‘Just one,’ Maggie sighed exasperatedly. ‘It’s not hers.’
The green eyes narrowed. ‘You say it’s a good animal?’
‘First class. He’s a pure-bred Connemara, rising four. He’d fetch three-fifty without trouble.’ Foals of nine months made up to three hundred these days. It was a seller’s market and the price rise had been phenomenal. Charles had bought Cream Cracker three years ago at the Clifden Horse Fair for under fifty pounds.
But Angus MacAllan seemed to have lost interest. ‘It’s a lot of money,’ he remarked, and swung the car door open. ‘I won’t keep you,’ he added pointedly. ‘I expect I’ll see you again quite soon.’
She waved an arm uncertainly after the car and went inside. True to his word he had left a small pile of coins beside the telephone.
It was now well after six and into cheap rate time. Maggie considered. ‘Are you starving, Kelly? I must make a phone call. How’s this for starters?’ She whisked open one of Mrs. Noah’s cupboards. ‘One grapefruit and orange coming up as soon as you pass me the tin-opener!’
The line to Edinburgh was clear and Derek was at home and answered the phone himself. ‘Derek, you’ll never guess!’ It was a long time since she’d felt so excited. ‘I had to ring straightaway. Mr. Micawber’s done it! He’s made something turn up.’
‘Another job, do you mean?’ His voice had an edge to it. ‘I don’t like the sound of that. You haven’t said you’ll take it?’
‘I have.’
‘It’s too quick, Maggie. I thought we’d decided you wouldn’t rush into anything till I...’
Fun while it lasted, but unfair to prolong it. She stopped teasing and told him what had happened. It was received in the last way she’d anticipated. Silence. Not a sound. He could have been holding his breath.
‘Are you there?’ she asked, puzzled. ‘Is the line all right?’
‘Of course.’
‘I thought when you didn’t say anything,’ her voice went sharp. ‘You are pleased, aren’t you?’
‘Pleased? You know I’m pleased.’ The warmth in his left no possible margin for doubt. ‘It’s my plan, after all. I saw it first.’
‘You did, bless you,’ Maggie conceded softly. She was full up and that was the size of it. ‘Oh, Derek, I know how fed up you were on Sunday. So thanks for still wanting me. I half thought you mightn’t.’
What had brought that tense moment of silence? It had been more than natural astonishment. It was almost as though Derek was having to think his way. As though, nonsensical as it seemed, something had taken him by surprise. And besides this, no message from him since Sunday had begun to be unnerving. Or was she being unfair?
‘Because I wasn’t in touch? Sorry about that.’ The gentle chide in his voice indicated that he thought she was. ‘I’ve been quite busy oiling Mr. Micawber’s wheels.’
‘W-what?’
‘Never mind. If I told you you might sweep out again.’ It still seemed like word-bandying. Whatever was in his mind it was going to stay there.
Maggie hastened to reassure him. ‘Not this time. Troy needs me. Her present manager won’t stay on. He’s got a better job.’ A sound quickly suppressed came across the line. ‘Did you say something?’ she asked, halting.
Not a thing, he assured her too blandly. It was an intonation that in the nicest possible way she distrusted. Especially as it was now evident that he was hugging himself with glee.
‘Then what did you mean about Mr. Micawber? You might as well tell me. I’ll find out.’
‘I doubt it,’ he drawled. ‘You don’t have my connections.’ Further enquiry produced a light chuckle. ‘Who’s paying for this call? You are? Right then, it’s one of my lines. There’s more to security these days than selling locks and bolts. We sell jobs too and the people for them. Are you with me?’
‘You mean—this job Mac’s going to—you got it for him?’
‘ “I, said the sparrow, with my bow and arrow.” ’
‘So that’s what you meant...’ It was clear at last. He had set the wheels in motion, waited and hoped. At the beginning of the conversation he had not been sure what he was going to hear. That must have been why he had fenced, why it had almost seemed that she herself was giving him the words to use. ‘Why didn’t you say? Weren’t you going to tell me?’
‘Not if you hadn’t guessed,’ he admitted. ‘You see, I don’t particularly need a reputation for double-dealing.’
