Highland Fling (11 page)

‘They’re all on diets, you know,’ said Felicity. ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’

‘I don’t care. I can’t think with all that noise going on. Lady Dalmain, are you all right?’

‘Of course I’m not all right, you stupid girl! How could I possibly be all right when my dearest son has run away with – with’ – she searched for a word that was both damning and genteel – ‘a hussy!’

‘I can see that might be difficult,’ said Jenny firmly, trying not to see the funny side, ‘
but
standing here wringing your hands isn’t going to help. Can I suggest you go into the drawing room and sit down? You need some Rescue Remedy. Perhaps you could put the kettle on, Felicity?’

Lady Dalmain was as unaccustomed as the dogs to
being told what to do by a comparative stranger. Like them, she was surprised into obedience, and allowed Jenny to lead her to a chair by the fireside. Jenny pulled a moth-eaten plaid off the sofa and put it over Lady Dalmain’s knees. Then, spotting a small electric heater behind a chair, she got it out and risked her life by plugging it in. She switched it on and was relieved not to find herself flung across the room by faulty electrics.

Lady Dalmain began to make moaning noises, though whether she was grieving for her son or complaining about Jenny’s profligate use of electricity was unclear.

‘Wait there,’ Jenny said firmly, ‘I’ve got something that will make you feel much better. I’ll just go and get it.’

She went into the hall where Felicity was still standing, now with two tumblers of brandy in her hands. ‘No, thank you; I’d better keep a clear head,’ she said, and ran upstairs for her handbag.

She was back with Lady Dalmain in minutes. Producing a small brown bottle, she said, ‘Under your tongue, please.’ Quickly, she squirted half a pipette of Rescue Remedy into Lady Dalmain’s surprised mouth.

‘What is that stuff?’ she asked, having swallowed it.

‘It’s Rescue Remedy. ‘It’s for when you need to calm down really quickly. Now,’ went on Jenny, while Lady Dalmain was still thinking about this, ‘what has happened?’

I don’t sleep well, you know,’ Lady Dalmain began. She shot Felicity a look. ‘Unlike some I don’t depend on sleeping pills. I happened to be looking out of the window when I saw Philip leave the house. I knocked on the window, of course. But although he saw me – he
definitely saw me – he just waved, in a rather sad way, I fancy, and got into his car. Naturally I woke Felicity.’

‘I went downstairs and found a note.’

‘Can I read it?’ Jenny wanted to make sure it didn’t just say, ‘Back late for supper’ or something.

Lady Dalmain handed it to her.

Jenny sat on the chair opposite Lady Dalmain and helped herself to a shot of Rescue Remedy. Did Philip realise that by running away he had speeded up the demise of Dalmain Mills by a factor of ten?

‘Oh,’ she said.

‘Have a brandy,’ said Felicity, handing her mother a glass. ‘I can’t believe Philip’s really upped and left!’

Possibly the Rescue Remedy had had some effect because Lady Dalmain went from distraught to angry in a very short space of time. ‘How could he have done this to me? Those guns were worth ten thousand pounds!’

‘Were they?’ demanded Felicity.

‘Hang on a minute,’ said Jenny. ‘I thought you were broken-hearted because Philip had run off with an unsuitable woman. Now it seems you’re upset because he’s stolen some valuable heirlooms. Could you just clarify for me, which is worse?’

Lady Dalmain frowned, aware that she might have appeared mercenary. ‘No, no, it’s Philip I’m grieving for, but the guns belonged to his father. It’s their sentimental value I regret. I always clung on to them, however bad things were, because they were his.’ Lady Dalmain closed her eyes and rested the back of her hand against them; she could have been modelling for a painting called
Mother, on Hearing of the Death of her Hero Son.

Jenny was decidedly sceptical. Guns were hardly the sort of thing you’d want to curl up in bed with.

‘Well, you’ve still got Iain and Felicity.’ And probably a lot of other valuable items stashed away somewhere, she added silently.

