Unknown (7 page)

The
Lamberts left. Frances saw the luxury launch disappearing down the loch with a feeling of relief. At the conclusion of the party they had all drunk the healths of the competitors, and laughed about friendly rivalry. But Brett’s laugh was forced and his eyes held a malignant gleam; there was no friendship there. Samantha had sighed and said coquettishly:

‘I have to choose between my brother and my . . . boy-friend, so I’ll hope for a draw.'

The pause before ‘boy-friend' was noticeable; she had not quite dared to call Gray her fiancé.

Since Gray was still at Craig Dhu, Frances went every afternoon to the mere, hoping he might join her, but he did not appear. He was very busy finalising his preparations as his departure date drew near, but it was strange that he lingered by the loch, when his home town would have been more convenient. Lesley said it was to avoid his mother’s lamentations, she being the worrying kind. The telephone in the office was always buzzing and Ian was sent daily into Mallaig to collect mail which otherwise might have been delayed.

On the third afternoon after the Lamberts' visit, Frances arrived at the mere and found Gray standing beside it, apparently waiting for her. It was a breezy day, with white clouds scudding over a blue sky, and not very warm. As usual when she caught sight of him unexpectedly, Frances’ heart gave a lurch, and the gladness that welled up in her warned her that she was perilously near losing her heart to him, in spite of her determination not to do so.

‘Too chilly to swim today,’ he decided, and she felt disappointed, wondering why he had come if that were not his intention.

‘Then I might as well go back,’ she said despondently, but she made no move to do so. Caesar was standing beside him and she hoped he might suggest a walk.

He was fidgeting with the buckle of his belt—he
wore grey slacks and a blue tee-shirt—and seemed ill at ease. He kept looking at Frances searchngly and then away again as if he had something on his mind concerning her. She hoped he was not going to bring up the subject of Ian, recalling his inimical glances in their direction when the younger man had rescued her at the party. While he was away there would be no barrier to their intimacy, and he might be going to make some proviso concerning him, for he still seemed to be suspicious of their friendship, so much so that Frances hardly dared to speak to Ian in his presence. To her surprise he said suddenly:

‘Let’s go for a row on the loch.’

‘That would be lovely, if you’re sure you can spare the time.’ She spoke demurely, but with a provocative gleam in her eyes. He had ignored her during the past few days.

His grey eyes crinkled amusedly.

‘Been feeling neglected since I haven’t met you here?'

She had, but she would die sooner than admit it. She had no claim upon his time and he had been very good-natured to give her so much of it.

'Of course not. I know you’ve more important things to do, but I promised to practise regularly.’

‘Do you always keep your promises, Fran?'

'If humanly possible.’

'Good, because I’m going to extract one from you which may be a severe test of your resolution.’

Ian, she thought despairingly. Have I got to swear I won’t speak to him, or jeopardise my job? That lad's an obsession with him. How can I convince him that I only care for him as a friend?

But though she was sure of her feelings in that direction, she feared Ian’s were very different. He never said anything, but his eyes were eloquent when he looked at her. and of course Gray had noticed. He was being tyrannical and unfair, for if she had returned Ian’s devotion there was no barrier between them except possibly finance. She had no idea what the young man’s prospects were, but presumably Gray could not debar him from marriage indefinitely, and he was himself involved with an American heiress, which should make him sympathetic. She resolved that if Gray made any unreasonable demand, she would speak her mind and risk dismissal. She did not think he would go that far now that she had made herself so useful to Mrs Ferguson, and she was not going to submit to his despotic whims, however much the others might kow-tow to him.

Although he was watching her face intently, Gray did not elucidate further. Instead he said suddenly:

‘Race you down to the quay!’