‘Derek!’ Compunction filled her. ‘I’m sorry. That was obtuse. I hadn’t thought.’ A ‘goodie’ to his fingertips, he even bore a physical resemblance to the great St. Michael bronze on the wall of Coventry Cathedral. Innocent as this small plot had been, she knew how it must have gone against the grain. ‘You must have hated it and you gave Troy some bad moments. You can’t have liked that either.’
‘I didn’t. It was—a question of values.’
Her first impulse was to back away. He was so good, she could never quite forget that bronze angel he resembled. ‘Don’t rate me too high. I don’t deserve it.’
‘I couldn’t,’ he said simply. ‘You say Troy needs you. I need you far more.’ Let him know the arrangements, he went on, and he would meet the plane. ‘I insist,’ he concluded as yet another set of pips metered the conversation. ‘Ring me or wire me. I’ll be there.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Far from objecting to her assistant’s departure at such short notice, Phyllida’s only anxiety seemed to be that she would change her mind.
‘You can’t wait to get rid of me,’ Maggie accused as the car sped out to the airport on Tuesday morning.
‘That’s right,’ her employer returned. ‘And neither can I wait to hear you’ve got that ring on your finger. Remember that, my girl, and don’t let me down.’
Phyl meant well, but her words had the same effect as central heating turned too high. No man, Maggie knew, could be better to her than Derek, she was indebted to him at every turn. Ungrateful, perhaps, but to be really happy she needed to give as well as take.
Meantime she had thought enough about herself. Kelly this morning was like a little ghost. Some weeks ago in the Children’s Department, Maggie had been charmed by that waisted navy blue coat with milk white collar and pocket cuffs; today it was cruel to the heavy-eyed little face above it. But then, as she well knew, those eyes had still been open at one o’clock this morning, open and swollen. There had not been time for another farewell to Cream Cracker before setting out. Had there been Maggie could not have borne it.
Now Kelly sat in the jet’s jade and scarlet fauteuil, her eyes bent down obediently on the green jigsaw of Argyll but obviously seeing only one thing—a round-bellied dun pony with hair in its eyes.
In the terminal building the usual sea of faces surrounded the exits from customs. Derek was normally one who stood out in a crowd. Today he did not. Instead the public address system crackled into speech:
‘Will Miss Campbell, passenger from Dublin, please go to the information desk. Miss Campbell, please, to the information desk.’
The waiting figure in tweed jacket and cavalry twills had a look of old-time expensive bulk. A pace or two brought detail—herringbone in the jacket weave, Tattersall checks in the creamy shirt, a red tie, shaped chestnut sideboards and a pair of rocklike green eyes. These had now spotted her. ‘Hullo,’ the deep voice clipped. ‘You’re late.’
‘Mr. MacAllan! I was expecting Derek.’
‘I know. He had to go out of town. Since I was in Edinburgh overnight he asked me to meet you and take you up.’ This was dreadful. This was the man she wanted to avoid and who wanted to avoid her. ‘I’m sorry. He shouldn’t have done that. We could have gone by train.’
Before she’d finished came a tightlipped headshake. ‘You couldn’t,’ Angus MacAllan stated dogmatically.
‘Of course we could. I know Scotland. I lived here for twenty-three years.’
‘You could have lived here forty years for all I know,’ he returned dourly
. ‘It still won’t get you to Aberdeen as fast as my car can. So come on.’ A large hand closed on her case.
Did he really think she looked over forty? Maggie was ruffled. ‘I...’
‘Oh please, Miss Campbell, don’t argue.’ Brusqueness gave place to impatience. ‘Your predecessor finishes at Strathyre today. You have little enough time to take over from him, less if you delay me further. Hanging about for a train is just not on.’ He took a quick stride and checked. ‘You’d better go to the powder room before we start. It’s that way. Don’t be too long about it.’
Dearly as she would have liked to refuse, discretion seemed the better pan of valour. Maggie went, with all the dignity she could muster, to the door in question.
