Highland Fling (6 page)

‘Explain to me about this computer business. Philip says you work for a man you haven’t met. Forgive me if I appear to be stupid, but how can this be?’

Jenny took a breath, fervently wishing she had spoken to Philip directly, so she knew what story he’d fed his mother. ‘It is a bit strange when you’re not used to the idea, but it’s quite simple. I communicate with him through my computer, or the telephone, or fax. We don’t actually have to meet at all. I work for a couple of other people as well, though, as it happens, I have met them. Mr Grant-Dempsey was out of the
country when I was recommended to him. Still is, as far as I know.’

Lady Dalmain was regarding Jenny as if she’d just announced she was from another planet, when Felicity and Lachlan entered the room.

Lachlan was tall and thin with pale hair and freckles. He didn’t look like the sort of man to set a girl’s soul on fire, but he didn’t look like a fortune-hunter either. Felicity, by his side, looked flushed and extremely pretty. The session in the kitchen must have gone well.

‘Mama,’ said Felicity, drawing her friend into the room, ‘I’d like you to meet Lachlan McGregor. Lachlan, my mother, Lady Dalmain.’

‘I think we’ve met already, many years ago,’ said Lady Dalmain, nearly smiling and looking almost benign. ‘You must forgive my daughter for forgetting that. Her memory’s not what it was.’

‘Her memory’s just fine, Lady Dalmain. She remembered my name when we hadn’t met for years and she didn’t have the benefit of being reminded of me.’

Lady Dalmain accepted this rebuke with a modicum of respect. She obviously enjoyed male company far more than female. ‘I think that might say more about you than about my daughter.’

‘Have a drink, Lachlan.’ Felicity tipped the end of a bottle of whisky into a glass. ‘Do you want water with that?’ She waved a crystal jug over the glass in an enquiring way. ‘No?’

‘Felicity, I hope you’ve left enough whisky for Philip when he comes in.’

‘Oh yes. I’ve got another bottle here. Jenny, how about another one?’

Jenny shook her head. She had to get through dinner
without passing out, forgetting why Lady Dalmain thought she was here, or making some dreadful social blunder.

‘I would like some more,’ said Lady Dalmain, holding out her glass.

‘Oh, sorry, Mama.’

‘Mama’, Jenny noted, accepted the same half tumblerful that Felicity had given everyone else.

The dogs, who had paid no attention to Lachlan’s arrival, suddenly leapt to their feet and charged out of the door, scraping the tartan carpet into a heap as they did so.

‘That’ll be Philip,’ said Lady Dalmain, a flash of real pleasure lightening her features. ‘They always know their master.’

‘Yes,’ muttered Felicity, out of her mother’s earshot, flattening the rug with her foot. ‘But they don’t care a damn about their mistress, who feeds them and takes them for walks.’

‘How maddening,’ muttered Jenny back.

Woofing and barking and ‘Get down you ridiculous brutes’ noises came from the hall. After a few moments, the door opened and Philip came in.

He was tall and extremely good-looking, his mother’s severe features better suiting a man. He smiled broadly at his mother, strode across the room and gave her a huge hug. Then he turned to the others.

‘Fliss – how are you? Haven’t seen you since yesterday! You weren’t up when I left. And you must be Miss Porter, the terrifying lady sent to sort us all out. With her computers,’ he added, too late for Jenny’s comfort. He took her hand and shook it hard. ‘How nice to meet you. I think we were expecting high
heels, a sharp suit, a French pleat and glasses and we’ve got a very friendly looking you instead. And who’s this?’

‘Lachlan McGregor,’ said Lachlan.

‘He’s a friend of mine,’ said Felicity.

‘Then welcome!’ said Philip.

Jenny could see why he was his mother’s favourite, and why he was hard for his older sister to compete with. He reminded her of Henry and she warmed to this familiarity.

Philip got himself a drink and went to sit down next to his mother. ‘How’s the writing gone today, Mama? Did you manage to translate that bit of Latin?’

‘I think I’ve made a bit of progress. It’s so nice that some of my family take an interest.’

Felicity visibly squirmed under the implied criticism. ‘I’ll just go and check on supper.’

Jenny got to her feet, planning to join her. ‘Do you want a hand?’ But she was not allowed to escape.

‘I’m sure Felicity can manage,’ said Lady Dalmain firmly. ‘Or she wouldn’t have invited guests.’

‘I just meant with setting the table and stuff.’

‘I’m sure Felicity has arranged all that already, and we don’t expect guests to help.’

