Meric added with intense irritation, ‘Why make an issue of it, Sue? Apart from being ill, your father doesn’t care much for caravans en bloc. In the first place, I’m afraid the whole idea was mine, so perhaps it’s quite natural
that he forgot to mention it.’
‘There are other people in the house besides my father! ’ Too late Sue was aware of her injured tone of voice, the flickering resentment in her wide eyes.
His dark eyes explored her own, totally objective, wholly provoking. ‘Other people happen to be busy, my dear.’
Colour flooded her cheeks. ‘Meaning that I’m not?’
His face darkened and for a moment she thought he. was going to cross the room and shake her. He looked a stranger, dark and formidable. ‘On the contrary,’ he spoke coldly. ‘But our affairs scarcely lie in the same direction.’
She ignored that with feminine logic. ‘You can’t possibly work every evening. You could have spared a little time to put me in the picture.’
Disturbingly the heavy mouth twitched a little at the corners as his dark eyes rested on her.
‘If I could be sure you would find my company entertaining, Miss Frazer, I would be more than willing to oblige.’ That he meant something quite removed from what she had in mind seemed obvious. His eyes, directly meeting her grey ones, were filled with clear menace, something for her to ponder over. Until you’re ready to meet me half-way, keep your distance, they seemed to say. Completely shattered by her own crazy interpretation, Sue cried unwisely, ‘There’s no reason to suppose that Miss Craig monopolizes all your free time!’
The glint in his eye deepened at that into clear hard laughter. ‘You might tell your daughter, John, how I spend most of my evenings. Dining at the hotel, in the interests of business.’ He ignored her reference to Carlotte. Seeking her father’s support might be relevant, but seemed purely incidental.
Mumbling, John stirred himself from his preoccupation with his tea and radio, only half aware of their verbal sparring. ‘Should have been my job, as I told you, Susan. A lot to discuss of an evening. Used to be a most enjoyable part of the day - in the old days, when people stayed at the house
Inwardly fuming, Sue bit her lip, which seemed to be becoming a habit. Her father and Meric together were like a stone wall and, in their different ways, equally impregnable. She could never hope to make headway against their combined forces. Driven by a helpless frustration, she said scornfully, ‘It’s surprising what goes on in the interests of business.’
There was a silence. John, refusing, perhaps owing to the nature of his illness, to retain any prolonged interest in anything which worried him, retreated to his radio, turning up the volume, leaving the issue to Meric, ignoring Sue’s indignant face. So much registered with Sue before her eyes left him to collide once again with Meric Findlay’s dark ones. He was finishing off his tea in one deep draught, his glance still on a curious level between anger and amusement.
Putting his cup back on the tray, he stood up, his forcefulness hitting Sue like a blow. It drove all the nervous reaction from her body and for several seconds as she braved his dark eyes, she regretted her hasty words. Picking up her own cup in order to brace herself against further reprisals, she took a distracted sip.
When he did speak his tone of voice deceived her for a minute. He said softly, ‘I don’t ordinarily go round explaining my actions, Miss Sue, and I don’t intend to start now. If you have in mind a private investigation, then you’d better start conducting your own.’
‘I wasn’t...’ she choked.
‘Wasn’t casting aspersions?’ His voice, silky smooth, slewed over her. ‘Wasn’t that what you had in mind? Rather an old-fashioned way of putting it, but nothing more original could be so apt. ’
Sue flushed, colour creeping vividly beneath her skin. Never in a hundred years could she hope to make headway against such a man. His voice, sardonic, drawling, taunted her more by its inflection than his actual words, but his mind was razor-sharp and she wasn’t at all sure that she liked it. Defensively she flung fretful fingers across her brow. ‘You must admit that I’m entitled to be told more? My father is ill; I can lay no blame at his door.’ Desperate to break an inner tension, she glanced pleadingly towards her father.
