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She recognised Richard Duncan immediately; the thick black hair, the long stern face, the dark, deep-set almost navy blue eyes. No wonder he had known so much about her as he drove her to Glencarrick from Dunglevin yesterday. No wonder, either, that he had been lacking in sympathy for her misfortune. Good
ness knows he had enough sorrow of his own; tragically losing his beautiful wife and being left to shoulder alone the burden of his strange little daughter. She smiled at him as Ben made the introductions, ashamed that his first impression of her—mistaken though it was—must have been one of wallowing self-pity.

‘We’ve already met,' he cut Ben short. He let his gaze rest on her simple summer dress and sandals. ‘I notice that you’ve taken full advantage of the fact that the sun is shining today, despite your alleged indifference to the weather the last time we met,’ he remarked.

Rachel flushed. She had been prepared to forgive his outspoken comments yesterday, prepared even to feel sorry for him in his misfortune, but the man was downright rude. And arrogant!

Without giving her time to reply he turned his attention to Melanie. ‘Are you ready, child?’ he asked, not unkindly.

Melanie shook her head vehemently, still clutching Rachel’s hand, and Rachel could feel the sudden tension in the little figure. She knelt down so that her face was on a level with Melanie’s and saw that the child’s eyes were full of terror.

‘There’s no need to be frightened of going to see the speech therapist, darling,’ she said softly. ‘She only wants to help you. Surely you want to be able to talk, don’t you?’

‘She’s being utterly ridiculous, as usual,’ Richard said impatiently. He fished a tie out of a drawer in his desk and knotted it expertly without the aid of a mirror. ‘Come along, child, I haven’t all day to waste.’

The four of them left the office, Richard leading the way, with Ben following him and Melanie, still clutching Rachel’s hand, bringing up the rear. Rachel talked encouragingly to the little girl all the way to the car, which she climbed into without further protest, but Rachel was dismayed to see tears well up in the big brown eyes as she fastened the safety belt for her.

‘Why is she so frightened of the speech therapist?' Rachel managed to say to Richard before he got into the driver’s seat.

‘I can’t imagine. Miss Botham is a motherly soul and does her best. She doesn’t seem to be having any success, though.' He looked down at his little daughter, a look of exasperation on his face. ‘Sometimes I think it’s sheer stubbornness that prevents her from speaking.' Suddenly he turned away, his shoulders drooping. He took off the glasses he wore for driving and passed his hands over his eyes; the gesture was one of weariness and defeat and Rachel caught a look of hopelessness in his eyes before he climbed in beside his daughter, his glasses and his aloof, businesslike veneer both safely back in place.

But in that brief moment Rachel had glimpsed the real Richard Duncan; had seen the loneliness and heartache kept carefully hidden behind the hard shell he presented to the world and had realised how he must have loved Celia, his wife, and how he must miss her. Just as she missed Keith, her dead fiancé.

But the face before her eyes as Ben drove her back to Glencarrick was not that of Keith but of Richard, who, in those few unguarded seconds, had revealed more of himself than he suspected. More, too, than Rachel had wished to see, for without that brief glimpse she could have disliked him wholeheartedly, whereas now....

Mentally, she gave herself a shake. She had come to Glencarrick to mend a broken heart, not to have it broken all over again.

The
days slipped quickly by and Rachel had been staying at Kilfinan Lodge a week almost before she knew it. She spent quite a lot of time on her own because her aunt was usually occupied up at the Big House, but she was happy enough exploring the countryside. Wandering round the Estate she often saw Ben at work and she would stop and have a friendly chat with him, careful not to antagonise Melanie, who was never far away.

Since the day at Ardenbeg when she had clung so tenaciously to her Melanie had taken little interest in Rachel, but she kept a watchful eye on Ben and if she considered he was paying too much attention to Rachel she would slip between them and slide her hand proprietorially into his. Rachel was puzzled. She was used to dealing with difficult children but she had never met anyone quite like Melanie.

‘Has she always been like this, Ben?’ she asked one day. She had come upon Ben fixing a fence by the stream and had been watching him in silence for some time before she spoke. He was stripped to the waist, working as he was in a sheltered pocket of sunshine, and his back was broad and tanned. He straightened up and glanced at the little girl, who was gathering daisies a little distance away.

