Highland Fling (17 page)

‘OK – but you do know all the people in the area? In the country, perhaps? Including England and Wales,’ she added hastily, in case he decided to be pedantic again.

He nodded. ‘I should imagine I do.’

Jenny was beginning to take back all the kind things she’d thought about him. ‘So do you think we could get enough of these – unusual fibres – to make garments to sell, at the very top end of the market?’

‘I have no idea. How much fibre would you need?’

Jenny looked at Felicity, who looked back, equally blank. ‘Kirsty’s bound to know. But it would be a shame if we got this good idea, and it was to fail because we couldn’t get enough raw material.’

‘You could always import more,’ said Lachlan. ‘You’ll have to import merino wool, anyway, if you’re going to make felt.’

‘We already have a huge supply of that,’ said Jenny. ‘But couldn’t we use Scottish wool?’

Lachlan shook his head. ‘It’s not suitable for anything finer than tweed. But tweed is an excellent fabric’

‘It is,’ said Jenny firmly, ‘but there are other people
who do it. We need to find a gap in the market, which only we can fill.’

‘Are you on the Internet?’ asked Lachlan. ‘I have the email address of a woman who might be useful to you. I’ll give it to you later.’

When everyone had finished eating, and Lachlan had refused help with the washing up, Jenny, knowing that Felicity must be longing to be alone with Lachlan, and Lachlan was probably equally keen, said, ‘I know it’s an awful cheek, but I couldn’t borrow your computer for a bit, could I? I really would like to email that person you suggested, and perhaps explore some websites? I know it must seem frightfully rude, but I am keen to get this underway.’

‘Don’t give it another thought,’ said Lachlan in his soft accent. I’ll show you where it is, and if you need to ask any questions, you’ll find Felicity and me somewhere about the place.’

Felicity was maddeningly quiet on the way home. She assured Jenny that she was all right, wasn’t feeling anxious and didn’t need to stop, but she chain-smoked and didn’t tell Jenny what had happened between her and Lachlan.

It’s only because my own love life is so unsettling at the moment, Jenny thought, shivering in the icy blast that came in through the window. If I was really in love with Henry, say, or having a relationship, even with that dreadful man, I wouldn’t be so fixated on Felicity and Lachlan.

Then she blinked and almost swerved. It was the first time she had acknowledged, out loud, as it were, that she did not love Henry. The realisation was a huge
shock. She’d always assumed that one day she’d have the big wedding and the babies, and Henry was the most likely candidate to have them with. Now, the thought of being married to someone like Henry, with a Home Counties bridge-playing mother-in-law, was suffocating. But this change of feeling was also too much of a volte-face to think about all in one lump. She had to let herself get used to the idea, little by little. She’d start by expunging the thought of the big white wedding and the big white dress. She’d redesign Henry later.

Just before they got home Felicity said, Thank you for taking me. I had a really lovely time. I’m going to work on plucking up the courage to go there on my own, now. After all, you don’t really want your car full of smoke, do you?’

They arrived home to find Lady Dalmain waiting for them. She had an air of reluctant excitement about her, as if she was pleased about something, but was pretending not to be.

‘Iain telephoned,’ she announced. ‘He’s taking his wife into hospital. The baby’s on its way.’

‘Oh, that’s wonderful!’ said Jenny. ‘You must be so excited.’

‘Yes, well,’ said Lady Dalmain, following Felicity into the sitting room, ready to accept the celebratory glass of whisky. ‘It’s not as if it’s the child of my first born, but it’s still exciting.’

‘So, if it was me having the baby and not Meggie, you’d be jumping up and down?’ Felicity faced her mother and for once looked directly at her, instead of sideways.

Lady Dalmain did appear a little abashed. ‘Of course, dear, I’d be thrilled, but let’s face it, you are far too old to have a baby. Philip could father children for some years yet.’

Felicity sipped her drink, and for a moment Jenny wondered if there was going to be a showdown, and suddenly hoped there wasn’t. She needed Felicity to be a designer. If she was all taken up with running off with Lachlan, she might not have the time.

‘Well,’ Jenny said brightly, stealing Felicity’s slot, ‘why don’t I make us all an omelette, or something, and then I think I should pop up to The Homely Haggis. There are a few people who come late, and all the locals have been asking about Meggie’s baby. I should put up some sort of banner.’

‘The Homely Haggis?’ repeated Lady Dalmain, horrified.

