‘After I’d graduated I moved to London and went into the Information Technology business with a couple of friends. I’d always intended to come back to Scotland eventually, but at the moment I’m still living in London while I tie up some loose ends.’
‘Which part of town?’
‘I’ve a flat in Belmont Square.’
The fact that he lived in Mayfair seemed to confirm her first impression that he was well off.
Eager to know more about him, but wary of making the questions too personal, she asked, ‘Do you get up to Scotland much?’
‘Four or five times a year.’
‘For business or pleasure?’
‘You could say both.’
There was a tap at the door and Mrs Low came bustling in, a voluminous apron tied at her waist, wheeling a supper trolley.
‘Here we are,’ she said cheerfully. ‘There’s a nice drop of my cock-a-leekie, some hot oatcakes wrapped round ham, an apple pie and cream, and I thought a big jug of coffee wouldn’t go amiss.’
As she spoke, she wheeled the trolley to where they could comfortably reach, adding, ‘I’m afraid it’s all very simple…’
‘Thanks, Mrs Low,’ Ross Dalgowan said. ‘As far as I’m concerned, it’s a feast. It was very good of you to go to so much trouble.’
Cathy added her agreement and thanks.
Looking pleased, Mrs Low said, ‘Whist, now, it was no trouble at all.’ Then, beaming at them, she added, ‘Oh, and when I told Charlie you were here, he said to leave this with you and advise you and the young lady to have a wee dram or two to keep out the cold.’
Like a conjuror pulling a rabbit out of a hat, from a deep pocket in her apron she produced a bottle of Highland single malt and two whisky glasses wrapped in a white napkin.
‘Please give him our thanks.’
‘You’ll have a word with him before you go?’
‘I certainly will.’
She stooped to put fresh logs on the fire before going on, ‘The bunk beds are already made up, and I’ve left a pillow and some blankets on one of the couches in the lounge, so you can decide at your leisure which suits you best.
‘Now, if there’s nothing else either of you need I’m away to my bed. With a house full of guests I have to be up very early, so I’ll say goodnight to you both.’
‘Goodnight,’ they answered in unison.
At the door, she paused to say, ‘I almost forgot to tell you, there’ll be breakfast from six-thirty onwards. The breakfast room is just off the lounge… Oh, and when you’ve finished eating, perhaps you’ll put the trolley outside?’
When the door had closed behind her, Ross Dalgowan poured coffee for Cathy and himself, remarking thoughtfully, ‘If you only had a sandwich at lunchtime you must be hungry.’
‘I am, rather.’
‘Then tuck in.’
They enjoyed a leisurely supper without speaking, the only sounds the crackling of the logs and the wind soughing mournfully in the chimney.
As though comfortable with himself, his companion and his surroundings, Ross Dalgowan seemed quite content with the silence, and Cathy was pleased.
Neil, invariably uncomfortable with silence, had needed to fill every second with the sound of his own voice. Convinced he knew everything there was to know, he had talked whenever he had a listener.
But this man was different. He had a maturity Neil would never have and he was, she guessed, much quieter by nature.
She and Neil had first met when she had been a shy, naive nineteen and he was an experienced twenty, and she had been duly impressed by his strikingly handsome face and his apparent depth of knowledge.
After a whirlwind courtship—although he had been a penniless student—at his insistence they had got married, and he had moved in with her.
He had been about to start his last year at college, and because he had had no family to help she had found herself struggling to pay off his debts and support him, as well as Carl.
Even so, he had complained about her brother living with them, until she had told him firmly that it was, and always had been, Carl’s home.
‘Oh, very well,’ he’d said sulkily. ‘I suppose it’ll only be until he can get a job and find a place of his own.’
Relieved that he had accepted the situation, she had done her best to make him happy.
It wasn’t until they were married that she had discovered how empty and shallow he really was, and that his cleverness and his handsomeness—like the ripples on a pool—were all on the surface.
But, even after such a brief acquaintance, Cathy was already sure that Ross Dalgowan, who was sitting so quietly, was anything but shallow.
Watching him surreptitiously, she noticed that in the heat from the fire his hair had dried to the colour of ripe corn, and it struck her as strange that such a very masculine man should be so fair.
Neil had been blond, but fair-skinned, with pale brows and lashes and almost girlish features.
Whereas this man was tough-looking, with brows and lashes several shades darker than his hair and the kind of skin that would tan easily.
Though Neil had proved to be greedy and selfish and vain—a narcissist to the core—he’d been a golden boy that the opposite sex had fawned over.
A woman’s darling.
Ross Dalgowan would be a woman’s darling, she had little doubt, but he would also be a man’s man, where Neil had had few, if any, male friends.
When she had first met Neil, he’d appeared to be charming and easygoing, willing to live and let live. But in reality—like some weak people—he had been spoilt and peevish, a bully at heart.
Her companion, she was oddly certain, would be neither spoilt nor peevish, and while he might be masterful, she couldn’t see him being a bully.
Watching him, she noticed that he ate with a healthy appetite, but neatly and noiselessly.
Unlike Neil, who, in spite of his somewhat effeminate good looks and his general air of delicacy, had tended to bolt his food. Rather like a greedy schoolboy who hadn’t yet learned either manners or self-control.
