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He went on to give times and details as if he were discussing a journey in which he had no personal interest. Frances hated the deception he was forcing upon her, but it was her wish that the marriage should be kept a secret, so she had no right to complain about his ingenious scheme, but a funeral! She wished he had thought of any other pretext, it seemed ill-omened. She stood beside him gazing across the loch, unaware that despite his cool tones, his eyes were devouring her avidly. Then the overwhelming realisation that within a week he would be gone, and she would be left to face a future she was beginning to view with increasing misgiving, caused her to turn to him, her eyes wide and beseeching.

‘Don’t leave me, Gray. Take me with you. Why can’t I come to the States with you?’

For a moment his gaze met hers, with a kindling flame, and she thought she had won. Then his face became impassive, and he said curtly:

'I'm afraid that’s impossible, Fran. You can imagine the publicity if I turn up with a bride. “Speed ace’s secret romance”—all that guff.' His lips curled with disgust. ‘Besides, you’d spoil my concentration.'

Frances turned her head away, sensing she was outside his sporting life and he meant to keep her there. Like many men he divided his existence into watertight compartments. Silver Arrow was in one, herself in another, and never the twain should meet. He was going to devote three of his busy days to her honeymoon, and that he considered generous, but as for admitting her into a shared intimacy of his hopes and fears, that never occurred to him. He wanted her body, but was not interested in being a companion.

There was still time to draw back, but that she could not contemplate doing. Though Gray would not be brokenhearted, the rap to his vanity might disturb that all-important concentration, of which he had already spoken. Nor could she bring herself to break the tenuous bond between them. She was caught by the magnetism of his powerful personality, and she could not free herself from his spell, however much reason prompted rejection when he was not there.

Something of her disquiet communicated itself to him, as watching her pensive face, he said reproachfully:

‘You promised, Fran; you won’t go back on me?’

‘No,’ she answered firmly. ‘I’ll be there.’

She had accepted him upon his terms and she must abide by them and not repine for the love he could not give her.

He made a movement towards her and she looked up eagerly, but whether he had meant to embrace her was not to be known, for at that moment Lesley came out of the sheds and Gray turned away with a brief:

‘So long, Fran, enjoy your walk.'

Aware of the other girl’s suspicious glance, Frances smiled at her brightly and hurried away.

Mrs Ferguson grumbled when Frances made her request. It was short notice and the twins were due during those three days, a fact Frances had entirely overlooked, but of course she must pay her respects to her dead friend. Unfortunate that Kent was so far away and it would take a day to get there, and another to come back. Frances left her feeling a cheat and a hypocrite, but she had no alternative.

The next morning Ian took her into Mallaig. He would meet her there to bring her back. She was very pale with dark marks under her eyes, and he noticed it.

‘Do you have to go, Fran? You don’t look well, and funerals aren’t exactly cheerful.’

‘Oh, I must go,’ she said quickly.

‘Was she a very dear friend?’

For a second she looked blank, then declared hastily:

‘Oh yes, she was,’ and felt worse than ever.

She was in a state of mingled excitement and apprehension. She would not go back upon her word, but she knew she was pursuing a reckless course. That was stimulating, because she was not normally at all a reckless person, that and the incredible fact that Graham Crawford, speed ace, adulated by men and women of lesser breed, was going to marry her, and if the reasons he had given for doing so were not as romantic as she could wish, she would nevertheless be his wife.

Ian landed her at Mallaig with many injunctions to take care of herself. Gray had taken leave of the Fergusons the day before, saying he must say goodbye to his parents before going to the States. Lesley was tearful, Ian had been excited, confident of Silver -Arrow’s success. Gray had merely shaken Frances' hand, without speaking to her. So Ian had no idea that she was to meet him today, but she wondered how she was going to get rid of him, for he insisted on accompanying her to the station to carry her case. Then fortunately he had so many commissions to perform, he apologised for not waiting to see her depart, as he had so little time. As soon as he had gone, Frances hailed a taxi to take her to Morar. The sight of the white sands heartened her. Gray had been very kind to her on that memorable day—he could be kind upon occasion. She hoped he would be kind today.

