by Anne Hampson
'I'm sorry,' she faltered, 'but I couldn't. I'm far happier like this.' Had he asked her the reason she felt she would have told him, so unhappy did she feel at his anger. But he did not ask her and she knew for sure that he was considering her to be merely obstinate-just like his first wife had been, and his daughter was being all the time. During the whole evening she was conscious of his fury, suppressed when necessary but very plainly revealed in the glowering looks he gave her on the occasions when they got up to dance together. His words he kept until they were driving home in the car; she was then subjected to a little of what his errant daughter had so many times deservedly experienced. Gail remained dumb, in spite of her mounting resentment of his attitude, but her silence infuriated him and on entering the house he 'rounded on her, his smouldering gaze once again causing the colour to drain from her face.
'Don't you ever dare defy me like that again,' he threatened. 'or by heaven you'll regret it l'
'I do not consider it in the light of defiance,' she managed to say, although not in very steady tones. 'I have a right to please myself what I wear.'
'Not if I am to be disgraced-as I was this evening!'
Disgraced? No one had paid especial attention to her gown. Could it have been that good manners forbade it, though? Would the comments and deprecations be passed around at tomorrow's inevitable coffee mornings? Gail, had never thought of that, and per-haps it was as well, for her discomfiture was great enough without the added anxiety of what the fashionable throng was thinking about her. It was her first important ball and the way she felt at present she hoped it would be a long while before she was forced to attend another.
'I'm sorry if you feel I disgraced you,' she began when he wrathfully cut her short. 'I don't feel, as you term it, I know! It was pure obstinacy on your part, for there's no reason at all why you shouldn't have worn a suitable gown-'
'You don't know if it was obstinacy,' she interrupted, having decided to tell him the truth and put an end to this painful scene. 'As a matter of fact- '
'I do know it was obstinacy,' he thundered. 'Because that's a trait of all women! '
Her eyes suddenly glinted. She forgot for a moment what he had suffered and remembered only the injustice of his treatment of her on so many occasions. She would not be made the scapegoat like this.
'You judge all women the same, then?' she asked, but gave him no opportunity to reply as she went on, her voice quivering with anger, her temper forming a hard little lump in her throat.
'You've not known me long enough to judge me, or to learn of any traits I possess, so don't be so quick to jump to conclusions! However, whether you choose to consider it obstinacy or not, I shall continue to wear what suits me, and if my choice doesn't happen to coincide with your ideas of what's correct, then that's just too bad!' An astounded silence followed. Up till now she had been so obliging and amenable that he had probably taken it for granted she did not possess a temper.
His own temper had died when at length he spoke, but his words had by no means lost their sting. 'Just let me give you some good advice, Gail. Don't run away with the idea that because Morag defies me you can do the same. She's ungovernable simply because she's immune to hurt. But you don't possess her insensibility; she's invulnerable-you're not. Flaunt my authority and you'll be hurt-hurt so you'll re-member it for a long while. Take the advice I'm offering,' he continued in a very soft tone, his blue eyes never leaving her face, 'and observe my wishes-because you'll find life more than a little unpleasant if you don't.'
His words were with her all night, because she scarcely slept. They revealed much- his complete understanding of both Morag's character and her own. Gail had asserted in her temper that he had not known her long enough to have become aware of any out-standing traits she possessed, but she now admitted she was wrong. He had stated firmly that she was vulnerable ... but did he know just how vulnerable? Gail herself was only just beginning to ask that question. The answer remained elusive, perhaps owing to Gail's continued shirking of any deep analysis of her feelings where Andrew was concerned.
One thing Gail did have to admit: Morag's sneering references to Gail's falling in love with her husband remained long after they were uttered detracting exceedingly from Gail's peace of mind.
The balmy April spring melted imperceptibly into the glory of May, and the danger of any real inclemency in the weather was passed. The atmosphere within the house was, however, still fraught with icy tension, and Gail actually experienced a certain relief when Andrew announced his intention of spending a fortnight on his estate further north.
