Highland Fling (27 page)

‘So I should imagine!’ said the mother in question. ‘But why won’t he come home?’

‘He has – dependants,’ said Jenny, thinking of the black-clad, long-legged, much pierced youths and their computer game. It would be a moot point which would find the other stranger; Lady Dalmain probably hadn’t set eyes on a teenager since Iain had been one, and it was unlikely the lads had ever come across anyone like Lady Dalmain outside a video nasty. ‘I didn’t meet his – his woman-friend.’

‘You’ve seen him? Oh, the darling boy. Is he all right?’

‘He seemed fine.’ Jenny wasn’t quite sure this was true – in fact, she had felt that Philip was perhaps finding living in a tiny flat above a shop with two huge teenagers harder than he’d imagined – but it was possible that true love was making it easily bearable.

‘This is such good news. How did you find him? Can I telephone him?’

‘I haven’t actually got a number for him,’ said Jenny carefully, feeling a call from Lady Dalmain might not be welcome. ‘I did ask him to call you and he said he would.’

‘Well, if Philip is going to be there,’ said Ross, ‘wild
horses wouldn’t keep me away from your dinner party, Lady Dalmain. It would be so good for management relations, don’t you think, Miss Porter?’

Miss Porter sent him a look which should have felled him, or at least created a half-decent lightning bolt. It was disappointing that he was still standing, and looking perfectly healthy. But he would find out that while she would do anything for anyone, she would not be bullied.

As Lady Dalmain was still in a state of ecstasy, it was left to Felicity and Henry to usher Ross off the premises. Jenny had no intention of being alone with him, even for a few minutes.

‘Pour me another drink, please, dear,’ said Lady Dalmain. ‘This is such good news. How did you track him down?’

‘It took a bit of detective work, and a call to Directory Enquiries.’

‘So you have got a number for him!’

‘Oh no. That call was to the bookshop. Now, if you’ll excuse me, someone’s got to do something about supper.’

‘Do you want me to peel the spuds or anything?’ asked Henry, coming back into the room.

‘No, thank you, Henry,’ said Jenny, not because she wasn’t impressed by this offer, or didn’t want the potatoes peeled, but because if Henry was in the kitchen, she couldn’t help herself to the large whisky she felt she both needed and deserved.

Over the chops and mashed potatoes, Lady Dalmain told Henry about Philip. ‘I’m sure you two will get on. He’s a very cultured man, you know. He’s inherited all
his father’s interest in books and my fascination with history. You do know I’m writing a book, don’t you, Henry?’

‘I do indeed, Lady Dalmain. I hope to have the pleasure of reading it sometime. Jenny, do you fancy a walk after supper? There are one or two things I want to discuss with you.’

Jenny glanced at her watch, knowing she hadn’t an excuse to say no, although being alone with him was the last thing she wanted. He had rapidly picked up the piece-by-piece washing-up routine of the antique china. He, Jenny and Felicity could get through it really quite quickly.

‘That would be lovely. After all, ifs still quite light.’

‘That’s something I always notice when I go to England,’ said Lady Dalmain. ‘How dark it is in the evenings. Not in high summer, obviously, but generally, the summer days are longer up here.’

‘And the winter ones are shorter,’ said Felicity. ‘I think we all suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder. Do you mind if I clear now?’

The Homely Haggis looked stark and lonely, crouched at the bottom of the great hill that eventually became a mountain. Jenny realised that, since she’d been at Dalmain House, winter had firmly pushed the autumn aside and taken its place. The men at the mill were all muttering about winter coming early. Jenny hoped it was just the meteorological kind, and not the loss of everyone’s jobs they were predicting.

‘You know, I can’t help noticing, Jenny Wren, that although you’re obviously being frightfully clever, you’re not the same Jenny I fell in love with,’ said
Henry, as the two of them walked up the path towards the brightly painted little van, its colours braver for the starkness of its surroundings. ‘Since you’ve been here you’ve become harder, somehow. You only think about business.’

‘That’s not true!’ Jenny thought about Ross Grant, almost continually. ‘But I have been under enormous pressure. If you knew what trouble the mill is in – it’s a miracle I ever come home at all. I should just camp out there.’

‘Ross Grant-Dempsey seemed decent enough.’

‘Did he? Well, he isn’t. He’s a swine, pure and simple. He’s made impossible demands on me, Kirsty at the mill and everyone.

‘He’s a businessman. So am I.’

