Highland Fling (20 page)

‘I came to see you, sweetie.’ Henry leant across the
counter and kissed her nose. ‘Aren’t you pleased to see me?’

Instead of relief, she felt extreme irritation. ‘Of course, but it’s such a surprise.’

‘For me too. I didn’t expect to find you serving behind the counter at a place like this.’ His infinitesimal hesitation indicated precisely his opinion of The Homely Haggis. It was on a par with Lady Dalmain’s.

‘I expect you are surprised to see us,’ said Lady Dalmain, staring horrified at
Meggie. ‘But when Henry arrived and asked for you, I naturally told him where you were. Then he very
sweetly offered to drive me over. Such fun! I haven’t been to a Highland games where I have no official duties
for years. And, of course, dear Hamish was a pillar of the community. It’s only right to pay one’s respects. Margaret,’ she addressed Meggie, ‘I know it’s none of my business, but should you be doing that here? It can’t be hygienic’

‘Oh, it’s fine. She doesn’t get anything except me, I make sure of that.’

‘I meant for the customers.’

Meggie’s brow darkened.

‘Can I get either of you a cup of tea?’ asked Jenny, pushing Meggie back onto her chair. ‘Now, what would you like? Henry?’ she added sharply.

Henry, having taken in what Meggie was doing, was staring, half fascinated, half horrified.

‘You know how you like my flapjack,’ Jenny persisted. ‘Or have you just eaten?’

‘Henry took me out for lunch. It was quite good, wasn’t it?’ Lady Dalmain was looking at the plates of flapjack and shortbread. ‘But we didn’t have pudding.’

‘I’m sure you’ll find the tea and shortbread very superior.’

Henry raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Darling, how can it be? This is a fast-food stand.’

Certain that any moment Meggie would put Anna down and deck both her mother-in-law and Henry, Jenny gabbled on, ‘Because we only use the highest quality ingredients and everything is home-made. I make the flapjack myself.’

Lady Dalmain frowned. ‘Do you? And where do you do that? You couldn’t bake here, could you?’ She peered behind the counter, causing Meggie to pick up a cloth and fling it over Anna’s head.

‘I do it at Dalmain House,’ said Jenny. ‘But only when the oven is on anyway. And I have put a portion of the profits aside to pay for gas. Not really,’ she added to Meggie, who was still steaming, protected from committing murder only by her feeding baby.

‘Good,’ said Lady Dalmain. ‘I wouldn’t like to think of you taking advantage of my hospitality.’

‘Oh, Jenny would never do that, Lady Dalmain,’ said Henry. ‘She’s absolutely scrupulous.’

‘Well, thank you,’ said Jenny. ‘Now, Henry, if you don’t want anything to eat, and do want to see a caber being tossed, you should make your way over there. I think I see them starting up.’

‘What? Oh, that thing that looks like a telegraph pole? Good Lord! I think I can do without that. I came to see you, Jenny. Any chance of you coming out from behind there?’

‘No!’ she said hastily, before Meggie could say yes. ‘Where are you staying?’

‘At the Achnabrech Arms.’

‘My dear young man! It’s frightful! You can’t possibly stay there.’

Lady Dalmain had obviously taken a shine to Henry, and sensing what might be coming, Jenny broke in. ‘I expect he needs to be there, for his work.’

‘So what is it you do?’ asked Lady Dalmain.

‘I’m a property consultant.’ He gave her the patient smile he gave everyone who needed further explanation and flicked back his soft, brown forelock. ‘It’s not quite the same as an estate agent – we don’t sell houses as such. We work with the client, seek out suitable properties, which may not even be for sale until we meet the owners, and make a match.’

‘Although you do negotiate the sale, then,’ said Jenny, wiping furiously at the clean counter, feeling that Henry shouldn’t be allowed to dissociate himself entirely from the sordid financial aspects of the job, however much he might like to appear to be above that sort of thing.

‘Well naturally,’ he agreed reprovingly, ‘our client isn’t going to want anyone else to do it by that time. We’ll have worked up a good relationship by then.’

‘So the hotel is probably well placed for you?’ asked Jenny, crossing her fingers.

‘Actually,’ Henry smiled. Jenny realised she’d never noticed how oily he could be before, ‘most of the properties are in the same neck of the woods as Dalmain House, but my secretary couldn’t find anywhere decent for me to stay round there.’

