Highland Fling (15 page)

‘I’ll ring you,’ he said, before turning abruptly away and striding back towards his car.

Jenny leant against the van, trying to get her breath
back. She didn’t feel assaulted, violated, or even plain insulted; she just thought plaintively: But how will you ring me, when you don’t know my number?

After that, her brain wouldn’t work, nor would her knees, and there was no point in staying much longer. It wasn’t as if the lay-by was packed with punters, so with a clear conscience she could drive back to Dalmain House.

It was ridiculous to behave so foolishly when she had so much on her plate, and needed every brain cell, every ounce of emotional energy for getting Dalmain Mills sorted out. And not only did she feel disloyal to Henry, but to the project, to all the people who depended on her.

She went to look for Felicity. Not finding her anywhere else, Jenny knocked on her bedroom door. It opened a crack.

‘Felicity – I was wondering how you’d like to become Dalmain Mills’ designer –’ she began. Then she stopped. ‘Oh! What’s the matter?’

Felicity flung herself at Jenny and burst into tears.

Chapter Nine

Felicity cried heartily for some moments. Jenny held her, patting her back, making soothing noises, and steered her backwards into her bedroom. The landing wasn’t the place for that sort of thing. She gently propelled Felicity onto the bed and sat down next to her.

‘Now, what’s the matter? Shall I get the Rescue Remedy?’

Somehow she wasn’t surprised when Felicity shook her head and hiccuped. ‘There’s a bottle of whisky under that table. You have one too.’

Jenny poured whisky into a glass for Felicity, but as she didn’t yet know if she would be required to have her wits about her, or drive anywhere, she didn’t have any herself.

‘Now, what’s the matter? Has anyone died?’

Felicity shook her head. Unless you count my chances of having a life.’

‘Well, you tell me what’s happened, and then we can see if your chance of life is completely moribund.’

Felicity wasn’t listening. She drank the generous two fingers Jenny had poured and coughed. ‘I usually have mine with water.’

‘So, tell me!’ Jenny was firm. She wanted to help Felicity, if she possibly could, but she had a feeling that
if she showed too much sympathy, Felicity would just go on crying.

‘I had a letter from Lachlan.’

‘Oh – breaking it all off?’

Felicity shook her head. ‘No! Inviting me to have lunch with him.’

‘But that’s good news, surely?’

‘It would be if I could go. I didn’t tell Lachlan I have agoraphobia. If I don’t go, he’ll think I don’t love him. I could make excuses for a bit, I suppose, but eventually he’ll just think there wasn’t anything between us after all. Oh God!’ Her face crumpled, and Jenny knew Niagara was going to fall again.

Before it could she said, ‘How would it be if I took you? Where does Lachlan live?’

‘Miles away. I couldn’t ask you to take me. You’re far too busy.’ This was said more as a question than a statement.

‘I am busy, but I should be able to find an afternoon free. What I’m concentrating on now is finding ways to make the mill profitable; I don’t actually have to be at the mill to do it. In fact, a visit to Lachlan might count as valuable research. When does he want you to go?’

‘The day after tomorrow.’

‘Very short notice.’

Felicity started to cry again. ‘Not really. The letter came the day after he came to supper. He delivered it by hand. Mama didn’t give it to me. She said she forgot because of Philip.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘If Philip were here, he’d probably take me. But now he’s gone, I’ll have to look after Mama all on my own. I’ll be stuck here for ever!’ She sniffed loudly.

Jenny pulled off a bit of loo paper from a roll by Felicity’s bed and handed it to her. ‘But I’ve already said I’ll take you. Now, will you phone him?’

Felicity nodded. ‘On the mobile. There’s a spot in the garden which gives you perfect reception – providing you’re on the right network.’

‘Do it now. While you’re feeling – fortified.’

Felicity shook her head. ‘I’d better get dinner on.’

The prospect of one of Felicity’s dinners wasn’t cheering. ‘Tell you what, shall I help you with that? It’ll be quicker if we do it together, and I need to use the oven to make some flapjack for The Haggis. I really want to talk to you about design. Meggie says you’re really good.’

