Highland Fling (32 page)

By the time she got down into the drawing room again, Ross had been absorbed into the bevy of Malcolm beauty. Lady Dalmain was there, making introductions. The Malcolm parents were looking on approvingly. Fiona Malcolm, who had been invited specially for Ross, was smiling enticingly up at him.

Henry was on the edge of the group, smiling
pleasantly, drawing out the younger Malcolm girls. I’m supposed to be his partner, thought Jenny. I’ll go and stand by Henry. She was just about to move, having thought up something faintly amusing and appropriate to say, when Lady Dalmain caught her eye.

Jenny went towards her instead, feeling impossibly tired.

‘I think we’ll eat as soon as you say it’s ready,’ said Lady Dalmain. ‘Could you go and see how things are getting on in the kitchen and come and tell me?’ Jenny nodded. ‘By the way,’ went on Lady Dalmain, ‘if you didn’t have anything suitable to wear in your wardrobe, you could have just asked me. I could have found you something.’

‘That would have been kind, but I didn’t think we were the same size.’

Lady Dalmain squeezed her lips in an imitation of a smile. ‘I have dresses from years ago. I was much slimmer than you are when I was a girl, you know.’

Jenny returned the expression with a smile just as insincere. ‘Then they wouldn’t have fitted either.’

‘But then, neither does what you have on, dear.’

Jenny went into the kitchen, defeated, but reluctantly admiring.

‘Right, Mrs Sandison,’ Jenny said, having put on an apron and heaved a series of sizzling dishes out of the oven, ‘give me five minutes to get back in there, and then come and announce dinner, would you? Are you sure that silver dish isn’t too heavy for you with the joint on it? I could send Philip in to collect it.’

‘Now, I’ll be fine, lassie. I don’t mind serving at
table, I’ve always done it. It’s just the cooking I’m not fond of.’

‘Philip’s going to carve. I sharpened the knives and they’re by his place.’ She cast a critical eye over the potatoes, the Yorkshire puddings, the vegetables. ‘The gravy’s all ready to put in the boats, which are warm, but please don’t fill them until you’ve brought in the meat. With cold plates, I don’t want it congealing before it hits them. I don’t want it congealing at all, really.’

Mrs Sandison ignored her ramblings, and possibly her instructions. ‘Your hair’s falling down at the back, dear,’ she said.

‘Don’t even think about what’s falling down at the front. Perhaps I’ll keep the apron on.’

‘Away with you – foolish girl.’

Back in the drawing room, apron removed, cleavage adjusted and her hair pinned up again, Jenny stood by Lady Dalmain. ‘Mrs Sandison will announce it in a minute.’

‘I do hope the beef’s not overdone,’ said Lady Dalmain. ‘When one has spent so much money on a piece of meat, it is a shame if it’s not at its best.’

‘Perhaps you should have cooked it yourself, Lady Dalmain,’ said Jenny. ‘Then you could have been sure of it being perfect.’

‘But Henry assured me you were a very good cook, and it’s hard to be a hostess and cook at the same time. Especially when one is a widow. Now, where is Duncan? I haven’t had a word with him all evening.’

As she had spent a large part of her day rearranging the
placement
under Lady Dalmain’s critical and vacillating eye, Jenny knew exactly where everyone
was sitting. The only thing she didn’t know was which of Gloria’s sons was which, and which of the younger Malcolms she should have sat them next to.

Ross would be sitting next to Fiona Malcolm, and she would be next to Henry. But although it had been dreadfully difficult to accommodate Lady Dalmain’s requirements, she had managed to seat herself opposite Ross. It was unlikely that Lady Dalmain or Henry would allow conversation across the table, but she could at least look at him, while he imbibed Fiona Malcolm’s loveliness, and listened to her soft, Celtic voice.

Mrs Sandison came into the drawing room, looking completely the part in her white blouse, black skirt and white apron. When Jenny had last seen her, she had been wearing a capacious overall.

‘Dinner is served,’ she announced, not loudly, but somehow audibly. Possibly hunger had alerted everyone’s antennae to the summons.

Jenny sensed Ross behind her, felt his tall presence and longed to either turn around, or lean back against him. ‘Can I take you into dinner?’ he murmured.

‘You take Fiona, Ross,’ commanded Lady Dalmain, answering his question. ‘Henry, you take Jenny, and you might like to go in first, so Jenny can check everything’s in order.’

‘I knew I should have just donned the pinny and helped Mrs Sandison serve,’ she muttered to Henry as they led the way into the dining room. ‘It would have been so much easier.’