She had discovered, to her cost, that the same went for his sexual appetite.
They had been married only a matter of months when, after drinking too much wine, he’d tried to force himself on her.
Failing, he had lashed out at her, calling her a lot of things, amongst which ‘a frigid bitch’ was the kindest by far.
Sighing, she pushed thoughts of the unhappy past aside and, glancing up, found herself looking into eyes the grey of woodsmoke—fascinating eyes that tilted up a little at the outer edge.
Her head whirling, and a strange tingle running along her nerve ends, she tore her gaze away.
Sensitive to her mood, Ross asked, ‘Problems?’
‘No, not really.’
Though he obviously didn’t believe her, he let the matter drop, and they continued the meal in companionable silence.
‘More coffee?’ he queried when they had both finished eating.
‘No, thank you.’
‘Then I’ll get rid of this.’ He rose to his feet and put the trolley outside.
Returning to his seat, he suggested, ‘Suppose we have a “wee dram” before we turn in, as Mrs Low’s husband advised?’
Though normally she never drank spirits, wanting to keep him with her a little longer, she agreed, ‘Yes, why not?’
He opened the bottle and, having poured a finger of whisky into both glasses, handed her one.
Raising his own glass, he toasted, ‘Here’s to the future, and our better acquaintance.’
His words, and the look in his eyes, brought a surge of warmth and excitement, and she found herself yearning for something this man seemed to offer. Something poignant. Something magic. Something that would last a lifetime. True love, perhaps…?
Telling herself not to be foolish, she tore her gaze away with an effort and took an incautious sip of her drink. The strong spirit made her cough.
His lip
s twitched, but, hiding his amusement—if indeed it was amusement—he said, ‘Just to prove that I’ve lived in England for a long time, I’ll act like a Sassenach and ask if you’d prefer some water with it?’
‘Yes, I would,’ she answered gratefully, and started to rise to fetch it.
But Ross was already on his feet, and he pressed her gently back into the chair. ‘Stay where you are. I’ll get it.’
He disappeared into the bathroom and returned after a moment with glass of water. ‘Say when.’
When there was about twice as much water as whisky, she said, ‘That should be fine, thank you.’
‘Try it and see.’
She tried a sip and, breathing a sigh of relief, told him, ‘Much better.’
Putting the rest of the water by the whisky bottle, he smiled at her.
His teeth gleamed white and even, and his mouth, with its intriguing hint of controlled passion, made her feel strange inside.
Becoming aware that she had been staring at him, she looked back into the glowing fire. But the cosy familiarity had gone, leaving an awareness, a rising excitement, a sexual tension.
Needing to break the silence and return to the more mundane, she swallowed and, her normally clear voice decidedly husky, asked, ‘Are you up here for Christmas, Mr Dalgowan?’
‘Yes, and New Year. But won’t you call me Ross? It seems ridiculous to stand on ceremony.’
‘Of course, if you call me Cathy.’
‘How long are you in Scotland for, Cathy?’
Reminded of just why she was in Scotland, and flustered by the innocent question, she answered, ‘I’m not quite sure… Christmas and New Year…’
‘Do you have anyone important in your life? A partner, perhaps?’
Unwilling to talk about her brief and disastrous marriage and the subsequent divorce, she answered briefly, ‘No.’
Though they had only just met, and he knew scarcely anything about her, Ross felt a rush of gladness that shook him with its strength and vehemence.
After Lena, he had taken care to avoid any emotional entanglements, keeping the occasional liaison light, casual, a simple, straightforward exchange of pleasure, with no looking back and no regrets when they parted.
Now he found himself doubting that that would be enough with this woman.
He sat quietly watching her, and holding her breath, aware that somehow the answer mattered, she seized the opportunity to ask, ‘How about you?’
‘No, no one.’
She was breathing a sigh of relief when he added, ‘I did have plans to marry earlier this year, but they didn’t work out. Though Lena was born in Scotland, and in fact our families lived quite close, she loved the bright lights of London and refused to live anywhere else. Whereas I wanted to live in the country.
‘When she couldn’t bring me round to her way of thinking, she left me for a wealthy businessman who lives in Park Lane and never leaves London…’
Cathy heard the underlying bitterness in his voice, and knew that his fiancée’s defection still hurt.
‘Now, if we happen to be in Scotland at the same time, she makes a point of calling to see me when she’s visiting her father.’
It smacked of turning the screw, and Cathy frowned, hardly able to believe that any woman could treat him that way.
Seeing her frown, and misinterpreting it, he apologized quickly, ‘I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have got on to such a personal topic, but I wondered if you were perhaps travelling up to join someone?’
Instinctively sure that this man was special, she hesitated, momentarily tempted to try and explain about Carl and the deception she had reluctantly agreed to take part in.
Though, as Carl had frequently pointed out since he had first broached the scheme, it was an innocent enough deception and would do no one any harm. And it would only be necessary until he’d been able to prove his worth.
‘I have exactly the qualifications the Bowans are looking for,’ he had told her, ‘but they were adamant that they would only employ a married couple.’
