unnecessarily, Isobel got to her feet. ‘I suppose so,’ she said, pretending an indolence she was far from feeling. But then Clare called,
‘Isobel! It’s only me!’ and all her anxieties vanished.
Reaching the door in two strides, she turned the key and threw it open. And Clare came into the room on a cloud of French perfume. Her rich cream fur and long boots looked out of place in the shabby living-room, but, Isobel reflected, her own attire suited it to a T. The lady of the manor, calling on one of the peasants, she mused drily. But that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t Clare’s fault that she had not bothered to change.
‘Isobel, darling!’ Clare exclaimed now, kissing the air beside her friend’s ear with the smoothness of long experience. ‘And this must be Cory! Hello, dear. Your mummy didn’t tell me you were so grown-up!’
She went towards Cory, and Isobel saw her daughter draw back in some alarm. But happily, Clare didn’t embarrass either of them by attempting to kiss her too. Instead, she contented herself with bestowing a charming smile on her, before turning back to her friend.
‘Well, now,’ she said. ‘What do you think of this place? Isn’t it cosy? Have you got 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