‘There isn’t anywhere decent,’ said Lady Dalmain, with satisfaction. ‘Why don’t you stay with us? We could do with some masculine company. I get terribly bored with female chatter.’

Now it was Jenny who was about to commit murder.

‘I couldn’t possibly impose on you like that,’ said Henry, meaning that he could, only too well.

‘Actually, Henry,’ said Jenny, ‘could I have a word?’ She indicated with her head that they should meet outside the van. For both her own sake and Henry’s, she felt obliged to warn Henry about the eccentricities of Dalmain House and its plumbing. He was a man who needed a bidet and a power shower to be comfortable. Having to manage with a miserly trickle of tepid water would make him very unhappy.

‘Well, I could certainly do with a welcome kiss, sweetie. It doesn’t feel like you’re my little Jenny Henny behind that counter.’

Jenny and Meggie squeezed past each other so Jenny could get out of the van. Meggie seemed to be enjoying herself.

Henry’s arms were round her and his lips on hers before she could draw breath. She felt suffocated and crushed and she could taste game pie. She tried to get into the kiss. This was Henry, with whom she lived, shared a bed, made love to. Had he always been such an awful kisser? If so, how did they get beyond the third date?

‘God, I needed that!’ he murmured. ‘It’s good the old lady has invited me to stay. I can’t wait for a bit of – you know –’

‘If you mean sex,’ Jenny hissed back, ‘you can forget it! We’ll be staying under Lady Dalmain’s roof! It would be terrible to abuse her hospitality like that!’

‘Come on, Jen! You’re not usually so prudish!’

‘I know,’ she patted his arm, ‘and I’m sorry. But I’ve been under so much pressure lately, and what with
one thing and another the thought of creeping about in Dalmain House, which is absolutely bloody freezing by the way, is just not appealing now.’ She didn’t mention her client’s visit on Monday – she couldn’t bear to have to start explaining everything.

‘You mean I’ve driven all this way, and you won’t even –’

‘I didn’t ask you to drive to Scotland to see me! And, anyway, I thought you said you had business.’

‘I have, very good business, in fact.’ He laid his finger against his nose in a gesture that made Jenny want to hit him. ‘One of the reasons I’m keen to see Dalmain House.’

It took Jenny a moment to take in the significance of this. ‘You mean, you’ve got a client interested in Dalmain House?’

‘No names, no pack drill.’

Jenny wanted to scream. ‘Just tell me, has someone asked you to sell Dalmain House?’

Henry made a concession. ‘No, I’ve just been asked to look at it, to see if it’s suitable for a certain client, that’s all.’

‘Because as far as I know, it’s not for sale.’ Unless Philip had somehow managed to get the deeds to the house as well, and was doing something dirty behind everybody’s back.

‘Everything’s for sale at a price, Jenny,’ said Henry pompously.

‘Not everything,’ she snapped. Not me, for instance, she added silently. ‘Now why don’t you have a wander round? I don’t suppose Lady Dalmain will want to stay long, and then she’ll order you to drive her home.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about Lady D. I’ve got her taped. I happened to notice she had a Whittard when I very first arrived. She was so thrilled, now I can do no wrong. Look how she’s invited me to stay!’

Jenny decided not to ask what the hell a Whittard was, and was about to reprove him for taking advantage of a poor old lady, when she remembered who the poor old lady was. ‘Well, I hope you don’t regret saying yes. The house is dreadfully uncomfortable.’

‘But think how useful it will be for me to have actually stayed in a house I’m selling! Really valuable information to be had there!’

‘I thought you said you weren’t selling it!’

‘I may be, I may be not. You know how confidential my work is, Jen. You should know better than to ask questions.’

‘Oh, bloody hell, Henry! I’m staying there too! These people are becoming my friends! Well, not Lady Dalmain, of course, but her daughter. I feel you should tell me if you’ve been instructed to sell the place.’

‘OK, OK, don’t get your feathers ruffled, Jenny Wren. I’ve a client who might be interested in buying it. But no one has instructed me to sell it. Satisfied now?’

‘Sort of.’ She gave his arm a little rub. It was meant to be in affection, but in fact she found herself pushing him away. ‘Now go and enjoy your first Highland games. It may be your last.’

‘Not until I’ve had another kiss. I haven’t given up hope of changing your mind about the other.’

Jenny submitted, wondering why she suddenly felt so repulsed by Henry. She opened her eyes, and then
shut them again. She must have conjured him up! It was Ross Grant! Staring at her! How long had he been there? Did he arrive during or after she was kissing Henry?