He had finished his tea and was fixing one of his cheroots, taking his time over the clipping and trimming and lighting. He surprised her by saying through the trail of blue smoke, ‘Meric came home early today to show you around. You’ve been here some time and lately he’s been of the opinion that you might like to see something of the countryside. ’
‘That wasn’t quite what I meant.’ She stirred restlessly, startled by what he said, yet only faintly mollified as she looked at Meric again. ‘I’m not just a passing tourist and to be treated as such. To discover something by chance can put me in an embarrassing position. Carlotte at the caravan site, for instance. It was rather humiliating having to confess I knew nothing about it!’
From his great height Meric looked down at her, his eyes ironical, a hint of mocking despair in their dark depths. ‘A Scottish glen, especially a Perthshire one, is full of all sorts of enticing things - woods, hills, moors, rivers and streams, rich in wild life. And out of all that you have to find a caravan park!’
So she had been right about the laughter. Her voice was dry as she retorted, ‘You’re convinced that a city-dweller’s intuition led me to it? A sort of magnetism.’
He taunted, 'Or an inborn curiosity, which isn’t particularly prevalent in towns. As for Carlotte, she isn’t above helping me out, should I ask her nicely. And she does have all the information any holidaymaker might need, as well as being charming. ’
With a sharp twinge of shock, Sue stared at her hands. He found Carlotte charming! The knowledge struck her, irrationally painful. She took a deep breath, ‘If I stay I, too, might learn to be useful.’
‘Not at the caravan park, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Not exactly ...’ Her voice trailed off, her confused thoughts defying clarification. The emphatic tightening of his hard mouth didn’t help or she might have told him she had no wish to remain here as an outsider. Mutinously she shrugged, her eyes going slowly to the patch of bare skin which showed between the bottom of his kilt and the top of his stocking. The skin was tough-looking and firm, like the rest of him; dark brown in colour, weathered by the winds. Suddenly she knew a crazy longing to touch it and, as impulse surged, her pulse jerked and she swiftly looked away.
A piece of coal falling from the fire made her aware of his waiting silence. Hastily she picked up the tea tray and scrambled clumsily to her feet, not attempting to finish off her sentence but starting another. ‘Perhaps I owe you an apology, Mr. Findlay. If you did intend to show me around, then I’m grateful, but I’m afraid it’s much too late. You may not be aware of it, but I usually cook dinner. I’d be perfectly willing to go another day.’
But another day didn’t arrive too quickly. Meric Findlay, in fact, appeared to forget all about it, and Sue, although eager to be shown the estate and the exact boundaries, was reluctant to remind him. Probably, she decided, as manager he was hesitant about making the first move, but that she seemed unable for some indefinable reason to make one herself proved a
bit of a dilemma.
Helping Mrs. Lennox about the house kept her occupied to a certain extent, but not nearly enough. Yet her father still had bad days when he needed both of them. Even so Mrs. Lennox did all the nursing and Sue was determined that as soon as he was really better she would see about a teaching job. Locally, some authority somewhere must need an infant teacher. It might be a good idea to make a few inquiries. According to her map Perthshire abounded in small villages.
She started with Mrs. Lennox. ‘I’m sure I wouldn’t know, dear,’ the woman replied when she asked. ‘They’ve had the same two teachers at our village school for years, and neither of them is old enough to retire.’
Sue frowned. ‘I might have to go further afi
eld.’
‘You might.’ Mrs. Lennox hesitated, noting Sue’s serious expression. ‘I should wait until your father’s fully recovered, though. He seems to worry when you’re out of his sight, and anything like what you have in mind might upset him.’
‘Of course,’ Sue’s reply was perfunctory. How could she explain to Mrs. Lennox she wouldn’t mind staying forever if only she could feel that she was really a part of Glenroden? Her father clung to her because he was thrilled with his newfound daughter, and the idea of introducing her to his friends when he was stronger pleased him. But she wanted to be more than a showpiece. She wanted to belong! Would anyone here really miss her if she was gone?
She said, her mind switching erratically, ‘Mr. Findlay might be glad to have me off the place more often. He must get tired of having me constantly underfoot.’ Which was a devious way of seeking reassurance in a certain matter, but suddenly it seemed important.
