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Next morning there was a paragraph in the paper about the event, but it merely gave the times and points won by the leading boats. It stated that many people were disappointed by the withdrawal of Graham Crawford’s favoured Silver Arrow, but that was all. No mention of what was wrong with her.

‘You’d think there must have been someone there who could have repaired her,’ Ian observed, frowning at the paper. ‘And I know we supplied plenty of spare parts.’
Lesley pushed away her uneaten breakfast. T tell you there’s more in this than has been reported.’ She was very greatly upset, for she had taken as great a pride in Silver Arrow as Gray had done.

Ian’s call to the Crawford home got no reply, but upon contacting Sandy McIntosh, Gray’s brother-in-law, he was told Robert Crawford had had a severe heart attack and was in intensive care in hospital, and his wife was with him. He had wired the news to Gray who would of course come home at once. Misfortunes never came singly, Frances thought—first the debacle over Silver Arrow, and now this. She knew such a collapse was not unexpected, but it would be a sad homecoming for Gray. But he would come, might be on his way that very moment. She felt her pulses stir, there would be no need for further concealment. She would assume her correct status as his wife. However inadequate she might be, he would claim her and in the intimacy of bed she might be able to reach him, give him the comfort he would so sorely need.

Days passed, and Gray did not come.

Ian was impatient for the return of Silver Arrow, so they could check what had gone wrong. He went down to the Glasgow works, but they had not been advised of her despatch. He called at the Crawford house, where he saw Alison. Her father was still on the danger list, she told him, and her mother was resting. They had heard nothing from her brother and Gray was a swine; she was very indignant, not to have at least communicated with them. When this news was relaid to Frances, she realised Gray had not told his family about his marriage, nor did it seem an appropriate time to reveal it. She wondered if something could have happened to him, but if so his people would have been advised, for presumably he was still staying with the Lamberts. The twins suggested he was remaining in America to take part in some outstanding event to vindicate Silver Arrow, but that was very unlikely and did not account for his silence.

Frances had a different idea: Samantha. Had he succumbed to her blandishments or been so dazzled by her wealth, he was deliberately keeping away because he meant to break up their marriage? The thought tormented her, in her misery and suspense, though it again was improbable. Even for Sam he would not keep away while his father was dying, or would he? She knew only too well he could be carried away by the desire of the moment, as he had rushed into marrying her. She grew thin and pale, but not even Ian remarked it, he had too much else to occupy him. For Robert Crawford died, and with Gray incommunicado, all their futures were in jeopardy. Ian and Lesley went to the funeral, fully expecting to meet Gray there. Frances felt her exclusion bitterly, but her duties kept her at Craig Dhu, and without disclosing her secret, she had no excuse to go. But if Gray was there, surely he would return with the Fergusons to claim her? She spent the day in a fever of anticipation, but they came back with doleful looks. No one had heard from Gray.

A week later, Sandy McIntosh came to Craig Dhu. He was a very ordinary-looking man, brown hair thinning on his scalp, shrewd dark eyes. He wore an impeccable business suit and carried a brief case, all that was required to complete the picture of a City gent was a howler hat and an umbrella. He was the antithesis of Gray. He was Scottish and dour and firmly refused to discuss business over the lunch Frances had cooked. He was going back the same night. After the meal, the twins were sent outside, and when Frances brought coffee to them in the sitting room, she seated herself in the window behind the curtain hoping she would not be noticed. She wanted desperately to hear what he had to say.

‘Weel, since I couldna win word nor writ from Graham, I flew over to the States to call on that mon Lambert. Gray wasna theer, and Lambert didna ken where he be.’

He paused to let his words sink in. 'He’s disappeared.'

'But . . . but why?' Ian queried.

Sandy shrugged his shoulders.

‘My brither-in-law has always been irresponsible, thinking Crawfords only existed to build his speedboats. Maybe when his hopes were dashed, he took off for Alaska or China, I wouldna put it past him. He’d plenty of funds because he’d sold that boat of his.’

‘Sold Silver Arrow!’ Lesley exclaimed. 'He'd never bear to part with her.’

Sandy frowned at her. 'Forbye, he has.’

Ian said slowly: ‘Gray would have no use for a machine that had let him down, or ever forgive a person who betrayed him.'