Jenny decided it was time she stood up for herself. ‘But I wasn’t exactly invited. If you all have to put up with me being here, I think I should pull my weight, domestically.’

‘Why are you here?’ asked Lachlan, bravely getting his word in before Lady Dalmain could take another pop at Jenny.

She glanced at Philip, hoping he would answer for
her with whatever story he’d told his mother. ‘It’s a bit complicated,’began Jenny.

‘Jenny’s come to install a new computer system,’said Philip. ‘Designed by her client.’

Although he smiled – charm being so much part of him he couldn’t help it – Jenny saw anxiety and resentment in the back of his eyes. She was suddenly aware how much harder it would be delving into a failing company and relaying the failings to her client now she knew the family. Balance statements and figures were all very well, but dealing with human beings was different. Having been treated as a mere component part relatively recently, she knew she would find it hard to be so detached. On the other hand, she was not going to prove Henry right and run away from the challenge.

Now, far away from Henry and his views of her character, she took a breath and smiled. ‘I think the new system will be very useful.’ She put on a cheerful, positive expression, knowing in her heart that her client was halfway to pulling the plug anyway. She sensed he wanted Dalmain Mills to fail, so he could do something else with either the plant, or the money, or both. Something told her that there was more involved in this particular business than just profit.

Lady Dalmain, who had not been the centre of attention for some moments, reclaimed it. ‘Philip, darling, do you think you could go and see what is taking Felicity so long in the kitchen? And tell her to make sure the vegetables are properly cooked. The other night the carrots were almost raw.’ She turned her critical gaze on Lachlan. ‘So, Mr McGregor, what do you do?’

Lachlan took a breath. Jenny felt a sense of kinship with him. They were alone with the gorgon and either of them might be turned to stone at any moment.

‘I’m a peripatetic camelid clipper.’

Jenny took too large a gulp of whisky and coughed, and then turned her attention to an arrangement of dead birds that stared beadily at her from inside a glass coffin.

‘I beg your pardon?’ demanded Lady Dalmain, no beg about it.

‘I travel the country, though I’m in the North and Scotland mostly, clipping llamas, alpacas, and similar animals.’

Lady Dalmain considered, stiffened and became unbearably regal. ‘You mean, you’re a sheepshearer?’ She couldn’t have made it sound a less desirable profession if she’d said ‘whoremonger’.

‘No,’ said Lachlan calmly. ‘I shear other animals, not sheep.’ He held Lady Dalmain’s gaze and Jenny noted with relief that she appeared to respect him for it; he may be a manual worker, and therefore quite beyond the pale, but he wasn’t a coward.

Jenny found she’d drained her glass and realised that since she’d arrived she’d consumed more neat whisky than in the whole of the previous year. Henry would be horrified. If she were being driven to drink before she’d even spent a night in the place, in what condition would she be by the time the job was finished? She resolved to become teetotal before her liver forced her into it.

‘So, Lady Dalmain, do tell me, what is your book about?’ Jenny felt it was her turn to break the deadly silence.

‘It’s really quite involved, Miss Porter, I doubt if you’re really interested.’

‘I did read history at university, so I might be able to grasp it,’ she replied evenly.

‘And was it a proper university? Or one of these jumped-up polytechnics?’

‘A proper university.’ She longed to say Oxford or Cambridge, but was afraid to be caught out in the lie. ‘So, please do tell me about your book? I’d be
fascinated
to hear about it.’ Oh God, the whisky was affecting her already.

But before she could be fascinated, Felicity and Philip came in. ‘It’s ready,’ said Felicity. She looked hot, her hair was coming down in swathes, and her nose was shiny. She glanced anxiously at Lachlan, checking to see if he’d been turned into a pig, or bore any other physical scars of her mother’s rancour. Lachlan, Jenny was touched to observe, smiled reassuringly back.

Philip went to help his mother, although Jenny thought she looked perfectly spry. Felicity went to Lachlan and peeped up at him, suddenly girlish.

Everyone got to their feet and Lady Dalmain said, ‘Philip, dear, you lead the way with Miss Porter.’ Somehow, she managed to manipulate everyone so that Felicity was last in the queue to leave the room. ‘Just see to the fire, dear, will you?’ Satisfied that her daughter was in her rightful place in the pecking order, she processed on.