‘Yes. I’ve been helping Meggie out with it, since she’s been so pregnant.’ Jenny found herself blushing. It was as if she were one of Lady Dalmain’s children, caught out in an act of common behaviour. It took her all her willpower to remind herself that she was an independent woman, her own boss and a true professional. And when she’d done it, she wasn’t convinced.

I was under the impression that you were here to help Dalmain Mills and to find Philip, not to sell hot dogs to tourists!’

I can do both, Lady Dalmain,’ Jenny said with dignity. ‘And we don’t serve hot dogs. Now, who would like an omelette?’

She was peeling potatoes as if her life depended on it when Felicity joined her in the kitchen.

‘She hates any mention of The Homely Haggis. She
tried to stop Meggie having it, saying it brought shame on the family.’

‘Oh. I should have kept my mouth shut.’

‘She’s thought up to now that when you weren’t with us you were slaving away over your computer, saving the family fortune.’

‘I have done quite a lot of that! The Homely Haggis is a little much-needed relief! I do feel entitled to a bit of free time. Sort of.’

‘Oh yes. You are. I’m just explaining how Mama feels about it,’ said Felicity, placating her. ‘Can I do anything to help?’

‘You can slice the potatoes very thinly and then bring them to the boil. I’ll sauté them. Have you got any decent oil?’

Felicity produced a dust-covered bottle. ‘Will this do?’

‘I should think so.’ Jenny paused, her temper having receded. ‘I’ve just had an awful thought. By cooking dinner for your mother, she’ll think I’m just a domestic!’

Felicity laughed. ‘Maybe, but she’ll be glad of a decent meal. She just doesn’t live in the real world.’

Jenny sighed. And here I am, busting a gut, thinking up new ideas so she can go on not living in it. ‘When I get home,’ she said to a rather startled Felicity, ‘I may just get a job in a coffee bar, and give up everything else.’

Later, having left Felicity to do the washing up, Jenny went upstairs to make some notes. While she was on Lachlan’s computer, she had found some interesting items about nuno felt. But while she knew that ideas
for the future of the mill were important, what it really needed was a large investment of cash. Philip running off with the building plans and copies of the deeds had given her and Kirsty a hint as to just what valuable assets the buildings themselves were, but without the copies of the deeds, at least, there was nothing they could do about it. Really, finding Philip, getting him to agree to the mill buildings being sold, and the money reinvested, was the first priority.

But even if they could find him, would he give up his chance to pay off the loan secured by Dalmain House?

She chewed these imponderables over later in The Homely Haggis while serving a couple of hardy walkers, trying not to scan the skyline for cars that might possibly belong to Ross Grant.

There was a pattern to people’s behaviour. When they first arrived at the counter, they were polite, but unforthcoming, muttering their orders from between frozen lips. Then, as the hot drink penetrated their frozen stomachs and filtered out to their mouths, the rigidity of their expressions softened, they began to smile, and eventually became quite chatty.

When the couple had gone, the rain, which, while lurking in the clouds, had kept away all day, now came down in fine, icy, flurries. She thought of Meggie and Iain, giving birth to their first child, she thought of Felicity and her secret romance, of Kirsty, who had put so much of her life into Dalmain Mills, of Philip, who had abandoned his responsibilities. She didn’t blame him for running off with the woman he loved – any man in his situation might be driven to do that – but
she couldn’t forgive him for taking away what might represent the future for the mill.

Just then she saw Felicity’s car draw up. Jenny went out to greet her. ‘Is the baby born? What kind is it? Everything OK?’

‘No,’ said Felicity, panting and excited. ‘Iain forgot the bag with all Meggie’s tapes and aromatherapy oils and massage stuff. She says she won’t give birth without them and would you please take them to her in hospital?’

‘Goodness me, surely the baby will be born long before I can get there!’

Felicity shook her head. ‘Apparently she’s not very far along at all. In fact, she wanted to come home only they wouldn’t let her. Mama is absolutely furious. She says they should just induce the baby, and let Meggie go through the pain like every other woman, because when she had us, she didn’t have tapes and lavender oil or any of that nonsense.’ She giggled. ‘It was just stirrups and chloroform, gin if you were lucky. You should have heard her go on. When she heard that Iain was actually going to be present at the birth, she nearly had a fit. “It’s really quite unreasonable of her to expect Iain to witness all that unpleasantness. So selfish."’