It was during his absence that she met Robin Sheldon, a stocky but handsome young man whose parents had sold their business in England and made an early retirement, coming to live in a pretty little cottage nestling in the hills above the village. Mrs. Sheldon was a Scot from Perth and Robin himself had been working in that city for some time, living with an aunt and going home to his parents only in holiday times. He had met Gail on the road when, having a flat tyre, Gail had done the obvious feminine thing-stood looking helplessly at her wheel, but with one eye expectantly on all passing cars as she awaited the inevitable chivalrous driver who would come to her aid.
'What's up?' Robin had asked after steering his car on to the verge. - 'A puncture. I suppose I should be able to change the wheel, but--'
She smiled at him and within minutes he was changing the wheel for her, glancing up now and then to admire her lovely slender figure and the rare beauty of her face. 'There! Done in a crack!'
'Thank you very much,' she said gratefully. 'I must get my husband or someone to show me what to do, just in case I have another puncture some time.'
'Husband?' He glanced at her left hand. 'Oh, well, it's just my luck,' he said good-humouredly, and Gail laughed. They met again as Gail and the children came out of church the following Sunday. 'Are these your children?' he asked after he and Gail had smilingly greeted one another.
'They're my stepchildren-Robbie and Shena.'
He looked curiously at her. 'Where do you live?'
She pointed to the great mansion high on the hill. 'That's my home.'
'Dunlochrie House....' Again he looked curiously at her. 'There's another girl,' he said slowly, and Gail nodded, aware that he knew all about Morag and her wild escapades. Her heart went out to her husband.
How he must deplore the publicity! Deep contrition swept over her; bitterly she regretted that scene, caused entirely by her own disinclination to provide Andrew with a reason for her disregard of his request that she wear a sleeveless evening gown. She should not have caused him unnecessary annoyance and added hurt. Hurt? Could he be hurt? she wondered, and suddenly recalled her conviction that a heart did in fact beat beneath that armour of hard inflexibility. The moment he returned, she decided, she would tell him about the accident, and the scars she carried on her body. He would understand then, and readily forgive her.
'Is Morag home at present?' inquired Robin as they walked together out of the churchyard to where both their cars were parked.
'Yes, she's at home.' The brief answer warned him that Gail was not inclined to discuss the recalcitrant daughter of the Laird of Dunlochrie, and yet he added, 'She goes away quite a lot, I understand?'
'She has many friends; naturally she visits them. It's quiet here for a young girl.'
'She should be at school still.' They had reached Gail's car and the children were already getting into the back seat. Gail looked straight at him. 'That's her father's affair. I never discuss such things with anyone.' He shrugged, looking up to the big house, stately and impressive in the light of the brilliant May morning. Silhouetted against the blue sky, away in the far distance, was the herd of roe deer, grazing on the heather-clad ridge, with along to the left the silver ribbon of a tumbling burn as it sped on its way to join the valley of the Tilt.
'Your husband doesn't come to church?' he said as if in an effort to delay her as she slid into the car. 'He's away at present, b
ut he usually comes to church with us.' She closed the door but let the window down. 'I haven't seen you at church before.' Robin grimaced.
'I don't come often. Only did it this morning because it was something to do. One becomes bored around here.'
'Your parents like it, though?'
'Mother's a Scot; she always intended retiring to this particular village. She was born hereabouts, but her parents moved to Perth when she was small. They often visited their friends and Mother grew to love this district.' Gail pressed the starter. 'I could do with some fishing,' he said with strange urgency. 'Can I come up to the loch?'
'The loch? I don't know if my husband allows it.'
'You don't know?' He raised his brows . .. and again she saw that curious look appear on his handsome face. But all he said was, 'I've heard he does allow fishing in the loch. Shall I come up and see his factor?'
She was in a quandary, not having heard anything of this permission of which Robin spoke.