His seriousness had vanished in a surge of boyish exuberance, and the trio set off down the hillside, Caesar barking excitedly. He outdistanced her easily, and when she reached the quay, out of breath and laughing, for the speed of her going had exhilarated her also, Gray was in the boat and shoving out an oar. Then she realised that this expedition had been premeditated, for the rowboat was not usually moored to the quay. There was even a cushion in the stern seat. He gave her a hand over the side, and Caesar followed cautiously; he was used to
boats and knew how to balance his bulk. Frances seated herself in the stern and he curled up at her feet, as Gray undid the painter and pushed the boat away from the pier. It was an old rowboat, sturdily built, with more strength than elegance. Apparently the twins, whose names kept cropping up, used it for picnics up the lake. Gray sculled easily, though boat and passengers were no light weight. Frances wiped her face with the towel she was still carrying, wishing she had her make-up with her; she had not put any on for the anticipated swimming. Her hair hung over her shoulders and she started to plait it.

‘Leave it,' commanded the autocrat at the oars. ‘I like to see it flowing.'

‘Anything to oblige,’ she murmured with pretended meekness.

Gray rowed up the loch away from the sea. In places the mountains rose steeply in rocky outcrops, crevices in them filled with ferns and the ubiquitous rhododendrons. Wild duck skittered across the bows, occasional seagulls flapped overhead. Frances was wearing a white dress with a mauve belted cardigan. She was glad of the latter, for the wind was cold. Her bare feet were encased in white sandals. She looked down at them, remembering how Gray had caressed them on the white sands of Morar. Unpredictable man, there was no knowing what he would take into his head to do next, like this boat trip today. A lump rose in her throat. Soon an ocean would divide them, and how dreary the days would seem without the excitement of his sudden appearances.

Gray pulled into a little cove sheltered from the
wand, a miniature harbour. The prow of the boat grated on the shelving shore. He shipped the oars, and sprang out to make the painter fast to a dead tree trunk, evidently put there for that purpose, and it must be a familiar spot, for Caesar jumped out, rocking the boat, and dashed away amid a flurry of wings from startled waterfowl. Gray climbed back into the boat and sat down on the plank seat dicing Frances. Now it’s coming, she thought, and she said lightly:

‘Well, what is this serious promise you want me to make?'

He did not answer immediately, but absently fingered the rowlock. She noticed what beautiful hands he possessed, long-fingered, well shaped and sensitive. Then he threw back his head and looked straight at her.

'I want you to marry me, Fran.'

Had Caesar suddenly addressed her in human language, she could not have been more astonished. She stared blankly at the unrevealing features opposite to her. Gray looked as calm and unruffled as the summer sea.

‘What . . . what did you say?'

‘You heard. I need a wife, Fran. I'm thirty, already I'm past the average age for racers—racing in all its forms is a young man’s sport. It's time I settled down and gave my energies to running the business. My father has a dicky heart, he might go any time, my brother-in-law is competent, he s managing director, but Alison, my sister, would like him to sell out, given half a chance. That I must prevent at any cost, Crawfords must go on. So when I return from America I’m going to assume my responsibilities as head of the firm, but I don’t want to live with my parents. I want my own home, and to make it a home, I need a wife.’

'I'm honoured,' she murmured vaguely, feeling bewildered.

He was actually proposing and he seemed to be in earnest, but what an unromantic way to go about it, as if he were setting out the terms of a business contract. There was no trace of emotion on his face, as if, as he had said, the acquisition of a wife was merely a necessary piece of furniture to complete his home. There had been more passion in him when he had kissed her by the mere, but she had not taken that seriously, and he had never hinted that he was contemplating such an important step. His indifferent attitude piqued her, and she added tartly:

But why me? You hardly know me. Why not Lesley, or ... or Miss Lambert?’

‘Lesley is too temperamental, too young, she’s like a kid sister. Sam . . .’ He made a grimace of distaste. ‘An egotistical fashion-plate. A man wants peace and comfort in his domestic life, and though our acquaintance has been short, I’ve watched you. You’re blessedly serene and you don’t flap easily. You know how to run a house.’ He smiled faintly, ‘I consider you’re a treasure I shouldn’t allow to slip through my fingers.’

This calculated assessment of her good points caused Frances to flush angrily.

‘There’s more to marriage than housekeeping,’ she told him.

‘Of course there is.’ A glint came into his eyes, and he grinned wickedly. 'We are . . . physically compatible, which is very necessary.'

