by Anne Douglas
‘Could just be offices now,’ said Norma doubtfully. ‘I think I’d rather see the pretty houses in the High Street.’
‘Why don’t we split up, then, and meet for lunch?’ asked Roz. ‘There’s a nice-looking café over there.’
It was agreed that they should do that, and while Tim went looking for ideas for his own paintings, Roz and Norma enjoyed themselves walking in the wide High Street, soaking up the atmosphere, admiring the houses and closes, particularly Greengate, where the exquisite book illustrator, Jessie M. King, had lived with her husband until her recent death.
Jessie came from Glasgow, Roz had read, and had arrived in Kirkcudbright around the same time as the so-called Glasgow Boys, one of whom was the well-known E.A. Hornel, whose home and beautiful garden – Broughton House – was open to visitors. After lunch, Roz told Norma she would like to look round it and also see one of the museums, but again, Tim had other ideas.
‘I’d rather go to the harbour, if you don’t mind. They say it’s one of the best around here, and I might sketch a few boats. But you go ahead with what you want, girls. Don’t mind me.’
‘Maybe I’ll go with Tim,’ Norma said apologetically. ‘I’d really like to see the sea.’
‘Fine,’ Roz agreed, happy to let them do what they wanted. ‘I’ll see you back at the coach, then.’
She would be better off on her own, anyway, she decided: able to choose just what she wanted to see without worrying about Norma. So it proved, and having done the tour of Broughton House, which she found fascinating, she spent some time looking round the little art shops and galleries where she bought small gifts for Flo and Chrissie, before heading towards one of the museums.
Inside, there were so many paintings to see, so many collections to study, that by late afternoon she was so exhausted all she wanted to do was find somewhere to sit down and have a cup of tea. Is there a café? she asked an assistant and, having been told there was, heaved a sigh of relief and made for it, only to find it crowded, every table taken.
Oh no, she groaned and was standing hovering in the doorway when a waitress beckoned her to a table where one young man was sitting alone.
‘Mind if this young lady sits here, sir?’ the girl asked brightly, at which the solitary male rose to his feet.
‘Not at all.’ A pair of blue eyes went at once to Roz, who was feeling at something of a disadvantage, sure that her face was flushed and shiny and her hair untidy, but she managed a grateful smile as she moved to the table.
‘Please, do sit down,’ said the young man, now coming round to set a chair for her. ‘May I help you with your packages?’
Heavens, how polite!
Covertly, she studied him as he helped to place her paper bags of presents, guidebook and spare cardigan on a vacant chair, noting that he was handsome in a low-key sort of way. Short fair hair, face rather long, nose very straight, all sort of a match to his accent, which was English – the sort you heard in British films, though there was nothing of the actor about this particular chap. Very genuine, she judged him to be, in his shabby tweeds and striped tie; probably better off than he appeared. He wasn’t worrying about how he looked, anyway.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, pushing back her hair and taking her seat opposite him, ‘this is very kind.’
‘Only too happy to help, but here’s the waitress to take your order.’
‘Tea and a buttered scone, please,’ Roz told her.
‘And cakes? We have a nice selection of fancies – or there’s Madeira. No Dundee at the moment, I’m afraid.’
‘Er – fancies, then.’ How silly the name sounded, thought Roz, aware now that her flush was deepening under the young man’s blue gaze, and wishing he would look away.
‘And another pot of tea, please,’ he told the waitress as she cleared away his cup and plate. When they were alone, he gave Roz a charming smile. ‘A warm day, isn’t it? Makes one thirsty. Thank God for the Scottish tea room, I always say.’
‘Oh, so do I,’ Roz agreed and, under the influence of the smile, gradually began to relax, and feel ready to talk.
Forty-One
‘Tiring work, going round museums,’ the fair-haired young man remarked. ‘I suppose you’ve just been round this one?’
‘Yes. I enjoyed it, but we’re over from Edinburgh. It’s been a long day, really. So much to see.’
‘I’m from Edinburgh, too, or at least only a few miles away. Did you drive over?’
‘No, I’m with an art class – we came by coach. Our teacher wanted us to see what the artists found to make them come here to paint.’
