Authors: Unknown
It
was evening, some few days later. Robbie was in his cot asleep;, while Lesley and Frances were sitting over the fire. It was unusual for Lesley to be at home, for her romance with Douglas was progressing, and she went out with him most nights, and Frances had to content herself with the company of Murdoch and Caesar. She made no complaint, because she was anxious for Douglas and Lesley to reach an understanding so that she would not feel she was deserting her friend when the time came to move south. She was thankful that the girl had recovered from her infatuation for Gray and had formed an attachment for another man. Lesley had not mentioned Gray since the day of his return and though Frances despised herself for wanting news of him, she often wished she would, but she was too proud to ask questions about him. He had taken her at her word and had made no attempt to contact her.
They heard the front door bell ring and looked at each other questioningly, for they rarely had visitors so late, and Frances felt her heartbeat quicken, Could it be Gray after all?
Murdoch threw open the door, and announced: 'Miss Lambert, mistress, to see you.’ And Samantha came into the room.
Frances had only seen her the once, but her image was indelible. She was exactly the same as when she had come to Craig Dhu—round blue eyes, petulant expression, a mass of tinted hair, only then she had been in yachting garb, now she wore a mink coat over a trouser suit with a round fur cap on her head. She had long, high-heeled boots on her feet, beautifully cut and shaped to her legs, obviously handmade, especially for her, and there were diamond studs in her ears. This was the girl who had caused Frances sc much heartache, and she looked at her curiously, wondering what she had that she herself lacked. Money, that was obvious, but Frances could never bring herself to believe that Gray was mercenary.
Samantha looked round the room as if expecting to find another presence, but seeing only the two girls, she glanced from one to the other, drawing off fur gloves to show a plentitude of rings, including one on her engagement finger.
‘Mrs Crawford?’ she queried.
'I’m she,’ said Frances. She rose from her seat. ‘Do sit down. Shall I take your coat?’
Samantha clutched the fur about her. ‘No, thank you—it’s cold, even in here. Your central heating isn’t very efficient.’
‘We don’t have it,’ Lesley told her. She had not stood up, and was eyeing Samantha suspiciously.
‘God, how ever do you survive?’ She sank into Frances’ chair and held oui her hands to the blaze. Frances drew up a chair between them, aware that Samantha was scrutinising her closely.
'Why, you’re the girl who was the home help at that impossible place further north,’ she exclaimed. ‘However did you manage to nobble Gray? I suppose you told him you were in the family way and the fool thought he ought to make you respectable.’ Frances flushed under the other girl’s insolent stare, but her clouded eyes met the hard blue ones without flinching.
‘It was nothing like that,' she said quietly.
Lesley was bristling in her chair.
'If you’ve only come to insult Fran, you'd better go,’ she declared.
‘Okay, no call to blow your top,’ Samantha returned inelegantly. ‘That's usually what happens to attractive maids when there are bachelors about, and married men too.’ She giggled. ‘And you are attractive, I give you that.’ She was assessing Frances point by point.
:
But these little romps don’t last long. You’ve had your fun, and I’ve come to take Gray back where he belongs. I expected to find him here.’
‘No, he is
not
here,’ Lesley informed her. ‘And we don’t know where he’s staying. You’d better enquire at Crawfords.'
Samantha looked pleased.
'Gee, that’s just fine. So you are getting divorced?’
'I don’t know what Graham’s plans are,’ said Frances stiffly, aware of a stab of pain at this finalising of her fears. ‘Now you’ve found he isn't here, perhaps you’ll go?’
How could he have involved himself with this doll of a woman? What possible chance of happiness had he with her? But Samantha had gone to him when he was incapacitated, insisted upon being admitted, when she, the wife, had been excluded. Perhaps her persistence had forged a bond between them, and he had welcomed her when his reluctance had been overcome. It was dreary enough in hospital without visitors, and possibly Samantha was more sympathetic than she looked. Frances was hating her for usurping her place. She should have been the one to solace Gray, but she had been deliberately kept in ignorance.
‘I’ll go when I’ve warmed up a bit,’ Samantha announced. ‘Gee, its cold outside!’ She gave Frances a reproachful look. ‘I always understood you Scots were hospitable.’
