Highland Fling (14 page)

‘Developing the site?’ asked Kirsty, ignoring Jenny’s tale of woe. ‘Hm. Do you think that’s what he intended to do?’

‘Possibly. I don’t know, he hasn’t told me. But it’s the sort of thing he’s done before, as far as I can gather. Why?’

‘I just wonder if Philip’s taken the copies of the deeds because he has the same thing in mind.’

‘Oh God. You mean you think
Philip’s
thinking of developing the site?’

‘Maybe, but I’m just wondering – if we got the deeds back from Philip –’

‘Difficult, considering we don’t know where he is –’

‘If we drew up plans, got provisional planning permission or something, for some of the site – the offices, say – to be turned into flats or starter homes or whatever it is they’re called these days, we might be able to convince Mr Fancy-Pants not to close us down, but to use the money he’ll make over that for further
investment. At least it would mean he wouldn’t have to put his hand in his own pocket to keep us going.’

‘But if Philip’s got the same idea, we can hardly beat him to it. And I dare say he’s got different plans for the money. And we haven’t got the deeds. We couldn’t sell anything without Philip anyway.’

‘We could get copies of the deeds. We could get some plans drawn, and then scour the hills for Philip.’

Jenny nodded. ‘It’s a good idea, but in the meantime I think I’ll work on a plan to make the mill viable, using all our mad ideas.’

Kirsty regarded her firmly. ‘You’ll be needing to get on with that.’ She glanced at her watch as if expecting Jenny to have done it by lunchtime at the latest. ‘I’ll carry on clearing up.’

‘You’re a bit of a surprise, Kirsty,’ said Jenny as she reached for a pad and pen.

‘Oh?’

‘When we first met, I would never have put you down as someone who’d respond to an idea as wild as this one.’

‘We’re not exactly spoilt for choice,’ she said drily.

Jenny left Dalmain Mills a little later and went directly to Meggie’s house. Meggie appeared happier today, less frustrated by her confinement.

‘Hello there, what are you doing out of school at this time of day?’ She struggled upright on her sofa. ‘Have you jacked it all in, or just decided there’s nothing to be done except call in the receivers?’

‘No, I’m researching a completely mad idea. It’s pretty much a last gasp, but I want to see if it’s possible.’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s such a shot in the dark and so unlikely to come off, I almost don’t want to tell you.’

‘Want to or not, you’re telling me!’

‘Well, don’t laugh or anything.’

‘Just spit it out, woman!’

‘I want to see if it’s possible to turn the mill into somewhere which produces quality stuff, like it did in Miss McIntyre’s parents’ time.’

‘Yes?’

‘You know about textiles – what are the chances of finding a market for really high-quality designer wear?’

‘What sort of thing are you talking about?’

‘About hand knits, probably, but also suitings which are so light you can hardly feel you’re wearing them. Made out of unconventional fibres.’

‘What sort of fibres?’

‘Llama, alpaca, that sort of thing.’

Meggie considered. ‘A friend of mine at college did go into that. She has a shop in London. I could get in touch, ask her how things are going.’

‘And if there was a market, could you be the designer?’

Meggie shook her head. ‘I love playing about with texture, as you can see.’ She gestured to the curtains and throws that Jenny had noticed on her first visit. ‘But I’m not really a shape person. No, the person you might want for that, strangely enough, is Felicity.’

‘Felicity? I thought you had no time for her.’

‘I haven’t. I doubt she and I would ever get on, but she’s got a good eye. Have you ever seen the embroidery she does? Designs it all herself. Lady D.
despises it, of course, but I have to admit, it’s lovely. Most of it’s old-fashioned, traditional. But she’s done some modern pieces. Actually’ – Meggie heaved herself upright – ‘if you look on that chair, over there, under the pile of magazines, you might find the cushion she gave me and Iain last Christmas.’

Jenny burrowed in the seat of the chair and pulled out a cushion. It was stunning, clear, bright colours, embroidered in a chevron design that was modern and startling. ‘Felicity did this?’

‘Yup. You should have heard her mother. “Darling”,’ Meggie drawled, in a fine imitation of Lady Dalmain, ‘“is that not a little garish? I’m sure Margaret and Iain would have preferred something a little more subtle.” That cheered up Christmas, I can tell you!’

