Highland Fling (33 page)

‘Oh, don’t go getting all het up. No one noticed what me and Anna were getting up to under the shawl. You go off and get Lachlan. He’s a nice man.’

Appeased, Felicity went, and Meggie handed her bundle, complete with shawl, to Jenny. ‘She’ll go off any minute now. She’s full as an egg.’

But Anna decided she liked parties, and especially liked watching too many people dancing in too small a space. She liked the music, operated by Duncan Ritchie, master of ceremonies, and she liked the shouts and halloos of the men as they swirled the ladies round, the curses as people got stepped on, and the sighs of frustration as people got it wrong yet again.

Eventually, exhausted herself, even if her charge wasn’t, Jenny took her back to the dining room. The table, which had taken her most of the day to arrange, looked like the remnants of a drunken orgy. An inordinate number of bottles were scattered about, some of them on neither cloth nor coaster. At least three glasses were lying on their sides, and cheese rind, grape stalks and Clementine peel were scattered freely over the table. Cigarette and cigar butts lurked perilously near the butter dishes, and oatcake crumbs and broken biscuits seemed ground into the cloth. The best part of a whole Stilton was missing.

Jenny looked, bewildered. She knew the party had got a bit rowdy, and bottle after bottle had appeared
on the table, but surely no one had been this careless and no one would filch a cheese, would they? Then she realised what had happened. The dogs had got in, probably while she and Philip were moving furniture, and had pinched the Stilton. It was a miracle nothing had got broken. But if the dogs were sick, Jenny decided, righting the glasses, it was not her job to clear it up.

For a fraction of a second, she debated clearing the table one-armed, but instead arranged some large cushions cosily on the floor. She turned off the lights and arranged the candles to make the room seem smaller and cosier. Then she sank into the cushions and gently rocked her goddaughter.

‘Here you are,’ said Ross softly, a few minutes later.

Chapter Twenty

When she’d last seen him a few minutes ago, he’d been whirling Fiona Malcolm round strongly enough to catapult her into next week if he let go.

‘Yes,’ said Jenny, not knowing what else to say. Anna had at last relinquished her hold on wakefulness and Jenny had been enjoying the oasis of quiet she had created among the noise of people enjoying themselves.

‘I didn’t see you slip away.’ He pulled a chair out from the table and sat opposite her. ‘You must be tired, after arranging all this.’

‘A bit, yes.’ Actually, she felt she could have slept for ever, if her thoughts and anxieties would let her, and as he encapsulated both, she couldn’t decide if she wanted him there or not.

‘And you’ve only just got back from London.’

Was this a question or a statement? ‘Yes.’

‘I can tell I’m making you nervous. Would it help if I promised not to talk about the mill?’

‘I don’t know. It rather depends on what you’re not going to say.’

He sighed. ‘I’m trying to make a difficult situation easier.’

‘I’m sure you are, but I don’t think that’s possible.’

He took a breath, holding in his irritation with
visible effort. It’s perfectly possible. We just carry on as if–’

‘As if you’re not preparing to disregard all the effort me, and all the people at the mill, have put into saving it?’

‘Please don’t pre-empt me. Unless you know you’ve got nothing positive to report, of course.’

‘No! I never said that!’

‘Well, don’t be so defensive. Look, you’re upsetting the baby.’ He took Anna from her, adeptly putting one hand under her head, the other under her bottom.

‘Her name is Anna,’ she told him grumpily.

‘Anna,’ he murmured gently.

Jenny felt a pang that was worryingly like jealousy, caused, she realised, by the knowledge that if he whispered her name in that same tone she would turn to jelly. Just as well he didn’t, she told herself crisply; it would make a hideous mess on the carpet.

‘You look very at home holding her,’ she said, somewhat grudgingly.

‘Do I? It’s the first time I’ve held a baby, to my knowledge.’

‘Really? You are good at it!’

‘I’m glad there’s something I can do which will earn me credit in your eyes.’