‘You’re being very ungracious,’ said Henry. ‘Lady Dalmain has arranged this delightful dinner party and you seem to begrudge helping.’

Jenny didn’t bother to reply.

Everyone was seated when Philip stood up again. ‘Ladies and gentlemen. I know my mother is not expecting this, but I thought as this is by way of a celebration, champagne is in order.’

For the first time, Jenny noticed one end of the sideboard covered in glasses, flanked by bottles of champagne. ‘Oh dear,’ she muttered to Henry. ‘Now everyone’s going to get drunk.’ She sighed. At least they’d devoured quite a lot of smoked salmon. That might absorb some of the alcohol.

Jenny decided to limit herself to one glass of champagne and nothing else except tap water. Others could get drunk and raucous, but she had to keep the meal going. Besides, if she lost control, she might do something really embarrassing, like fling herself over the table at Ross – or take the carving knife to him.

‘I’m going to propose several toasts,’ said Philip, once the champagne had been distributed, mopped up and peered at suspiciously by Gloria’s two lads. ‘First, my dear sister, Felicity, who has asked me to announce her engagement to Lachlan. They deserve every happiness.’

Jenny sipped. It was very good champagne. It was a shame she’d resolved to drink so little of it.

‘Secondly, Gloria and I have an announcement of our own. We too are going to get married, sometime next year.’

More cheers and congratulations, and one of Gloria’s boys deciding the Moet wasn’t too bad after all. Philip and Iain topped up glasses.

‘The toast is my mother, for arranging this lovely evening for us all.’

Jenny didn’t join in the toast, and not only because she was anxious. Everything was getting cold, and already the younger members of the party were showing signs that the champagne was going to their heads.

‘Next, Jenny, who did all the cooking.’

Cheers, hoots and cries of ‘Speech’ turned Jenny from pink to scarlet.

‘And finally,’ Philip was obviously enjoying himself. ‘Dalmain Mills. We’ve been through some tough times, but now I think we’re back on track, and should be going from strength to strength.’

Jenny stared at him, as if this would somehow help her work out what he meant. Was he saying that he intended to give back the office buildings, so there’d be some capital to work with? Or what? Or was he just trying to impress Ross Grant-Dempsey, instructed to do so by his mother? She glanced across at Ross. He was looking maddeningly enigmatic. No amount of lavish entertainment and sucking up would affect his decisions. Jenny blushed in embarrassment on behalf of the Dalmains.

She picked up her water glass and took a sip, she felt obliged to do something to occupy herself. It was a mistake. She choked. Henry patted her on the back so hard it hurt.

‘Well done, Philip,’ said Iain. ‘Now, Mama, can we eat?’

‘Yes, Philip.’ Lady Dalmain’s toast was too long ago for her to be the centre of attention. ‘Do carve. And, Iain, perhaps you’d see to everyone’s glasses?’

Jenny, weeping from her recent choking fit, tried another sip of water. As she put her glass back on the
table, she saw Ross’s hand reach across to it. Their fingers brushed together and she felt it like a bolt of electricity. She raised her eyes and met his. He smiled, sympathetic, ironic and knowing. She looked away quickly. God, he was such a dangerous combination, she thought. She didn’t smile back.

‘Pass your plate down, Jenny,’ said Henry, sounding cross. ‘Philip’s waiting to serve you.’

Jenny passed her plate and looked at Henry to see if he’d noticed her and Ross. He was looking at Fiona Malcolm, who was displaying quite a lot of bosom herself.

I bet he wouldn’t tell her she was exposing herself, she thought.

‘These look like really delicious Yorkshire puddings,’ said Ross, from across the table. ‘Did you make them?’

‘No, they’re out of a packet,’ she replied, in the yawning silence of people waiting for the signal to eat.

Jenny found herself alone with Philip when they were moving furniture out of the sitting room so that Lady Dalmain and Duncan Ritchie could demonstrate to the assembled company how to waltz. It might have been alcohol and company, or the social context, but he seemed to have lost his angry edge. She wondered if tonight she might find an opportunity to ask him about the mill, or if this would put him back on the defensive again.

‘I would never have believed your mother would be encouraging people to dance,’ she said, pushing an armchair into the window embrasure.