‘I’m glad you’ve brought that up, Henry. Who is your client? You’ve told me that it’s Dalmain House he – or they – is interested in.’

‘Sweetie! You should know better than to ask me who my client is. It’s all highly confidential. But I’ll tell you one thing, I’m hoping to wrap up the Dalmain House sale fairly quickly.’

Jenny felt sweat break out along her hairline. Her first thought was that Philip had somehow arranged to sell Dalmain House separately, but then she realised he couldn’t. Dalmain House was definitely part of the surety for the loan. ‘You can’t do it unless someone is in a position to sell it. Now if you just told me –’ she tried.

‘I
can’t
’

‘But –’ She hesitated. Should she tell Henry it wasn’t up to Lady Dalmain? She had her own rules of confidentiality to consider. ‘I’m not sure – I mean, it is just possible that the house doesn’t belong to Lady
Dalmain. I’d hate you to go to all the trouble of convincing her that it would be a good idea to sell Dalmain House if she couldn’t.’

‘That might not be a problem. After all, your boss isn’t going to want Dalmain House, is he? If he could sell it off separately, he could get more for it, and get his money back quicker.’

This conversation was making Jenny very depressed. ‘I just don’t like the idea of you trying to sell Dalmain House behind Lady Dalmain’s back! And you are a guest in her house.’

‘So are you, but I bet she doesn’t know everything you get up to.’

Jenny swallowed. ‘No, but it’s all for her good, directly or indirectly.’ This at least was true, even though she doubted if Lady Dalmain would thank Jenny for everything she did, like encouraging Felicity to be more independent, and possibly run off with Lachlan.

‘Thafs just your opinion. In my opinion, it might be much better for Lady D. to have a smaller place, easier to heat and run. All those sort of practical things you never seem to think about.’

Jenny suddenly felt very tired. ‘Oh, do let’s stop arguing. It’s so exhausting. Here! I’ve got an idea! Let’s open up The Haggis and have something. It would be fun!’

‘So, what do you sell? Salmonella sausages? BSE burgers? CJD on rye?’ Henry asked, when Jenny had opened up and got herself behind the counter. It felt familiar and safe. If running The Homely Haggis was her full-time job, she would be so happy.

She didn’t react to his jibe. ‘Mostly home-made stuff,
actually, but I’m not sure what’s here. I haven’t been for a while, and I don’t expect Meggie has. Wha’s in this tin? Oh, flapjack.’ She gave the tin a sniff. ‘It doesn’t smell stale. Would you like a bit?’

He nodded. Was he developing a little paunch? Or was it just that his stomach didn’t have the hard flatness that frequent, arduous exercise produced? She was about to suggest that Henry went to the gym, and then realised how hurtful it would be. It was the sort of thing that he would say to her. She sighed.

‘What’s the matter, pork chop? Feeling blue because you haven’t been getting your affection ration? Why don’t you come over here and have a cuddle?’

She followed his suggestion and found comfort in the feel of his arms around her but not enough to assuage the guilt. It was another man’s arms she longed for, another man’s hand she wanted to stroke her hair. She should tell Henry that she no longer wanted to be with him, and that he should go home and find another woman. He kissed her and she kissed him back, and tears formed in the corners of her eyes. Perhaps she should stay with Henry, who was at least here, available to her, rather than hanker after a rat who obviously cared nothing for her.

‘Better now? That’s my girl. That’s my little pork chop.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t call me that.’

‘You never used to mind. I tell you, you’ve definitely changed.’

‘I don’t think I’ve changed, Henry. I think I’ve always been like this, always ready – perhaps too ready – to fight for the underdog. But I’ll tell you what, apart from the huge stress, and the pressure that your
friend Ross Grant-Dempsey has put us all under, I have almost enjoyed the challenge. There’s something about having your back against the wall, and fighting your way out.’

Henry nodded. ‘I’m thinking of setting up in business on my own. I’ve made loads of really good contacts up here. You could be my secretary. Stop working for all those other people. That would be a challenge.’

Typing Henry’s reports wasn’t quite the sort of challenge she had in mind. Should she take this opportunity to tell Henry that it was all over between them? She took a breath, about to do it.

‘By the way, I meant to tell you earlier. My parents are renting a place up here for Christmas. Should be fun, all of us together.’

Jenny started to walk, her resolve gone. If she and Felicity got a good outlet, when all the samples were made, if the mill wasn’t closed, then she’d tell him.