‘I’m not Scottish,’ Frances told her, ‘and you can hardly expect me to welcome you.’
‘You’re peeved because he prefers me to you,' Samantha asked. ‘Well, I guess that's natural, though he’s been away so long, you must have forgotten what he looks like.’ Her words seemed to recall an unpleasant memory, because a look of disgust crossed her face. ‘But he’s quite recovered now, I saw him before he left.'
Lesley said: ‘You’re quite sure Gray will go back with you?'
‘He’d better.’ The hard eyes sparkled. He assaulted my brother, a quite unprovoked attack, but Brett’ll drop charges when Gray and I are officially engaged.’
‘Unprovoked attack!’ Frances exclaimed. ‘When your brother had blown up his boat? Oh dear!’ She looked guiltily at Lesley as she realised what she had said. Lesley looked satisfied; she had always believed something of the sort had happened to Silver Arrow, and was convinced Gray would never have sold her.
‘That for a tale!’ Samantha waved a diamond-bedecked hand. ‘It was some terrorist gang, of course, they infiltrate everywhere, but poor Gray suffers from delusions since it occurred. When I get him back to the States, I’ll take him to my head-shrinker, he’s a good man and he’ll straighten him out.’ Her gaze sharpened. ‘But how did you know about the explosion? I thought Pop had muzzled the press,’
‘Gray told me,’ Frances said simply.
‘Oh, so you
have
seen him?' Frances looked away. ‘Just once.’
‘That was most indiscreet,’ Samantha declared. ‘He shouldn’t have contacted you at all. I thought he understood that when you said he’d not been here.’ She frowned and looked into the fire. ‘He insisted upon returning to Scotland to settle his affairs, though I tried to persuade him it wasn't necessary— he has relations here who could do that. Of course we plan to live in the States, that's why it s important he should placate Brett. He car t come back with charges hanging over his head. An apology should satisfy him since he’s going to be Gray’s brother-in-law.’
Lesley laughed outright.
‘If you can see Gray apologising to that swine, it’s you who needs your head examined,’ she said scornfully.
Samantha ruffled like an angry hen.
‘Really, Miss . . . er . . .’
‘Ferguson. You were our guest at Craig Dhu, and I wish the lunch had poisoned you.'
‘Gray shall make you take that back,’ Samantha hissed. ‘He won't stand for me being insulted!'
‘Won’t he?’ said a voice from the doorway.
Caesar leaped up from the corner to which he had retreated when Samantha came in, and hurled himself upon the newcomer, whining with delight.
Lesley cried, 'Oh, Gray, you’ve come at just the right moment!’ but Frances stood motionless as if turned to stone. She had risen when Gray came in, and moved behind Samantha’s chair, and his unexpected appearance had thrown her completely off balance. He had no doubt come to collect Murdoch and Caesar, but the sight of him had set her heart jerking. He looked more like his old self, some of the strain had left his face, and mouth and eyes looked more human. He was informally dressed, cord trousers and jacket over a Fair Isle pullover, which had something to do with it. Frances had so rarely seen him in a tailored suit at Craig Dhu. She wanted to appear cool and indifferent, but her quivering nerves warned her it would not be easy. However much her brain might condemn him, her traitorous body ached for him. But he ignored her completely, firstly being occupied with quietening the dog, and then rivetting his attention upon Samantha. The American girl stood up and went to meet him with
outstretched hands.
‘Hi, honey, didn’t you get my wire? I thought you’d be at the airport to meet me, instead of which I’ve been chasing all round this burgh trying to locate you.’
Gray put his hands behind his back.
‘You didn’t send a wire, Sam, nor any other message, and how the hell did you get hold of this address?'
Samantha giggled. ‘It was in the telephone directory, sweetie, Mrs F. Crawford, and I thought that she . . .’ she jerked her head towards Frances, ‘would know your whereabouts.’
'I don’t want you here,’ Gray told her shortly.
‘What’s the harm? Lots of women are good friends with their husbands’ exes. It’s the civilised way to behave.’
'Fran is not my ex,' he returned.
‘But she soon will be,’ Samantha persisted. ‘Darling, you don’t seem pleased to see me at all, and I’ve come all this way to warn you Brett’s threatening proceedings against you for assault.’