‘She hasn’t spoken a word since around the time her
^;
mother died. Mind you, she was never what you’d call a chatterbox—not like some children.’

'But she
could
talk.’

‘Oh, yes, she
could
talk, but she was always a quiet little thing.' He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘I suppose she used to talk to me more than anyone.'

‘Have you tried to
make
her talk?’ Rachel asked.

Ben shook his head. ‘I don’t think that’s the way to go about it. She’ll talk when she’s ready and not before. I expect it was the shock of her mother’s death that caused it and it’ll right itself in time. Richard takes her for speech therapy—he knows it’s a waste of time and money but he does it just the same, to salve his conscience, I suppose. Then there’s the row going on over sending her to school; Richard wants, to send her to boarding school, but the old man favours a governess,' he grinned, ‘that’s an old-fashioned word, isn’t it? Alistair thinks she’s been upset enough, without sending her away from everyone she knows, but Richard thinks that would be best for her.’ He rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead. ‘Something will have to be done about her soon, that’s for sure. They can’t shelve the problem for much longer.’

Rachel frowned. ‘But surely it’s up to Richard. After all, Melanie’s his daughter.'

‘It’s not as simple as that,’ Ben told her. ‘Richard’s business is not making enough money to pay the fees of the school he has in mind. So without Alistair’s financial blessing she can’t be sent there. Maybe the old man is using this as a lever to get Richard back running the Estate, because that’s what he would like more than anything.’

‘Poor little girl,’ Rachel murmured. ‘It’s sad to think she’s being used as a pawn.' She wandered over to where Melanie was sitting, her lap full of daisies, and sat down beside her.

‘I used to make daisy chains when I was a little girl,' she said, picking a few daisies and stringing them together as she spoke. ‘It’s quite easy. You can make necklaces, bracelets, even a little coronet. See?’ She made a circlet of the flowers and laid it gently on Melanie’s dark hair.

The child put up her hand and felt the flowers on her head. For a moment she almost smiled; then she snatched them off and scrambled to her feet, daisies spilling in all directions, and ran off.

Rachel stood up and went thoughtfully on her way. There must be some way of getting through to the unhappy little girl.

It was little more than two miles to Ardenbeg by the mountain track, although three times this distance by road, and so deep in thought was she that Rachel had crossed the mountain and was down by the little harbour at Ardenbeg before she realised where her feet had taken her. She stood watching the boats; the pleasure steamer, plying between the lochs and the little islands at the mouth of the Clyde; the small sailing boats bobbing on the wind-rippled water and a larger fishing vessel—the
Celia
—just coming in to moor. It was a warm day, but here by the water there was enough breeze to make Rachel wish she had brought a sweater to put on over her smock-top and jeans.

She watched absently as several men disembarked from the fishing boat, most of them carrying fishing rods in one hand and a ‘bend’ of mackerel in the other. The last man to disembark, some time after the others, was Richard Duncan.

He clomped along the jetty in thigh-boots and thick Arran sweater, yellow oilskins over his arm, and Rachel couldn’t help noticing the young, almost boyish look about him today. He stopped when he saw her and ran his fingers through his tousled hair.

Rachel! What are you doing here? Did Ben bring you?’

She couldn't help smiling at his surprise. ‘Of course not. I walked. It’s not far by the mountain track.’

‘That was a stupid thing to do.’

‘Why? I enjoyed it. I love walking.’

He stopped and turned to look at her. ‘One of the first things you must learn is that you don’t go marching willy-nilly over these hills. You obviously haven’t realised just how quickly the mists can come down. Come back to my office with me and wait until I’ve changed, then I’ll take you home in my car.’

She opened her mouth to protest, but he walked on, giving her little choice but to follow him, seething inside to think that she had made herself look foolish.

They walked along in silence and Rachel realised that although she herself was considered quite tall she barely reached Richard Duncan's shoulder. Suddenly he looked down at her again. ‘There's a Mini in the garage at Kilfinan House. True, it hasn’t been used much lately, but I’ll ask Ben to check it over and then you can have the use of it. You do drive, I take it?’