Jenny shuddered. ‘Do you have to have it at Dalmain House? I can’t imagine anything worse.’

‘We only go for the lunch, then we bugger off down to my folks and get roaring drunk. You need to after being there. She’s the only one who ever calls me Margaret, and only because she knows I hate it.’

‘Well, I think the cushion’s great. I must ask Felicity to show me all her work. Honestly!’ Jenny became indignant on Felicity’s behalf all over again as she inspected the stitching. ‘Hasn’t Lady D. ever heard of Kaffe Fassett?’

Meggie laughed. ‘You’re joking! She’d probably think William Morris too modern for good taste. Anything post Jacobean, vulgar, my dear.’

Jenny got reluctantly to her feet. ‘If neither Lady D. nor Felicity have succumbed to the vapours and are prostrate on the hall floor, I’ll be up at The Haggis later.’

‘You’ve still got time for it, with all this going on?’

‘At the moment, yes. I’ll let you know if things change. At the moment it’s a good place to think.’

Lady Dalmain was suffering from nothing more dramatic than extreme disgruntlement and so Jenny went to The Homely Haggis as soon as she could.

It didn’t look very homely when she arrived, however. There was a brisk wind, laced with rain, and it was blowing across the lay-by, flattening the grass and throwing up spurts of gravel. But by the time Jenny had got the door unlocked and herself inside, she managed to convince herself that the whole idea was not a complete waste of time. Getting out of Dalmain House was bound to help her thought processes, even if she had no customers. In fact, customers would be a nuisance. It would be far better if she could just make herself a hot drink and a sandwich and get some ideas down on paper. This, of course, was the cue for a trickle of hikers to come by for hot drinks and a couple of locals made a point of stopping to ask about Meggie. Eventually everyone had left and Jenny was halfway through her sandwich and a list of things she had to do that were impossible, when she became aware of someone approaching. It was him.

All the moisture in her mouth vanished and her muscles and sinews turned into overwashed elastic, but it was the feeling of being punched, so that her body sank in the middle, that was most difficult to cope with.

I must have willed him to come, she thought, guilt coursing through her as she struggled to get herself
into a state to greet him normally, wishing she had time for a drink of water. Otherwise, why on earth is he here? It can’t be coincidence. What have I done?

‘Hello,’ he said.

Jenny cleared her throat and was surprised to hear her voice sounding reassuringly like itself. ‘Hello. What can I get you?’ This was bound to invoke some sarcastic comment, but she couldn’t think of anything snappier at such short notice.

‘Nothing. I saw you arrive and I came down to say hello.’

A quick intake of oxygen and she managed another sentence. ‘You saw me arrive? How did you do that? With binoculars?’

‘Yes, actually. I was doing some bird-watching – I heard a rumour there was a hen harrier in the area – and I saw your car. I thought I should come and say hello and try to make up for being so –’

‘So what?’ Now he was here, and they were actually talking, Jenny didn’t feel quite so fluttery. In fact her brain and her mouth seemed to be working quite well together. ‘I could supply the word for you, but you might not like it.’

He scowled. Strangely, it didn’t make him any less attractive. ‘I came here to make peace –’

‘But it’s hard, being so totally out of character, so we could just carry on making snippy remarks to each other. Or I could make you a cup of coffee, or something?’

‘But could you? That’s always been in doubt.’ There was a definite sparkle in his eye, not quite a smile, but going in that direction.

‘Not for me. I’ve always known that I can make
coffee. But I don’t feel obliged to prove it to you.’

‘I would like a cup of hot chocolate.’ He didn’t say please, but there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth that meant he didn’t have to.

‘Oh, very well. I haven’t got much else to do, after all.’ Giving the appearance of being grudging would, Jenny hoped, disguise the fact that she was still not quite in control of her breathing.

It would have been better if he’d been a holidaymaker, then he would have gone away and, eventually, she would have forgotten him. But if he was training to join a mountain rescue team and for some reason made a habit of looking out for her arrival at The Homely Haggis, she was going to have to be careful.

Of course, being a strong-minded woman – and it was only Henry who thought she was vague and incompetent – she should be able to put him out of her mind whether she saw him or not. She sighed. Perhaps Henry was right. Perhaps she was a silly ‘little sausage’ who could no more control her mind than she could stop breathing.

