Authors: Frederic Lindsay
'You
didn't
hear
me
because
I
was
already
there.
I
came
home
in
the
afternoon.
I
didn't
feel
well.’
He
blinked.
'You
were
there
all
the
time?
Me
listening
and
you
were
there
all
the
time.’
The
intentness
of
his
gaze
made
her
uneasy.
He
put
his
hand
into
his
pocket
and
then
held
it
up
with
the
back
towards
her.
When
he
turned
it,
she
saw
that
he
had
a
packet
of
contraceptives
held
by
the
squeeze
of
his
palm
like
a
conjuror.
He
held
it
between
finger
and
thumb
and
seemed
to
take
it
with
his
other
hand,
but
it
was
empty
and
then
he
showed
her
that
both
were.
'I
expect
I'll
find
something
to
do
with
them.
The
joke's
on
me,'
he
said.
'Speaking
of
which,
I
am
now
going
off
to
make
the
good
May
laugh.’
'I
don't
think
she
feels
much
like
laughing
today.’
'She
say
anything
to
you
about
the
cheques
business?
Doesn't
matter.
All
a
misunderstanding.
You'll
see.
I'll
be…'
and
he
hesitated,
'nice
to
her';
offering
the
word
with a
wink
and
a
nod,
only
too
pleased
to
share
it
with
her.
Later,
from
behind
the
closed
door
she
heard
his
voice
murmur
and
May
Stewart
mingle
her
laughter
with
his
like
a
betrayal
so
that
she
could
have
wept
at
how
alone
she
was.
Chapter 12
'What
made
you
think
Professor
Ure
would
be
here
today?
I
mean,
today
of
all
days!'
In
the
empty
concrete
corridor,
Sam
Wilson's
question
waited
echoing
on
its
answer.
Through
one
of
the
glass
panels
which
made
up
the
outer
wall,
Sophie
watched
the
stand
of
birches
by
the
loch
scratch
their
stripped
branches
against
the
clouds.
Grey
yet
luminous,
the
light
threatened
snow
before
dark.
She
had
written
to
Maitland
at
home,
something
he
had
forbidden
her
ever
to
do;
but
though
she
had
stayed
off
work
and
waited
in
her
room
he
had
not
come.
Last
night
it
had
been
his
wife
who
answered
the
phone,
but
she
had
babbled
something
about
the
Trust
and
then
there
had
been
the
sound
of
his
voice.
She
stared
at
the
bruised
sky
and
wished
Wilson
would
go
away.
She
did
not
want
him
there
when
Maitland
came.
'The
students
have
gone
.’
Little
Sam,
Maitland
called
him;
though
she
was
not
tall
for
a
woman,
he
had
to
look
up
to
her.
As
if
to
make
up
for
this,
his
emphatic
speech
with
its
unexpected
stresses
made
a
claim
to
be
regarded
.
'Students
and
so
staff
,
naturally.
Numbers
of
my
colleagues,
as
always,
beat
all
but
the
nimblest
of
our
clients
out
of
the
door.
But
all
of
them
are
gone
now
–
gone
where
the
good
family
men
go.’
He
laughed
too
much,
looked
at
her
breasts
and
glanced
away.
'Family
men?'
'Today
of
all
days.
Surely
tonight's
the
one
for
hanging
up
stockings
and
all
that
sort
of
thing.’
It
was
Christmas
Eve.
She
had
insisted
that
Maitland
meet
her
on
Christmas
Eve.
'I
think
he
has
to
come
in
for
something,'
she
said.
'To
see
you?'
'Oh,
no!'
As
if
her
mind
was
in
compartments,
the
denial
was
natural
and
unforced.
It
would
be
absurd
for
Professor
Ure
to
come
in
specially
to
see
an
ex-student
–
and
on
Christmas
Eve
'of
all
days.’
'But
why
then,
I
wonder
…
'
'For –
something
else.
But
it
means
he
can
see
me
here.’
'All
this
way,'
Wilson
said.
'Didn't
you
say
you
were working
in
Edinburgh
now?
Did
you
come
by
car?
'
'I
got
the
train.
'
'To
the
station
in
Balinter
?'
She
nodded.
'And
then
did
you
walk?
From
the
station
in
Balinter? But
it's
miles!'
'It
didn't
seem
far,'
she
said.
'You
must
want
to
see
Professor
Ure
very
badly
.
'
She
thought
about
that,
then
said,
'I
would
have
been
coming
anyway.
To
visit
friends.
I'm
going
to
stay
with
a
friend.’
'Who
would
that
be?
If
it's
someone
from
your
time
here,
I
dare
say
I'll
know
her.’
It
was
hot
in
the
corridor.
Despite
all
the
talk
about
economies,
the
central
heating
was
on
and
set
high.
The
heavy
dryness
stifled
her.
She
stared
out
at
the
chill
angular
landscape,
willing
him
to
leave
her
alone.
'It's
business,'
she
said,
as
she
had
explained
to
Lucy
Ure.
'I
work
for
the
Trust –'
'The
Gregory
and
Rintoul.
Of
course.
I'd
been
told
you went
there.
It's
the
Professor's
pet
charity.’
Did
he tell you?
She
wanted
to
ask.
She
hungered
after
the
idea
that
Maitland
could
not
resist
speaking
of
her.
'We
take
an
interest
in
our
old
students
–
our
ex – students.’
He
smiled.
'Of
course,
you
know
you
were
one
of
my
disappointments.’
She
felt
the
word
superstitiously,
that
he
should
use
it
like
an
omen
while
she
waited
for
Maitland
to
come.
'I
recognised
you
at
once.
When
I
saw
you
standing here,
I
said
to
myself,
“
but
that's
Sophie
Lindgren
who
I
was
so
sure
was
going
to
do
honours.”
It's
a
let-down
when
people
don't
do
all
you
hoped
they
might.’
She
had
won
a
class
prize
in
the
summer;
and
after
that
she
had
fallen
in
love
with
Maitland.
'I
don't
have
any
regrets,'
she
said.
'Early
days,'
but
he
smiled,
which
made
it
only
a
joke.
'So
you've
come
all
this
way
on
behalf
of
the
Trust.
It's
terribly
conscientious
of
you.’