Wild Melody (19 page)

did not ask which television station or even which programme was

involved. She did not have to ask. She knew.

'Please don't imagine you will be appearing on television, Miss Muir,' Mrs

Henderson said acidly. 'The image is the important thing, as the young man

who spoke to me was saying, and I want ours to be of the serious Christian

work that goes on here to help the—er—under-privileged. I certainly don't

wish to give the impression that it is merely a rest-home for mini-skirted

trendies.'

Catriona glanced down in surprise at her own knee-length skirt, but she

decided it would be unwise to venture any retort. Besides, she had other

things to concern her, apart from Mrs Henderson's overt disapproval. She

began to type again, feeling she was in a dream. It was surely too much of a

coincidence for the approach from the television company not to have come

from Jason Lord, yet at the same time she could hardly believe it. She had

told herself so many times since that disastrous evening that she could not

expect ever to see or hear from him again, and she had totally discounted the

idea that he might still be prepared to help the centre. She felt she only had

herself to blame for this—that she should have known that a personal appeal

from herself was bound to be misunderstood, that in Jason's cynical world,

no one gave anything for nothing. So what explanation was there for this

apparent change of heart? She could think of none.

'What puzzles me,' Andrew was saying, 'is how they got on to us in the first

place.' Catriona tensed slightly..

'I am more gratified than puzzled.' Mrs Henderson rose, shaking the creases

out of her skirt. 'It proves that our efforts here are not going entirely

unnoticed, and that someone has realised we have a valuable contribution to

make in helping to plug some of the gaps left by the social services and the

government.'

Andrew looked a little taken aback at hearing what were virtually his own

words quoted back at him. Then he cleared his throat.

'While we're on the subject of plugging gaps,' he said awkwardly, 'the

builder was here this morning and he left this estimate for doing the roof.

It—it's rather costly, I'm afraid. I intended to send it on to the Trustees

tonight, but as you're here ...'

Mrs Henderspn took it and gave it a perfunctory glance. 'I'll see it is put on

the agenda for this week's meeting,' she said. 'But as I've warned you, Mr

Milner, I can hold out no hope for outlay of this kind being sanctioned.'

'I thought in view of the fact that we'll be having TV cameras descending on

us shortly--' Andrew began, but Mrs Henderson cut in.

'They will hardly be concerned with photographing the roof,' she said

coldly. 'Besides, I have no wish for the centre to present a misleading

appearance of affluence.'

'I don't think anyone will mistake it for a luxury hotel.' Andrew's voice was

equally cool.

'I hope not indeed.' Mrs Henderson put on her gloves. 'I understand the

producer or his assistant will be calling on you in the next few days to

arrange the filming. I'm sure you will give them your co-operation.'

'Naturally, I shall do my best.' Andrew escorted her to the door and they

went out together, leaving Catriona alone with her turbulent thoughts.

Her first impulse was to hand in her resignation, and so avoid the pain and

humiliation of having to face Jason again, but she realised this would be

unfair on Andrew. If she went, there was no guarantee that she would be

replaced, in fact Mrs Henderson's attitude suggested the opposite, and

Andrew had enough to do without having to type and keep the office

accounts. She sighed. The only alternative seemed to be to make herself as

unobtrusive as possible while the programme was being made. They would

both be busy, after all, and it should not be too difficult to keep out of his

way. Besides, he would have no more wish to see her than she had to see

him, she told herself defiantly and tried to ignore the hurt that rose

involuntarily at the thought.

She forced her concentration back to the work she was doing and was typing

busily when the office door reopened and Andrew came in with Jean.

'Look at her!' Andrew teased. 'Not even the prospect of being on television

can shake our Catriona. She takes it all in her stride.'

Catriona sighed inwardly, but she was relieved that she gave at least an

outward appearance of tranquillity. She was even more thankful that she had

given no hint to Andrew that she could be involved in the decision to

televise the centre. He and Jean would naturally be curious and .she could

imagine the sort of cross-examination that, with the best intentions, she

would be subjected to. Eventually there would be questions that it would

hurt too much to answer— explanations that it would embarrass her too

much to give. A little voice inside her reminded her that these would

become inevitable when Jason arrived at the centre and it became clear that

they knew each other, but by then she might have found some kind of

defensive armour for herself. At the moment she felt totally vulnerable.

She dragged her attention back to the other two, and the conservation which

had now switched, more prosaically, to the gift of the piano.

'I think we ought to christen it with some sort of party,' Andrew suggested.

'What about it, Catriona? Can you organise a
ceilidh
for us?'

'No problem,' Catriona said promptly. 'But will everyone want to join in?'

'Mrs Lamb certainly will, for one,' said Jean. 'She found a stack of ancient

sheet music in the stool, and she's been practising ever since. Haven't you

heard her?'

Catriona hesitated. 'I was thinking of Mitch, actually. Do we ask her to take

part?'

'No harm in asking, I suppose,' said Andrew. 'But I doubt if you'll get an

answer.'

Jean sighed. 'Yet she must be interested in music, or else why the guitar?'

'I'd like to think you were right.' Andrew gave a slight frown. 'So far no one's

managed to persuade her to touch as much as a string since she's been here.

I sometimes wonder if it is hers, or if she even knows how to play it.'

Catriona had been wondering much the same thing. She had observed Mitch

a few times since their encounter the previous week and although the girl

cradled the guitar as though it was precious to her, she did not hold it as a

musician would. It was a mystery, she thought, remembering Mitch's pale,

ravaged face and her air of hostile withdrawal.