Frances’ colour deepened and she turned away her head, trailing one hand over the side of the boat in the water, recalling their brief amorous encounters. Gray possessed the power to arouse her and she seemed able to ignite him, but she was no teenager to mistake sexual attraction for love, and that he had not mentioned. He did not love her at all, but had chosen her because he considered she was suitable for the position he had to offer her, a companion housekeeper with the bonus of mutual reciprocation in bed. At least he was honest; it would have been easy for him to woo her with false expressions of sentiments which he did not feel, but he preferred to be plainly, bluntly truthful. As she did not speak, he went on:

‘From your point of view, it's quite a good proposition. You'd have a home and security, you can't want to be a home help longer than you must. You’ve no family, you told me, mine will accept you ....' he lifted his head proudly, '. . . as my choice. What about it?'

Indeed, what about it? To link her life permanently with this arrogant, overwhelming personality, who drew her strongly, even though she was slightly in awe of him. It was typical of him to suddenly decide to plunge into matrimony without any preliminary courtship—or did he consider the swimming lessons sufficient introduction? He had chosen her as the most congenial candidate to hand, and she could exonerate him from any mercenary motives, since she had nothing, and Samantha had so much, unless Sam had turned him down and this was the rebound, but from her own observations that was extremely unlikely. She was bewildered and excited by his offer, but as for accepting it, that required a lot of thought.

‘You’ve mentioned an attachment to a fellow in Kent,’ Gray continued, ‘but I suspect he's a myth.’

‘Oh no, he isn’t, he’s very
real, but he preferred someone else.’

The admission caused her no pain. She had not thought of Tony at all during the past few weeks, and his image was becoming blurred. Gray was twice the man he was, and completely overshadowed him.

‘So you came up to Scotland to heal a broken heart,'’ Gray’s tone was mocking. ‘The surest way to do that is to put someone else in his place.’

‘I’m not fickle,’ she flashed, and wondered if she could be judged so for having got over Tony so quickly.

‘Perhaps you weren’t so deeply involved as you thought,’ Gray suggested softly. ‘One usually isn’t.’

‘Have you ever been in love?’ she countered.

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled whimsically.

‘Off and on, but we weren't discussing love,’ he spoke the word with contempt, ‘but marriage.’

Of which love should be a part, but Frances did not say it. Though she thought she had gauged his feelings correctly, she did not want to hear Gray say that love did not come into a marriage of convenience such as he was proposing. He was so much more experienced than she was, with only her modest little affair with Tony behind her, and was obviously scornful of the tender passion.

As she still did not speak, he told her:

‘As well as everything else, I need the protection of a wife.’

Frances laughed at what seemed to her an absurd statement.

‘
You
to need a woman’s protection!’

‘Oh, but I do. I hate to say it, but the more emancipated members of your sex are unscrupulous in the pursuit of their desires. I appreciate modesty in a woman, Fran, and you aren't blatant. I don't want to find myself compromised through some unpremeditated folly. I would never leave a girl in the lurch, however much she had herself to blame, and I’m fairly strongly sexed. You see the danger.'

Frances knew exactly what he meant, though she found his words distasteful. Women did pursue him and he was no Saint Anthony; if he made one pregnant he would feel he must right her. Frances admired his chivalry, rare in these days, though she did not appreciate his candour. She marvelled that a man who was supposed to be adept in erotic dalliance could approach her so bluntly. He might be paying her the compliment of complete frankness, but women liked a little camouflage. As if he guessed her thought, he said:

‘I’m as good at concocting pretty speeches as any man, and I’ve uttered a lot of silly nonsense in my time, but I believe you’re a sensible girl, Fran, and would prefer sincerity. If I declared I loved you to distraction and couldn’t live without you, would you believe me?’

‘No, I wouldn't,’ she agreed, thinking how much she would like him to make such a declaration. Nothing could be less loverlike than the way he sat calmly facing her expounding practical reasons for their marriage. 'I would hate you to pretend what you don't feel.’

‘Good. We understand each other.’ He moved impatiently. ‘Well, are you going to accept me?’