up specially for it. Not Hugh, of course. He’s usually working overseas somewhere. I told Madam that I didn’t think he would be here this year either, and she promptly rang off.”
“But, Jill ...” Sara stared frowning at Jill’s mischievous face, “Hugh expects to be home in a day or two. He told me so himself.”
“Did he now?” Jill replied, in silky undertones. “He isn’t usually so precise about his movements.”
“Don’t be silly,” Sara retorted coolly, but she felt her face grow hot at the hidden innuendo in Jill’s remark. “I suppose you were only joking with Miss Asquith,” she finished lamely.
“Don’t talk rot.” Jill grimaced inelegantly. “I don’t like Miss Asquith any more than she likes me, so you needn’t stand between us armed with diplomacy! I didn’t see any reason to reassure her, and actually you never know with Hugh. He could be away for weeks if he felt like it.”
“Are many ceilidhs held on the island?” Sara didn’t want to contemplate the possibility of Hugh being away for weeks, and asked the question impulsively in an effort to regain her equilibrium.
“All through the winter,” Jill told her briefly. “Mostly it’s a case of people just dropping in for a chat and the odd song. Strong cups of tea and coffee, sandwiches and hot scones. If you like that sort of thing. Beth’s mum gives a ball in aid of her favourite charity. Full regalia with all the trappings, but I don’t know if I’ll go this year. Hugh might take you if he does happen to be here.”
Sara suddenly remembered Ian McKenzie’s invitation. “Actually,” she said impulsively, without really meaning to, “Dr. McKenzie mentioned it yesterday morning.”
“Oh, well ...” Jill shrugged as if she couldn’t care less, her small face completely indifferent. “It seems that you might be going one way or another. I’d hate Beth for a sister-in-law,” she continued, almost in the same breath. “Although I suppose Hugh is bound to get married some time. Might make him a bit more human if he did,” she muttered darkly, as Sara, fearing what she might hear next, departed hurriedly with the tea-tray.
Sara lingered deliberately with Biddy and her sister, unwilling to return to the kitchen to listen to more about Hugh and Beth Asquith, trying to convince herself that it was just because she disliked gossip. Wherever she looked there was Hugh, the moon glinting on his dark head as he bent over her.
Trying to rid herself of his image, she ran Miss Black home to Salen, getting back with barely enough time to prepare a simple dinner of soup and salad.
She was relieved to find that Jill was in her room. If Katie and she were scheming together then she didn’t want to know about it, but Katie lulled her suspicions when she told her that she had been to see a friend who would come and cook until Biddy was properly better.
“If it’s all right by you, miss,” she smiled, “I know Jean will manage very nicely.”
So much for that! Sara decided wryly next morning, as she ate breakfast once more in the dining room. Katie, happily, had gone on to say that Mr. Fraser had suggested it before he went away. Sara hadn’t known whether to be vexed or pleased. He might, she thought, have asked her opinion before overriding her in such a fashion! It would have saved her a lot of unnecessary worry if she had known exactly what Katie was doing in Salen. Once more his arrogance struck her forcibly.
However, she could not but admit that it was pleasant not to be responsible for the day’s menu or the work involved in cooking all the meals. A sense of relaxation filled her, and she felt even better when the morning’s mail brought a letter from Jane. Jane was busy at the office, but very soon she might take a short holiday. She had thought about coming to Mull. If Sara could let her know when it was convenient they might spend a few days together, even travel back together if Sara’s work at Lochgoil happened to be finished.
Finished at Lochgoil? In spite of her pleasure in hearing from Jane, the bright morning sunshine seemed dimmer. Outside the air was sea-fresh with the faint scent of lilac drifting in through the open window. Apart from the distant sound of the waves breaking on the shore, all was silent. Around the inshore islands the seagulls would be crying incessantly, but in the house one couldn’t hear them. Only a lark, its high vibrant notes rising clearly, gave any indication that another creature existed in the world besides herself. A sigh escaped her. Already she knew she would hate to leave it, for all her misgivings, yet here was Jane reminding her that the day would surely come when she must do just that.