In the way of dining rooms, it was even colder than the rest of the house. A beautiful long mahogany table was set with what must have been Dalmain’s best. Jenny
saw the Georgian silver cutlery, small and showing centuries of use, the dinner service that could have been Sevres, and the heavy lead-crystal glasses. There were lace mats under every glass and plate. It was all charming – faded, gracious, an antique collector’s dream (she made a note to tell Henry about it) and yet it seemed to Jenny to have poignancy: all this beauty and apparently no happiness.

Lady Dalmain took the head of the table. ‘Mr McGregor, if you go on my right, Philip on my left.’ She hesitated. Jenny realised she was trying to work out a
placement
that would prevent Felicity sitting next to Lachlan. Lady Dalmain’s lips tightened further with the effort. Eventually she gave in. ‘Miss Porter, you’d better sit next to my son. Felicity can go next to Mr McGregor.’

We’re in for a cheery evening, thought Jenny and smiled desperately around the table. She exchanged glances with Lachlan, whose expression was unrevealing. Felicity came in with a tray and set it on the table.

‘Do be careful of my china, Felicity; you know how clumsy you can be, and it’s quite irreplaceable.’

Jenny saw Felicity flinch, and wondered how her mother could possibly be so vile to her in public. ‘I have lived with it all my life,’ said Felicity. ‘I know exactly how precious it is.’

‘This looks jolly good!’ broke in Philip before his mother could reply. ‘Well done, Fliss.’

Jenny, seeing the pale, mouse-coloured cubes emerging from the beautiful tureen, couldn’t agree with him, but resolved to eat every scrap even if it tasted like pigswill.

Eventually, everyone was served. The plates were
glacial, so by the time it was handed round, the food was too. Had it been hotter, it might have been more appetising; cold, it was like chewing lumps of cloth. The vegetables were cooked to a vitamin-free state and huddled limply round the meat, as if for warmth. The sauce shrouded everything in greyness like a November fog.

Philip stood up and began to pour wine. Jenny decided to become teetotal when she had better control over her personal thermostat. The wine, at least, was delicious.

‘I see you’ve got out the
good
wine,’ said Lady Dalmain, having taken a sip.

‘Yes, Mama,’ said Philip. ‘I thought as we had guests we should take a couple of bottles from the cellar.’

‘There’ll be no more of that when it’s gone. Your father expected it to last me out.’ Lady Dalmain put down her glass.

‘I’m sure it will, Mama,’ said Philip, not cast down by his mother like his sister was. ‘There’s dozens of bottles left. Well, here’s to Jenny’s safe arrival, and to Lachlan coming back into our lives after all these years.’

Lady Dalmain did not join in the toast.

‘So, Felicity, what have you done today?’ asked Lady Dalmain.

‘This and that. I got Jenny’s room ready, cooked supper.’

‘That couldn’t possibly have taken up your whole day. Mrs Sandison came, didn’t she?’

‘Yes,’ said Felicity. ‘But you know she only cleans the reception rooms and yours. She doesn’t do the rest of the upstairs.’

‘Preparing for visitors always takes me ages,’put in Jenny, quickly. ‘All those sheets. And so does cooking.’

Lady Dalmain gave Jenny a quelling look. She turned her Medusa’s stare on Lachlan. ‘Tell me, Mr McGregor, are you from these parts?’

‘No. I hail from nearer Glasgow, Lady Dalmain.’

‘Glasgow.’ Lady Dalmain gave the city some consideration. ‘And what school did you go to?’

‘Just the local academy,’said Lachlan.

Lady Dalmain pursed her lips. ‘The trouble is, these days, parents just aren’t prepared to make the sacrifices so that their children can be decently educated. So that they can enter a profession.’

‘Oh come on, Mama. Not everyone can afford private education, however much they might like to,’said Philip, jollying the party along as best he could.

‘Yes, and my parents were Socialists,’said Lachlan. ‘They wouldn’t have educated me privately, even if they could have afforded to.’

Felicity gave a little squeak of distress, obviously wishing she had warned Lachlan not to say things like that.

‘And where were you educated, Miss Porter?’

‘The local comp – comprehensive school,’said Jenny. ‘It had a very good reputation and we prided ourselves on the amount of Oxbridge entrants we had.’

‘But you didn’t go to Oxford or Cambridge yourself?’

‘No.’ Jenny wished she hadn’t fallen into the trap of trying to please Lady Dalmain. She was a crashing snob and shouldn’t be pandered to. If I wasn’t so cold, and so far from home, she thought, I wouldn’t have
succumbed. She longed for Henry: from a good family, educated at all the right places, an expert at saying the right thing. He would be just up Lady Dalmain’s street.