Highland Fling (16 page)

Jenny went forward and hugged Felicity. She received the hug awkwardly, as if unaccustomed to the gesture, but then she relaxed, and hugged Jenny back. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered huskily.

‘What for? I haven’t done anything yet. Now, let’s go and rescue the rice.’

‘Oh! I almost forgot! There’s a parcel for you! It’s what prodded Mama into giving me my letter. I think it’s from your mother.’

When they were back downstairs, Felicity handed Jenny a squashed, badly wrapped bundle. It was indeed from Jenny’s mother. Seeing her handwriting on the ‘Reuse Paper Save Trees’ label almost made Jenny cry.

Felicity handed Jenny a letter opener from the hallstand and Jenny struggled with the sellotape. When she finally got inside, she read the card.

The jumper did indeed look like something you’d give your cat to sleep on, but when she slipped it over her head, Jenny was instantly aware of its warmth.

‘Mm,’ said Felicity. ‘If that’s the sort of thing you want me to design, I might have a few problems.’

‘Silly cow,’ said Jenny affectionately. ‘But it is blissfully warm. Now, let’s see what’s going on in the kitchen.’

Two days later, Felicity and Jenny set off to visit Lachlan.

The thought of spending a day away from the mill, Dalmain House, and even, slightly against her conscience, The Homely Haggis, was bliss. At the mill she was surrounded by spreadsheets and figures and spent all day doing sums, and then redoing them, to try to get more favourable answers. At Dalmain House she had to fight the cold and field Lady Dalmain’s enquiries about her son and what lengths Jenny had gone to to find him, as if finding him was somehow her responsibility.

And there was the added stress of wondering if she would ever see Ross again. She felt so torn. Part of her desperately wanted to see him, and part of her just as desperately didn’t. Guilt, she decided, was addling her brain.

Both women felt they were playing truant. Jenny had told Lady Dalmain that she needed Felicity for something. Without actually lying, she managed to convey that their errand was to do with finding Philip, and she let them abandon her with a plate of sandwiches and relatively good grace.

‘I should have left her something hot,’ said Felicity as they drove away.

‘Nonsense. She’s not crippled or anything. She can make her own lunch if she wants more than a sandwich.’ Jenny felt the sooner Felicity started standing up to her mother, and realising that the sky wouldn’t fall in if she did, the better. ‘Now, do we need a map, or can you direct me?’

‘We need a map, but not yet.’

Scotland was at its most majestic. The purple heather, the granite of the mountains and dramatic light of a stormy sky were not kindly, but their drama was undeniable. Sheep were dotted about the lower slopes of the hills, their fleeces appearing very white. As Jenny swooped up and down the roads, which were pleasantly free of traffic, she wondered about the warehouse full of wool. Perhaps that could be used more imaginatively than just for spinning and knitting. Felt was a possibility. She seemed to remember seeing something about a very fine felt in a fashion magazine. Perhaps Lachlan would know, or, if not, know someone who did.

‘You don’t mind being away from home and in scenery like this?’ Jenny asked Felicity, remembering her agoraphobia.

Felicity shook her head. ‘It’s bliss to be away from home, and scenery doesn’t bother me. It’s mostly crowds. Agoraphobia means “fear of the marketplace”, you know, not fear of open spaces. Mama’s fixation with the classics taught me that, at least.’

‘Well, let me know if you feel uncomfortable or anything and –’

‘And what? What will you be able to do about it?’

Jenny laughed. ‘Well, I don’t know. What would you like me to do?’

‘Allowing me to smoke in your car would help.’

Jenny opened a window, suppressing her objections with an effort. ‘Will smoking prevent a panic attack, then?’

Felicity nodded, a cigarette between her lips. ‘To be honest,’ she said when she could speak, ‘I’m so happy at the thought of seeing Lachlan, I don’t think I could be ill if I tried.’

‘So my car is going to smell of smoke for ever, when it didn’t really need to?’