For the rest of the morning Sara kept busy and saw little of Jill. She was just about to seek her out after lunch when Ian McKenzie arrived, ostensibly to see Biddy. He was there for about half an hour, the half of w
hich he spent talking to Sara, trying again to persuade her to go with him to the dance, but as before, she found herself unable to give him a definite answer. She couldn’t rid herself of the idea that Beth Asquith didn’t like her, although their acquaintance had been short, and if this was so it seemed presumptuous to impose on her hospitality. With a regretful smile she saw Ian out and started to search for Jill.
When she couldn’t find her she asked Katie who was busy washing up their luncheon dishes, and had no idea.
“Maybe she’s gone to see Miss Asquith,” Katie suggested glibly. “She was telling me that the lady rang her only yesterday.” As Sara stood frowning she turned up her radio loudly.
Sara refrained from retorting that she already had Jill’s version of that phone call, and she thought it highly unlikely that Jill was there. And yet why not? People often professed to hate one another when in reality their dislike was only superficial. Even so, Sara wasn’t convinced that she would find her with Beth. Of course Katie was only expressing an opinion. Jill could be anywhere.
There were no immediate neighbours, their nearest being some miles away down the coast. If it hadn’t been for the telephone call Sara wouldn’t have known where to start looking.
She had just decided to forget about Jill for the time being and spend an hour on the beach. It was still a beautiful day, and the sea and sunshine beckoned. For once there wasn’t a great deal to do, and Biddy, in spite of her protests that she was better, was dozing comfortably in her bed. The big castle was quiet when the telephone shrilled rudely through the- silence.
Sara, about to go out through the great front door, turned and ran quickly back up the twisting stairs to answer it, waving Katie back to her library book in the kitchen.
“Hello!” she cried breathlessly into the mouthpiece. To her surprise it was Beth Asquith.
“You sound anxious,” Beth mocked coolly.
Sara clutched the receiver hard. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I was just leaving the castle. I thought it might be urgent.”
“From London, perhaps?” Beth’s voice drawled, full of purring, cat-like qualities, which slightly puzzled Sara until Beth added softly, “As a matter of fact I rang Hugh last night. When he’s away he likes me to ring him up and talk to him. He’ll be home in time for the dance, which was actually what I wanted to speak to you about. I saw Ian McKenzie in Salen after lunch and he said he would like to bring you along. I felt I must add a word of welcome myself.”
Strangely uncharacteristic consideration! Beth didn’t seem the sort to put herself out for a total stranger, especially one she hadn’t seemed to like. But, Sara told herself uncertainly, she could be mistaken. One shouldn’t really jump to such uncharitable conclusions after one short meeting.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, while searching unhappily for an excuse. “You’re very kind, but I’m not sure that I can get away. I should have to ask Mr. Fraser. Besides, Biddy isn’t well, and Jill has just arrived.”
“What on earth has Jill to do with it?” Beth’s shrill laughter stung Sara’s ear. “I don’t see why you need worry about her. She appears to be very cosy with a new boy-friend, an artist who’s rented a cottage down the coast. I wonder if Hugh knows about it?”
“I’m sure you must be mistaken.” With a start of dismay Sara protested hotly, refusing to believe what she instinctively knew to be the truth.
Beth laughed again, obviously enjoying the note of alarm she could hear in Sara’s voice. “I can assure you that I am not! They appeared to be on the best of terms when I passed them a short while ago. But then the Frasers aren’t renowned for wasting time—or hadn’t you discovered?”
“Please!” In her agitation Sara dropped the receiver and stood staring at it as if it was red-hot. She ought to ring back and apologize. Beth would expect it. But she didn’t know Beth’s number and she didn’t have the time or the inclination to look it up.
A peculiar sense of urgency overtook her. For a short while she had thought all her half-formed fears to be groundless, and now this! She must do something to help Jill. To warn her that Beth Asquith knew about her romance and would probably tell Hugh. From a jumble of reactions Sara found it impossible to be completely honest with herself. Was she doing this for Jill’s sake, or because of a subconscious desire to please Hugh and keep her job here?
At all costs she must try to find Jill and judge for herself whether this artist was the unscrupulous bounder Hugh had told her about, or maybe another, quite acceptable friend. But how stupid she had been not to have kept her wits about her, and asked Beth the whereabouts of this man’s cottage. She felt reluctant to approach Katie again, even though she now suspected that the girl could supply the information she was after.