She hauled herself to her feet. ‘Would you like a glass of port, or something? I think there’s some on the table, in among all the cigarette ends and orange peel.’

‘No, thanks. I’m driving later. I recommend that you have some, though. It will do you good.’

She turned back to look at him, almost smiling. ‘You mean it might make me less bad tempered?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s a very unfair question. Whatever I answer will be wrong.’

‘I know. I’m sorry I’m being so difficult. I’m sure I don’t need to explain why.’

‘No.’

She found a clean wine glass and filled it with port. She felt suddenly reckless, as if she was too tired to pretend anything any more. It was a bit frightening. What if she told Ross that she thought he was a complete bastard and then ravished him on the Persian rug? She took a small sip of her drink and decided to regard it as a tranquilliser, to let the rich nuttiness of it calm her, and take away both her anger and her desire.

She went and sat down on the floor, opposite Ross and watched him nurse Anna. She’s a fairly good contraceptive, she thought. With her there I won’t do anything outrageous.

She felt overwhelmingly weary. Her head jerked a couple of times as she nodded off; the next thing she knew, she was enfolded in Ross’s arms, her head against his chest, waking after what felt like a fairly long nap.

She opened her eyes and took in how she came to be leaning against Ross, asleep. Anna was lying on her back, a small pool of baby-vomit beside her on the threadbare, antique cushion. Ross had both his arms round her, holding her from behind, his hands clasped in front of them both.

This is so embarrassing, she thought. Falling asleep. It’s worse than ravishing him would have been. At least that would have been a proactive gesture. Falling asleep is like passing out, totally passive. She felt his breath in her hair. Most of the pins had fallen out so it
was more down than up. She tried to pull herself upright and his hold tightened.

‘No, don’t move. It’s comfortable.’

‘It can’t be. I must be cutting off your circulation.’

‘That’s my choice.’

It would be undignified to struggle so she stayed where he was, letting his body melt into hers. They were both fully dressed – or at least he was, her dress was pretty much a token gesture – but she felt closer, more intimate with Ross than she had ever felt with Henry.

‘So, Henry is your fiancé?’

‘Oh no! We’re not engaged. And he’s only up here temporarily.’

‘I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.’

It was a relief to go back to hating Ross. ‘Why should you assume that’s what I want? Not every woman dreams of floating down the aisle in white net, you know.’

‘Well, I think you should tell him. He could hardly keep his eyes off you all through dinner.’

She was about to tell him that Henry’s frequent glances hadn’t been from love, or admiration, but from anxiety that she might fall out of her dress, do or say the wrong thing in some other way. For some reason Henry had been agitated. Jenny knew this, but didn’t know why.

‘I don’t think he can be all that enamoured of me. We’ve been here long enough for me to have a nap.’ In spite of everything, a giggle erupted. ‘Technically, I’ve slept with another man.’

‘I don’t think it counts as infidelity if you’re not conscious at the time.’

‘That’s all right then.’ Jenny wriggled and Ross loosened his grip. ‘I think Anna might be getting cold. I should find something to put over her.’

‘Your cardigan, perhaps?’

‘Then I’d be cold – not to mention indecent.’

‘My jacket, then.’ He stood up, took it off and laid it gently over the sleeping baby. ‘There we are, little one. That should keep you nice and warm.’

‘What about you?’

‘I have an idea that might just work.’ He sat down again, sliding behind Jenny and holding her tightly from behind. ‘Yup. I’m not cold at all now.’

His jacket had been very soft and warm to lie against. His body through his shirt was much firmer, but even warmer. His shirt was made from very fine lawn. He does wear lovely fabrics, she thought, as she fought every instinct to turn her face into his chest, or just to stay in his arms. Somehow she pulled herself away.

‘Supposing someone comes in? They’re bound to, in a minute.’

‘I’ll just say you’re protecting me from hypothermia. Anyway, whaf s the big deal, if you’re not committed to Henry? We have kissed, you know. And we went out for a drink.’

‘I haven’t got Alzheimer’s; I remember perfectly well.’