Frances felt a cold trickle down her spine. Was Gray really so implacable? But she would never give him cause to turn against her.

‘That lass of Lambert’s was making a reet to-do. Said Graham was her fiancé and he’d left her flat.’

So he had not told Samantha he was married, contradicting his declaration that he needed the protection of a wife, not that Frances had ever taken that statement seriously. What had he said to her to lead her to suppose they were engaged? She heard Sandy's next words through a blur of pain. He was stating that Gray’s disappearance and Robert's death had left the company in difficulties. They would have to economise. The Fergusons would have to return to Glasgow immediately, and Craig Dhu must be sold. The place had always been a white elephant, another of Gray's little extravagances. Murdoch and Morag could be pensioned off. His eyes fell on Caesar, stretched on the hearthrug.

‘And yon’s yet another. That braw great beastie will have to be put down if we canna find a home for him.’

'Oh, no!’ Frances cried, pushing back the curtain, ‘Not Caesar—Gray loves him.’ The dog, hearing his name, got up and came to her, laying his head on her knee. 'Gray would never forgive you if he comes back and finds him gone.’

‘
If
he comes back, but who may you be?’

His wife
, trembled on her lips, but Ian forestalled her, explaining her position.

Sandy looked even more dour, for he had noticed she had used Gray ’s first name, a familiarity he did not approve of from a ‘help’.

‘I’m thinking ye’ll be out of a job, miss.’ He stood up, preparing to depart. ‘Ah weel, I’ll bide a while, but if Graham doesna show up soon, it must be as I
said. Firm’s running at a loss.’ He stroked his thinning hair. ‘Just like that lunatic to run out on us when his father's dead!’

‘But he didn’t know about that.’ Ian defended the absent one.

'He left no address,’ Sandy snapped. ‘Lambert’s going to ask the police to try to trace him, so maybe we’ll hear something soon. But he's no kin of yours, and you’d best be looking out for yourselves.’

But he was of hers. Frances looked from one to the other of their dismayed faces and wondered if she dared proclaim herself. Gray had given as another reason for their marriage, that she would be provided for, but there did not look as though there was going to be much provision, and that was in case he was killed. But she was not his widow, merely a deserted wife, which put her in a different category, nor could she believe Gray would not return in spite of Sandy’s aspersions. Possibly the damage to Silver Arrow had unbalanced him temporarily, though it was difficult for her to credit that even the defection of Silver Arrow could so affect him. She decided she would do as Sandy was going to do, bide a while and continue to hope to hear from him. The reference to Samantha had disturbed her, all along she had suspected she was at the bottom of his delay. She was making a ‘reet to-do’, but that might be camouflage and she did know where he was. To those who love deeply, jealousy is an ever-present bugbear, and Frances had no great opinion of her own attractions. Samantha had a great deal to offer, and she so little.

The twins put forward impossible suggestions. He had been kidnapped—but no one had asked for a ransom. He had eloped with a fabulous glam girl— that from Jac, and Jo scoffed. He might, she said, be prospecting for gold to finance Crawfords. No one suggested he might have been murdered, that was a possibility they could not face.

As the days passed, Frances had another preoccupation. She often felt queasy in the mornings, and when a month had gone by, she suspected her honeymoon was to have an aftermath. Much as she would like to have a child, the circumstances were not propitious. She was alone in a strange country with no friends, except perhaps Ian, and to him she dared not turn, knowing how Gray would interpret any intimacy between them. She had never before felt so lonely and bereft, more so than when her mother had died and she had lost Tony. Again she became aware that Lesley was watching her— nothing seemed to. escape those sharp green eyes. She, Frances, counted as an enemy, and she was the last person in whom she would want to confide.

One morning, Frances was overcome with nausea at the breakfast table, and hastily retreated to her room. She had not been up there long when there was a tap upon the door. Frances made no response, hoping whoever it was would go away, but the door was pushed open and Lesley walked in.

‘Go away,’ Frances bade her, 'I don t feel well and I want to be alone.'

Lesley seated herself upon the unmade bed and regarded her calmly, Frances was pale and distraught.

‘You’re going to have a kid, aren’t you? she said bluntly.

It was still too soon to be sure, and Frances returned Lesley’s cool green gaze with a touch of defiance.

‘What makes you think that?'

Lesley smiled faintly. ‘Bravado won’t get you anywhere, Fran. It’s Gray’s, isn’t it?’