She broke free. ‘Off you go, Henry. Lady Dalmain is looking very disapproving. Go and escort her to the caber tossing, or the piping competition, or whatever.’

Lady Dalmain was indeed looking disapproving, but it was at Meggie, not at Henry and Jenny. Ross Grant seemed to have disappeared, and Jenny wondered if she had imagined him. While Henry and Lady Dalmain were discussing what they wished to see, Jenny tried to decide if she wanted to have just imagined him, so he hadn’t seen her kissing Henry, or wanted him to be real, so she might see him again. She had just decided it would be better if he had been a figment of her imagination when she saw him again. He was examining a thumb stick with deep concentration at a stall just across the way.

She was just about to tell Meggie that they’d been here quite long enough and that they should pack up and go home, when a young woman and someone who was obviously her mother appeared at the counter. They squealed delightedly when they saw Meggie.

It turned out that the young woman was Meggie’s oldest friend, and that the mother had a VW camper van parked a little way away.

‘Come across to us and have a wee rest,’ urged the mother. She smiled at Jenny. ‘I’m sure your friend can take care of things here for you. You could have a nice lie down in the camper.’

‘Yes, of course I can manage! In fact, I’ll manage a
darn sight better without you and Anna cluttering up the place! I feel so guilty agreeing to let you come.’

‘Oh, she’d have come anyway,’ said the mother. ‘Always headstrong – has been from a lassie. It’s good you were able to help her out.’

Jenny was watching Lady Dalmain and Henry. They were a little distance from her, perfectly visible, but unaware of her. Lady Dalmain had obviously met some old friends who were standing by an old Rolls Royce shooting brake, complete with half timbering at the back. They were all wearing tartan in some form. The older woman, quite a bit younger than Lady Dalmain, was wearing a tartan suit. Her daughters, who shared their mother’s pale red hair and freckled skin, but not her desire for the all-over look, were wearing jeans, Gucci loafers and tartan jackets. They definitely looked as if they would have been more at home in Sloane Square than at such a country event. While Jenny assumed they were true Scotswomen, born and bred, they didn’t quite fit in with the kilts and hand-knitted socks, which looked unbearably prickly, or with the local worthy ladies, who wore knee-length tartan skirts with no concession to fashion. They were clustered round Henry in a rather overenthusiastic way.

Jenny tried to feel jealous. There she was, watching Henry being charmed and flattered by three very young women, and she couldn’t summon up even the smallest twinge.

She was just wondering how she’d feel if she saw Ross Grant in the same position, when he appeared. She nearly jumped out of her skin. All the moisture vanished from her mouth and her knees threatened to buckle.

‘Oh God!’ she said, short of breath. ‘You gave me a fright! What do you mean, creeping up on me like that?’

‘I didn’t creep up on you! I arrived in a perfectly normal manner, as you would have seen if you hadn’t been looking longingly at your boyfriend!’ He seemed bigger than Jenny remembered him, and he’d seemed quite large before. He was wearing faded jeans and a navy sweater. On his feet were socks and walking boots. The jeans made it clear how flat his stomach was, how long and muscular his legs. Henry, whom she had previously considered to be a fine man, suddenly seemed effete and puny.

‘What? Oh, you mean Henry! I wasn’t looking longingly!’

‘Oh?’ He sounded sceptical. ‘Don’t you feel just the tiniest bit jealous? There he is, his saliva hardly dry on your lips, charming the pants off those young women.’

She shuddered. ‘That is the most disgusting thing I have ever heard.’

‘You should get out more. Talking of which, how about that drink? I know it was a while ago that we talked about it, but I’ve been away.’

Jenny stared at him in complete amazement. ‘You don’t really expect me to go out with you, now, when you’ve been so incredibly rude, do you?’

Amusement danced in the back of his eyes. He shrugged. ‘Well, you certainly won’t if I don’t ask you.’

Terrifyingly, she found herself responding to his enjoyment. ‘But why on earth would I go out with you? You’ve seen for yourself, I’ve got a boyfriend.’

He didn’t answer immediately. He looked into her
eyes, apparently sizing her up. ‘That didn’t seem evident when I kissed you before. Then, you seemed completely – unencumbered.’

Small, incomprehensible sounds emerged from her throat as Jenny tried to get a grip. She should slap his face or something, and she might have done if there hadn’t been two feet of stainless steel and several plates of home baking between them. ‘You are – just – I can’t believe you!’