everything you need?’
‘I think so.’ Isobel answered her last question first. ‘I’ve unpacked, and we’ve had supper, and we were just dawdling over our coffee. Would you like a cup? I can easily——’
‘Oh, no. No.’ Clare lifted her hand in denial, as if the very idea was anathema to her. ‘Colin and I have just got back from having supper with the Urquharts—Robert and Jessica Urquhart, that is—and I couldn’t drink another drop.’ She gave a rather girlish giggle. ‘They’re such a lovely couple. He’s the local sheriff.’
‘I see.’
Isobel nodded, and, as if realising she was being rather indiscreet, Clare glanced about her. ‘I must admit, I’m amazed at the amount you’ve accomplished. And in such a short space of time, too. I quite expected to find you in the middle of things. The train must have been on time for once. Did Mr MacGregor collect you from the station? Well, of course, he must have done.’ she smiled again. ‘You’re here, aren’t you?’
‘Mr MacGregor?’
Isobel felt slightly confused. Who was Mr MacGregor? She was sure the man had said his name was Lindsay. Well, of course he had. Cory had used that name earlier, when she had been berating her mother for not talking to him.
But, before she could say anything more, Cory chimed in. ‘He picked us up in Glasgow,’ she said, giving her mother a look of sly complicity. ‘He said the trains aren’t usually reliable. That’s why he came to meet us.’
Clare turned to the girl now, a frown drawing her sandy brows together. ‘Tom MacGregor drove all the way to Glasgow——’ she began, a look of consternation marring her pale sculpted features, and Cory offered her mother a wicked grin.
‘I think he said his name was Rafe,’ she declared, with the careless skill of a seasoned campaigner. ‘Yeah, it was definitely Rafe, wasn’t it, Mum? And not MacGregor—Lindsay.’ She tilted her head. ‘Hey—that’s your name isn’t it?’
Isobel knew at once what her daughter was up to. It was obvious she resented Clare, and the vaguely condescending air she had adopted since her arrival. And, without her mother’s inhibitions, she had jumped deliberately into the fray, enjoying the success of defeating the enemy.
Clare’s jaw had dropped. ‘Rafe,’ she echoed faintly. ‘Rafe met you in Glasgow! But——’ her dismay was evident ‘—he doesn’t know you, does he?’ She caught her breath. ‘You must be mistaken. Rafe would never——’
‘I’m afraid that was what he said his name was,’ put in Isobel unwillingly, quelling any further outburst from her daughter with a baleful look. She licked her lips. ‘He did say he was your brother-in-law, Clare. I assumed you knew all about it.’
‘Well, I didn’t.’ For a moment, Clare was too upset to guard her feelings. ‘I can’t believe it. Why would he do such a thing?’ She looked angrily at Isobel. ‘How did he know who you were?’
Isobel wrapped her arms about her midriff, feeling an unpleasant sense of distaste. Clare was over-reacting. There was no earthly need for her to behave as if she and Cory had solicited the ride for themselves. Good heavens, it was obvious what had happened. Rafe Lindsay had had to go to Glasgow for some reason, and he had decided to do his sister-in-law a favour and meet her friend. Only Clare wasn’t behaving as if Isobel was her friend; she wasn’t even behaving as if Isobel had a right to be here. Her whole attitude was one of outrage, as if Isobel had dared to impinge on her territory.
‘I think he was just trying to be kind,’ Isobel said now, aware that her voice was much cooler than it had been before. ‘We were practically the last passengers to leave the platform. You hadn’t explained that we had to change stations, as well as trains, and he came to our assistance. As I say, I assumed you knew.’
‘No.’ Clare took a deep breath, evidently trying to calm herself. ‘No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t——’ She broke off, and when she spoke again it was softly, almost to herself. ‘I doubt if Colin or his mother knew anything about it either. But that’s typical of Rafe. He’s always been a law unto himself.’
‘Yes, well——’ Isobel wished Clare would just go now. Maybe in the morning she would be able to view what had just happened with an objective mind, but at this moment all her earlier doubts were rampant. ‘I’m sorry if you think we’ve been presumptuous. It wasn’t intentional. But now, if you don’t mind, we are rather tired——’
‘Of course.’ With a rapid change of mood, Clare twisted her lips into a thin smile. ‘Of course you must be tired. And I must be going. Colin will be wondering where I’ve got to. I promised I’d only stay a minute.’
Isobel forced herself to be polite. ‘Thank you for calling.’ She glanced towards the kitchen. ‘And for the food. You’ll have to tell me how much I owe you.’
‘Heavens, no.’ Clare was almost entirely in control of herself again, and, pulling a pair of thin leather gloves out of her pocket, she began to smooth one over her fingers. ‘What’s a few groceries between friends?’ She allowed her gaze to pass over Cory, before settling on Isobel again. ‘But I have to say, you know how to arrive in style, darling. It’s not every employee who can boast that the Earl of Invercaldy was their chauffeur!’
WHEN Isobel awakened the next morning, she lay for several minutes just listening to the silence. For so long, she had been used to the sounds of people, and traffic, and even in the depths of night she had always been conscious of the city, living and breathing, just a few yards from her door.
But as she lay there, fending off the full awareness of what the morning might bring, the only sounds that reached her ears were the unfamiliar sounds of nature. There was a rook, making a nuisance of itself, high up in the trees that edged the cottage garden; a cow was lowing, its strident call more indignant than contented; and on the roof a pair of doves were cooing, their repetitive chorus probably what had woken her in the first place.
But that was all she could hear. There were no engines revving, no horns blowing, no jingle of the milk float, as it made its morning deliveries. There wasn’t even the sound of the postman, whistling as he covered his round. Only the wind in the eaves, and an occasional creak as the old house stirred to meet the day.
There was no sound from downstairs either, which hopefully meant that Cory was still sound asleep. Well, it was only a little after seven, she noted, squinting at her watch which she had propped on the cabinet beside the bed. She generally had some difficulty getting her daughter up by eight o’clock at home. At home …
Throwing back the covers—sheets, blankets, and an old candlewick bedspread; evidently Miss McLeay had not gone in for fancy things like duvets and Continental quilts—Isobel padded, barefoot, to the window. This was their home now, and she had to remember that.
It was cold, and she shivered in her short nightshirt, but she pulled the curtain aside, and looked out on that strange but amazing view. And it was just the same, but different. Now the sky was a diffused shade of palest lavender, with a lemony tinge on the horizon, which heralded the early rising of the sun. The mountains in the distance were still wreathed in darkness, and the loch was an opaque mirror, shrouded in mystery. Even the cattle that stood at the edge of the water seemed nebulous, and unreal, their shaggy coats steaming as they waded in the shallows.
Isobel
