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When they reached Hawick most of the townsfolk were still gathered in the square. The weather had brightened to give them a warm, sunny afternoon for the festivities and they were reluctant to return to their homes and end it all.

Not that it would end at the Statue for the younger element. There would be dancing and ‘high jinks’
in
the town hall, together with many a private party in the surrounding countryside. Thinking of Denham, Susan said that she ought to go home.

“But you will come back?” Grisell begged. “You promised Fergus to go to the dance. Max,” she demanded, “you must come, too!”

Max said “Perhaps” in an off-hand sort of way, as if he were thinking of something quite different. The film unit was still in the Square, packing up to go, and a little stout man in a green corduroy jacket and russet-coloured slacks pushed past them in a hurry. When he recognised Max, however, he wheeled round in his tracks.

“Just the man I’ve been looking for!” he declared. “I’ve got your letter here somewhere, Mr. Elliott.” He fumbled in the pocket of his jacket. “Somewhere,” he repeated, “but it doesn’t matter. We can talk about it. I hope you’ve changed your mind.”

Max considered him for a moment.

“I think I have,” he said, “but I’d prefer to discuss this with you elsewhere.” He glanced round at Susan. “If you’ll excuse me?”

“Yes, of course. I’m on my way—”

“What’s going on?” Grisell asked.

“Nothing at the moment,” Max said. “I meant to tell you this morning. We’ve been approached by Mr. Armstrong’s company about filming at the Carse. They want to use the peel tower and a stretch of the river somewhere, possibly around Denham.”

Mr. Armstrong was following every word with the keenest interest. He had taken off his hat and the bald dome of his head glistened in the sun, but underneath it were a pair of the shrewdest eyes Susan had ever seen. Steenie Armstrong was no fool. He had once been a popular Scottish comedian, but he had hankered after the opportunity to direct and now he was in the business he had always loved behind the cameras instead of in front of them.

“I’ve had a closer look at the locations we want to use,” he told Max, “and Denham would be ideal for some of the outdoor shots. We need another house, too, apart from the Carse.”

Max glanced in Susan’s direction.

“No,” she said firmly. “Not Denham.”

“But you would have no objection to the film unit working in the grounds?” he asked. “The location they suggest is round the bridge and along the Yair on the bridle path side.”

Suddenly she remembered that he had as much right to decide Denham’s fate as she had, but there was also Evelyn to consider. With the birth of her child imminent Evelyn couldn’t possibly want a film unit swarming all over the place, and she certainly wouldn’t want them in the house.

Steenie Armstrong turned away, smiling, as if the bargain was already made.

“I’ll be at the Cross Keys,” he said to Max as Grisell got back into the car. “If we could have a word before I went back to Edinburgh it would save a lot of time and put you completely in the picture.”

“I’ll be with you in a few minutes,” Max promised. “Just give me time to take Miss Denham to her car.”

“You needn’t have bothered,” Susan told him as he propelled her through the dwindling crowd. “I’m only round the corner.”

“I wanted to talk to you about Denham.”

He looked slightly grim as they turned into the side street where she had parked her car. .

“About this film idea?”

“Not only that, but we could start there.”

“You really mean to have these people at the Carse?”

“I don’t see why not. They’re only doing one interior.

Then most of the filming will be done up at
the
tower, I gather, and along the river.”

“What about Denham?” She stopped short as
they
reached the car. “You did intend to let them use
the
house?”

“It’s one of the loveliest interiors I’ve ever seen,” he said without answering the direct question.

“You can’t be serious!” she exclaimed. “All these technicians and actors swarming about the place!”

She turned to face him, resisting him instinctively, it seemed.

“We don’t need cheap gimmicks,” she said witheringly. “Denham’s has meant cashmeres for years. We don’t need a film stunt or two to change our image!”

His mouth hardened.

“This is Scott,” he said. “There will be no stunts attached, I can assure you. They’re doing
The Bride of Lammermoor.
You know it, of course. To me, it’s the ultimate tragedy—the Scottish
Hamlet.
Steenie Armstrong will do justice to it, I dare say. Anyway, I’m all for it. It’s another
Camelot,
and if I could invest some money in it I would.”

