LITMIR.BIZ

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cupboard, will you? Clare said the place was fully equipped. There must be a grater somewhere. If not, I’ll just have to crumble the cheese myself.’

      Cory got reluctantly to her feet and did as she was asked. But apart from a couple of cans of soup, which Isobel suspected must be well past their sell-by date, it was empty.

      However, she was not to be disappointed. An examination of the gas cooker solicited the fact that there was a drawer at the bottom practically filled with baking tins and utensils of all kinds. Among the clutter was a hand-held grater, and Isobel carried it to the sink to wash as Cory resumed her seat at the table.

      ‘This Clare …’ she remarked, after a few minutes, and Isobel glanced up from the cheese.

      ‘Mrs Lindsay, to you,’ she corrected swiftly, and then winced as her knuckles connected with the grater.

      ‘All right.’ Cory pulled a face. ‘Mrs Lindsay, then. Is she married to Rafe’s brother?’

      ‘She’s married to Mr Lindsay’s brother, yes.’ Isobel brushed the last of the cheese from her fingers, and turned back to the pan. ‘I expect you’ll meet her tomorrow. She said she’d pop by to see how we’re settling in.’

      Cory shrugged, evidently not impressed by this prospect. ‘I wonder if—if he’s married?’ she mused, reverting to her previous topic. ‘You know: Rafe. Oh, all right.’ She gave an exaggerated sigh at her mother’s expression. ‘Mr Lindsay, then. He’s really cool, isn’t he? Did you notice how long his eyelashes were?’

      ‘I noticed you had a little too much to say for yourself,’ responded Isobel, choosing not to get into a discussion about Rafe Lindsay’s attributes, and Cory pulled a face.

      ‘Well, at least I said something, instead of sitting there like a dummy,’ she retorted cheekily. ‘You didn’t even cut a smile when he apologised about the dog.’

      ‘I hardly know the man, Cory.’ Isobel found herself on the defensive once again. ‘Just because he was kind enough to offer us a lift doesn’t mean I have to like him. I thought he was rather arrogant, actually. I don’t think your father would have liked him.’

      ‘Oh, well——’ Cory’s response to that was revealing ‘—Dad wouldn’t like any man who looked twice at you. He’s—he was—terribly old-fashioned.’ She rubbed an impatient hand across her eyes. ‘I was always telling him so.’

      ‘Yes.’

      Isobel surveyed her daughter with an unexpected rush of emotion. Even though it was nearly a year since Edward’s accident, they could both be caught by an unwary comment, and the remonstrance she had been about to offer died unspoken in her suddenly tight throat. But today had been a rather traumatic day, in more ways than one, and she could only hope that in these new surroundings they might both find it easier to adapt.

      ‘You’re not going to cry, are you?’ Cory’s terse question hid a wealth of uncertainty, and with a determined effort Isobel shook her head.

      ‘No.’ She paused, before continuing deliberately, ‘But I don’t think you should talk about your father like that. He wasn’t old-fashioned. Not really. He was just—not interested in current fads and fancies.’

      ‘That’s for sure.’ Cory gathered confidence from her mother’s calm response. ‘But that doesn’t mean you have to act like you’re already middle-aged. I mean, you’re not young. But you’re not old either.’

      ‘Oh, thanks.’

      ‘And you must have noticed how attractive Rafe was.’

      ‘Cory, how many more times do I have to tell you—I’m not interested in any other man, attractive or otherwise? Now, did you decide if you wanted cheese in your omelette or not?’

      The impromptu meal was far better than even Isobel could have anticipated. The milk Clare had left for them was rich and creamy, and without the means to make filter coffee they had to make do with instant. But instant coffee made with fresh milk, and not the half-skimmed variety Isobel had usually bought at home, was almost an indulgence, and they were sitting enjoying their second cup when someone knocked at the door.

      Not surprisingly, Isobel was loath to answer it. Beyond the faded floral curtains, the night was as black as pitch, and, although common sense told her they were far from the reach of thieves and muggers, old habits died hard.

      ‘Aren’t you going to see who it is?’

      Cory was looking at her a little apprehensively now, and, realising she was in danger of alarming her daughter, probably unnecessarily, Isobel got to her feet. ‘I suppose so,’ she said, pretending an indolence she was far from feeling. But then Clare called,

      ‘Isobel! It’s only me!’ and all her anxieties vanished.

      Reaching the door in two strides, she turned the key and threw it open. And Clare came into the room on a cloud of French perfume. Her rich cream fur and long boots looked out of place in the shabby living-room, but, Isobel reflected, her own attire suited it to a T. The lady of the manor, calling on one of the peasants, she mused drily. But that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t Clare’s fault that she had not bothered to change.

      ‘Isobel, darling!’ Clare exclaimed now, kissing the air beside her friend’s ear with the smoothness of long experience. ‘And this must be Cory! Hello, dear. Your mummy didn’t tell me you were so grown-up!’

      She went towards Cory, and Isobel saw her daughter draw back in some alarm. But happily, Clare didn’t embarrass either of them by attempting to kiss her too. Instead, she contented herself with bestowing a charming smile on her, before turning back to her friend.

      ‘Well, now,’ she said. ‘What do you think of this place? Isn’t it cosy? Have you got everything you need?’

      ‘I think so.’ Isobel answered her last question first. ‘I’ve unpacked, and we’ve had supper, and we were just dawdling over our coffee. Would you like a cup? I can easily——’

      ‘Oh, no. No.’ Clare lifted her hand in denial, as if the very idea was anathema to her. ‘Colin and I have just got back from having supper with the Urquharts—Robert and Jessica Urquhart, that is—and I couldn’t drink another drop.’ She gave a rather girlish giggle. ‘They’re such a lovely couple. He’s the local sheriff.’

      ‘I see.’

      Isobel nodded, and, as if realising she was being rather indiscreet, Clare glanced about her. ‘I must admit, I’m amazed at the amount you’ve accomplished. And in such a short space of time, too. I quite expected to find you in the middle of things. The train must have been on time for once. Did Mr MacGregor collect you from the station? Well, of course, he must have done.’ she smiled again. ‘You’re here, aren’t you?’

      ‘Mr MacGregor?’

      Isobel felt slightly confused. Who was Mr MacGregor? She was sure the man had said his name was Lindsay. Well, of course he had. Cory had used that name earlier, when she had been berating her mother for not talking to him.

      But, before she could say anything more, Cory chimed in. ‘He picked us up in Glasgow,’ she said, giving her mother a look of sly complicity. ‘He said the trains aren’t usually reliable. That’s why he came to meet us.’

      Clare turned to the girl now, a frown drawing her sandy brows together. ‘Tom MacGregor drove all the way to Glasgow——’ she began, a look of consternation marring her pale sculpted features, and Cory offered her mother a wicked grin.

      ‘I think he said his name was Rafe,’ she declared, with the careless skill of a seasoned campaigner. ‘Yeah, it was definitely Rafe, wasn’t it, Mum? And not MacGregor—Lindsay.’ She tilted her head. ‘Hey—that’s your name isn’t it?’

      Isobel knew at once what her daughter was up to. It was obvious she resented Clare, and the vaguely condescending air she had adopted since her arrival. And, without

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