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‘The maister will be staying the neet?’

She shook her head. ‘He's staying at a hotel until I . . . we . . . there’s not much room here, is there?’

The shrewd eyes surveyed her. She did not look like a happy wife, rejoicing in her man’s reappearance; she was very pale, and her big eyes were wistful.

‘The Crawfords are a proud race,’ he told her. But Mister Graham is a fine mon, for all he left you grieving this long while. What they’ve done to him over yon has hurt him sair, but he’ll never own to it. Ye’re a brave lassie, mistress, and I reckon only you can reach him. His mither . . he shrugged his shoulders, ‘they were never close, and the auld mon’s gone, who thought the world of him. He’s nobbut you to turn to, to make him whole.'

'I'll do what I can,’ Frances promised, praying he was right. ‘Go to bed, Murdoch, and I’ll wait up to let him in.'

The old man chuckled. ‘He sent that foreign bitch awa’ with a flea in her ear, that’s one good riddance! Be gentle with him, mistress, and God be wi' ye.’

He left to go up to his attic room, and Frances went to hers. She changed into the black lace dress she had worn on her wedding night, and carefully made up her face. She looked at her watch. They could not be much longer, for Gray would not keep Murdoch up all night and it was nearly midnight.

She went back into the sitting room and turned the stereo on, thinking a little soft music might help. An orchestra was playing the Peer Gynt Suite, and the hunting strains of Solveig’s Song stole out into the room.

‘The winter may pass and the spring may die . . .

. . . but thou wilt come again, and I will await thee . . .’

Impatiently Frances switched it off. Penelope, Annie Arden, Solveig ... all women who waited patiently for their men to return to them with unquestioning love, and all created by men, idealising feminine patience and fidelity. Had they any connection with modern life where such virtues were more pitied than praised? Throughout the ages women had always waited while their menfolk went forth to do and dare, but Women’s Lib was seeking to change all that. Frances smiled wryly. Gray would scorn the aims of Women’s Lib, but he would not take them seriously, he was sc superbly masculine he assumed superiority as of right.

She could not sit still, but wandered restlessly about the room, every nerve taut, fearful that Gray would spurn her overture. She prayed that she might find the right words to reach him.

At last her straining ears caught the sound of the outer door handle being turned. As he found the door locked there followed a discreet tap; he would not risk disturbing them by ringing the bell. Caesar whined plaintively.

Frances ran to open it, and the dog pushed past her.

‘Gray!’ she called.

He was already moving away, but at the sound of her voice, he turned back.

’Fran! You shouldn’t have stayed up. I told Murdoch . . .’

‘I sent him to bed. I ... I must talk to you, Gray.’

‘Indeed? What a change of front!’

The light from the open door spilled over him, but did not reach his face. His voice held the mocking timbre she loathed.

'Oh, do come in, it’s freezing with the door open,’ she cried impatiently, and as he did not move, she added anxiously: ‘I promise I won’t keep you long.’

He hesitated, and she waited in trepidation. If he refused her now, she would know it was hopeless. The glimpse of the bright fire through the open sitting room door seemed to decide him. Caesar was
already stretched in front of it. To her relief he stepped inside and she closed the door and locked it.

‘Let me take your coat.'

In silence he slipped off the suede coat he had put on for his walk, and Frances hung it on a peg in the lobby. The intimacy of the gesture heartened her. She was very conscious of his presence close behind her. He followed her into the sitting room, and sat down in the chair she indicated, holding his hands to the blaze. His face was inscrutable.

‘A drink?’ Frances suggested briskly.

He turned his head to look at her. his eyes travelling over her black-clad figure, and she wondered if he recognised the dress; it must be obvious to him that she had changed since Samantha left. His glance went to the whisky bottle.

‘Thank you, if you’ll join me.'

She poured a generous measure for him, and one mostly soda water for herself, moving the coffee table towards him to accommodate his glass. He looked up at her with a sardonic glint in his eyes.