‘And did you?’
‘I think so. Partly the light – seems so different from a city – and then it’s all so open and airy, being on the sea and with the lovely hills around.’
‘I agree. This is one of my favourite places. I’ve got a few paintings by the Glasgow Boys myself. Give me a lot of pleasure, though I’ve just sold one, as a matter of fact.’
‘Sold one?’ Roz’s eyes were wide, then she looked down, embarrassed that she’d seemed to query his decision. Nothing to do with her, was it? It was a relief to see the waitress back at their table with her loaded tray.
‘Now, a scone for you, miss, wasn’t it? I’ve brought you butter and jam, and tea, with a separate pot for the gentleman. Oh, and I’ll leave the fancies for you to choose one when you’re ready.’
‘Thank you very much,’ Roz said, finally having to look up, but still not meeting the young man’s eyes as he murmured his thanks to the waitress and poured his tea.
‘Yes, it’s a wrench,’ he said, appearing not to notice her confusion. ‘But I thought it should be here, as it was painted here, and the museum was very happy to have it. Also, it means more people will see it.’
‘Oh, yes, that’s true,’ Roz agreed eagerly. ‘I’m all for lovely things being seen by as many as possible.’
‘True, but don’t you think there’s a case for certain works of art being seen in private houses, too? I mean, if they’re right for the setting.’
‘Then they wouldn’t be seen by as many people, would they?’
‘Unless the public were to visit?’
‘You mean as in stately homes? I haven’t much experience of them, though I do work with houses.’
‘You work with houses?’ His interest was clear as he drank his tea.
‘I’m an assistant in a lawyers’ property department in Edinburgh.’
‘Sounds fascinating.’ He laughed a little. ‘Selling dreams, then.’
‘That’s one way of putting it.’
‘Well, isn’t it everyone’s dream to own the perfect property?’
‘If they can afford one at all. There are plenty who can’t.’
‘I know,’ he said quietly, and for a little while they were silent, Roz finishing her scone and he his tea.
‘Mind if I ask which lawyers?’ he said eventually. ‘Might be mine.’
‘Tarrel and Thom’s in Queen Street.’
‘Good Lord!’ His eyes were bright. ‘They are! What a coincidence. This calls for a celebration – have one of your fancies!’
‘How about you?’
‘I haven’t a sweet tooth, but if you press me – why not?’
It was a strangely happy shared moment between them as they took their little cakes and laughed as they ate. How quickly her unease had faded, Roz was thinking as her eyes met his. How soon he’d appeared no longer a stranger, yet she didn’t know him from Adam and after this meeting over tea would probably never see him again.
‘I’ve never seen you at Tarrel’s,’ she remarked. ‘Which partner do you see?’
‘Oh, Mr Banks, the odd time I venture in, but I haven’t been to see him for some time.’
The young man leaned forward, his eyes very direct on Roz. ‘Look here, this is absurd – we’ve been talking all this time and we don’t know each other’s names. I’m Laurence Carmichael.’ He held his hand across the table and Roz, aft
er a moment, shook it.
‘I’m Roz Rainey.’
For a second or two longer than was necessary he held her hand, then let it go.
‘Miss Rainey, I’m very glad we’ve met.’
‘Me, too.’
Carmichael, Roz was thinking – there was something familiar about the name. Had she heard it at Tarrel’s? She couldn’t be sure. Suddenly, she looked at her wrist watch and gave a little cry.
‘Help! I think I’ve got to go. We have to meet in the car park in half an hour. Where’s the waitress? I’d better get my bill.’
‘I’ll get the bill.’ Laurence Carmichael stood up, his eyes searching the café for their girl. ‘But couldn’t I drive you back to Edinburgh? I have my car.’
‘Oh, thank you, that’s very kind, but I think I’d better go back with the others. Our teacher will be checking us all into the coach.’
‘It would have been no trouble, but I understand.’
Roz hesitated. ‘And it’s really nice of you to offer to pay for my tea, but there’s no need. I mean, why should you?’
‘Why shouldn’t I? I feel we’re already friends.’