Sally greeted the idea of the
ceilidh
with enthusiasm when Catriona

mentioned it as they ate their meal that evening.

'Let me know when it is, and I'll come and bring some of the others as well,'

she suggested. 'Ian and Barbara both sing, and the rest of us could maybe do

some improvisations. Could be very therapeutic,' she added largely, waving

a salad-laden fork.

Catriona was amused. 'For whom?'

Sally laughed back at her. 'Everyone.' She eyed Catriona. 'You look as if

you could use some therapy yourself, love. What's up?'

Catriona looked down at her plate. 'Nothing.'

Sally shrugged. 'Have it your own way. I won't pry.' She gave Catriona a

narrow look. 'On second thoughts, perhaps I will. You're not pining for

Jeremy Lord, are you?'

'Jeremy?' Catriona gasped, then flushed hotly. 'Oh, no— really. Nothing like

that.'

'Then it's worse than I thought.' Sally speared a sliver of cucumber with an

abstracted jab. 'Falling for Jeremy is like getting 'flu in February—one of

life's minor hazards and nasty while it lasts—which luckily it doesn't. But if

it isn't Jeremy then it must be someone else.' She groaned. 'And I was hoping

you'd fall for Ian.'

Catriona smiled faintly. 'He's—very nice.'

'Ugh! That sounds more like a verdict than an opinion,' Sally made a

comical grimace. 'Poor Ian, he deserves better than that. But something tells

me this is not a good time for girlish confidences. Are you feeling very raw?'

Catriona nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

'Then we'll change the subject. How do you feel about having a third girl

here?'

'A third? Catriona was diverted in spite of herself. 'Where would we put

her?'

'Amazing as it may seem, there is just room in the bedroom, although the

chest of drawers would have to come in here. Julie at the club is looking for

a new place and she'd like to join up with us. It would help with the rent and

also be company for you when I go on tour, which could be quite soon. But

I told her there was nothing doing until I'd consulted you.'

'The more the merrier,' Catriona agreed. 'I've no objection.'

'Good—then I'll let her know.' Sally pushed her plate away and leaned back

in her chair. 'Robbie came to the club at lunchtime today. He was looking for

you.'

'Robbie?'

Catriona wrinkled her brow.

'Your accompanist at Moira's party. He's been singing your praises to some

of his contacts in the profession, and it seems he could get you an audition. It

might mean a job in a club he has an interest in—apparently they use a lot of

new talent.'

'I don't think I want that,' Catriona said slowly.

'Don't be mad, love. It could be your big break. He thinks you have a real

voice in the making.'

Catriona shook her head. 'I don't fool myself, Sally. I was a big hit at home,

but here in London girl folk singers are ten a penny. I'll stick to the job I'm

doing, and sing for pleasure.'

Or for pain. 'I know who I love, But the dear knows who I'll marry.'

'Well, any way.' Sally hunted in her bag and produced a small business card.

'Here's his phone number, just in case you change your mind.'

'I don't think I shall.' Catriona accepted the card and tucked it into her purse.

'You certainly stick to your guns!' Sally gave a little sigh. 'If I had your

principles, I think I'd be forever tripping over them.'

'Mine aren't always very comfortable,' Catriona said forlornly. 'But

sometimes they're all I have.'

The next couple of days dragged by and Catriona felt on edge each hour she

spent at the centre. It was inevitable that the forthcoming visit from the

television crew should be on everyone's minds and form the main topic of

conversation, but she found it no help at all to her peace of mind. She found

she was beginning to look towards the window every time a vehicle drew up

in the street outside, and chided herself for being ridiculous.When the blue

and white vans with their 'Home Counties TV' signs drew up outside the

centre, it was almost an anticlimax. The tall figure her eyes instinctively

sought was not among the gang of cameramen, sound recordists and other

personnel who came tramping into the building, laden with equipment. The

man who appeared to be in charge introduced himself as Garfield Lucas, and

although Catriona eavesdropped shamelessly on his ensuing conversation

with Andrew, she did not hear Jason Lord's name mentioned once, although

she ascertained that the film on the centre was intended for the
Here and

Now
programme which he produced and presented.

'The film will be followed by a live studio discussion in front of an invited

audience,' Lucas told them. 'We hope that representatives of other charitable

organisations will be there, as well as your own residents and staff. And Mrs

Henderson will be interviewed, of course.'

He put a hand on Andrew's shoulder and steered him out of the room,

talking volubly as he went. A few minutes later, Jean's head popped round

the door.

'They're "familiarising themselves" with the place,' she said rather faintly,

dropping into a chair. 'I just hope the wiring can stand it. I have a feeling that

when they plug in that equipment, we may all blow sky-high.'

Catriona sighed under her breath. Sooner or later she would have to confess

the part she had played in all this disruption, she thought. It was all a far cry

from the short, dignified Sunday evening appeal she had originally

visualised.

Andrew reappeared, looking harassed. 'Is there a chance of any coffee,

Jean? They probably all drink gallons of the stuff.'

'I'll come and see to it now.' Jean jumped up, and they went out together.

Catriona applied herself to typing the centre's accounts for the Trustees'

meeting, the following day. She was so engrossed that she failed to hear

anyone enter the room and only the uneasy feeling that she was being

watched eventually caused her to lift her eyes from her work.

The girl Mitch was standing behind the door, her guitar in her arms. She was

very pale, and her eyes, as they met Catriona's, looked hunted. Catriona bit

her lip. She had not gauged the effect the intrusion of cameras and crew