she was only just beginning to know. On her return from school her father had suggested that she might care to act as his hostess. His position as head of Sefton Oil involved a great deal of business entertaining, of visiting other oil-producing countries and of entertaining overseas visitors in return, and after her first month at home which had been filled with apprehension and fear Somer had discovered that she actually enjoyed her new role and that she seemed to have a talent for it. Her father’s Aberdeen home was large and gracious and he employed an excellent cook-cum-housekeeper, Mrs McLeod, who had warmly welcomed Somer’s assistance.
‘There’s my flight now,’ Somer told her father, ‘I’d better go.’ She reached up, kissing his cheek. ‘Daddy, please stop worrying. I love Andrew and he loves me. Everything’s going to be fine.’
The smile he gave her was slightly strained, and he wondered what his daughter would say if she knew of the investigations he had had carried out on the man she loved. They had shown nothing to his detriment. He had no money apart from his salary, but there had been a time when Duncan MacDonald himself had been in that position and he was not the man to hold lack of wealth against another. He had enough money to support half a dozen sons-in-law. He moved closer to the barrier, intent on catching a final glimpse of Somer. Her heritage was all Celtic and there had been times after his wife’s death when he had worried about his delicately strung daughter, so quick to feel pain, both her own and that of others, but there was always that bedrock of MacDonald pride for her to fall back on; that grim resoluteness that acted as a counterweight to her Celtic mysticism. This was her heritage, and he could no more stop her from receiving it than he could hold back the tides.
Safely on board the plane taking her to Andrew, Somer had no inkling of the sombreness of her father’s thoughts. Named after Somerled, the great warrior Lord of the Isles, her mind was not on the past but firmly riveted on her golden future. Of course Andrew would be as disappointed as she was that they could not be married sooner. He had urged her to try to persuade her father to change his mind, but she knew he would understand that she felt that she could not do so. That was one of the things she most liked about Andrew. He was so understanding, so caring of other people’s views; he had even chided her gently when she had come close to losing her temper when her father had urged her not to marry straight away. ‘It’s only natural that he should want to keep you a little longer,’ he had told her with that whimsical smile of his that made her heart flutter so. ‘And I can afford to be generous. After all I’ll have you for the rest of our lives.’
Dear, darling Andrew. She closed her eyes and lay back in her seat, slowly visualising him, her body trembling in anticipation of their reunion. She loved everything about him from the way his fair hair curled round his head to the hard compactness of his muscular body. It was true that he wasn’t quite as tall as her father. Duncan MacDonald was well over six foot while Andrew stopped just short of five foot ten, but since she herself was barely five four, it hardly mattered. Elfin was the way he described her, and a shiver of apprehension suddenly ran through her. She wasn’t particularly beautiful, not blonde or curvaceous; she lacked the self-possession of many of the other women Andrew knew. But it was her he loved, she reminded herself. As though to reassure herself that it wasn’t all a dream she glanced down at her ring, and then extracted a small mirror from her bag, quickly checking her make-up. She wondered if Andrew would notice and approve of the new way she was doing her eyes. Soft, muted shadows enhanced their violet depths, a discreet rimming of kohl adding to their air of mystery. Her skin was without blemish, flawless and very fair. Too fair, she often thought, certainly too fair to expose unwarily to the sun. She thought rebelliously of the tanned holidaymakers frequenting the hotel at Easter, and then reminded herself that she was the one Andrew wanted; that it was her long night-black hair that he preferred; her slender body and pale skin.
‘The trouble with you is that you just don’t make enough of yourself.’ That had been the criticism of Somer’s greatest friend at school, the same outward-going, pretty brunette who had introduced her to Andrew. She had gained in self-confidence since meeting Andrew, but she knew she still had a long way to go before she came anywhere near to achieving the same smooth sophisticated self-confidence possessed by say, Judith Barnes, the senior receptionist at Andrew’s hotel.
Judith was tall and blonde, with a heavy mane of hair that cascaded down on to her shoulders. Her face was always flawlessly made up, her clothes discreetly elegant. She had the sort of figure that men always gave a second glance, and Somer had sensed right from the start that Judith despised her, although she had no idea why. When she had tried tentatively to broach the subject with Andrew he had simply shrugged and laughed. ‘Judith’s a woman, little baby,’ he had teased her. ‘The sort of woman who’s only really interested in men.’
‘A man-eater.’ That was how her friend Claire had described the receptionist, and yet Somer had sensed a very real antipathy towards her personally, in the older girl’s manner, despite the politeness with which it was cloaked.
The flight to Jersey was only a short one, and it seemed to Somer that no sooner had she stepped on to the plane than she was stepping off into the bright July sunshine. Andrew had promised to meet her, but there was no sign of him by the time she had collected her luggage. She was just debating whether she ought to hire a taxi when a small white sports car came racing towards her, stopping with an impatient screech of tires only yards away.
When Judith Barnes stepped out, glamorous as always in a pair of dazzling white bermuda shorts and brief top in the same colour that clung to her curves and showed off her deep tan, Somer felt her heart plummet downwards. There would be no doubt that Judith had come to meet her and that she was impatient, it showed in every line of her elegant figure as she strode to where Somer was standing.
‘Look, there’s no hired help around here,’ she announced curtly as she indicated the open boot of her car. ‘The only way those cases are going to get back to the hotel is if you pick them up. I’ve done my bit coming to collect you and that’s only because Drew asked me to. What on earth have you brought with you?’ she added with arrogant amusement staring at the two large cases by Somer’s side. ‘A whole new wardrobe to bedazzle Drew?’ She laughed mockingly. ‘Hasn’t anyone ever told you that all you need is what nature gave you? Although I suppose in your case, she was a bit ungenerous.’
Cold blue eyes flicked from Somer’s neatly suit-clad figure to her own shapely body, and Somer felt a familiar clenching of muscles inside her which she dimly recognised as intense anger. Firmly dismissing it, she picked up one of her cases and carried it to the car, heaving it into the boot before returning for the other.
The drive to the hotel was a tense one. In addition to her disappointment that Andrew wasn’t able to collect her, Somer had to contend with her growing dislike of Judith. The road they took was narrow, as indeed were most of the island roads, and not built for high speeds, but despite this Judith insisted on driving well in excess of the limit, and on several occasions Somer was forced to clutch on to the side of the car as they screeched dangerously round a bend.
‘Scared?’ Judith mocked as she took the turn that led down to the Hermitage Hotel and its private beach. ‘Poor little scaredy-girl, how on earth are you going to keep Drew, if you’re scared of a little bit of speed? Little girls should stick to their own league,’ she added tauntingly.
Somer said nothing, unable to trust herself to speak without betraying the temper she could feel raging through her. ‘Never say anything in the first heat of anger,’ her father had once warned her. ‘It’s a common MacDonald failing, and one our clan has had to pay dearly for in the past. Always count to ten, always think about the repercussions of what you’re going to say.’
It had been good advice; she recognised that and so now she averted her face and concentrated on Andrew’s image, denying Judith the satisfaction of knowing that her barbs had hurt.
The hotel forecourt was full