When they rejoined him, however, Angus MacAllan had thawed a little. In fact something perilously near a twinkle seemed to be lurking in his face. ‘Here we are,’ he said affably as they reached the car park, and slackened pace at a long black saloon starred on the nose by the same insignia which the silver coupe had sported. Two of them, Maggie thought faintly. It showed how many people went for MacAllan knitwear.
‘I must again apologise for our being foisted on you,’ she began awkwardly. ‘At the least it must be inconvenient.’
‘Not even that. I had an empty car,’ he returned indifferently. ‘And since all this panic was caused in the first place by your listening in to something I said I could hardly refuse.’
Maggie looked sharply at him.
‘Well, it was, wasn’t it?’ he challenged. ‘If you hadn’t stayed hidden in the summerhouse’ naturally you wouldn’t have heard a private conversation and I gather would have accepted the post there and then and been at Strathyre a week ago.’ Having to keep his eyes on the road gave him an unfair advantage. It might have been a robot speaking or a computer spitting out a conclusion of sterile accuracy.
‘I listened in to that conversation because I had no choice,’ Maggie stated coldly.
‘No choice?’
‘Your behaviour the day before when I was the innocent victim of a misunderstanding between Miss MacAllan and yourself was the last thing I could have taken again.’
‘Are you trying to say you’re afraid of me?’
‘At that moment—yes.’
If she had expected an apology it was not forthcoming. ‘Then you scare very easily,’ he pronounced. ‘Let’s hope you’re better with horses.’ There was a pause as he followed a line of traffic across an intersection. ‘I hoped our talk last week had put the record straight. Seemingly it didn’t, so I’ll say it again. I’ve dropped my objections. When I made them originally the position was not clear to me. It is now.’
‘Then—would you mind making it clear to me?’ she faltered.
‘Not in the least. I’ve known Derek Grant in business for a number of years and used his patrols when we’d special amounts at risk. He’s a sound man. As his fian—friend you would have been welcome to take that shower.’ A sidelong glance revealed that the full lips were twitching. ‘I’d just no idea you were connected with him. As a matter of fact I think the present arrangement ideal.’
‘You do?’
There was another slight pause. ‘Well, I hope I’m not talking out of turn, but after last night’s meeting with Derek—we ran into each other in the hotel where I was having a meal—I got the impression you wouldn’t be wanting the Strathyre job for long.’
‘I—er—’ Maggie’s voice died.
‘It’s all right. None of my business,’ Angus MacAllan affirmed. ‘But useful to know. I intend to persuade Troy to sell the stables. Your leaving could be a suitable deadline.’
‘Where is Tr—Miss MacAllan at the moment? Will I see her?’ Maggie was glad to change the subject. Again that inexplicable feeling of oppression had returned.
‘Not today. She was up in Bieldside last week. When I was away, of course.’ A ridge of colour crept along his cheekbones. ‘She fixed things up with Mac. You’ll take your briefing from him, not Troy. She doesn’t know the first thing about it, any more than my uncle did. That’s what makes it so aggravating. The stables have made a loss for years,’
His lack of sympathy in such circumstances went without saying. Someone in the past few years had boosted MacAllans of Aberdeen from good quality home-knit classics to haute couture and the jet set. With the firm’s two founders out of the business for just that time, it seemed obvious who was responsible. A cool head, Angus MacAllan, and with the self-assurance to make himself perfectly plain. He needed a person’s credentials before he accepted them. She owed her present position entirely to Derek’s good name and her prospective future as Derek’s wife.
‘Maggie,’ a small voice spoke from the back seat, ‘I think I must have left Zebedee in that place where we washed our hands.’
It was too much. ‘Oh no, Kelly, you can’t have! Try your pockets,’ Maggie bade.
‘I have. He’s not there.’ The little voice now held a heartrending quiver.
‘Well, don’t worry, darling. We’ll buy another.’ The thought had to be added: ‘Heaven knows where.’
‘I don’t want another. Another won’t be the same.’
‘Oh, Kelly!’ Maggie stopped, realising that something else had done so first. The big silk-smooth car had been braked and was reversing.