As their waitress came hurrying up with her notebook, Laurence looked down at Roz, his gaze serious.
‘I’d like to, anyway.’
‘Oh, well, thank you,’ she murmured, gathering up her packages. ‘Now, I’d better go. It was very nice, talking to you.’
‘Hang on, I’ll just pay this and then I’ll walk with you to the car park. I have to collect my car.’
Saying that would be fine, Roz was already wondering what Norma would say when she saw Roz arriving with this tall stranger in tweeds. ‘Where’d he come from?’ she was bound to ask, and if Roz had to tell her they’d met over tea in a café, she’d put on one of her funny looks and think Roz had been some sort of pick-up.
Perhaps that was true, but when she glanced up at the man walking by her side, pulling on a tweed cap and smiling down at her, she knew it wasn’t. To use her mother’s phrase about Richard Vincent, Laurence was what Richard was not, a ‘perfect gentleman’. Even on their short acquaintance, Roz knew she could trust him, and that was the difference between him and another man, wasn’t it? But Roz would not think of that one.
‘There’s the coach in the car park now,’ she said quickly. ‘Thank you for coming with me.’
He smiled and put out his hand. ‘Well, it’s been good to meet you, Miss Rainey. Perhaps we’ll meet again. If I come into Tarrel’s, I’ll be sure to look out for you.’
‘Please do,’ she said politely, shaking his hand. As she began to walk away, she looked back and waved. ‘Thanks again for the tea.’
‘My pleasure, Miss Rainey.’
She did not look back again.
Mrs Burr and a number of her students were already milling round the coach as Roz arrived, and amongst these were Norma and Tim.
‘Who was that fellow you were with just now?’ Norma asked at once, as Roz had known she would.
‘Just one of our clients. We met in the museum café.’
‘I don’t remember him. Who does he see?’
‘Mr Banks, but he doesn’t come in much.’
‘What’s his name, then?’
‘Mr Carmichael.’
Norma wrinkled her brow. ‘Seems familiar.’
‘Look, can we get on the coach now?’ Tim asked impatiently. ‘What does this client matter, anyway?’
Nothing at all, thought Roz, as she followed Norma and Tim on to the coach once Mrs Burr had ticked off their names on her list. Except that she had enjoyed meeting Mr Carmichael and did wonder if she might see him again. It was possible, wasn’t it? Better not count on it, though. As though she would! Why, she wasn’t looking for any kind of new relationship. She’d burnt her fingers once and that was enough. All the same, it had been very pleasant talking to him. Even if she never saw him again, she would remember that.
Forty-Two
In the days that followed her meeting with Laurence Carmichael, Roz continued to wonder who he was and why his name seemed familiar, but she knew she couldn’t ask Mr Banks, who would not take kindly to enquiries about his client. Why the interest? she asked herself, and wasn’t sure. Just curiosity, perhaps, or more that he’d been very nice to talk to and she might like to meet him again? Pointless, anyway, thinking about him, because he hadn’t come into Tarrel’s and it seemed it was unlikely there’d be any more meetings. Probably he was the sort of client who never needed to visit his lawyer more than once in a blue moon, and as June succeeded May and the summer weather sparked off interest in property buying and selling, Roz became too busy to think of anything but work.
‘Just the way I like it,’ Mr Appin commented on their increased business. ‘Our figures are going to break records at this rate.’
‘I like to be busy too,’ said Roz. ‘But you mustn’t forget your summer leave, Mr Appin.’
‘September will do for Pattie and me. No kiddies with school holidays to worry about, you see.’ He gave a self-conscious smile. ‘Though, of course, we hope that won’t always be the case.’
‘Oh? Does that mean …?’ Roz was looking interested.
‘Nothing on the horizon at the moment,’ he said hastily. ‘As I say, we’re just hoping. But what about a holiday for you, Miss Rainey? You know what they say about all work and no play?’
She laughed. ‘Oh, I don’t forget to play sometimes, Mr Appin. As we’re so busy, I’ll be happy with a break in the autumn when you come back.’
