Authors: Rosamunde Pilcher
The powerful car left Pennyburn behind and sped on up the hill.
Arriving, they found Archie's old Land Rover parked in front of the house. As Edmund drew up alongside and the Aird family disgorged from his car, Archie appeared at the open front door, come to greet them. They made their way up the steps.
"Well, here you are."
"You're looking very formal, Archie," Edmund told him. "I hope I'm not underdressed."
"Been to church. Read the lesson. I thought about changing into something a little less stuffy, but now you've arrived, so there isn't time. So you'll have t
o t
ake me as I am. Vi. Virginia. Lovely to see you. Hello, Henry, good morning. How are you? Hamish is in his bedroom getting cleaned up. He's set his Scalectrix Road Race up on the floor of the playroom. If you want to go and have a look at it . . ."
The suggestion, casually made, was adroit and caught Henry's attention, as Archie knew it would. He had no qualms about his son, who had been warned that Henry was coming, and had it made clear to him that he was to behave towards this small guest in a hospitable fashion.
As for Henry, it,took only an instant to remember that Hamish, provided there was nobody else around to claim his attention, could be quite good company, even though Henry was four years younger. And Henry hadn't got a Scalectrix Road Race. It was one of the things he was thinking of putting on his Christmas list.
His face brightened. He said "All right" and set off at a fast clip, up the stairs, leaving the grown-ups to their own devices.
"Brilliant," murmured Vi, as though to herself. And then: "What sort of a congregation did you have this morning?"
"Sixteen, including the rector."
"I should have been there to swell the throng. Now I'm going to have a conscience for the rest of the day. . . ."
"But it's not all bad news. The Bishop's come up trumps and ferreted out some obscure trust, set up years ago. He thinks he can wangle a sizy sum from that, which would pay off the balance of the bill for the electrics. . . ."
"Wouldn't that be splendid?"
"But," said Virginia, "I thought that was why we had the church sale. . . ."
"We can always divert funds. . . ."
Edmund made no comment. It had been a long morning, deliberately filled with small and insignificant tasks that nevertheless had been demanding his attention for some weeks. Letters written, accounts paid, a query from his chartered accountant clarified and answered. Now, he found himself dealing with a growing impatience. At the far end of the wide hallway, the double doors of the library stood invitingly open. He looked forward to a gin and tonic, but Archie, Virginia, and Vi, loosely grouped at the foot of the stairs, had become absorbed by churchly problems. In these Edmund had little interest, having always taken great pains never to become involved.
. . of course, we do need new kneelers."
"Vi, paying for the coke for the boiler is more urgent than new kneelers. . . ."
The real reason for their coming to Croy appeared to have been forgotten by his wife and his mother. Stifling his irritation, Edmund listened. And then did not listen. Another sound caught his attention. From the library came the tap of high heels. He looked up, over the top of Virginia's head. Saw Pandora emerge.
Watching, assessing the situation, she paused, framed by the open doorway. Across the long space that divided them, her eyes met Edmund's. He forgot his impatience, and found words flowing through his brain as though he had been abruptly asked to produce some sort of a report and was frantically searching for, and then abandoning, suitable adjectives with which to state his case: older, thinner, attenuated, elegant, mondaine, amoral, experienced. Beautiful.
Pandora. He would have seen her, recognized her, known her anywhere in the world. Still those wide and watchful eyes, the curving mouth with its provocative mole at the corner of her upper lip. The features, the bone structure were untouched by the years that had passed, the profusion of chestnut hair still youthful.
He felt his face freeze. He could not smile. As though he were a gun dog pointing at a bird, the quality of his stillness, his silence, obscurely reached the others. Their attention wandered, their voices died away. Vi turned her head.
"Pandora."
The church and its affairs were abandoned. She moved away from Virginia's side, across the polished parquet, her back view erect, her arms outflung, her bulging leather handbag dangling by its strap from her elbow. "Pandora, my dearest child. What a joy. What a delight to see you again."
"... but Isobel, you can't possibly have us all for dinner. That's far too many."
"No. If my counting's right, we'll be eleven. That's only one more than we are now."
"Has Verena not lumbered you with people to stay?"
"Just one man . . ."
Pandora chipped in. "He's known as The Sad American,' because Isobel can't remember what his name is."
"Poor chap," said Archie from the head of the table. "Sounds as though he's doomed before he's even arrived."
"Why is he sad?" asked Edmund, reaching for his glass of lager. At Croy, wine was never served at luncheon. This was not for any reason of parsimony but because of a family tradition, going back to Archie's parents, and his grandparents before that. Archie upheld it because he thought it a sound idea. Wine was apt to render guests both garrulous and comatose, and Sunday afternoons, in his opinion, were made to be spent in useful outdoor activities, not snoozing over the newspapers in some armchair.
"He probably isn't sad at all," Isobel told him. "He's probably a very sensible, cheerful fellow, but he's been recently widowed and he's taken a couple of months off, and has come over here for a bit of a break."
"Does Verena know him?"
"No. But Katy does. She felt sorry for him and asked Verena to send him an invitation."
Pandora said, "I do hope he's not dreadfully solemn and sincere. You know how they can be. Show them round a sewage works and they'll go into polite ecstasies. Swearing it was all very very interesting, and wanting to know when it was built."
Archie laughed. "Pandora, how many times have you shown an American around a sewage works?"
"Oh, darling, never. Just giving a tiny example."
They sat around the dining-room table. The tender roast beef, perfectly cooked and pink in the middle, had been appreciatively consumed, along with fresh beans, fresh peas, roasted potatoes, horseradish sauce, and dark gravy delicately laced with red wine. Now they were onto Isobel's blackberry fool and hot-syrup tart, drooling with fresh cream.