She dismissed the taxi outside the small pub which was their rendezvous, and her heart lurched as she caught sight of Gray’s car. He waited until the taxi was out of sight before he came to her. He was wearing a formal grey suit, very suitable for a bridegroom, and looked suave and elegant. Frances had dressed herself in a white dress and a blue linen coat. Lesley had remarked when she caught sight of her before she left that it would, get very dirty on a train journey.

‘So you’ve not failed me,’ he said briefly.

‘Did you think I would?’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘One can never be sure with women, but you’re an honest girl, aren’t you, Fran? I can always rely upon you.’

‘Yes,’ she replied, determined never to let him know how often she
had
nearly changed her mind. Now she was alone with him again, he had assumed his ascendancy over her and she wondered how she could have ever contemplated doing so. When she was seated in the car he produced from the locker a single white carnation arranged as a buttonhole with maidenhair fern.

‘Let me pin it to your coat,’ he requested. ‘It’s hardly a bouquet, but it gives you a bridal touch.’

She was pleased by this gesture and thanked him. As they drove away, she glanced out at the estuary where sunlight shone on the white sands.

‘Morar,’ she murmured dreamily. ‘Where it all began.’

When she had fallen under Gray’s spell. She realised then that she was in love with him and it was no use pretending she was not. Otherwise she would never have consented to this marriage.

‘What began?' he asked sharply. He seemed irritable and on edge, and she hoped
he
was not having second thoughts.

‘I was thinking of that lovely day we spent together,' she explained, hoping he would reciprocate by saying something tender. Gray frowned.

‘Don’t be sentimental!’

‘But surely a bride can be allowed to feel sentimental on her wedding day?' she pleaded.

His response was deflating. ‘Fran, I’ve suffered a great deal from the mawkish outpourings of idiotic females who should have had more regard for their pride and dignity. From you I want sincerity, and one of your attractions for me is that you don’t gush.’

Frances looked unseeingly out of the window at the scenery. Gray’s approach to this marriage was entirely practical and materialistic, and it would embarrass him if she confessed her love. He would regard such a declaration as adolescent romanticism. He did not love her, she was merely a women he had selected because he considered her attributes would make her the congenial wife he needed. The only thing he really loved was Silver Arrow, and he had expressed his contempt for emotional yearnings.

Feeling snubbed and depressed, she did not speak again during the drive to Fort William. As Ben Nevis came in sight, like some great purple whale above Loch Linnhe, Gray remarked:

‘You can come out of your sulks, we’re nearly there.’

‘I’m not sulking, but I don’t want to be accused of gushing about the scenery,’ she retorted. 'Sometimes you’re a bit of a beast, Gray.’

‘Sorry, darling, but I’ve a lot on my mind, so please bear with me. If I’m a beast, you’re Beauty, and she redeemed the brute.’

This apology mollified her; it was the first time he had called her darling, but she feared she was the least of the things on his mind. She asked provocatively: ‘Do you need to be redeemed, Gray?’

‘This marriage is a step towards that.’

‘I’m not sure what you mean by that, but I’d like to remind you I did suggest waiting until you came back and you’d less to think about.’

‘And I told you I couldn’t provide for you properly unless we were married,’ he returned. ‘Besides, I hate waiting.’

That was characteristic. She bit back a retort that she could always provide for herself; it was too late to draw back now, so there was no need to argue about an unlikely contingency. She prayed it was remote.

The register office ceremony with only themselves, the registrar and two witnesses was a dreary affair, and Gray said commiseratingly as they came out:

‘I’m afraid I’ve defrauded you of all the trimmings so dear to a woman’s heart, but my God, I couldn’t endure the mss of a big wedding, being on show to a lot of prurient spectators.’

‘I don't mind about the trimmings,’ Frances assured him, but she would have preferred a church service. She had not dared to suggest it, as she had no idea how he would react. There was so much about him she did not know, and suddenly she felt frightened. She had allied herself with a man who was almost a stranger for what were beginning to appear to be very inadequate reasons.