‘Could we go out again? Or do you need to dispose of Henry first?’

She turned round to face him, finding herself pressed against his shirt. The warmth from his body and the faint aura of his cologne were more intoxicating than any amount of alcohol could have
been, but her head fought her heart and body, and won.

‘I think you’re forgetting that you’re the man who has a project which is very close to my heart in the palm of his hand. I don’t think “going out” would be appropriate!’

‘It might be very appropriate. It might help me decide, one way or the other.’

She didn’t really think for a moment his decision would be affected by anything she did or didn’t do. ‘I don’t think it would,’ she said, wishing she wasn’t so honest. ‘I actually don’t think me swinging from the chandeliers without my cardigan would affect any of your decisions about the mill.’

He sighed. ‘You’re right. It wouldn’t, although my blood pressure would be very affected indeed. You’re an extremely attractive woman, Genevieve Porter. I just wish –’

Before Jenny could find out what Ross wished, whether it was that she was free from all attachments, or that her plans might save the mill, Meggie came in.

‘There you are! Ross, I think Fiona’s looking for you, and everyone’s after you, Jenny. Where’s Anna?’

Felicity came in behind Meggie. She was pink in the face and out of breath. Her hair was hanging in tendrils round her face. She looked remarkably pretty.

‘Oh my God! Mama will go ballistic! That cushion is genuine Jacobean needlework! And Anna’s puked on it!’

Jenny took back all the nice things she’d thought about Felicity.

Ross said, ‘If it’s that old, baby puke is probably the least of its troubles. It’s probably had blood, and urine
and all sorts of unpleasant substances on it. Besides’ – he took a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed the place by Anna’s open mouth – ‘it’s gone now.’

‘Now it’s on your handkerchief. Disgusting!’

‘So you and Lachlan aren’t planning to start a family then?’ asked Meggie, holding Anna protectively.

‘Good God no! Why would I want to do that?’

‘I think I should get up now,’ said Jenny. ‘I’m getting stiff.’

Ross helped her up and Felicity suddenly took in Ross and Jenny’s proximity. She frowned.

Before she could speak, Henry came in. ‘There you are, Jenny! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Lady Dalmain thinks you should make more coffee.’

The washing-up took all morning. Jenny, unable to sleep, got up early and organised it. She wanted to do it on her own, not out of a sense of martyrdom, but because she didn’t want to hash over the evening. Her feelings were in such turmoil, she needed to give them time to settle before making decisions, or coming to conclusions. The huge, practical task ahead of her would be soothing and satisfying.

The evening had gone well, on the whole. Lady Dalmain had been quite gracious towards Felicity and Lachlan, possibly because Duncan Ritchie had been. Gloria and her boys had behaved in a perfectly acceptable manner – on the surface at least. When Jenny went into Philip’s old room, to where the young things had retreated, to fetch glasses, she found roaches in among the dozens of glasses, overflowing ashtrays, and crumpled lager cans. Although Philip’s prospective stepsons would be the first suspects if it
came to enquiring who had brought drugs into Dalmain House, Jenny wouldn’t have been totally surprised if the dope hadn’t been supplied by the younger Malcolm girls.

There appeared to be no breakages, and although washing each dish separately took a long time, and she was constantly having to reboil the kettles to provide hot water, there was no hurry, and she enjoyed seeing each dish appear from the water, shining and clean.

Lady Dalmain was the first of the rest of the household to appear. In a dressing gown, with her hair in a plait down her back, she seemed less formidable, almost cosy.

‘My dear! You’re not doing all this on your own! Mrs Sandison will be here soon. And Felicity should be up to help you.’

‘Actually, I’m quite enjoying myself. I love handling fine china and porcelain.’

‘Do you, my dear? I’m so glad. Henry obviously has very good taste in ceramics, and it’s nice to have an interest you both share.’

To get off the subject of Henry, Jenny said, ‘I’ve laid the clean things out on the dining table, in case you want to rearrange the cupboards. It might be a good opportunity, when everything’s out of them.’