“A finger in another pie!”

“Exactly. I told you I was a business man.”

She opened the car door.

“Have you thought about Evelyn ?” she asked.

“A great deal.” His voice had lost its sharpness. “The baby will be here long before they want to use Denham House, and somehow I don’t think Evelyn would throw a spanner in the works even out of a mistaken loyalty to Denham’s.”

“You don’t really believe in loyalty, do you?” she challenged as Fergus turned the corner and came striding along the deserted pavement towards them. “So long as you get your own way.”

“There you may be wrong,” Max said, “but I don’t suppose I would ever be able to convince you. All the same, I’m in your debt, Susan, because of this afternoon,” he added. “I would never have pulled it off without you. Grisell has come home and we’ve got to keep her here, by all the concerted mean in our power. If you’ll have her to work at Denham House I’ll be obliged.”

Fergus had reached the car.

“I’ve been searching for you all over the place, Sue,” he said with a brief nod in the older man’s direction. “Where did you get to? I thought I saw you outside St. Leonards, but the Chase was too hot by then to be sure.”

“I went to Edinburgh,” Susan explained. “On business.”

“Edinburgh?” If she had confessed to a journey to the moon he could not have been more surprised. “On Riding Day?”

“Yes, even so!”

Fergus, flushed and dishevelled after a day’s hard riding, looked the typical gentleman farmer, and he seemed to think that the Common Riding was the most important thing in the world. He was kind, and easygoing and solid and, once long ago, it seemed she had been on the point of marrying him. Now she knew that she could never spend the rest of her life with him, and felt sorry.

“I’ll see you at the dance, I suppose,” she said.

He looked quickly from her flushed face to Max’s stem one, knowing beyond any shadow of a doubt that he was about to lose Susan to a stranger. Fierce resentment of the other man struggled in his heart, but he was forced to answer her conversationally enough.

“I’ll be there. I haven’t missed a dance since I left school!”

Susan drove off, thinking about her tussle with Max. It seemed as if they could never meet without some difference of opinion, without hurting each other, even in a trivial way. She had denounced the idea of the film company occupying Denham House, even for a day or two, simply because it might inconvenience Evelyn, but at the bottom of her heart she knew that she was still guilty of a fierce jealousy, a bitter resentment of these strangers who, because of their wealth, could do so much for Denham’s. She had tried to fight it, but it was stronger than she imagined. This was no blood feud, as Max had pointed out, yet it was much the same. Elliott and Denham had been rivals in the past.

Was that all? She couldn’t shake the memory of Maxwell Elliott out of her mind because the vision of him riding down across the heather from the Hunter’s Crags was still very clear in her mind. That first day he had looked the part of the marauding moss-trooper of old and she had no real reason to change her mind about him now.

Before she had reached Branxholm Fergus had overtaken her.

“Pull up a minute, Sue,” he called from the open window of his car. “I want to speak to you.”

She did as he asked her, pulling in to the side of the road at the next layby.

“What about?” she asked.

He got out, coming to lean on the open window.

“It’ll only take five minutes,” he said.

Susan got out.

“I could do with some fresh air,” she admitted.

“After Edinburgh? Did you go there with Elliott?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I had an idea, when he mentioned he’d been there. What happened?”

She hesitated.

“It’s about Grisell, isn’t it?” he guessed. “Did she take the bit between her teeth and bolt?”

She turned to look at him.

“How did you guess?”

He laughed self-consciously.

“I’d like to say I was astute enough to see it coming,” he said, “but the truth is, she told me.”

“Before she went to Edinburgh? And you didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t honestly think it was important,” he confessed. “Kids talk that way—all fed-up-to-here and rebellious—but it doesn’t mean very much.”

“It did to Max!”

“And so it did to you?” He caught her by the arm. “Don’t make a fool of yourself, Sue! Don’t throw yourself at this fellow’s head!”

“Where did you get that idea?” Susan gasped. “I’ve never ‘thrown myself, as you so charmingly put it, at anyone!”