'I suppose there isn't any reason why you shouldn't see Mr. Sinclair.' 'Fine. I'll be up this afternoon. See you later,' he added quickly as Gail let in the clutch. She said good-bye and drove away, a strange uneasiness enveloping her and remaining undispelled even by the incessant chatter of the children. Robin appeared at two o'clock. Mrs. Birchan opened the door and he asked for Gail. The housekeeper showed him into the sitting-room where Gail was putting on Robbie's coat and scarf.
'Oh....' She was taken aback. 'You want to see Mr. Sinclair. I'll send for him.' Mrs. Birchan had gone and Gail rang the bell. One of the maids came and Gail asked her to fetch the estate manager. 'You're going out?' Robin took possession of the chair Gail indicated as she invited him to sit down.
'We always go for a ramble on Sunday afternoons,' put in Robbie before she could answer. 'Daddy comes too, but he isn't here today. Do you want to come with us?'
The young man glanced at Gail before speaking to Robbie.
'Would you like me to?'
'Yes' Robbie also glanced at Gail. 'If Mummy wants you to.'
'Mr. Sheldon has come to do some fishing,' said Gail with undue haste, turning her head as Sinclair entered the room. She introduced him to Robin, who then made his request.
'Mummy, I can't find my gloves.' Shena already had on her outdoor clothes-a bright red coat and hat, both trimmed with fur. 'I put them in my pocket, but they're not there now.'
'They're on the hall table,' Gail told her, and she ran from the room to fetch them. Sinclair had requested Robin to follow him to his office and reluctantly he also left the room, smiling at Gail as he passed her.
The permission was granted and as Gail and the children came out of the house Robin was taking his fishing tackle from the car, which he had driven on to the forecourt.
'The loch's some distance from here,' Gail told him. 'You'd better take the car; the road goes quite close to the loch.'
'The walk will do me good.' He paused uncertainly. 'You don't mind if I come with you?' A small hesitation and then, 'I hadn't decided to go that way.'
'Oh, but we nearly always go to the loch,' interposed Robbie eagerly. 'I'd like to go there, and we can see Mr. Sheldon catch some fish.'
Bank fishing was not allowed; Gail had heard that mentioned one day when Andew was on the phone, but at the time she had not been particularly interested and, therefore, had not asked about it. 'You won't see him catch any fish, Robbie, because he'll be in the boat.'
'Well, let's walk with Mr. Sheldon,' persisted Robbie. 'And we can see him getting into the boat.'
'Yes, let's,' put in Shena, but still Gail hesitated: Why had her uneasiness returned? There was no accounting for it, and presently, she shook it off, smiling at Shena and agreeing to walk with Robin to the loch.
CHAPTER SIX
THEY left Robin at the loch and rambled as usual over the grouse moors towards the burn. With the mildness of the spring new growth was appearing all around, while on the lower arable land which constituted only a minute portion of the vast estate the tender green shoots of barley and rye made a carpet of velvet that would surely attract the deer before very long. Gunshots in the air would scare them on to the higher hill grazing where the food was less delectable but the situation far more safe.
The hills and glens and tumbling burns, the stark crags of the mountains and wild solitude of the moors, the cry of a grouse or trill of a ring-ouzel at dawn ... all had contributed to the spell which Gail's new environment had cast upon her. She loved the frosty mornings when the air intoxicated, the warm afternoons when the pale yellow sunlight softened the peaks and sprayed shadows into the glens; she loved the silence and the shade of gloaming and the clear, star-spangled sky at night. She had been lucky, Sinclair told her, for this particular year was exceptional. Wait until we had a real hard spring, he had warned ... and as for the severity of winter in the Highlands....
But Gail was not alarmed, nor even remotely troubled; in England each season had held its own particular charms for her and she had no doubts that the same would happen here. 'Mummy ... hush, there are some baby foxes playing down there, by that cairn. Can you see them?'
