‘How did it go? Oh, Jeanie, isn’t he gorgeous? I watched you go out through the entrance with the field glasses—I imagine half the village did. Six hours you were out. Six hours by yourself with the man! And the amount he’s given Dougal for the Mary-Jane, and what he’s paying Mam and her friends... Jeanie, what are you doing not being in bed with your husband right now?’
She took a deep breath at that. ‘He’s not my real husband,’ she managed but Maggie snorted.
‘You could have fooled me. And Mam says he was just lovely on the phone and he’s thanked her for the sponge cake and the brownies as though she wasn’t even paid for them, and he’s organised her to go back tomorrow and he says he’s taking you to see otters. Otters! You know the old cottage down by the Craigie Burn? There’s otters down there, I’m sure of it. You could light a fire and—’
‘Maggie!’
‘It’s just a suggestion. Jeanie, you married the man and if you aren’t in bed with him already you should be. Oh, Jeanie, I know he’s not like Alan, I know it.’
‘You’ve hardly met him.’
‘The way he said his vows...’
‘We were both lying and you know it.’
‘I don’t know it,’ Maggie said stoutly. ‘You went home last night, didn’t you? One night married, three hundred and sixty-four to go—or should I multiply that by fifty years? Jeanie, do yourself a favour and go for it. Go for him.’
‘Why would I?’
There was a moment’s silence while Maggie collected her answer. One of the guest’s cars was approaching. Jeanie could see it through the kitchen window. She took a plate and started arranging brownies. This was her job, she told herself. Her life.
‘Because he can afford—’ Maggie started but Jeanie cut her off before she could finish.
‘He can afford anything he wants,’ she conceded. ‘But that’s thanks to me. I told you how Eileen’s will works. He gets to keep his fortune and I...I get to keep my independence. That’s the way I want it, Maggie, and that’s the way it’s going to be.’
‘But you will go to see the otters tomorrow?’
‘Yes,’ she said, sounding goaded. Which was how she felt, she conceded. She’d been backed into a corner, and she wasn’t at all sure she could extricate herself.
By keeping busy, she told herself, taking the brownies off the plate and rearranging them more...artistically.
One day down, three hundred and sixty-four to go.
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