‘Meggie did? But she hates me!’

‘I’m sure she doesn’t hate you! She showed me a cushion you’d embroidered for her, and it was lovely. She says you have a really good eye for colour.’

Felicity sniffed. ‘Well, yes, I have. But I’m very surprised that Meggie said that.’

‘So do you think, after you’ve phoned Lachlan if we did supper together, got it all on the go, we could look at your work? The mill really needs a designer. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if it were you who saved the mill, or contributed? That would make your mother respect you.’

‘Well no, it wouldn’t.’ Felicity laughed through her tears. ‘She’d hate me to go out to work, hate me not to be at her beck and call.’ She blew her nose. ‘But I would love to show you what I do.’

While a tray of flapjack and an oven-baked rice dish were cooking, Jenny was led up a little flight of
stairs to one of the turrets. It was a revelation.

To begin with, it was surprisingly bright.

‘Natural daylight bulbs,’ Felicity explained. ‘They cost a fortune, but without them this room would be useless in winter. You need good light if you’re dealing with colour.’

‘You’ve certainly got plenty of that.’

There were baskets ranged against the curved wall. In the baskets were hanks of wool, a different colour in each, and, within that, a seemingly infinite number of shades.

‘I don’t know how to tell the difference between these.’ Jenny put her hand in a basket of green.

‘It’s like having an ear for music, I suppose,’ said Felicity. ‘You can hear if it’s wrong. Or in my case, see it.’

On the walls were hangings, some finished, some not, all with little swatches of wool and scraps of paper, showing ways of doing it differently, or future plans pinned to them. There was a neat pile of cushion covers on a small table, enough to supply a minor branch of John Lewis. A battered, but comfortable-looking armchair, with an Anglepoise lamp above it, was drawn up by a small, empty, fireplace. Beside that was an ancient worktable, its drawer open, revealing scissors, packets of needles, and more hanks of wool. Under the table, next to a packet of cigarettes, was a bottle of whisky. Felicity picked it up.

‘Welcome to the sanctuary.’ She found a glass and waved it. ‘Want one?’

Jenny shook her head. ‘I don’t want to lose track of what’s in the oven. This is amazing!’

‘It’s a bit cold, I’m afraid. I only light the fire in winter.’

Jenny looked about her, fascinated. That Felicity, who was obviously such a victim of her mother’s cruelty, should have this secret refuge, full of light and colour, was a shock. And Meggie had been right about Felicity’s design skills. Not that Jenny was an expert, but she knew quality when she saw it. The workmanship was detailed and exact, but the designs were original, eye-catching and beautiful. Fantastic birds swooped up and behind exotic flowers and foliage. Mythical beasts challenged each other across cloths of gold. Musical instruments hung from trees whose branches forked and curled, dripping with jewelled fruits. That all this richness should come out of down-trodden and despairing Felicity was astounding. ‘And did you do all these hangings yourself?’

‘Yes. Mama thinks they’re a complete waste of time. She thinks I should dedicate myself to redoing all the dining room chairs, of which there are twelve, and then restoring the wall hangings in the hall.’

‘But they’re beautiful! Where did you get the wool? It would have cost a fortune to buy.’

‘It did, and I still spend most of my money on wool. Daddy left me enough for a small monthly income, much to Mama’s fury, and now I have a network of people who send me what’s left over from the kits they buy. Sometimes they get me to finish them. That earns a bit of extra. I have thought of writing to one of the big firms who make up the kits, to see if they’d be interested in me finishing embroidery for people who’ve bought kits and then lost interest. But that would mean me working other
people’s designs, and I really want to create my own.’

Felicity sank down into the armchair and lit a cigarette. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a whisky?’

‘Quite sure.’ Jenny, perched on the arm of a chair that was piled with bulging plastic bags, shook her head. ‘What are all these?’

‘Those are ends of wools waiting to be sorted. I could spend all my spare time sorting wool, but I like to get on and do some embroidery as well.’

