smelt even better when she removed a steel lid to reveal a steaming dish of beef stew with tiny dumplings bobbing about its surface.
With a wry smile, Jonas seated himself opposite her, watching her, and forcing a composure she was far from feeling, she said: ‘Shall I serve yours?’
‘Sure. Why not?’ He inclined his head. ‘I like most things, you know that. I had to when we first got married, if you remember.’
Julie did remember, but she refused to rise to the bait and ladled some vegetables on to a plate and covered them with the savoury stew. Then she passed the plate across to him and served her own. She gave herself only a very small quantity of everything and was aware that Jonas had noticed. But he didn’t comment. Instead, he got up and brought a bottle of wine from the lower compartment of the cocktail cabinet and poured two glasses.
Although Julie had not expected to enjoy the food, she did, and the wine was a pleasing accompaniment. Eating at least curtailed conversation, but she was aware of Jonas’s eyes upon her from time to time.
The syrup pudding was as light as any she had tasted, and there was a jug of fresh cream to pour over it. Jonas, she saw, ate with obvious enjoyment, but his lean muscular frame seemed not to be showing any ill effects from Mrs. Macpherson’s generous helpings.
Julie finished first and gathered the dirty plates together and put them on the lower shelf of the trolley. Jonas finished his second helping of syrup pudding and lay back, replete, swallowing the dregs of the wine in his glass.
‘That’s better,’ he remarked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘A few weeks of Mrs. Macpherson’s cooking and you’d soon fill out.’
‘I have no desire to fill out, thank you,’ returned Julie, pushing the trolley aside. ‘I was never a filled-out person!’
‘No – but you were nicely rounded,’ replied Jonas unabashed.
Julie sighed and glanced pointedly at her watch. She was amazed to discover it was half past nine already. ‘Er – do you think Mrs. Macpherson will be long with the coffee?’ she asked. ‘I really am rather tired. I didn’t sleep much on the train last night, and I could do with an early night.’
‘An early night?’ Jonas lit himself another cheroot. ‘You disappoint me, Julie. I was looking forward to some after-dinner conversation.’
Julie drew a deep breath. ‘I shouldn’t have thought you were short of after-dinner conversation, Jonas,’ she said sharply.
Jonas frowned. ‘No? Why not? Have you no pity for a – lonely man?’
‘A lonely man?’ Her eyes were drawn to his. ‘Oh, come on, Jonas, that’s taking things a little too far, don’t you think?’
He considered her mockingly. ‘Do I denote a trace of maliciousness in your tones?’
‘No. No, why should there be?’ Julie hunched her shoulders, half regretting her outburst.
‘That’s what I’m asking myself.’
She sighed. ‘Oh, let’s stop all this verbal fencing!’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’
Julie hesitated. ‘All right. I – I opened a drawer. In the bedroom. I saw some – clothes.’
‘Ah! I begin to comprehend.’ Jonas inhaled deeply.
Julie stared at him, waiting for him to explain. But he merely nodded to himself and lay there, lazily blowing smoke rings into the air. She felt angry and frustrated, the more so because she guessed he would know how she was feeling, how eaten up with curiosity she was. But he was not about to satisfy her.
Her hands clenched. Cool down, she told herself furiously. What did it matter? She didn’t care whose clothes they were. This time tomorrow she would be long gone, and she hoped she never had to set eyes on him again. She would see her solicitor when she got back to town. A divorce shouldn’t be too difficult to arrange, not after all this time, and then she would be free – really free.
Another knock heralded the return of Mrs. Macpherson, this time carrying a tray on which reposed a jug of coffee, cream, sugar, and two cups.
‘Now – did you enjoy your dinner?’ she inquired anxiously.
Julie forced an enthusiastic note to her voice. ‘Very much, Mrs. Macpherson. That syrup sponge was out of this world! You must give me the recipe before I leave.’
‘Before you leave, Mrs. Hunter? But you’ve only just got here—’
‘Mrs. Hunter means when we return to London,’ put in Jonas smoothly, levering himself off the couch and confronting Julie’s indignant stare. ‘Thank you, Mrs. Macpherson. We shan’t need you any more tonight.’
‘No, sir.’ Mrs. Macpherson moved slowly towards the door, propelling the trolley before her. ‘Oh, by the way, Rob’s taken up Mrs. Hunter’s cases. I hope you’ll be comfortable—’
‘I’m sure you’ve done everything to ensure that,’ interposed Jonas patiently, although it was obvious he was eager to have the housekeeper outside the door. ‘Good night, Mrs. Macpherson.’
‘Good night, sir. Good night, Mrs. Hunter.’
‘Good night.’ Julie spoke automatically, but as soon as the door was closed she sprang to her feet, and said: ‘Exactly what did you mean by that?’
Jonas was calm again, leaning back against the door with indolent grace. ‘By what? What did I say?’
‘Oh, stop it, Jonas, you know what you said. Look, I don’t know what you’ve told these people – or why you couldn’t have introduced me as – as a reporter from Peridot and nothing more! But the fact remains that Mrs. Macpherson imagines we’re a normal married couple and that I’m here on some sort of holiday!’
‘Don’t get so heated about it.’ Jonas drew lazily on his cheroot. ‘You want an explanation? All right, I’ll give you one. My grandmother knew I was married. Naturally Rob and Jennie Macpherson knew I was married. Around here, marriage means something.’
Julie shook her head confusedly. ‘Your grandmother?’
‘Laura Drummond. I inherited Castle Lochcraig from her.’
‘Mrs. Drummond! Oh! I see.’
‘I gather Mrs. Macpherson has mentioned her to you.’
‘Well, yes. She – she said that I’m sleeping in her bedroom.’
‘That’s right. You are. My grandparents always slept in the master bedroom. In the old days, things were done in style. It was my grandfather who had the gallery built on the upper floor. Until then, all the rooms led out of one another, which was rather awkward if one had visitors.’ He shrugged. ‘My grandfather did quite a lot of modernization one way and another, installing bathrooms and plumbing, central heating …’
It explained why the inner wall of the gallery was not as thick as the outer wall, but it didn’t really answer her question.
‘The