Gray had booked accommodation at an inn on the edge of Rannoch Moor for three nights in the names of Mr & Mrs Grey. It was a charming place, situated near the entrance to Glen Coe. Whitewashed, with three dormer windows in front, it stood beside a bridge spanning a stream of clear water. Behind it stretched the waste of the moor, fringed by distant mountains.

Lunch was served to them upon arrival in an oak-beamed room, but neither was hungry. Frances sat opposite to her new husband, very conscious of the gold band upon her finger. She flushed and paled every time she met Gray's glance.

‘You’re beautiful, Fran,’ he said at one point, ‘and untouched. Your male acquaintances must have been very unenterprising, luckily for me.’

Fleetingly she recalled Tony and his uninspiring kisses. He could never have moved her to want to anticipate marriage. Yet she had believed she loved him, but this new' emotion which she felt for Gray might have led her into allowing him to seduce her if he had not offered marriage. She looked down at her plate to avoid the glitter in his eyes which made her heart flutter. She thought anxiously of the coming night, fearful she might be inadequate. She very much wanted to please him.

But Gray did not wait for the night. As Frances finished her coffee, he stood up.

‘We'll go upstairs and . .. er . . . unpack,' he announced.

‘That won’t take long,' she said innocently, since they had only brought a couple of suitcases.

‘Perhaps longer than you think.' He laid a possessive hand on her arm and propelled her from the room towards the stairs. Even then she did not divine his purpose, though he locked the door, and pulling off his coat, dropped it on the floor.

Frances, raised in near-poverty with a respect for care of clothes, picked it up, protesting:

‘What a way to treat your beautiful suit!'

‘Damn the suit!' he ejaculated. 'Put it down and come here.’ He was ripping off his tie.

Understanding at last, Frances panicked. She dropped the jacket on a chair, and backed away from him.

‘But, Gray . . . not now . . . it’s too soon ... I didn't expect .. .’

‘Didn't you?' She shrank before the flame in his eyes. ‘What did you think I brought you here for.' A Sunday School outing?' He advanced upon her, his voice thickening. ‘This morning you became my wife, and I have certain privileges.'

No love here, no tenderness, only an intensity of desire that would accept no denial. His cool and practical proposal had been no preparation for this upsurge of passion, nor had his matter-of-fact attitude throughout the day until now. He had scorned her suggestion of an unconsummated marriage, and she had anticipated they would sleep together, but not this brutal assault in broad daylight, for the hands that gripped her were not gentle and his kisses seemed to scorch her. He had pulled down her zip and her neck and bosom were exposed to his touch. But he schooled himself to stroke and caress her, using all his erotic skill to arouse in her the response he needed to ensure his own gratification. Slowly a dark tide of emotion rose and submerged her as he laid her upon the bed.

The sun moved towards the west, shafts of sunlight came through the window and illuminated the room in a golden glow. Frances gradually emerged from the traumatic experience which had shamed and bewildered her. All her shy sensitiveness, her natural reserve and virginal defences had been ruthlessly torn down and shattered. She knew she had clung to Gray in mindless rapture after the first painful moments, aroused to a pitch of sensual sensation of which she would never have believed herself to be capable, but now as her mind began to function again, she was shocked and shamed.

Hitherto, when she thought about it, the sex act had always represented the climax of love, a culmination of giving and receiving, sanctified by mutual love. But she knew very well that Gray did not love her, and what had passed between them, to her initiation, had to him been merely repetition of what he had often done before, his heart and mind had not been involved, only his senses. That she had been used made her feel degraded, that she had responded so eagerly humiliated her. He had been so arrogantly confident that he could conquer her, and that he had done so provoked a feeling of antagonism. She was a human being in her own right, not just an instrument to satisfy his lust. That she had lusts too was an unwelcome revelation.

Sounds from the bathroom indicated that Gray was having a shower, and when he emerged from it with only a towel wrapped around his middle, his fair hair dripping with water, Frances felt her pulses quicken at the sight of his beautiful bare body, which the slanted sunlight turned to gold and her resentment melted away. His physical ardour might be mistaken for love, but she was not deceived; what she feared was that so fierce a flame would burn out too quickly and then what would be left? As for herself, she was more than ever in love.