‘Hold my hand, Henry,’ she said, hiding her bleakness under a smile. ‘Let’s run up to that rock and then go home again.’

As they walked down the hill, still holding hands, Jenny spotted a Land Rover, far away, on the opposite hillside. Her thoughts flew back to Ross Grant, as if he was the only owner of a Land Rover in the world.

A few days later, Jenny spent a very happy afternoon watching Anna sleep in her Moses basket, while Meggie learned from Rowan how to make nuno felt. Before Rowan went home, Jenny arranged to visit her so she could buy something as a sample. It would mean there was one item fewer for the mill to produce.

One of the mill workers’ mothers, who had worked at the mill all her life, had hand spun a quantity of both alpaca and llama fibre. One of her male contemporaries (it was a delight to see them teasing and joshing like they must have done in the old days) had adjusted a loom. A friend of Effie’s, Nettie, wove the spun fibre into cloth. Everyone was pleased with the samples, but they weren’t large enough to make a garment. Meggie, Kirsty and Jenny felt that one of Felicity’s designs should be produced – a potentially beautiful cross between a pashmina and a cape. This required more fabric, therefore more hand spinning.

‘The longest journey starts with a single step,’ said Kirsty, eyeing the metre of material, reluctant to admit its beauty, softness and drape.

‘Oh, Kirsty! IT’s fabulous! You know it is!’ said Jenny. ‘Now I’ve got to go back to the house, and if Philip hasn’t phoned his mother yet, I’ll go and drag him home myself.’ She frowned. ‘But do we want him back at the mill?’

Kirsty pursed her lips. ‘It would be good if we could make him give us back the buildings, so we can raise some cash. But I’m not sure how he’ll regard all this.’ She gestured to the length of cloth. ‘He always was very set in his ways.’

‘So we’ll be fighting Philip as well as Ross Grant-Dempsey.’

‘I don’t think it’s quite like that.’

‘Yes, it is. He’s been totally unfair, asking us to get everything in place in such a short time. It would be better to work for Philip.’

‘At least Mr Grant-Dempsey seems to care about the mill.’

Jenny forgot her own bad temper. ‘But, Kirsty, you
love Philip – you’ve been so loyal to him over the years.’

‘More fool me. Philip walked out on the mill, keeping a nice little chunk of property for himself.’

‘Perhaps he was in love, and it seemed the only way.’

‘Fiddlesticks! The man is spineless, and I just haven’t let myself see it before now. I think we should get as much done and dusted before he’s likely to set foot in the place. He’s still the managing director. He could pull the plug on the place himself, never mind your client.’

‘I should never have gone looking for him, should I? Or, at least, I should have waited until we were further on with all this.’ The fabric, which lay across the desk, a shawl of cream, coffee, and chocolate colours, all natural, made Jenny want to wrap herself up in its gentle, edible warmth.

‘Nonsense, child! You were asked to find him. And when he turns up, we’ve got to persuade him to give up his right to the buildings. And the Dear knows how we’re going to do that.’

When she saw the smile on Lady Dalmain’s face, the moment she got past the dogs and through the door, Jenny knew Philip had phoned.

‘Darling boy! We talked for nearly an hour. He’s coming for supper next week. We must make sure we’ve got something nice. We’ll have a joint. Felicity will go and get one from the farm up the glen. Their beef is superb.’

Felicity was nursing a glass of whisky, sitting glumly by the fire. ‘Yes. They do a very nice line in fatted calf.’

‘Darling, do get Jenny a drink,’ went on Lady Dalmain, ignoring this dig. ‘I wonder where Henry’s got to?’

‘It’s awfully kind of you to have Henry to stay like this,’ said Jenny, taking what might be an opportunity to encourage Lady Dalmain to send him home.

‘Oh, that’s all right, dear. His firm are paying for his keep. He’s negotiating something over the other side of the river. Another European businessman buying a Scottish estate, I expect.’ She sighed. ‘It’s such a shame the old families can’t afford to keep them any more. When I think of Dalmain when I first came here as a bride. Thousands of acres – all sold off, bit by bit.’

‘So, was Philip well?’ Felicity asked, giving Jenny a glass of whisky, and preventing her mother from dissolving into sentimentality.

‘I think so. I feel that he may be coming to his senses about that woman. After all, any man might want to sleep with a barmaid, but living with one is quite another matter. They can have nothing in common.’