Mrs. Lennox’s eyes rounded with genuine surprise as she glanced at Sue. ‘I’m sure you’re mistaken, dear. I don’t suppose he often notices you’re here. ’
Sue’s eyes gleamed with derisive amusement. Well, she’d asked for that! Not exactly the answer she had hoped for, but one which she no doubt deserved. Yet she persevered if in another direction. 'Carlotte must still be at the caravan park,’ she went on. ‘She hasn’t been here for some time. I asked Father where she lived, and he said near Perth, so she must have a good way to travel.’
Mrs. Lennox nodded absently as she started to prepare lunch. ‘Her father, who was your father’s first cousin, is dead, and she lives with an elderly relation on her mother’s side. I think she was the only relation your father had until you turned up.’
‘Mr. Findlay seems to like her ...’
‘I expect he does, dear.’ Sue suspected that when Mrs. Lennox chose, she could be deliberately obtuse. ‘She does come a lot to Glenroden, and they’ve always got on well together.’
Sue turned away as her father’s bell rang. She wasn’t going to get anything out of Mrs. Lennox. To be at Glenroden was like living in a vacuum. The past and future could apparently have little bearing until her father was up and about, and until then she was caught in a prison of her own making. If she was aware that most of her strange restlessness stemmed from an entirely different source she refused to admit it. Meric Findlay had no part in her future plans whatsoever!
One evening, after dinner, she decided to go down to the cottage. As usual Meric was out, but Mrs. Lennox was there, not having gone home that afternoon, and Sue thought it an ideal opportunity. To pass the time she had been helping John research his book, and over the last few days they had both been immersed in the Jacobite rebellion. John had fought Culloden in at least three different ways, and had now passed on to the Hanoverian army of occupation.
Sue’s help was invaluable, he pointed out, as, once he was well, he could find in her notes all he needed to complete his thesis. His first rough notes, still at the cottage, he asked her to fetch. There was also two books with additional information which he would like to have by him. Not bothering to put on a coat as the late September night was still warm, she picked up a basket to put everything in, and let herself quietly out by the side door.
The cottage, some distance from the rambling old Georgian house by road, could be easily reached by following a grassy track through some trees. To Sue’s dismay the night was already beginning to darken as she hurried along the path, although the setting sun enhanced the beauty of hill and glen, slowing her flying footsteps in spite of herself. She liked the smell of autumn woods, the sweet aroma of grass drying out, a ripening reflected in the red of the rowan berry; the darker purple of the blackberry; the gold of the hazelnut. Other things changed, but not these.
Quickly she unlocked the cottage door, cross with herself for lingering until she realized that the electricity supply had not been cut off during
John’s absence. With a flick of her finger the little hall flooded with light, but she switched it off again. It wasn’t yet dark enough to need it, and she had promised herself a quiet look around. If someone saw a light they might come to investigate.
Rather furtively she explored the little house, finding everything much as Meric Findlay had described it on that first evening. Faintly disappointed, she returned to the living room and set down her basket on the still cluttered table. She had asked John several times about coming back to live here, but in every instance he had only looked put out and shook his head.
‘I thought you were comfortable here, my dear,’ was his usual reply. ‘I’ve only been using the place to write in since my heart started to play up. Meric doesn’t care for me being there alone.’
‘But you’ve got me now,’ Sue had argued. Secretly she was beginning to get fond of the big house, as everyone called it, but Meric Findlay disturbed her, and some instinct of self preservation warned her to move before it was too late.
Her father, however, was adamant. ‘You’re not aware of all it would involve, Susan. Think of all the renovations which would be necessary, and which you couldn’t hope to cope with yourself. We’re much better off where we are.’
Which was a matter of opinion, but now that she had seen for herself Sue could understand his point of view. The upstairs rooms, though structurally sound, were chaotic, with bits of plaster and wallpaper peeling. Stuffed full of junk, they would take a week to clear out. The other room downstairs had obviously been used as a bedroom, but here again it was untidy and smelt musty. It was perhaps difficult to understand why her father had come to live here in the first place.