‘I’m sure you do. Felicity, has it ever occurred to you that you could make money out of this?’

‘I do make a little money. I supply some small shops with cushion covers. Unfortunately, they mostly want conventional designs – flowers, cats, that sort of thing. It’s hard to sell anything really unusual in small towns.’

‘You haven’t tried to find outlets in bigger towns? Edinburgh? London, even?’

She shook her head. ‘There’s no point. I couldn’t supply enough, and what with looking after Mama, and the house, I haven’t got time. It’s going to be even worse with Philip gone.’ She sniffed, but to Jenny’s relief, she didn’t cry.

‘So it will. Is your mother very distraught under all that rigid control?’

‘Yes and no. She’s sure he’ll come back because she can’t believe he can live without her and I think guilt will bring him back eventually, for a visit, but as for ever living here again, there’s no chance.’

‘You haven’t any ideas about where Philip might be, have you?’

‘Not really.’ She lit another cigarette and sighed with satisfaction as the nicotine reached her lungs. ‘Do you
need him? I thought Kirsty could run the mill with one hand behind her back.’

‘Only up to a point.’ Jenny didn’t refer to missing papers but gestured to the embroideries. ‘Honestly, Felicity, you have real talent. Did you go to art school, or anything?’

Felicity shook her head. ‘One term of an access course, and then I got ill.’

‘It’s amazing. I’m sure we can use your talent, use it to get Dalmain’s in profit again. What would your mother have to say about that?’

Felicity laughed, genuinely amused. ‘She’d be furious. She’d say, “I did not bring up my daughter to be a mill hand!'"

Jenny laughed too. Felicity’s imitation of her mother was so accurate. ‘You’re right! That’s exactly what she would say, but she might not say it for long if it meant she could keep her house and her standard of living.’

Anxiety brought Felicity forward in her seat. ‘We’re not really likely to lose the house, are we?’

Jenny shook her head, cursing her slip of the tongue. ‘No, not
likely,
but it is just possible, if we can’t turn things around.’

‘And how are you planning to do that?’ Now Felicity was beginning to panic.

Jenny took a moment to compose her thoughts. She thought she’d been doing the right thing, involving Felicity, exploiting her genuine talent, but if she was going to get hysterical at the mere thought of her miserable life not continuing as before, perhaps it would be better to leave her out of the plans, at least until they were more concrete, with some hope of success.
She slumped for a second. And if she couldn’t sell her idea to Felicity, who had a vested interest in its success, she’d never convince her client and his chums to invest more money, or – as he would undoubtedly put it – throw good money after bad.

Banning all such negative thoughts with immense effort of will, she took a breath. ‘I want you to design knitwear – hand-knitted, exciting, interesting things to wear – cat-walk stuff, nothing ordinary – using unusual fibres, bits of silk, feathers, ribbon, garments we can charge a small fortune for. I’m thinking about producing fabric as well, but I expect we’d sell that on.’

‘I’ve never done anything like that. All my work is two dimensional.’

‘At the moment,’ said Jenny. ‘But there’s nothing to stop you having a go at clothes, is there?’

Felicity hesitated while Jenny forced herself to practise a relaxation technique. ‘I suppose not,’ Felicity said eventually. ‘In fact, it sounds fun. But why are you asking me? There must be lots of other people around who could do it.’

Jenny abandoned relaxation and gritted her teeth. ‘No there aren’t! Talent like yours does not grow on trees. And you’re here, it’s your mill, or your family’s, and it’s in your interest to make it work. Besides, you’d do it for nothing, at least to begin with, wouldn’t you?’

Felicity thought this highly amusing. ‘I’ve hardly ever been paid for anything in all my life.’

‘So, will you give it a go?’

‘You want me to design cardigans?’

‘Yes.’ Now it suddenly seemed ridiculous, as if she’d asked Felicity to design a moon rocket.

‘OK. I’ll give it a go. You’ll have to get me something
to draw on, some paper, pencils, pastel crayons, stuff like that. I don’t get out much. But no, I’d like to try.’