There was a huge tin of instant hot chocolate, but Jenny chose to boil milk, add powder and to whisk it into froth. Even as she did it, she didn’t know if it was because she wanted him to have an especially delicious drink, or because she wanted to stretch the process to keep him with her longer. Guilt swelled within her, matching the milk in the pan.

‘Would you like squirty cream with that?’

‘What?’

‘You know.’ She produced a can from the fridge. ‘Cream in a can. Everyone knows it as squirty cream.’

‘Everyone except me, apparently.’

‘You don’t count. You’re far too elevated to talk the same language as ordinary mortals.’

He appeared taken aback. ‘What did you say?’

‘You heard what I said, you just didn’t know what I meant.’

‘Whatever –’

‘I meant that you evidently don’t mix with ordinary people on a day-to-day basis. This means you don’t understand the catchwords. It probably means you don’t watch
Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?
either.’

He was too weather-beaten to blush – either that, or he wasn’t embarrassed by this dig. ‘Should I?’

‘No. It’s just that everyone else does. Now, here’s your hot choc. Would you like something to eat?’

He took the drink, not commenting on the beauty of the fudge-brown foam, the swirl of cream she’d added for artistic effect, or the fine sprinkling of chocolate crumbs, gleaned from the bottom of a box of Flakes.

‘I really would like to take you out for a drink, some evening when you’re not too busy.’

If the turmoil within her became external, the trees would have lost their remaining leaves, the van would have blown over, and reports of a hurricane would have reached Michael Fish. Up to now, she’d led a sheltered life in which nothing had happened to prepare her for this moment. What should she do? Should she cling on to the thought of Henry? Or should she leap into the Niagara Falls of lust? There was no choice, no decision to be made. Stay safe at all costs.

‘Why would you want to do that,’ said some other woman Jenny didn’t know, ‘when we obviously don’t get on?’

‘I get bored in the evenings sometimes, and all the local girls are taken, so I’m told.’

‘Mm. They told me that about the boys.’ Looking at him she realised that to describe him as a boy was a definite misnomer. She also realised that she wanted to go out with him very much. What was wrong with her?

‘So? How about it? Will you risk having to sit in a cold pub all night, sipping lager and not having anything to say to each other?’

‘You make it sound so attractive. Can I resist?’ She hesitated. ‘Yes, I think I can.’ Phew! She’d refused him! For a moment there she’d thought she really might accept.

‘Oh, come on! You must get bored sometimes too.’

‘A nice spell of boredom would suit me just now – so yes, I will come for a drink with you.’ Oh, mouth! Why did you have to let me down like that? Has the cable to my brain become disconnected, or has it melted as though struck by lightning?

She did slightly regret being so rude as he stared down at her, incredulous and not pleased. He wouldn’t want to take her out now, and so she’d be safe. And seeing him glare made her feel she’d made the right decision. She wouldn’t feel at all safe without The Homely Haggis counter between her and him. It was like taunting tigers in a zoo – all very well when there were bars between you and them – a little too exciting when there weren’t.

‘Women don’t usually find me boring,’ he said eventually, having revealed signs of controlling his outrage.

‘How do you know? I mean, they’re hardly likely to tell you they’re bored, are they?’

He took a calming breath. ‘You can usually tell if you’re boring someone, or at least I can. I can’t speak for you, of course.’

‘Thank you for pointing that out.’

He made a sound that was a cross between a roar and a growl. I don’t think you’d be so quick with the back chat if there wasn’t a counter between you and me.’

Jenny agreed with him. ‘But there is a counter between you and me. Or should that be I?’

He made that growling, roaring sound again. ‘I dare you to come out of that van, to come out here and tell me you’ll go out with me.’

Jenny’s knees had been giving her trouble since she first saw him approach. Now it wasn’t just lust that was affecting them, it was sheer terror. But a dare was a dare, and she hadn’t played fairly – it wasn’t fair to taunt the tigers and she should face up to the consequences.

She emerged, shaking slightly, on to the chippings. She looked up at him, apologetic, pleading and laughing, all at the same time. He took three strides to reach her. Then he put his hands on her shoulders, pulled her to him and kissed her, so hard his teeth pressed painfully against her lips. His hands left her shoulders and he wrapped his arms round her so tightly she couldn’t breathe. When he released her they were both panting, and Jenny staggered.