With a frustrated sigh Sara dragged her eyes away from the telephone and picked up her coat. Then, out of the blue, she remembered Ian suggesting that she went with him down the coast to visit a patient. He had mentioned the ruined chapel of Pennygowan, where one of the early Macleans and his wife were said to have practised black magic. If Beth had seen both Ian and Jill since lunch, they must have been more or less in the same place. And she had seen Ian in Salen.
Sara drove the Jaguar swiftly away from the castle with renewed confidence. Jill, she knew, would be driving a small white Mini which her mother used when she visited Lochgoil, and which was kept in one of the outer garages. This was probably why she hadn’t heard her go out earlier. Sara liked small cars herself, and didn’t intend borrowing Hugh’s Jaguar more than she could help, but she felt fully justified in taking it this afternoon.
In the village she stopped and asked a group of children if they knew of any holiday cottages in the district. While she didn’t much like probing for information in this way, she felt it would be more discreet than asking in a shop or bar. The children would only conclude that she was some passing tourist seeking accommodation and forget about her as soon as she was out of sight.
To her dismay they told her that there were several cottages in the area but that most of them would be let at this time of the year.
She was just about to thank them and drive off when one small girl piped up.
“Mr. Matheson down the road has two. One’s let to an artist man, but my dad says the other one’s empty because the roof rains in. If you wouldn’t be fussy maybe Mr. Matheson would let you have that ...”
It was surprising how easily she found the cottage after all. Situated near the Forsa river, at the end of a long rutted lane, it looked so old it almost blended into the brown landscape, and apart from a thin trickle of smoke from one stumpy chimney there was no visible sign of life.
Sara approached cautiously. She had left the Jaguar just off the main road, too fearful of its springs to bring it down a track such as this. She hadn’t rehearsed or even thought what she was going to say, and as she knocked carefully on the worn front door she prayed fervently that she would find the right words.
After a few short seconds, which seemed like hours, the young man with the beard flung open the door. If Sara had expected him to look put out she was disappointed, but he did look surprised.
“Well, well,” he drawled, “if it isn’t the girl off the boat. Mr. Fraser’s secretary, I presume?” A mocking smile on his face, he leant against the collapsible door-post, his hands thrust negligently into his trouser pockets. Sara drew back a fraction, startled. This was certainly the same young man whom she had seen repeatedly, but whether he was the one Hugh was worried about she had yet to find out. She flushed, biting her bottom lip nervously as he regarded her with derisive eyes.
But before she could speak there was a slight movement behind him and Jill appeared. Her small vivid face was disdainful as her eyes slipped over Sara. She was obviously far from pleased to see who it was.
“You’re mistaken, Colin.” She laughed without mirth. “Private detective Winton would be more appropriate!”
Sara stared; she felt shattered, bereft of words, but as their eyes
met she could see that the other girl had been hurt, and that she was very much on the defensive. She felt an outsider suddenly, as though she were standing outside a circle which she had deliberately split.
Somehow she must get through to Jill and her friend that she was here to help them, rather than because she worked for Hugh. Instinctively she knew that this man was indeed the artist from London. It had been fairly obvious from the moment he had opened the door.
“I’m sorry, Jill,” she said quietly, her eyes still on her scornful face. “I know it looks suspicious, but I didn’t come to pry. I came to help, to warn you, if you like. Someone knows about Colin being here, and it’s probably only a matter of time before Hugh finds out.”
“Beth Asquith. I knew it!” Jill’s face went red with temper. “That awful bitch!”
“Jill!” Sara remonstrated, keeping her own temper under control with an effort. “You know as well as I do that such abuse won’t get you anywhere. It certainly wouldn’t help your case with your brother. Suppose we go inside and talk this over in a rational manner?”
For a moment she thought Jill was going to refuse, that only Colin’s weight against the door prevented Jill from slamming it in her face, then with a shrug the girl turned and Colin stepped back to give Sara room to follow her inside.
The living room, Sara noticed, was clean but untidy. An easel stood in one corner surrounded by artist’s paraphernalia of canvases, tubes of paint and brushes, while a pile of cameras and photographic equipment covered a small dining table by the window. A peat fire smouldering in the hearth took the chill off the air and managed to convey a degree of comfort.
Sara sat down cautiously on a rather rickety wooden chair which Colin silently pulled out from beneath the table. The two armchairs looked cosy but could scarcely be seen under a pile of suitcases and clothing. He still hadn’t added anything to his first remark in the doorway.
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