‘Yes,’ said Felicity, obviously hurt. ‘And I wouldn’t run off with the family silver, in case you’re wondering.’

‘I’ll go and see if the kettle’s boiling,’ said Jenny, not wanting to be alone with two women who seemed to care more about antiques than family members.

‘I’ll ring Iain and Meggie,’ said Felicity.

‘It’s only half-past seven,’ murmured Jenny.

‘I’m not having that woman in my house!’ said Lady Dalmain.

‘Oh Mama, don’t be ridiculous!’ said Felicity, to Jenny’s surprise and admiration. ‘Iain was always an early riser. And Meggie’s Iain’s wife, and she’s about to have your first grandchild. Who knows, we may get lucky and it’ll be a boy!’ She paused and added under her breath, ‘I hope it is, for Meggie’s sake, because if it isn’t, it won’t even get a rattle for its christening, let alone the Jacobean quaich picked out for Philip’s first child.’

‘Felicity!’ said Lady Dalmain. ‘How dare you speak to me like that? In front of guests, too!’

‘Sorry.’ Felicity took a large gulp of the brandy she was still holding. ‘I just get a little fed up with Philip being the blue-eyed boy.’

‘But I have never discriminated between my children! I love you all, equally!’

‘Some more equally than others,’ muttered Felicity, putting her hand on her mother’s shoulder and patting it, awkwardly. Lady Dalmain produced a lace-edged handkerchief from her dressing-gown pocket and considered crying.

‘I’ll just go and make some tea. Or would anyone prefer coffee? Then I could ring Iain for you. While you look after your mother,’ said Jenny, from the doorway.

Felicity stopped patting. ‘No! I’ll do it. I want the satisfaction of telling them what Philip has done! You stay here. Mama’ll be better with you, anyway.’

‘I want tea, please,’ said Jenny, not convinced she would get any. Lady Dalmain was staring into space,
clutching her handkerchief, her jaw slack. Her brandy glass was empty.

‘I expect this’ll all blow over.’ Jenny took the glass before it fell. ‘I dare say Philip will lie low for a while and then come back with his bride, and possibly a baby. Wouldn’t that be lovely? If Meggie doesn’t have a boy, maybe Philip’s wife will.’

Lady Dalmain shuddered. ‘That woman is past child-bearing age.’

‘She may not be,’ said Jenny, who had no idea how old the woman was, she could very well be sixty. ‘He just ran away to give you time to get used to the idea of him being married. He won’t want to lose touch with you. He loves you. He just wants a home life of his own. You mustn’t take this personally.’

On reflection, Jenny thought that maybe this had been a platitude too far, as there was no way in the world that Philip’s behaviour had not been about Lady Dalmain personally. But as Lady Dalmain seemed not to be listening, she didn’t bother to explain further.

‘I cannot understand his ingratitude, after all I’ve done for him! And him, so like his father!’

‘I’m sure he’ll come back,’ Jenny murmured.

‘Tell me, dear,’ said Lady Dalmain. ‘What exactly are you supposed to be doing at the mill? Is it in such trouble that Philip needs to run away from it?’

Trying not to feel personally responsible for the mill’s difficulties, Jenny took a breath. ‘Things are quite bad, I think. Obviously I haven’t had much chance to look. But I’m afraid Philip’s disappearance is not going to help.’

‘Then you must find him!’

‘But I can’t! I have no idea where he might have gone
to! No, what I should be doing – will be doing – is trying to sort out the mill.’

‘It’s not the mill that’s important!’ said Lady Dalmain, suddenly angry. It’s Dalmain House! This is my home! I can’t be turned out of it by a lot of – lot of – businessmen!’

Felicity came in. ‘Iain and Meggie are on their way up.’

I’d better get properly dressed,’ said Jenny. ‘I must go into the mill as soon as I can and tell Kirsty.’