She nodded. ‘Oh, yes.’

‘Right. It’ll make you mobile so you don’t have to go clambering-over mountain tracks.
That's
for people who know what they’re doing.’

‘I’m not a complete idiot!’ Rachel was stung to retort.

‘Then in future don’t act like one. Look.’ He pointed to the way she had come from Glencarrick. Not only was the track obscured, but the mountain, shrouded in a thick mist, had completely disappeared. It was as if it had never existed. ‘It’ll clear as quickly as it came, but if you were up there now you wouldn’t be feeling too happy,’ he said.

She shuddered. Of course, he was right.

When they arrived at Richard’s office there was al
ready someone there waiting for him. The visitor was a girl of around Rachel's own age, with chestnut hair, thickly coiled into the nape of her neck, and a flawless, peaches-and-cream complexion. She got to her feet as they entered and the thing that struck Rachel was not her beauty—although there was no denying that—but her air of complete self-possession. She was wearing a pale green jump suit that moulded her figure to its best advantage, with a darker green scarf knotted with studied carelessness at the neck. The effect was striking.

‘You’re late back, Richard,’ she greeted him. ‘I’ve been here waiting nearly half an hour.'

‘I’m sorry, but you know I’m unpredictable, Moira. The lines got fouled up on a wreck, that’s what made us late. It was my fault, I should have checked the chart myself instead of leaving it to someone else.’ He sat down and begun pulling off his boots. ‘Did you want to see me for anything special?’

Moira didn’t speak for a moment. She simply gazed expectantly at Rachel.

‘Oh,’ Richard took the hint and made the introductions. ‘Rachel Canfield—staying with her aunt, Rose Canfield, at the Lodge; Moira McLeod, farms at the top of the glen with her brother.

Moira nodded to Rachel with a wry smile. ‘With my brother
when
he's at home, I might add. Most of his time is spent in London where he\s hoping to make a small fortune as a playwright.’ She made a face. ‘So far, the fortune he’s made has been
very
small, in fact practically non-existent.’

‘That’s a bit uncharitable, Moira,’ said Richard. ‘David did have one success, remember.’

‘Yes, and it was on the strength of that that he uprooted himself and went to London. Maybe it would have been better if he'd never sold that first play—he hasn’t sold one since.’

‘Have you heard from him lately?’ Richard asked.

‘Yes, I had a letter this morning. He says he’s coming home for the Midsummer Ball at the end of next week and will I find him a partner. That’s why I called on you today, Richard, to make sure you hadn’t forgotten that you’re taking me.’

‘I hadn’t forgotten.’ Richard peeled off two layers of sweater to reveal a navy sports shirt and ran a comb through his hair. ‘But who have you got lined up for David?’

‘Nobody, so far. By the time I’d exhausted his list of who
not
to ask I find there’s nobody much left.’ She turned to Rachel. ‘Perhaps you’d like to come?’

Receiving such an offhand invitation Rachel’s first instinct was to refuse, but then she caught the look on Richard’s face. Clearly, this was just what he was expecting her to do so, perversely, she smiled at Moira and said quietly, ‘Thank you, I’ll be happy to come. It’s nice of you to ask me.’

‘Good. It’s a relief to get that settled. Mind you, you'll find David good company. He can be quite a charmer —when he chooses.’ Moira turned her attention to Richard and linked her arm possessively through his. ‘I’ve half an hour to spare, Rick. Have you time for some tea at Craig Lodge before we go our separate ways?’

‘I’m sorry, Moira.’ Richard extricated himself from her clasp and began sorting through the papers on his desk. ‘I have work to do back at the house; besides, I’ve arranged to give Rachel a lift back to Glencarrick. Some other time, maybe.’

Moira sighed deeply. ‘You work far too hard, my dear.’ She picked up her bag and went to the door. ‘But don’t forget you’re dining with me next Thursday, work or no work.’

‘I shan’t forget,’ he replied, without looking up.

When Moira had gone, leaving behind her a faint but distinctive waft of expensive perfume, totally out of place among the sea-boots and fishing tackle of Richard’s office, Rachel sat down and prepared to wait for Richard.