‘No, not really. I need the fag as well.’

Jenny had to laugh, and Felicity joined in as if laughing was not something she was much used to doing.

They reached the point where they needed the map and, later, Felicity produced some written instructions. At first, they were easy to follow, but then suddenly the distances seemed all wrong.

‘Now, it says go along as far as the crossroads, take the first left and then wind our way down the hill until we get to a junction. Left again, go for two miles, and there should be a sign,’ said Felicity.

‘Sounds simple enough,’ said Jenny, knowing instructions were never simple enough and they were bound to get lost at least once.

‘Does it say down, or up the hill?’ asked Jenny, a few minutes later. ‘Because this is definitely up.’

‘Mm. It does say down. Perhaps we go down in a few minutes.’

The mountain refused to flatten out. ‘Let’s go back and start again,’ said Jenny.

Eventually, when they had retraced their steps
several times, and Jenny secretly felt there was no chance of them ever finding it, Felicity said, ‘Look – across the river – over there. Llamas!’

‘Really? I didn’t know he kept llamas! I thought he just clipped them.’

‘Alpacas. He clips alpacas. He has a few of those, as well.’

Having seen their objective, it was relatively simple to drive to it. ‘Thank goodness,’ said Felicity, as they approached. I was starting to worry. Ruthven’s Farm, that’s it. It should be down this track.’

There were more llamas in the fields either side of the road. ‘Do you think we can stroke them?’ asked Jenny. ‘Or are they terribly bad-tempered?’

‘I’m sure they’re not. Lachlan wouldn’t like them so much if they were. Shall I open the gate?’ Felicity jumped out of the car with girlish alacrity.

A farmhouse appeared as they rounded a bend. It was long, low and grey, with a stand of conifers behind it. The river flowed along one side of the property, and in front of it, across the plain, the mountains rose majestically.

‘What a heavenly spot,’ breathed Jenny.

‘Mm. The house seems quite small.’

Felicity had flushed slightly and it was hard to tell if there was criticism in her comment.

It’s in a perfect position, though,’ said Jenny. ‘And there would be bound to be an outbuilding you could have for your work. Oh, sorry. My mouth’s gone off on its own. Don’t take any notice of me.’

‘No, it’s all right. I
was
wondering if perhaps I might live here one day. It’s hard not to dream, isn’t it?’

Jenny nodded, wishing she didn’t understand as
well as she did. What was she doing, thinking about one man so much, when she was practically engaged to another?

‘But I would have to find out if I could cope with it,’ went on Felicity, unaware of Jenny’s internal struggle. ‘I couldn’t be a burden to Lachlan.’

‘I’m sure you wouldn’t be. And it would be up to him. He may rather have you as a burden than not have you at all. Oh – there he is.’

‘So why didn’t you say at dinner the other night that you kept llamas?’ asked Jenny, when they had got out of the car. ‘Lady Dalmain would have been impressed, surely?’

‘I have no wish to impress Lady Dalmain,’ said Lachlan firmly.

Jenny glanced at Felicity and could understand her wistful expression. He may not have been Jenny’s personal type (though she no longer knew if she had a type – possibly it was all down to pheromones) but he was strong and manly. And if ever there was a man to make Felicity stand up to her mother, and get a life for herself, it was Lachlan.

‘Now,’ Lachlan went on, ‘shall we have lunch? Or would you like a tour of the policies – that is – property, first?’

‘Will the lunch keep?’ asked Jenny, when Felicity remained silent, possibly overwhelmed by being in Lachlan’s presence.

‘Oh yes. It’s just soup and some salad, with some bread and cheese.’

‘Then I’d love a guided tour. I’ve got hundreds of questions to ask you. Will you mind?’

‘Oh no,’ he said, in a way that made Felicity sigh again.

Llamas, it appeared, came in all shades, from bright white through every shade of silver, grey and cappuccino, to burnt sienna.