‘Oh yes; in the right mood, Mama can be very
sociable and jolly. Also, she knows Duncan likes dancing. The trouble is, after the perfect waltz, he’ll try and involve us all in obscure Scottish dances which no one knows, and then tell us off for getting it wrong.’ He put the Staffordshire figurine of Flora Macdonald close enough to one of Bonnie Prince Charlie to make her look very coy, with a Lion Slayer as chaperone, to make room for an arrangement of stuffed birds. ‘Like anything obscure and Scottish, Mama adores it.’

‘Oh my goodness! I may have to start the washing-up! But at least the sweet young things will be spared that. Where have they sloped off to?’

‘Sweet young things?’ He chuckled. ‘My old room. It’s quite big and has a hi-fi. I suggested they all go up there. Ewan and Gavin have brought some CDs with them. And several dozen cans of lager.’

‘Have you heard how they are getting on with – Sophie and Marissa, is it? They look so snooty! I know they’re desperately shy, but are Ewan and Gavin going to know that’s all it is?’

‘Actually, those girls aren’t shy at all; they are just snooty. Fortunately Ewan and Gavin appeal to their sense of danger, “having a bit of rough”. My sister used to go out with all sorts of terribly unsuitable types when she was their age.’

‘You couldn’t describe Lachlan as unsuitable.’

‘He was the last in a long line of terrifying youths, as my father called them. He had the sense not to criticise, but Mama just couldn’t keep her mouth shut and sent him away. Fliss got ill around that time. Just take this end, will you? We can put it in the hall.’ Together they carried out the elegant sofa table and set it against a spare bit of wall.

They went back into the drawing room together. ‘I heard one of the girls say she wasn’t going to spend all night being stepped on by idiots who didn’t know an eightsome from the Gay Gordons,’ Philip went on. ‘A couple of fit young blokes and garage music must seem a better option.’

He pronounced it ‘garridge’ and Jenny was impressed. ‘Learning the language, Philip?’

‘Och aye. I’m learning.’ Philip looked round the room that seemed much larger and much more attractive, now that half the furniture had gone. ‘Mama really should get rid of some of this stuff permanently. Do you think there’s enough space now?’

‘Well, without dragging anything out onto the drive, this is probably the best we can do.’

Philip nodded. ‘I’ll go and tell Mama.’

This might be the moment, thought Jenny, putting her hand on his sleeve. ‘Philip, while I’ve got you on your own, about the mill… ?’

He didn’t jump or run away, which was encouraging. He looked down at her. ‘Yes?’

‘Have you made any decisions? Did Kirsty talk to you?’

‘Yes, Kirsty talked to me, and I’ll come to this meeting with Grant-Dempsey.’

‘But…’ She gritted her teeth and asked the question. ‘But are you going to sign the buildings back over to the business?’

‘Why should I, Jenny? I’ve got a family to support.’

‘But, Philip –’ Tiredness pushed Jenny close to despair. Without the buildings to provide capital, all her hard work, Kirsty’s and even Felicity’s, was for nothing. And Dalmain House would probably be sold.
‘Your mother’s house – you can’t let that go instead.’

‘I can, actually. It’s my inheritance, after all. But I haven’t said I won’t sign the buildings back over. I just want to hear what Grant-Dempsey has to say before I decide. I’m not making any promises.’

Jenny felt dangerously close to tears. You’re just tired, she told herself. You’ve spent all day fighting with Lady Dalmain, trying to make her do things for her own good, and you can’t do it any more.

Philip looked at her and then said, with relief, ‘Oh, here come Meggie and Felicity.’

‘What are you two doing alone in here?’ asked Meggie.

‘Creating a ballroom for my mother,’ said Philip. ‘Will you be dancing, ladies?’

‘I’d be delighted to look after Anna for you, Meggie,’ offered Jenny quickly. ‘Apart from being dead on my feet, I’m one of the idiots who don’t know an eightsome from a Gay Gordons.’

Felicity seemed a little shocked. ‘Really? They’re quite different, you know.’

Meggie was less critical. ‘Well, if you’re sure. Although I expect Duncan would relish the opportunity to show you a Dashing White Sergeant. It is a contact sport, you know.’

‘Mama would hate that,’ said Felicity, shuddering. ‘She’s terribly jealous.’

‘And I’d much rather find a quiet corner with Anna,’ said Jenny, longing for an excuse for some quiet time alone, and horrified at the thought of making Lady Dalmain jealous with the charming but ancient Duncan Ritchie.

‘Anna would probably like that too, really,’ Meggie
breezed on. ‘I can’t imagine why she’s not asleep, I’ve been feeding her all evening.’

There was a moment’s pause while Felicity took in the significance of this. ‘Meggie! You didn’t breast feed…’