Out of doors, the day, like a fickle woman, had ceased to sulk and decided, for no obvious reason, to brighten up. A wind had risen, freshening the air. From time to time, lozenges of sunlight fell upon the polished table, sparking from silver and cut-glass tumblers.
"Well, if we all come to dinner," Virginia firmly led the conversation back to essentials, "you must let me help. I'll make a starter, or a pudding, or something."
"That would help," Isobel admitted. "Because the whole of the day before I'm going to be up at Corriehill helping Verena with the flowers."
"But that's my birthday." Vi was quite indignant. "That's the day of my picnic."
"I know, Vi, and I'm sorry, but for the first time in years I'm not going to be able to be there."
"Well, I hope nobody else is going to back out. You haven't got to go and do flowers, have you, Virginia?"
"No. I've just been asked to lend my biggest flowerpots and vases. But I can take them all up to Corriehill on Wednesday."
"When does Alexa arrive?" Lucilla asked.
"On Thursday morning. She and Noel are going to drive overnight. Noel can't get off before that. And of course they're bringing Alexa's dog. So they'll all be at the picnic, Vi."
"I shall have to start writing this all down," said Vi, "otherwise I shall lose count and produce far too much food or too little." She leaned forward and looked down the length of the table to catch Henry's eye. Henry's expression was gloomy. He did not like people talking about Vi's birthday when they all knew he would not be there. She said, "I shall post two huge slices of birthday cake over to Templehall. One for Henry and one for Hamish."
"Well, make sure it's a cake that doesn't go squishy." Hamish scraped the last spoonful of syrup tart out of his plate. "Mum sent me a cake once and all the cream oozed out through the parcel, and Matron was livid. She threw the whole lot into the Sick Bay dustbin."
"Mean old Matron," said Pandora sympathetically.
"She's a cow. Mum, can I have some more?"
"Yes, but hand it round first."
Hamish got to his feet and went to do this, a dish in either hand.
Lucilla said, "We have a small problem." Everybody looked at her, interested to know what it was but not particularly concerned. "Jeff hasn't got anything to wear. To the dance, I mean."
Eyes were now turned on Jeff, who had sat through the meal without taking much part in any conversation. He looked faintly abashed and seemed pleased for the diversion of Hamish arriving at his side with the offer of second helpings of pudding. He turned to dip the spoon into what remained of the blackberry fool.
He said, "When I left Australia I never thought I'd be asked to a formal do. Besides, there wasn't space in my backpack for a dinner jacket."
They all considered the problem.
Archie said, "I'd lend you mine, only I'm wearing it myself."
"Dad, yours wouldn't even go round Jeff."
"He could always hire one. There are places in Relkirk . . ."
"Oh, Dad, they're dreadfully expensive."
Archie was humbled. "Sorry. I wouldn't know."
Across the table, Edmund eyed the young Australian. "You're about the same size as I am. I'll lend you something if you like."
Violet, hearing this, was taken aback. Sitting next to her son, she turned her head to look at him. He seemed unaware of her piercing regard, and his profile, composed and unsmiling, gave nothing away. Trying to analyze her un-motherly astonishment, she realized that the truth of it was that she had never expected Edmund to come up with such a kindly and impetuous suggestion.
But why? He was her son, the child of Geordie. She knew that where important issues were concerned he would never be anything but generous-with both time and money-concerned and considerate. Violet could turn to him-and had done so many times-knowing that he would go to endless trouble to sort out a problem or help her make a decision.
But little things . . . little things were different, the small gesture, the tender word, the trivial gift that had cost nothing but a few pence and a moment of time, but was significant because of the thought behind it. Her eyes strayed across the table to Virginia and the heavy gold bracelet that she wore around her wrist. Edmund had given her that bracelet-and Violet did not like to think what it had cost-like a tube of glue, to patch up their disagreement. But how much better had they not quarrelled in the first place, and so spared themselves weeks of unhappiness.
And now he was offering Lucilla's Jeff a favour. It would be no hardship to him, but the offer had been made so spontaneously that Violet was reminded of Geordie. Which should have filled her with pleasure, but instead left her sad because she could not remember when she had last looked at Edmund and recognized any characteristic inherited from his gentle father.
As for Jeff, he seemed as disconcerted as she was herself.
"No. I couldn't impose. I'll just hire something."
"No skin off my nose. I've some spare things at Balnaid. You can try them on, see how they fit."
"But won't you need them yourself?"
"I shall be decked out, like the man on a shortbread tin, in my kilt."
Lucilla, however, was deeply grateful. "You are a saint, Edmund. What a relief. Now all I have to do is find some garment to wear."
"Isobel and I are going shopping for finery in Relkirk," Pandora told her. "Why don't you come too?"
Lucilla, surprising everybody, said, "I'd love to." But their surprise was short-lived. "There's a wonderful market in Relkirk, and a stall stuffed with glorious nineteen-thirties tat. I'm sure I'll find something there."
"Yes," said her mother. "I am quite sure that you will."
"Dad, you are a brute! You've bashed me right into the rhododendrons."
"I wanted to get you out of the way."
"You didn't need to hit me quite so far."
"Yes, I did. You're far too cunning a player to be left jostling around the hoop. Now, Virginia, you need t
o c
ome just here."
"Which blade of grass did you have in mind?"
Isobel's lunch party, with coffee drunk, had amicabl
y d
ispersed. The boys, abandoning Scalectrix, had gone to play in Hamish's tree-house, and swing on his trapeze. Isobel had taken Vi to look at her border . . . not as grand or imposing as it had been in the old days but still something that she was always quite proud to show off and have admired. Archie, Virginia, Lucilla, and Jeff had decided to take advantage of Hamish's labour and were engaged in a needle contest of croquet. Edmund and Pandora sat in the old swing-seat at the top of the grassy bank and watched them.