“Don’t I know!” He was immediately contrite. “I’m a clumsy ass when I’m trying to explain what I feel. He’d be no use to you, though.” He slipped his arm about her waist. “I know it as surely as I know anything ! He’s completely ruthless where his own ideas are concerned. I’m not saying he’s not the right man in the right place at the mill,” he added when he felt her stiffen, “but he’s not right for you.”

“Aren’t you jumping all our bums before we come to them?” Susan asked unsteadily. “He hasn’t the least intention of asking me to marry him.” Her voice faltered. “As a matter of fact, we’ve been disagreeing over Denham again.”

He looked somewhat relieved.

“Oh? What about this time?”

“Making a film there.”

“Oh, that! People have been talking about it all day,” he informed her. “It’s going to be quite something, with knights in armour cantering around all over the place and the locals getting bit parts or being taken on for crowd scenes when they do the bridal procession and that sort of thing. The main part will be shot on the coast, I gather, north of Cockburnspath, where they can mock up a good replica of the Wolfs Crag, but it’s quieter down here for the hill scenes.”

“So it’s
The Bride of Lammermoor?"
Susan mused.

“For my money it’s too tragic a tale, if I remember it rightly,” Fergus said. “All that double-crossing and intrigue in high places and the deadly blood-feuds which separated people in love!”

“Lucy Ashton was far too tame for me,” Susan declared, “but I suppose those were different days. I used to weep hopeless tears over Lucy, but now I know that Mary, Queen of Scots, was the only tragic heroine I really respected.”

“Because she fought to the bitter end?”

“Because she had dignity and courage and the grace for living life to the full, in spite of everything!”

“She almost died of a broken heart.”

“She had cause to be disillusioned with human nature!” Susan exclaimed. “If she’d been like Lucy she would have given in to despair, but even the shadow of the English block couldn’t daunt her. She was born to an unlucky fate and a melancholy fortune, but they couldn’t take away her joy in living. She was Marie, the queen of everybody’s heart, and she died, in the end, like a queen!”

“What are you going to do about the film-makers?” Fergus asked after a pause.

“What can I do if Max Elliott is determined to bring them to Denham?”

“Sue, is it any use struggling?” He held her close, pressing his lips against her cheek. “If he wants to take over at Denham, he will. Someone said, the other day, that they wouldn’t be at all surprised if he married Evelyn in the end.”

“Evelyn?” Susan cried. “You can’t be serious!”

“Why not?” He still held her, searching her distressed eyes for the hint that he had still some chance with her. “They’ve been together often enough, and Evelyn has never made any secret of her emotions. She likes him, Sue. A blind man could see that.”

“Evelyn likes most people,” Susan returned far too sharply. “And Richard Elliott has been at Denham House as often as Max.”

“Granted,” Fergus said, “but he’s so much older.”

“Does that matter? Evelyn and he get on well together.”

“Yet it could be Max she fancies.”

She freed herself with an effort, feeling as if his warm embrace must stifle her.

“This is all nonsense,” she declared, “and you know it. Evelyn can’t think about anything but the baby just now.”

“Perhaps not, but she’s bound to be looking ahead to the future, too, isn’t she?”

“She has a future at Denham—”

“Which is exactly what I have been trying to say!"

“Not as Max’s wife. I didn’t mean that,” Susan protested, “and you know it! If—if it’s anyone at all, it’s Richard,” she added swiftly.

“You may be right, but I don’t think so. Does it matter to you?” he asked bluntly.

“About Evelyn and Max?” She could hardly bring herself to link their names. “It’s so absurd—”

“Which means that you don’t like the idea at all,” he concluded. “You would prefer her to marry Richard Elliott, if she’s going to settle for an Elliott at all?”

“They’ve got a lot in common,” she argued, “and they seem happy together. Besides, they’ve both been married before.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with it! Does a widow
have
to marry a widower?” he asked.

“It’s more suitable, perhaps. They’ve both lost someone dear to them. It’s compensation, in a way,” Susan mused.

“Which means that you don’t much believe in love a second time around ?”

“It’s different,” Susan decided. “If you’ve loved someone once you can never feel quite the same again, I should think.”