‘I love their colours. They remind me of chocolate,’ said Jenny. ‘White, milk and plain and every variation in between.’

‘And they’d all look brilliant together. Almost any combination would be wonderful,’ said Felicity, beginning to emerge from her stupor of shyness.

Lachlan nodded, a little mystified. ‘Well, yes.’

‘We’ve got a plan,’ said Jenny, ‘to make Dalmain Mills pay. I need to ask you some questions. But first, can I stroke a llama? I’ve heard that they are terribly bad-tempered and spit.’

Lachlan was outraged in a restrained, Scottish way. ‘Not at all. They would only be bad-tempered if kept under stressful conditions, like in a circus, or something like that. Come and meet some unstressed ones.’

The llamas were tall and stately and looked down at Jenny and Felicity from beneath the most substantial eyelashes Jenny had ever seen. They had dark, kindly eyes and wryly amused expressions.

‘They’re excellent sheep guards,’ said Lachlan. ‘With those long necks they can see for miles, and you see how their ears twitch? They catch every sound. Put a llama in a flock of sheep, and the foxes won’t come near. Come along to this field. I’ve got some mothers and babies.’

If possible, the babies were even sweeter than their parents. Like a cross between lambs and deer, they
gambolled about together, long legs straight, heads swinging around with curiosity.

‘These are only a couple of weeks old,’ said Lachlan. ‘They can stand very soon after they’re born. These are the offspring of my finest male. He can produce fibre of under twenty microns.’ He regarded Jenny and Felicity patiently. ‘That’s very fine. It makes wonderful fabric’

‘Does it? Tell me, do you know all about textiles?’

‘Certainly not. But I know a little about camelid fibres.’

‘What about felt? I seem to remember reading something in a magazine about a special kind of very fine felt.’

‘Nuno, possibly? I don’t know much about it, except that it’s made on a net base and that when it shrinks it pulls in. A bit like smocking, I suppose.’ Bored with felt, he went on, ‘Now, do you want to see the alpacas, or have lunch?’

The alpacas were as entrancing as the llamas, only not as big.

‘So,’ asked Jenny, ‘if you have all these animals to care for, how do you have time to go all round the country clipping them?’

‘The llamas take very little looking after. If I’m going to be away, there are several people locally who could keep an eye on them for me. Now, come and have lunch. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been up since six, and I’m starving.’

Chapter Ten

Lachlan served them lentil soup with vegetables from a tureen on the Aga. Then he took a loaf of bread from a crock and set it on the table and produced cheese and butter from the fridge. The kitchen was simply furnished with a table and chairs, a grandfather clock, and a small settle. There were a few pots of geraniums on the windowsill, with a canister full of cooking utensils. After the clutter of the Dalmain House kitchen, it seemed very attractive, light, bright and, because of the Aga, comparatively warm.

‘This is very good bread,’ mumbled Jenny, as she crunched down into the crust.

‘It should be, I made it,’ said Lachlan.

Jenny regarded him with attention. Here was a man indeed. She looked around for a machine to do it with. No, he was not a gadget man. While he was nothing much to look at if you required machismo or saturnine glowering, he had a determination about him that was truly impressive. Felicity was obviously impressed too. Jenny hoped that she would not be put off by the fact that the kitchen was one half of the living space, and that upstairs there were probably only two small bedrooms and a bathroom. Could she cut loose from the artificial grandeur of Dalmain House and come and live with this man, who could offer her a simple, real life?

‘So, tell me,’ Jenny went on, unable to check that the plan she’d made for Felicity fitted in with her own dream, ‘if we did manage to find a product that would sell, using unusual fibres and that felt you mentioned, do you think we could get big enough supplies for the fibres? You must know all the people who own exotic species, like llamas.’

‘I don’t think of llamas as exotic,’ he reproved her gently. ‘In South America they’re just part of the landscape. They do everything. They’re only seen as exotic here because they’re not sheep.’