‘She’s quite right,’ the driver remarked severely. ‘Fancy anyone thinking you could buy a friend in a shop!’ Miraculously no one had taken a fancy to Zebedee in the meantime. He was lying beside one of the washbasins and Kelly claimed him joyously. She also made an effort to come to terms with life. ‘I know he’s not really a magician, but I am depending on him,’ she announced as Maggie hustled her into the car.
Angus MacAllan’s green eyes had been watching. ‘Why is that, Kelly?’ he asked. ‘Come and sit here and tell me about it. Maggie won’t mind going in the back.’
It was not that Maggie minded. She was just speechless with amazement. Kelly needed no second bidding; she was there in a flash and sat trustingly as careful fingers adjusted the seat belt to her slender waist.
‘What do you want Zebedee to do for you?’ Angus MacAllan repeated gently as they set off.
To Maggie’s discomfiture Kelly sent a fearful glance in her direction. ‘I want him to get me Cream Cracker, but I don’t know if he can or not.’
‘Oh, darling,’ Maggie could not keep back the cry of near despair, ‘I told you that was impossible.’ So she had, over and over again, with her own heart near to bursting. ‘You must forgive her, Mr. MacAllan. She was very attached to the pony. But she’ll be fine when we get to Strathyre.’
‘She will surely,’ he nodded gently. ‘In the meantime, Kelly, may I say something to you. It’s a difficult thing you’ve asked. I’m sure you know that.’ The small head with the now limp red ribbon nodded. ‘And a gey big one. Zebdee’s just a wee chap. He’ll maybe not be able to do it all. Do you know what I mean?’
To Maggie the occasional lapse into the Doric was disarming. Reserved no doubt for children. With them there was no risk in being familiar.
Each mile of the hundred and eighteen from Edinburgh to Aberdeen brought interest; Maggie’s personal road map began with the tall gates of the Zoological Park and Angus MacAllan’s dry: ‘You should be here, Kelly, when the penguins are allowed to go for a walk. Now and then they take them out of the front gate here and walk them in another gate.’
Next came the twisted streets of Queensferry, a slope mantled in roses and the tall red hill up which toy-sized traffic climbed to the road bridge. Angus had the bridge’s pedigree at his fingertips and gave it proudly as they drove a hundred and fifty feet above the Forth. ‘I’d a fondness for the old ferry myself,’ he admitted. ‘There’ll soon be no adventure left anywhere.’ He had made a point, he added, of taking Graham across by ferry before the bridge was opened. Of the Kingdom of Fyfe and its dairy farms he had this to say: ‘No one could say this wasn’t well farmed. That’s why the people here must get the benefit in th
e market.’ Maggie’s map would have shown cattle in rolling green pastures all along the dull red snake of the new motorway.
Kinrosshire was agricultural country. Its panorama flashed past in fields of cabbages, corn and sugarbeet. A flock of Cheviot sheep, strung out behind the leader, trotted briskly through high grass. There was a Van Gogh hayfield with a man in a blue shirt and another field where Angus called Kelly’s attention to a black rabbit streaking for cover. Forestry plantings appeared and brought further comment: ‘The Forestry Commission play a great part in Scotland. The further north you go the more you see of the Forestry Commission.’
The Tay bridge went out for two miles under and over blue, the odd man out a single red buoy. Dundee was a tall town with a green sward flounced in summer annuals and an intriguing street name, Sugarhouse Wynd.
‘Great country for raspberries,’ Angus MacAllan remarked as they approached Arbroath and saw through the empty O that crowned the abbey a sky greying over in the mist from the North Sea.
Less than an hour from Arbroath came the turn for Aberdeen. Tall clumps of heather—the first Maggie had seen—carpeted the banks. There was the sheen of water and beyond this, over on the left, the first grey suspicion of buildings.
‘Aberdeen,’ said Angus, pointing. ‘World famous as The Granite City. Noted for granite, fish and Aberdeen Angus cattle. Its motto is Bon Accord—Good Fellowship. I’m sure there’s a moral somewhere if I could think what it was.’
A startled glance from Maggie showed that again his mouth had quirked. ‘It’s kind of you to take this trouble,’ she said on impulse. ‘It’s Kelly’s first time to Scotland and you’ve shown her so much. I hope you’ll have no cause to complain of us as neighbours.’
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