He looked at her thoughtfully and she knew just what was in his mind. Attractive girl, only seems to think about work in spite of saying she likes to let her hair down – why hasn’t she got a young man? At least no one had told him about her affair with his predecessor, though they could only have had their suspicions, apart from Norma and Mr Wray, and they wouldn’t say anything. It was all in the past now, and if she did seem to prefer work to having a young man, that was her business. Mr Appin was far too tactful ever to question her private life, anyway, and for that she was truly grateful.
‘Coffee time!’ she announced now. ‘I think we could do with it – we’ve a lot on this morning.’
But before she could depart to make it, the door opened and Mr Banks himself came in, causing Roz and Mr Appin to exchange glances, each thinking, what could he want? Must be something important.
‘Had a good holiday, Mr Banks?’ asked Mr Appin, for the senior partner had recently taken a few days in Bamburgh. ‘You’re looking well.’
‘Excellent holiday, thanks.’ Mr Banks, who was indeed looking unusually tanned, gave a beaming smile. ‘And I found some interesting news waiting for me on my return.’
‘Oh?’ Mr Appin pushed forward one of the leather chairs. ‘Won’t you take a seat?’
‘No, no, I shan’t stay long – I’ve a mountain of work to get through. I just wanted to advise you both that a significant property will be coming on to the market shortly and is to be sold through Tarrel and Thom’s.’
‘Sounds good. Which one is it?’
‘A house called Bellfields. A Georgian place a few miles from Edinburgh, off the Galashiels road. You may not know it, Mr Appin, but Miss Rainey will, I’m sure?’
‘Oh, yes, Mr Banks. At least, I’ve heard about it but I’ve never seen it.’
‘It’s only open a couple of times in the summer – not one of your tea room and gift shop sort of places. But now it’s coming on the market and we’re the sole agents.’ Mr Banks’s smile was now showing his satisfaction even more. ‘Of course, it’s only to be expected – the Carmichaels have been clients of ours for generations. I remember Laurence Carmichael’s father consulting my father – keeping up the tradition, you understand, but I’m glad there’s been no question of calling in one of these smart London agents. It’s a Scottish house and should be sold by Scottish lawyers.’
‘Did you say Carmichael?’ Roz asked, her thoughts in turmoil. ‘It’s Mr Laurence Carmichael who owns B
ellfields?’
‘Yes, yes, exactly so,’ snapped Mr Banks, annoyed at being interrupted. ‘I thought I’d made that clear!’
‘I know, sir, I’m sorry. It’s just that I met Mr Carmichael not long ago and he never mentioned Bellfields.’
‘You met him? Where?’
‘It was in Kirkcudbright. I’d gone there with my art class and he had been to the same museum I’d been visiting.’ Roz was now blushing hard. ‘I think he’d just sold a painting to the musuem.’
‘I see.’ Mr Banks and Mr Appin were both staring at Roz as though amazed at this insight into her life outside Tarrel’s, and perhaps also at her little piece of information about Mr Carmichael – something she was already regretting having mentioned.
‘Poor fellow,’ Mr Banks said, ‘he’s had to part with quite a number of assets lately to try to avoid selling the house, but it looks as though he’s lost the battle.’
‘I should have thought he’d have rents and so on from his land,’ Mr Appin remarked. ‘He must have tenants, surely?’
‘Very few now. I’m afraid we sold a good deal of the land for his father years ago, and that wasn’t the first time land had been sold.’ Mr Banks sighed, then brightened. ‘Well, if it has to go, it’s good that Bellfields will be sold by us. And that’s why I wanted to speak to you, Mr Appin. We must make the best showing we can for this sale. There’s to be no auction, but plenty of advertising, the price to be made on application only. I want special brochures printed and interior photographs taken by the usual professional fellow we employ – what’s his name, again?’
‘Reginald MacEwan,’ said Roz. ‘He does the exterior shots of houses while we usually do the interiors.’
‘As I say, no disrespect to you or Mr Appin, but I’d like him to be booked to do all the photography for Bellfields. Mr Carmichael is relying on us to do a good job for him – we must not let him down.’
‘Certainly not, Mr Banks, we’ll do our very best,’ Mr Appin said at once. ‘You can be sure of that.’