Then with a sigh he had said, ‘Everything would have been fine if Katie hadn’t walked out on me and we’d got married as planned. But as it is I badly need your help. And honestly, Sis, it won’t be too bad. All we need to do is get on with our respective jobs and pretend to be husband and wife.’
However, intrinsically honest, Cathy was far from happy, and had it been anyone other than her beloved younger brother she would have refused point-blank to be a part of it.
As it was—with his life in ruins after the woman he loved had run off with his best friend—Cathy had found it impossible to deny him the chance to do what he’d always wanted to do.
But her heart sank at the thought of trying to explain all that to Ross Dalgowan…
And after promising Carl she wouldn’t breath a word to a soul, how could she?
Turning her back on temptation, she shook her head. ‘Not really.’
Her companion seemed satisfied, but, far from happy, she felt the colour rise in her cheeks and hoped he would put it down to the heat of the fire.
CHAPTER TWO
ROSS helped them both to more whisky, then, taking Cathy by surprise, observed, ‘You have the most beautiful and fascinating eyes.’
With a self-deprecating smile, he added, ‘But I’m afraid I’m telling you something you already know.’
Cathy had often wished that her eyes were the same deep blue as Carl’s, and her voice was a little unsteady as she admitted, ‘I’ve always considered that they were no particular colour, just nondescript.’
‘Far from it. Not only are they a lovely shape, but they seem to change colour with the light, as opals do. A moment ago they looked blue, now they look green and gold, like an April day.’
She might have thought he was merely chatting her up, but he spoke quietly, thoughtfully, as if he meant exactly what he said.
Watching her blush deepen, he said contritely, ‘But now I’ve embarrassed you.’ Then, smoothly changing tack, he asked, ‘Are you London born and bred?’
‘No, both my brother and I were born in Kent. We only moved to London when my parents—my father was a doctor and my mother a physiotherapist—got posts at one of the London hospitals.’
‘I see. Are either you or your brother in the medical profession?’
‘My brother trained as a physiotherapist, and I had hoped to be a doctor.’
Reaching to put a couple of fresh logs on the fire, he probed, ‘Hoped to be?’
‘I left school just before I was eighteen, when both my parents were killed in a plane crash.’
‘You and your brother weren’t involved in the crash?’
She shook her head. ‘No. To celebrate twenty years together they decided to go on a second honeymoon.’ Though she did her best to speak dispassionately, even after almost seven years the sense of loss still showed.
‘Is your brother older than you?’
She shook her head. ‘No, a year younger.’
‘That must have been tough,’ he said simply, but his face held compassion, as if he understood.
‘It was for a while, but we managed.’
Seeing that talking about it made her sad, he let the subject drop, asking instead, ‘Have you been to the Cairngorms before?’
‘No, but I’ve always wanted to. I love mountains.’
‘It’s a beautiful area,’ he agreed, ‘but, apart from on the fringes, relatively isolated. There are no roads in the heartland, I’m pleased to say, so it’s best seen on foot, on horseback or on skis…’
For a while he talked about Scotland, and his low, pleasant voice, combined with the meal she had just eaten, the warmth and the unaccustomed whisky, made her feel sleepy and contented.
She was just stifling a yawn when he asked, ‘Getting tired? If you want me to leave so you can go to bed…?’
Feeling bereft at the thought of him going, she denied, ‘No, no…I’m not really tired. It’s just the warmth of
the fire…’
‘Well, when you do want me to go, don’t hesitate to say so.’
While the logs sparked and crackled and the blizzard raged outside, they talked idly, casually. But beneath the surface an unspoken, yet much deeper kind of communication was taking place.
Eventually, with evident reluctance, Ross rose to his feet, and remarked, ‘You’ve still got a fairly long drive tomorrow, so I really must go and let you get some sleep…’
Since her divorce, hurt and bitterly disillusioned, Cathy had steered clear of men, freezing off any that had shown the slightest desire to get too intimate.
But now the thought of Ross Dalgowan leaving made her heart sink, and she faced the fact that, though she knew virtually nothing about him, she wanted him to stay.
Taking a deep breath, she said, ‘Oh, but I should feel guilty if you were uncomfortable when there’s more room here than I need.’
‘There’s absolutely no reason for you to feel guilty. Where I sleep really isn’t a problem. I’ve no objection to stretching out on one of the couches in the lounge.’
‘They’re much too short,’ she pointed out a shade breathlessly, ‘and you would have no privacy.’
Already he knew that this woman was different, special—not the kind he could lightly walk away from—and, remembering his decision to avoid emotional entanglements, he knew he should go. But very tempted to stay, to see what came of it, he hesitated.
Seeing that hesitation, she went on in a rush, ‘The bunk beds don’t look particularly inviting, but if you want stay in the suite—which you can do with pleasure—at least you’ll be able to shower and take off your clothes.’
‘The thought of not having to sleep in my clothes makes your offer practically irresistible,’ he told her with a grin.
‘Then stay.’
‘Well, if you’re sure?’
‘I’m sure.’ To leave no doubt in his mind, she added, ‘The bathroom’s yours when you want it.’
Shaking his head, he told her, ‘Ladies first.’
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