Once or twice she had tried to broach the subject, but he seemed to find it difficult to talk to her very deeply about anything, apart from his book. Although he had promised to stop her mother’s allowance at the bank, he appeared reluctant to discuss anything else. In the end she had had to write to the solicitor in London herself, giving brief details and a promise to keep in touch. Which reminded her that she had also promised to write to Tim. She had sent him a short note soon after she had arrived. It must have stopped him worrying, but he would be waiting to hear further. It was rather surprising that he hadn’t replied. He must be waiting cautiously for further details which, because he had always been so good, she must supply.
Carefully she searched amongst the array of writing material on the overburdened desk. Finding what she required, she removed the pen and pad to the table and sat down to compose a letter. Reluctantly she picked up her pen. Conscience dictated that she wrote straight away, while she remembered, but over the last weeks Tim seemed to have receded into the background and she scarcely knew where to start.
‘Dear Tim,’ she wrote at last, ‘You will be surprised to hear that my father owns a large estate ...’
No! Dissatisfied, she stopped, nibbling the end of her pen. That sounded -well, ostentatious? Frowning, she reached out to tear up the page and start again when a sound at the outside door made her jump. Someone was there. Could it be Mrs. Lennox seeking her? Was there something wrong? Instantly she was on her feet, alarm spinning her to the inner door, only to find it flung open in her face as Meric stood there.
‘Whew!’ she gasped, half in relief. ‘I heard something and thought it might be a ghost.’
‘A ghost would scarcely have given you a whiter face,’ he said dryly, closing the door behind him before gripping her arm and guiding her to the nearest chair. Bending down, he switched on the fire. ‘A disused room gets cold,’ he informed her. ‘A little heat and you’ll soon recover.’
Sue thrust the thought from her that it was much nicer to bask in his solicitude, much more warming than a mere fire. Instead she protested weakly, ‘There’s nothing wrong. I just didn’t expect to see you, that’s all.’ The look he slanted her was oblique. ‘You never do, do you, Sue? I might be wholly flattered if I thought for a moment that I was responsible for all this feverish activity!’
Her lashes fluttered as she tried to sustain his ironic st
are, colour creeping like wild rose beneath her skin. Retreating a little, she lay back in her chair, unable to fight against his hard masculinity. She tried to concentrate on what he said. ‘I thought perhaps it was Mrs. Lennox with bad news. I suppose it was foolish of me.’
‘Very.’ He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her, and suddenly it seemed his eyes were kinder. ‘Actually I didn’t find you by accident. John told me where you’d gone and I decided to come and walk back with you. It will soon be dark and you might get lost. Besides, I had something to ask you.’ Only half hearing, Sue gazed at the flickering fire as a dozen muddled emotions went through her. She was scarcely aware when he turned and sat in the chair opposite, where her father had sat that first evening. What could he want to see her about? Nothing of importance, surely. In a moment of nervous panic she spoke. ‘I’m helping Father with his research - which is really why I’m here, if he didn’t explain. I’m to find him two books.’
‘It doesn’t bore you?’
‘Why should it?’ She inclined her fair head as she straightened and her hair fell in an arch across her flushed cheek. ‘I must admit,’ she confessed, ‘that I wasn’t quite sure when I started, but I’m getting more interested every day.’
‘You’re interested in Scottish history, or is it the way John fights every campaign as if he’d been there personally?’ There was a glint in his eye again. He could be teasing.
She replied lightly, ‘His strategy seems good. Bonnie Prince Charlie might have fared better if Father had been there. As for my interest? Well, after all, Scotland is my country, even if I’ve just found out.’
‘I haven’t been long here myself. Only, in my case, I came back.’
‘You came back? You mean,’ Sue glanced at him sharply, ‘you’d been here before, on holiday?’
‘Not exactly,’ he drawled cynically, ‘I don’t suppose John got around to telling you, I left with my parents when I was six. My father was a bit of a gambler, not a soldier like yours.’
The Kilted Stranger Page 7