beautifully carved, sitting very straight and reserved, reminding her very much of Mrs Trot.
‘We had the greatest fun,’ Henry informed his waiting family, ‘and I had an ice cream. We went to the hotel in Tongue—one of those with nuts on top, and the Panther is just super. When I’m grown up I shall have one, too.’
Eleanor, the little cat cradled in her hand, smiled at him lovingly. ‘And so you shall, my dear, but now you’re going straight up to the bathroom to wash your hands—dinner’s ready.’
The rest of the day passed pleasantly enough, and if she had subconsciously hoped that Fulk would suggest another walk, she had no intention of admitting it to herself. As it was, he spent most of the afternoon with his host and after supper they all played cards until the children’s bedtime.
She wakened at first light the next morning, to hear her brother’s excited whispering under her window, and when she got out of bed to have a look, it was to see him trotting along beside the doctor, laden with fishing paraphernalia—Punch was with them, too; all three of them looked very happy, even from the back.
They came in late for breakfast with a splendid catch of fish, which provided the main topic of conversation throughout the meal, and when they had finished Mrs MacFarlane said brightly: ‘Well, my dears, fish for dinner, provided of course someone will clean it.’ A task which Fulk undertook without fuss before driving Mr MacFarlane into Durness to browse over an interesting collection of books an old friend had offered to sell him.
So that Eleanor saw little of their guest until the late afternoon and even then Henry made a cheerful talkative third when they went over to visit Mrs Trot. It was while they were there, sitting on the floor eating apples, that Fulk asked her: ‘What time do you leave tomorrow, Eleanor?’
‘Well, I don’t want to leave at all,’ she replied promptly. ‘The very thought of hospital nauseates me—I’d like to stay here for ever and ever…’ She sighed and went on briskly: ‘Well, any time after lunch, I suppose. Would two o’clock suit you?’
‘Admirably. It’s roughly two hundred and fifty miles, isn’t it? We should arrive in Edinburgh in good time for dinner—you don’t have to be in at any special time, do you?’
‘No—no, of course not, but there’s no need…really I didn’t expect…that is…’
‘There’s no need to get worked up,’ he assured her kindly. ‘I shouldn’t have asked you if I hadn’t wanted to.’ He sounded almost brotherly, which made her pleasure at this remark all the more remarkable, although it was quickly squashed when he went on to say blandly: ‘I’ve had no chance to talk to you about Imogen.’
‘Oh, well—yes, of course I shall be delighted to hear about her.’
‘Who’s Imogen?’ Henry enquired.
‘The lady Fulk is going to marry,’ his big sister told him woodenly.
He looked at her with round eyes. ‘Then why didn’t she come too?’
Fulk answered him good-naturedly, ‘She’s in the south of France.’
‘Why aren’t you with her?’
The doctor smiled. ‘We seem to have started something, don’t we? You see, Henry, Imogen doesn’t like this part of Scotland.’
‘Why not?’ Eleanor beat her brother by a short head with the question.
‘She considers it rather remote.’
Eleanor nodded understandingly. ‘Well, it is—no shops for sixty miles, no theatres, almost no cinemas and they’re miles away too, and high tea instead of dinner in the hotels.’
Fulk turned his head to look at her. ‘Exactly so,’ he agreed. ‘And do you feel like that about it, too, Eleanor?’
She said with instant indignation: ‘No, I do not—I love it; I like peace and quiet and nothing in sight but the mountains and the sea and a cottage or two—anyone who feels differently must be very stupid…’ She opened her eyes wide and put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon—I didn’t mean your Imogen.’
‘Still the same hasty tongue,’ Fulk said mockingly, ‘and she isn’t my Imogen yet.’
It was fortunate that Henry created a welcome diversion at that moment; wanting to climb a tree or two before teatime, so that the rest of the afternoon was spent doing just that. Fulk, Eleanor discovered, climbed trees very well.
They played cards again until supper time and after their meal, when the two gentlemen retired to the pastor’s study, Eleanor declared that she was tired and would go to bed, but once in her room she made no effort to undress but sat on her bed making up her mind what she would wear the next day—Fulk had only seen her in slacks and a sweater with her hair hanging anyhow. She would surprise him.
It was a pity, but he didn’t seem in the least surprised. She went down to breakfast looking much as usual, but before lunchtime she changed into a well cut tweed suit of a pleasing russet colour, put on her brogue shoes, made up her pretty face with care, did her hair in a neat, smooth coil on the top of her head, and joined the family at the table. And he didn’t say a word, glancing up at her as she entered the room and then looking away again with the careless speed of someone who had seen the same thing a dozen times before. Her excellent appetite was completely destroyed.
It served her right, she told herself severely, for allowing herself to think about him too much; she had no reason to do so, he was of no importance in her life and after today she wasn’t likely to see him again. She made light conversation all the way to Tomintoul, a village high in the Highlands, where they stopped for tea. It was a small place, but the hotel overlooked the square and there was plenty to comment upon, something for which she was thankful, for she was becoming somewhat weary of providing almost all the conversation. Indeed, when they were on their way once more and after another hour of commenting upon the scenery, she observed tartly: ‘I’m sure you will understand if I don’t talk any more; I can’t think of anything else to say, and even if I could, I feel I should save it for this evening, otherwise we shall sit at dinner like an old married couple.’
His shoulders shook. ‘My dear girl, I had no idea… I was enjoying just sitting here and listening to you rambling on—you have a pretty voice, you know.’ He paused. ‘Imogen doesn’t talk much when we drive together; it makes a nice change. But I promise you we won’t sit like an old married couple; however old we become, we shall never take each other for granted.’
She allowed this remark to pass without comment, for she wasn’t sure what he meant. ‘You were going to tell me about Imogen,’ she prompted, and was disappointed when he said abruptly: ‘I’ve changed my mind—tell me about Henry instead. What a delightful child he is, but not, I fancy, over-strong.’
The subject of Henry lasted until they reached Edinburgh, where he drove her to the North British Hotel in Princes Street, and after Eleanor had tidied herself, gave her a memorable dinner, managing to convey, without actually saying so, that she was not only a pleasant companion but someone whom he had wanted to take out to dinner all his life. It made her glow very nicely, and the glow was kept at its best by the hock which he offered her. They sat for a long time over their meal and when he at last took her to the hospital it was almost midnight.
She got out of the car at the Nurses’ Home entrance and he got out with her and walked