'Yes.' They all stopped and Gail wished she had a stalking-glass. For the vixen and her cubs were a long way off and all that could be discerned was the rich red streak of the mother and the two darker bundles of fur that were her cubs. 'We must tell Daddy and then he can have them shot.' Shena put a warm little gloved hand in Gail's as she spoke and Gail frowned momentarily. The cubs looked so very sweet.
'I'll bet that vixen had the lamb Meredith found near another cairn,' said Robbie, squatting down as if for a more productive view. 'I heard him telling Daddy that a vixen had moved her den when the terriers killed two of her cubs. Meredith was out all night trying to find the new den, and he was so cold and wet when he did come in!'
Gail heaved a deep sigh. This was the harsh reality of the Scottish Highlands. A dog or vixen in their dire need to rear their cubs would often resort to killing lambs and there was nothing to be done except keep their numbers down. There was no danger of the foxes disappearing altogether, Andrew had assured her, but, looking down to where the enchanting little creatures frolicked, all oblivious of their probable fate, she de-rived scant satisfaction from her husband's words.
'It's getting dark,' said Robbie suddenly. 'I think it's going to rain.' Rain was certainly in the air now; the heights of Ben-y-Gloe and the neighbouring mountains were becoming indeterminate in the oncoming shadows cast by the low and scudding clouds.
'We must go back,' decided Gail at once, with a quick thought for Robin who was probably still in the middle of the loch. Mrs. Davis's car was on the forecourt as they reached the house; she and Morag were having tea by the fire in the small sitting-room where a log fire burned cheer-fully in the grate, its high flames complementing the light given off by the rose-shaded standard lamp in the corner of the room.
The two stopped talking abruptly as Gail and the children entered, all their faces flushed and shining from their brisk walk which had been necessary to beat -the rain. On entering the hall both children had slipped their hands into those of Gail, and their grand-mother noticed this as they all three stood there, Gail's face portraying faint inquiry and surprise. 'I'm sorry we were out,' she murmured apologetically. 'You don't usually call on Sundays.'
'Not when Andrew's at home, no.' The familiar disdainful glance for Gail and a smile for the children and then, 'He likes his weekends to himself.' The words implied much more than was said- unsociableness, for one thing-but Gail offered no excuse for her husband's natural desire for privacy and relaxation after five exhausting days spent on the estate. -'If you'd rung,' she said, unbuttoning Shena's coat, 'I'd not have taken the children out.'
'We've been quite cosy, here on our own.' In Morag's hard eyes was a strange mingling of interest and curiosity, but it was not until the departure of Mrs. Davis half an hour later that Gail learned the reason for it. The children had gone to wash their hands before tea and Gail wa
s sitting by the fire, having rung for the maid and told her they were ready. Normally Gail made the children's tea herself, but on Sunday she must have a rest, Andrew had said in one of his rare moments of armour-free concern for her. 'Who's your boyfriend?' asked Morag as soon as the door closed behind the maid.
Gail glanced up haughtily. 'I'm afraid I don't understand?'
'Is he the one who bought you the flowers?' Reaching for the solitary sandwich remaining on the plate, Morag bit into it, impervious to the frigidity of the atmosphere resulting from her first question.
'I've known Mr. Sheldon only a few days!'
'Then he must be a fast worker, coming to call on you like that-oh, yes, I saw him, and watched you go off walking with him.' She nibbled at the bread and added, 'Do you have clandestine meetings? I rather think that must be fun,' she went on, diverted.
'Hmm....' Morag looked reflectively into the fire. 'Maybe I shall decide to marry after all because it must be exciting having someone to pit your wits against. Yes, a husband would provide the barrier it would be daring to scale. One would have a sense of achievement, of victory!' Gail's eyes flicked her contemptuously, but Morag only laughed, throwing the bread back on to the plate so carelessly that it went on to the floor.
She made no attempt to pick it up as she said, 'You'll be in trouble if Father finds out about your boyfriend because he'll conclude that history's repeating itself. Mother had men-friends-but you know that.' Revulsion sweeping over her, Gail rose and left the room, going along to the kitchen to inform the maid that they would be having their tea in the snug.