‘What’s all this? The fatted calf for the prodigal’s return? Isn’t it a little late in the day?
^:

She ignored the crack, and seated herself opposite to him on the other side of the fireplace. Caesar, finding the fire too hot, got up and removed himself to a far corner. Frances took a sip of her drink, wondering how to begin. He had a preoccupied air as if he were thinking of something else, which did not help. She noticed there were silver threads among the fair hair on his temples, though he was not much more than thirty. Her eyes fell on his hands held out
to the fire, marred with the ridges of white scar.

‘Was your face as badly burned as your hands?' she asked.

He nodded. ‘They wanted to treat my hands too, but I could wait no longer. The process takes such a long time, they can only do a little at a time, and the damage was fairly extensive.’

He gave the information in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone, his eyes on the glowing coals. Forgetting she had meant not to reproach him, Frances cried:

‘Oh, Gray, you should have let me know. I'd have come to you, I wouldn’t have let anything stop me.’

‘As I told you, that’s what I wanted to avoid.’

‘But it wasn’t fair! I’m your wife, it was my privilege to comfort you.’

He moved restlessly, and said coldly:

‘Do you think I wanted you to see me as an object of pity? Poor disfigured Gray! No, my girl, you had to wait until I was presentable again.

‘As if it would have made any difference to me what you looked like!'

‘Wouldn’t it?’ He held out his hand. ‘That shows you how I would have appeared without the treatment, and the doctors weren’t sure it would be wholly successful.’

Frances gave a low, inarticulate murmur and dropped on her knees beside him, raising his scarred hand to her lips. Gray smiled sardonically down upon her bent black head.

‘A pretty gesture, Fran, but that’s only my hand. He gently withdrew it from her clasp and reached for the whisky. Frances sat back on her heels regarding him with misty, reproachful eyes.

‘Altogether I was a loathsome-looking object, with bandages, plastic and whatnot.’ He took a gulp of his drink. ‘Sam’s reaction was not encouraging.’

Samantha who had run screeching from the hospital.

‘I’m not Sam,' Frances said indignantly.

‘You certainly aren’t, and you’d have put up a fine facade, I don’t doubt, but you wouldn’t have been able to deceive me.’

‘You could at least have let me know you were alive.’

‘No one could be sure how successful the operations would be. I wanted you to remember me as I was, and if I were going to be scarred for life, I wouldn’t have come back at all.’

‘You’d no faith in my love?’

He smiled. ‘Did you love me, Fran? I don’t see how you could. I bulldozed into your life, married you in haste and then deserted you. Of course, we had a charming idyll, but you’re young and romantic, I didn’t think you’d appreciate your Prince Charming turning into a gargoyle.'

Frances sighed. How dense he was! But then he never had taken love seriously, he did not believe it went more than skin deep. Skin . . . She looked at his hands; they had not been treated, but she did not shrink from them.

‘The truth is you didn’t want me . . .’ she began sadly.

He turned towards her, with a sudden blaze in his eyes.

‘Want you?’ he cut in. ‘I wanted you every hour I was in that damned place! I longed for a sight of you, but if you’d been revolted as Sam was, I think I’d have killed myself!’

He had erupted into sudden life, and his voice shook with passion, then his emotion died as quickly as it had come. He drained his glass, and went on quietly, his gaze returning to the fire. 'I lost all sense of time while those sadists were working on me. Stu told me about my father’s death, but I was in no fit state to travel when it occurred, I heard Sandy came to fetch me, and Stu put him off. He’s been a very good friend,’ He passed his hand over his eyes. ‘I ... I was sorry about my old man, I . . . cared for him.’ He was silent for a moment, and Frances realised it was the first time she had heard him express affection for anyone. He went on:

‘While I was waiting for my face to heal, I regained my bodily strength. I needed that, because before I left I was going to settle my score with Brett. I owed Silver Arrow that.'

Frances had remained on the floor at his feet throughout this recital. She had thrilled when Gray had said he had longed for her, there was hope yet, but she deplored the fierce pride which had kept him from sending for her. She could have done so much to alleviate his convalescence. He had denied himself what she would have been only too willing to give. Then she remembered that while he had been languishing in a sanatorium, she had been thickening with his child. How would he have reacted to the sight of her ungainly figure? Would he in his turn have been revolted? Was the outward seeming so important that a physical change could kill love? In her own case she was confident that it could not, but Gray had never loved her, he had only desired her for her looks, and if they had been spoiled,' would he have welcomed her? He had said he had longed for the sight of her, but it was the girl of the white sands and the swimming pool he had envisaged, not a matron nearing her time.