Lady Dalmain shuddered. ‘That woman! Thinks she owns the mill, just because her parents worked there. She’s always been after Philip.’

Jenny just managed to get out of the house before Meggie and Iain arrived. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see them, but saying hello would take up precious time, and Jenny wanted to get to the mill as soon as possible.

She didn’t get there before Kirsty did, and the moment Jenny saw her, she could tell she already knew about Philip.

‘He telephoned me,’ she said, moderately calm, but extremely worried. ‘He shouldn’t have done it. He shouldn’t have just run away like that, leaving things the way they are. It’s dereliction of duty. How can we get the mill back on track again with him gone?’

Jenny inhaled deeply, and then exhaled again, hoping Kirsty wouldn’t hear the sigh. ‘I really don’t know. We’ll have to have a look. But now I’ve got to have a hot drink. Dalmain House could only provide brandy this morning.’

*

Jenny was on her second cup of coffee and was looking through a file that seemed to have nothing in it which was either of use or ornament when Kirsty came in. ‘The post’s come.’

‘Bad news?’

‘Probably. His nibs is coming.’

‘Who?’

‘The man the mill owes all the money to. M. R. Grant-Dempsey.’

There was a long silence. The name hung in the air, neither woman wanting to acknowledge the significance of it.

‘Oh hell,’ breathed Jenny.

Kirsty nodded. ‘Which means we have three weeks to get this mill in some sort of shape, with some sort of future, or he’ll just come in and send everyone home.’

Jenny gave herself a mental shake. As a virtual assistant, she wasn’t used to being responsible for people’s jobs – it wasn’t part of her job description. But she wasn’t stupid, she had ideas, imagination, and she had Kirsty, who, even on such short acquaintance, seemed to have a lot of other good points.

‘Well, it will be tough, and we may not manage it, but I’m sure we can do something in the time. And when M. R. Grant-Dempsey arrives, we’ll just have to talk him into giving the mill a stay of execution.’

This wasn’t having the bracing effect on Kirsty that it was designed to have. ‘There’s a problem.’

‘A problem! Ha! There are billions of problems, we just have to solve them.’

‘But it won’t be easy, with half the papers in my office gone. Philip’s taken them. I’m not exactly sure
what’s missing yet, but if he’s taken them away, you can be sure they were useful.’

There was a long silence.

‘Oh fuck.’

‘I don’t approve of bad language,’ said Kirsty, sounding very like Miss Jean Brodie, ‘but “oh fuck” seems entirely appropriate just now.’

Chapter Seven

Being behind the counter of The Homely Haggis gave Jenny a wonderful sense of peace. It was such bliss to be alone. Since Kirsty had announced that Philip had taken half the files in the office, she had been on the go. She and Kirsty had gone through everything, finding what was missing by a process of elimination. All the copies of the deeds to the mill and Dalmain House were gone, also the papers saying what had been put up as security. Further copies of the deeds could be obtained, although Kirsty was reluctant to do anything to draw attention to the situation, but it was still going to be difficult to work out what Philip had pledged.

Fortunately Kirsty had a good memory, but by the time Jenny had gone home, they still didn’t know quite where they were financially. And as Jenny had driven the beautiful journey back to Dalmain House, she’d been unable to help wondering if perhaps giving in wasn’t the best solution. Perhaps when Mr Grant-Dempsey appeared she should just tell him that Philip had run off and that there seemed no practical way forward for the mill.

But until she and Kirsty had made absolutely sure that this was the case, she was reluctant to do this. She had personally been in the situation when her bosses had just decided that it was easier to give in and
dissolve the company, without giving too much thought to the consequences, or the effect on the workforce, and she wasn’t going to put other people through the same trauma without at least trying to save their jobs.

The scenery surrounding The Homely Haggis, which had seemed drear and melancholy when she had first arrived barely three days before, now seemed the perfect place to do some hard thinking.