‘Honestly! Poor Meggie! I wouldn’t want to go through childbirth without my best friend there.’ She frowned suddenly. ‘Presuming my partner was my best friend, of course.’

‘Well, I don’t know, and never will. Mama’s right. I am too old to have a baby, and I haven’t even got a husband.’

‘Oh, Felicity! I think you and Lachlan may very well get it together. He’s so nice.’

‘Oh, he’s nice, but he’d need something more than just me in a partner. I’m too pathetic for him. I could never do the farmer’s wife things he’d need.’

Jenny was busy closing up the van. ‘Rubbish! You run Dalmain House, don’t you? If you can do that, Lachlan’s dear little farm would be a doddle. And you’d soon get used to llamas having babies and stuff. It would be so sweet.’ She pulled down the shutter with a rattle and emerged from the side door. ‘And if you were really in love, he’d be tolerant.’

‘Do you really think so?’ Felicity sounded so wistful, Jenny put her hand on hers.

‘Yes! And if you were the top designer for Dalmain Mills, who saved the whole business, well, he’d respect you so much.’

The thought of people respecting her turned Felicity silent.

‘And you’re sure I can get Meggie’s stuff to the hospital before the baby comes?’

Felicity returned to the matter in hand. ‘Oh yes, I think so. She’s determined not to have it until she’s got it, anyway.’

I don’t suppose she has much choice in the matter. I don’t think you can say, “Oh no, not now,” and put the whole thing on hold.’

‘Iain seemed fairly sure there’d be time. They wanted to give her an injection to move things along a bit but Meggie refused. I gather she’s being difficult.’

‘Hell! The woman is giving birth! She’s entitled to be difficult.’ She frowned. ‘How will I get into the house?’

Jenny found herself with plenty to think about as she drove along. Would she want Henry with her as
she gave birth? The thought was so bizarre it made her laugh. He was so squeamish he hadn’t been able to put a sticking plaster on for her once, when she’d cut her thumb. He’d never cope with yelling, obvious pain and mess. Hating herself, even as she did it, she wondered if she’d want Ross Grant there while she gave birth. Trying hard, but failing, to force the idea out of her mind, she found that actually, she would. For however many million other faults Ross Grant had, she was willing to bet that squeamishness was not one of them.

She dragged her thoughts back to Henry. Perhaps she could have Henry’s baby without him there. Apart from the row they’d had before she’d come up here, they didn’t often fight. And that was as it should be. They would have the big white wedding, the exotic honeymoon, and then live in a small converted rectory, until they could afford to live in a large one. Henry would expect her to cook his meals and iron his shirts and collect his dry-cleaning, and while she had no moral objection to these tasks, sitting opposite Henry after a long day of being a wife and mother did not seem sufficient reward. Particularly when his lovemaking was so dull.

No sooner was the thought formed than she gave herself a mental kick in the shins for being so unkind. It wasn’t his fault she faked every orgasm. If she had ever plucked up the courage to talk about sex to him, she may not have had to. The trouble was, it was so much easier to do a bit of heavy breathing, and make a few mewing noises than it would be to explain what she wanted. It was her fault. She was sure he would spend hours looking for her G spot if
only she’d ask him to – well, if not hours, a few minutes. But she preferred to fake it. It gave her something to do.

And yet Ross Grant, who had driven up out of the mist, had turned her into a jelly just by looking at her, and one kiss from him had been more exciting than Henry’s entire repertoire of strokes and tweaks and little bites.

She’d have to break up with Henry, she decided. After her work was finished here, she’d have to explain she didn’t think they were suited. Her mother might be a bit upset, of course, and Henry’s mother would be devastated. Marjorie had practically picked Jenny out for him. She was the perfect little executive wife, pretty enough, a good cook – she even had a little job she could do from home before the ‘smalls’ went to prep school. Henry’s father would be upset too, the old lecher. He’d have to find some other young thing to hug too often and make remarks that couldn’t quite be described as being off colour, but that were somehow offensive.

Jenny felt relieved as she drove round the town, looking for signs to the hospital. It was a decision she should have taken a long time ago, but now she’d taken it, she felt almost light-hearted. She wasn’t looking forward to telling Henry, of course, she hated the thought of hurting him. But how much, apart from his pride, would she hurt? She wasn’t entirely convinced it was her he loved anyway. More likely he just saw her as a set of wifely qualities, wrapped in a beddable package.