She said wistfully: ‘It might have made a difference if you’d ever been in love with me.’

He turned his head and stared at her blankly.

‘Good lord, woman, what are you talking about? I was as much in love with you as a man can be with a woman. You were all I wanted, beautiful, passionate, reliable, loyal ... or so I thought. Why else did you think I married you?’

‘That wasn’t among the reasons you gave me when you asked me,’ she pointed out, noticing with an uneasy qualm that he had used the past tense.

He smiled ruefully.

'Well, it was difficult . . . you were so aloof and virginal, Fran, I daren’t tell you I was burning to possess you before I went away, you’d have been shocked. So I thought up other and more respectable reasons, and they were quite genuine. I hated seeing you waiting upon the Fergusons, and I wanted to give you security, but you refused to go to my parents, which was what I intended, and instead of being proud to be my wife, you wanted our marriage kept a secret. Later on when I had time—oh
_?
much too much time—to review your motives I decided you wanted to return to Craig Dhu to keep tabs on Ian. He was your second string if I didn't come back.’

‘Oh, Gray .
.
.’ she tried to interrupt, but he went on regardless.

'I didn’t blame you. A woman in your position had to look to the future, and marriage was your best bid. You knew me so little you’d no reason to trust me to do as I'd promised. Actually I made my will in your favour the day before we were married.’

Frances’ eyes widened at this gross misunderstanding of her actions. It was logical, but so untrue. She had wanted to wait for his return among friends, not strangers as his parents would have been, and no thought of using Ian had ever crossed her mind. ‘You misjudged me entirely,’ she said bitterly.

'I don’t think I did. What I saw on the day of my return confirmed my suppositions.’

Frances sprang to her feet and went back to her chair. She faced him across the hearth with indignation in voice and mien.

‘You entirely misconstrued what you saw!
I
thought you’d deserted me for Sam, and so did Ian. He was trying to persuade me to divorce you and marry him. I was about to tell him as gently as I could, because I didn’t want to hurt him—he does love me, and his love is sincere—that I could never accept him, when you barged in, and that’s the truth, Gray, I swear it! You’d no justification for the bitter things you said to me . . . and to assault me . . .’

He turned his head away and said gruffly:

‘I’m sorry for what I did then, Fran. I’d counted so much upon our reunion and when I thought you'd forgotten me, and God knows I could hardly blame you if you had, I saw red. I wanted to hurt you ... I did hurt you, didn't I?’

‘Yes,’ she said simply, but she did not mean the physical bruising, but the pain of his distrust.

He looked at her almost humbly. ‘For that I would ask you to forgive me. I would like us to part friends.’

'Part?' she echoed blankly.

‘It would be best ... for you. The chivalrous Ian with his sincere love,’ an acid note crept into his voice, ‘will make you a much better husband than myself. You know by now that I have a savage temper when I'm roused, and recent events have not improved it. You wouldn't find me easy to live with, and you must know too that the man you thought you loved never really existed. Like many another you glamorised me, but the reality is harsh and selfish. It’s been dinned in to me how generous you were giving your inheritance to Crawfords, and that shall be paid back to you. I want you to be happy, Fran, and forget me if you can.’

‘Which I can never do, and you’re talking a load of rubbish. I love you Gray, harsh, selfish, what you will, and I’ll never love anyone else. There’s no happiness for me without you.’

She looked at him with her heart in her eyes, but there was no response in his still face.

‘Lesley tells me you want to go back to England. That’s a very good idea . . .’

‘That was when I thought you wanted to be free to marry Samantha.’

He exclaimed in horror, ‘Good God!’

‘Well, it did seem like it at one time,’ Frances pointed out. 'But, Gray, there’s one person you seem to have forgotten, who needs you even more than I do, and he's your responsibility just as much as mine, though you've tried to ignore him.’ Her voice became accusing. ‘He could have cost me my life, and you never even thought of what might have occurred. You’re so wrapped up in your own woes and vengeances you don’t want to see him, but he's there, in the next room, a living entity—your little son.’