Frances hesitated. If her pregnancy were confirmed, she would have to reveal her marriage, though she shrank from the inquisition that would follow. Lesley had come to gloat over her, the fallen woman, deserted by her lover and carrying the fruit of her shame—the melodramatic phrases filtered through her mind. But Lesley was not going to have that triumph; her baby would not be illegitimate.

'I'd be obliged if you’d mind your own business,’ she said coldly.

‘Your child’s going to be a lot of people’s business,’ Lesley retorted. 'Oh, I know you went off with Gray-—only Mother was dim enough to believe in that bogus funeral. You looked quite different when you came back. Sort of glowing.’ Her pointed face became wistful. ‘Fulfilment, I suppose.’

‘You’re very observant,' Frances said drily. She lifted her head proudly. ‘We were married.'

‘Why, of course, Gray’s not a heel,’ Lesley declared, to Frances’ astonishment. ‘I know he goes bullheaded for what he wants, but he’d never seduce you and leave you in the lurch.’ She got up and began to pace the room. ‘I’ve never known Gray so infatuated with a woman—a good woman. Usually he goes with floosies for kicks, who are only out for a bit of fun, so no one’s hurt.’ She stopped and stared at Frances. ‘I know what took his fancy, you’ve got an out-of-this-world look at times, which men always find a challenge. They're all hunters, you know, and attracted by shy game. Most of Gray’s women hunted him, which he doesn’t appreciate.’ She grinned impishly. 'But he's brought you down to earth with a bump, hasn’t he?’

‘I daresay your theories are very interesting, Frances said stiffly, a little puzzled by the other girl’s attitude. ‘I know you've always hated me . . .’

‘I did,’ Lesley cut in, ‘You'd got what I wanted, and could never have, and you didn’t seem to value it, though I’m sorry I pushed you in the loch. It was a crazy impulse and I’ve felt awful about it ever since. Can you forgive me?’

‘I ... I’d almost forgotten about it.’ She had, it seemed so long ago. ‘I never meant to take him from you . . .'

‘He was never mine,' Lesley said bitterly. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘These things happen, we have to endure them.'

‘Of course I’ll go away,’ Frances told her, though she had made no plans as yet. ‘You won’t have to put up with me.’

‘Where will you go?

‘Oh, somewhere.’ Frances moved her hands vaguely. Her future looked horribly bleak. She could appeal to Gray’s mother for help, but. she wished she need not do so. Could she possibly manage somehow . . . alone?

‘Don’t be a fool,’ Lesley said scornfully. ‘You must take your rightful place as Gray's wife.’

‘But... but his family doesn’t know me. If they’re all like Mr McIntosh, who was conventionality personified, they’ll be shocked, feel Gray’s made a mesalliance . . .’ She covered her face with her hands. She had wanted to keep her romance inviolate, a beautiful, private memory; now the whole thing would be dragged into the light of day, to be criticised, condemned, even ridiculed. ‘I can’t bear it!’

'You won’t have to bear anything, except your kid,’ Lesley told her. ‘From now on, I’m going to look after you, see you get your rights, because I'm sure you’re a poor hand at looking after yourself.’

Frances gaped at her. 'But ... why?’

‘Oh, I suppose partly for Gray, and partly for you.' She laughed. 'You rouse my protective instincts, and until Gray comes, I’ll be your bulwark.' She looked away. ‘He might thank me.’

‘Much he cares,' Frances cried bitterly, recalling the long, lonely nights during which she had ached for him. ‘He takes all a woman has to give and goes his own selfish way.’ She clenched her hands. ‘Sometimes I feel I hate him!'

For if he had left her alone, she would never have been awakened to this desperate need of him which tortured her, this soul-searing unrequited love.

‘I’ve often hated him,' Lesley said calmly, ‘but I’ve never stopped loving him.'

‘Lesley,’ Frances began tentatively, about to voice the dread which haunted her, ‘you don’t think he might be dead?'

‘No, I don’t. I think we’d feel it if he were.’

Frances recalled that Lesley was Scottish, and might also have the Sight, as Morag had done when she had prophesied a babe in her arms. How little she had thought then that her vision would come true! Lesley patted her shoulder awkwardly. ‘You and I are going to be pals, us and the little one who is to be.'