‘He’ll be a fool if he tries to prosecute me,’ Gray told her grimly. ‘Does he want the whole affair dragged out into the open after the pots of money your father paid out to keep it quiet? I shan’t hold my tongue in court.’
'But you’ve no proof it was Brett,' Samantha, protested, forgetting her previous statement that he was not the culprit.
‘He had a motive which no one else had, and I don’t think your family want the ugly story made public.’
Samantha shrugged her shoulders.
‘Such a fuss about an old boat! Oh, I know you got injured, but Brett never meant to harm you. How was he to know you’d be prowling round the marina when you should have been in bed? The wonder is the security guard didn’t arrest you.’
‘They’d already been bribed to pass Brett through, and I could hardly be denied access to my own boat.’ Gray glanced at Lesley and frowned. ‘Of course you would have to blab. None of this was known over here, unless Fran talked.’
‘She didn’t,’ Lesley broke in. 'She’s much too loyal to betray your murky secrets, but I never believed you’d sold Silver Arrow. Go on, this is interesting. How badly were you hurt?’
‘Oh, he’s fine now,’ Samantha intervened. She went closer to Gray and took hold of the lapels of his jacket, gazing ardently into his unresponsive face.
‘Darling, that’s all over and done with. Come back with me now, and we’ll square Brett. He won’t prosecute one of the family.’
'I'd see you in hell before I’d unite myself with your family,’ Gray said so softly his meaning was not immediately plain. He disengaged her clinging fingers. ‘I told you when I said goodbye to your father, I was going back to my wife.’
Samantha scowled at Frances, who was still standing like a pale effigy in the background. Gray seemed to be repudiating Samantha, but then he had also repudiated her, when he had tired of her.
‘That whey-faced ninny!’ Sam spat out the words like an angry cat. ‘What can she give you except a parcel of brats? Pop could build you another Silver
Arrow.'
‘I don’t want one. All that’s finished.’
‘Is that so? But don’t you owe us something, gratitude at least, for all your fees at that expensive sanatorium, where you had the most modern medical attention? You look much as you always did, but when I came to see you I thought you were disfigured for life.'
‘Yes, you came once.’ Gray’s face was like stone. ‘And you ran out shrieking like a startled peacock when you saw what your delightful brother had done to me. You never came near me again.'
Frances drew a long breath at this revelation. She was beginning to perceive that as far as Samantha was concerned she had been completely in error. Far from being a ministering angel, Samantha had fled from the sight of .. what? Burns? Scars? She glanced at his hands ... like that? But his face was as smooth and unmarked as it had always been. Was one of them lying?
Samantha shrugged her shoulders petulantly.
‘You didn’t realise now terribly sensitive I am. I hadn’t been warned, and your appearance gave me an awful shock,’ she defended herself. ‘I didn’t come again because I was sure you wouldn’t
want
anyone to see you looking like that.’
Gray glanced at Frances, who had turned very white.
‘Quite so,’ he said drily. 'But if you had a shock, you’d only yourself to blame. You pushed yourself in uninvited when I’d implicitly stated I would not see anybody.’
He turned his back on Samantha and stooped to
caress his dog. Frances felt stunned as she absorbed the real reason for his long silence. He must have been far more badly hurt than he had led them to suppose. It was not Samantha who had kept him from her, but . . . what? Vanity? Gray had never seemed the least conscious of his looks. Pride? His masculine arrogance shrank from allowing her to see him weak and suffering, that and lack of trust; he must have believed she would have been revolted by a scarred face.
Lesley said: ‘But you look your handsome self, Gray.’
He returned laconically: ‘Skin grafting.’
Frances did not know much about that except that it was a long and painful process, but she was deeply wounded to learn that Gray had gone through so much without asking for her or even permitting her to be informed of what had happened to him. His lack of faith hurt more than his caustic words when he had found her with Ian and dried up the flood of pity that had welled up in her at Samantha’s revelation. With regard to Ian, he had some excuse, he had seen him kissing her hands, but to deliberately keep her in ignorance of the ordeal he had come through showed a distrust that filled her with anguish. She would not have turned from him if he had been disfigured for life, he was her husband, whom she loved, but he classed her with the heartless nitwit he had just repulsed. She said to the back of his head, as he bent over the dog: