‘We weren’t really in trouble.’
‘No. That sergeant was quite nice, wasn’t he? He could have been really nasty.’
‘He was OK. Shame the whole thing got into the papers though. I don’t know how that happened.’ He watched her to see how she reacted but she didn’t seem guilty.
‘I don’t know either. I didn’t think we’d dropped any.’
Anthony decided not to ask what had happened to the leaflets in her bag. ‘Maybe I missed one or two. But that’s no reason to mention the kennels by name in the paper.’
‘It was a real shame,’ agreed Gemma sympathetically. Then she tossed the long hair over her shoulder and shot him a smile. ‘But you got good publicity in the next issue. I saw that article about your sister. Imagine rescuing a dog! She was really clever to recognise it.’
‘Lucky to be in the right place,’ said Anthony, although secretly he was rather proud of Rachel.
They chatted more easily now, passing the park with its boating lake and on under the old railway line. There was a path that went through the town wood and then looped back past the caravan park and they took this.
‘Do you want to go for a coffee?’ asked Anthony as they neared the town once again. He was in funds as his parents had paid him for white-washing some of the kennels.
‘I better not. Dad’ll expect me to get the five o’clock bus which means I’d be home by half past.’
Anthony took a deep breath. He’d only asked out a couple of girls before and that was years ago, when he was a kid of fifteen. ‘I was wondering.’ He paused, hoping he wasn’t going to blush. ‘I thought maybe we could go out, you know? Go to a movie or something …’ His voice tailed off.
Gemma wasn’t looking pleased, or even embarrassed. She was just shaking her head. ‘No. I’m sorry, I can’t.’
‘You can’t?’
‘My Dad’d be furious. It’s just been him and me since my Mum died when I was ten. Dad doesn’t like me to go out much.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’ Anthony was suddenly grateful for his more easy-going parents. ‘You’ve got your own life to live. You said yourself he’s going to have to get used to you being away when you go to university.’
‘Dad’s had a bad time,’ she said defensively. ‘It’s not been easy for him.’
‘I don’t see why that should stop you having a boyfriend. Unless you’re just using it as an excuse? You probably don’t want to go out with me anyway.’
Gemma sighed and didn’t deny this. Anthony realised belatedly that he wasn’t doing his case any good by arguing with her.
‘I need to get back,’ she said.
‘I’ll give you a lift, like I said. You’ll have to take it now, the bus will have gone.’
The journey passed almost in silence and Gemma made him stop just before the entrance to her farm track. She wasn’t joking about not wanting to be seen with a boy – or was it not wanting to be seen with him?
Rachel couldn’t stop giggling as she returned from taking the phone call. This was so preposterous!
‘Who was that?’ asked her mother. She had been sitting at the kitchen table, supposedly doing paperwork, but mostly frowning out of the window at her husband who had insisted on doing a little gardening in the raised beds at the back. Now her attention was caught by Rachel.
‘That was the organiser of the Boroughbie Show.’ Rachel sank down into a stare and shook her head. The Boroughbie Show was the local agricultural show, a major event every August.
‘Barney Johnstone?’ asked her mother, who knew all the locals. ‘What did he want?’
Rachel grinned. ‘He wanted to ask me if I would open the show for them this year.’
Her mother smiled doubtfully. ‘You’re joking, I presume? I’m sure I heard they’d got that presenter from Border Television coming to do it.’
‘They had, but she’s just had a bad fall from her horse and has had to pull out. It’s very much last minute as the show is a week on Saturday. So for some unknown reason, they thought of me! They must be mad.’
‘I’m sure you’d do it very well,’ said her mother loyally. ‘But why you?’
‘I think it was that whole saga over Jinty. Apparently Sarah Stretton, the journalist who was involved in the crash, is on the organising committee for the show, and she suggested it.’
‘Are you going to do it?’ asked her mother, still torn between pride in her daughter and surprise that she should be asked. ‘Oh, just a moment, your father’s trying to lift that bag of peat, I told him he wasn’t to do anything that might risk him falling again.’ She limped over to the conservatory door and opened it to chastise her husband.
Rachel watched with a smile on her face. Her mum would never stop her dad doing things now he was feeling so much better. Personally she was glad to see him so full of life.
‘He’s coming in for tea,’ said her mother, looking pleased with herself. ‘Now, you haven’t answered my question – did you say yes?’
‘I said I would help out if they were desperate, but only if they really couldn’t get anyone else. After all, I’m hardly a real celebrity, am I? I’m sure all the farmers won’t want to be presented with their prize trophies by someone like me.’
‘I don’t see why not,’ said her mother immediately.
‘Well I suggested they contact a real local celebrity – Philip Milligan. Lots of people know him from the television. So Barney has gone away to make some enquiries.’
‘What a shame,’ said Mrs Collington. Now she had got over her initial surprise she seemed quite keen to see Rachel thrust into the spotlight. ‘You’d look lovely doing it, you’re such a pretty girl. And that nice vet Mr McArthur would be bound to see you there which wouldn’t do any harm at all.’
‘Charlie and I are just friends.’
Mrs Collington ignored that. ‘Here’s your father. Tell him all about it whilst I make the tea.’
‘You tell him. I’ll make tea.’ Rachel jumped up. She was a little worried about how slowly her mother was moving just now. Her medication had been changed at her last out-patient appointment and this one didn’t seem to be working so well. She didn’t want to make an issue of this now, but if there was anything she could do to ease the burden she was determined to do it.
Chapter Eight
Philip wasn’t sure why he had agreed to help out the organisers of the Boroughbie Show. It wasn’t as if agricultural shows were his kind of thing. Yet somehow, when he heard that Rachel Collington had recommended him, he had found himself agreeing to be their guest of honour. With the proviso that Rachel herself should also be involved to help him present all the prizes.
Now he was looking forward to seeing her again. There was no denying that she was bossy and interfering, but she was also – interesting. And the fact that she was very pretty didn’t do any harm. He wondered if that rather dull vet would be around, and hoped devoutly that he wouldn’t be.
It was only when he and Amelia were on their way to the show that he realised he should have given some thought to the child. It wouldn’t be much fun for her on her own whilst he was performing his duties. Situations like this were constantly tripping him up. Alison didn’t realise how unsuited his life was to looking after a young child. He sighed. One good thing was that Alison was at least truly on the mend. And another was that he and Amelia were no longer quite so shy with each other.
But that didn’t solve the problem of what to do with her today. He looked around as they arrived at the Show Ground. He saw a young man who looked vaguely familiar.
‘Don’t I know you?’ he asked hopefully, and realised immediately that he did. ‘Rachel’s brother! Of course.’ He wished he could remember his name.
‘I’m Anthony,’ said the youth, smiling faintly as though he realised Philip’s predicament. ‘And this is Gemma, a … friend of mine.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Gemma,’ said Philip, shaking hands and giving his most charming smile. ‘This is Amelia, my niece.
We were just looking for Rachel. And a Mr Johnstone?’
The slim, dark-haired girl smiled, but more at the child than at him. ‘They’re over there,’ she said with a wave of her hand, and then turned to the youngster. ‘Have you ever been to Boroughbie Show before?’
‘No,’ said Amelia in her usual faint tones.
‘You’ll have a good time,’ said Philip rallyingly.
‘Gemma and I were just going to watch the show-jumping,’ said Anthony, making to leave, but Gemma seemed to notice a quiver of interest in the child.
‘You could come with us,’ she said. ‘If you want.’
‘I like horses,’ said the child.
That decided Philip. These youngsters could look after his niece perfectly well, it would be pleasant for her and very useful for him. ‘If she would stay with you for the next half hour,’ he said, ‘I’d be very grateful.’ He fluffed the child’s hair and moved rapidly away. He saw Anthony and Gemma exchange worried looks but they didn’t actually object.
He strode over to join Rachel and the tall, emaciated, tweedy man he assumed was Barney Johnstone. ‘Wonderful to meet you,’ said the man in patrician accents. ‘Time we made a start.’ He led them over to the make-shift stage. Rachel shot Philip a nervous smile.
‘I feel such a fraud, being here,’ she whispered to him. ‘No one has ever heard of me, why should I be part of the opening?’
Only a few weeks ago Philip might have resented having to share the limelight with someone else, but now he said, ‘Probably more of them have heard of you than of me. Your rescue of the little Westie made quite a splash in the local paper.’ He realised this was true and was pleased he had said it. Rachel pulled her pretty face into another grimace, but they were climbing the steps to the stand now and there was no time for further discussion.
Anthony was beginning to get bored. He had never understood why people found show-jumping the least bit interesting. He had tried to keep his views to himself as Gemma clearly thought otherwise, but now he was starting to resent the fact that not only was she fascinated by the spectacle, she also found the child they now had in tow much more appealing than she found him. He wasn’t sure how long Gemma would be willing to remain in his company. Her father was busy in the cattle show ring just now, but that wouldn’t last for ever.
‘Do we really have to keep her with us?’ he hissed, indicating the child with a nod of his head.
Gemma frowned. ‘I think Mr Milligan’s a bit busy just now, and she’s a sweet little thing.’
‘I wanted to walk around, see some of the stalls,’ said Anthony mutinously. He had been amazed when Gemma agreed to spend some time at the show with him, but it wasn’t working out as he hoped.
‘Well, we can do that. Let’s just see how the last horse does. If it gets less than eight faults it wins, but I doubt it’ll manage, it’s a hard course.’
‘Mmm,’ said Anthony, wondering how she knew it was a difficult course. Was she interested in horses? There was so much he didn’t know about her.
‘You can go off without us if you want, we’ll catch up with you.’
‘Oh, no, I’m quite happy to wait.’ Anthony wasn’t going to let her escape so easily.
The child at Gemma’s side touched her hand shyly and said, ‘Look, the chestnut horse is coming now. I hope it wins, I do hope it wins.’ And the two of them were engrossed again, holding their breath at each twist and jump, groaning when the horse refused at the triple and applauding when it reached the finish with one second to spare.
‘Right, can we get going now?’ he said as soon as their celebrations had calmed down. He frowned at Amelia as she clung to Gemma’s hand, swinging it gently. He wanted to be the one holding her hand.
Anthony’s mood improved as they proceeded to wander around the large field where the stalls were set out in improvised avenues. Boroughbie Show wasn’t a large one, not when compared with the Royal Highland Show in Edinburgh, or even the Dumfries and Lockerbie Show just south of here. But it was well attended and today the sun was shining brightly. Not being particularly interested in farm animals, and very keen to avoid Freddy Smith, he steered them towards the arts and craft section.
He came to a sudden halt before a stall displaying pictures of the bleak upland hills. They were stunning. ‘Wow.’ He looked more closely. These weren’t paintings, he could see that much. Some were in black and white but others had colour shaded in, very faint, adding to the atmosphere of the high country. ‘How are they done?’ he asked. He was really impressed. His question had been addressed to Gemma but the man behind the stall answered him.
‘They’re prints. I’m a print maker.’ He smiled brightly at them. He was a small, plump man with a fringe of dark hair all around his head, like a monk’s.
‘They’re lovely,’ said Gemma, but Anthony could tell she was just being polite. She wasn’t awed by them as he was.
‘How do you do them?’ he asked, bending down to look more closely. He could see now that there were a few copies of each picture, and yet every one looked like an original.
‘I work mostly in lino cut,’ said the man. ‘This is one, see? There’s a lot of work in the design and the cutting of the stencils, like. Then you can print oot up to fifty, depending on the materials. I don’t tend to do more than that, I like them to still be special. They’re right fine, are they no’?’
‘I like the way you get the lines to … I don’t know. But I like the way the lines are.’ Anthony put his head on one side, examining the pictures more closely. ‘I’d love to see how it’s done.’
‘Did you no study art at school? Sometimes they do stencilling there, that would give you the idea.’
‘I wasn’t allowed,’ said Anthony, momentarily sulky. His parents, encouraged by Rachel, had thought academic subjects were more important.
‘I’ve just done my Art Higher,’ said Gemma. ‘But we never did anything like this.’
The man took out one of his cards and handed it over. ‘I’m Rupert Randall,’ he said cheerily. ‘My studio is on the Low Road going out of town towards Selkirk. I don’t generally run an open studio, but if you’re really interested why don’t you drop by sometime?’
Anthony took the card and turned it around in this hand. This, too, had been hand printed. It was the pattern of an eagle repeated in a complicated circle. He’d love to know how he did that. ‘That’d be cool,’ he said. ‘Thanks a lot.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Gemma politely.
Anthony would have liked to have stayed and talked some more, but she ushered him away. ‘Why’d you do that?’ he said. ‘I wanted to look through all this stuff, there was stacks of it we hadn’t seen.’
‘We were monopolising the whole stall. He’s there to sell stuff, not to talk to us, and we were keeping people away.’
Anthony hadn’t noticed that, but maybe she was right. He stuck the card in the pocket of his jeans and said, ‘Anyone for an ice cream? A coke? I think we deserve a break.’
He was rewarded by a small smile from Amelia.
Rachel found that she was actually enjoying her role at the Boroughbie Show. She had never been prone to shyness but had to admit to feeling a little intimidated before the formalities began. Once they were in the swing of things, however, she relaxed. Everyone was so friendly and appreciative, saying positive things, for once, about not only her rescue of Jinty but about Collington Kennels as well. She wished her parents could have been there to see it. Unfortunately her mother had been feeling a little under the weather and her father had insisted on staying home to keep her company.
Rachel had never shaken so many hands or smiled for so many photographs, but it was actually quite fun handing out the rosettes and medals. Everyone had worked so hard to get the best from their animals and it was lovely to see their efforts being rewarded. Freddy Smith came second in the Galloway Heifer Stirk section and even he managed a small smile of acknowledgement.
Of course, the bright sunshine hel
ped maintain the cheerful mood, as did the presence of Philip Milligan at her side. She had previously thought him rather reserved, but today the charm that was so apparent on the small screen was very much to the fore. He chatted with all and sundry, had his photograph taken time and time again, and still managed to make her feel special.
They had just presented the very last cup and Philip had touched her hand and said, ‘I think we deserve a drink now, don’t you?’ when her mobile phone rang.
She smiled apologetically and withdrew to one side to answer it. As she did so she realised she had already missed two calls from home, unheard amongst all the noise.
‘Hi Mum,’ she said. ‘Sorry I missed you earlier …’
‘It’s Dad.’
Immediately Rachel felt panic. Her father never phoned her mobile unless it was absolutely unavoidable. ‘What’s happened? Where’s Mum?’
‘I wonder if you could come home, Rachel. Your mother’s, er, rather unwell. I’ve called an ambulance and they should be here any minute. And if you could track down Anthony …?’ Her father’s tone was as mild and polite as usual, but Rachel could detect the tremor in it.
‘But what’s happened? Tell me what happened.’ Rachel was clinging to the small phone, desperate for information.
‘You know your mother was feeling a little dizzy this morning? I persuaded her to have a lie down, but when I took her up a cup of tea a little while ago I couldn’t seem to wake her …’
‘She’s unconscious?’ yelped Rachel. ‘Is she … is she breathing?’
‘Oh yes, dear, she’s breathing. But she sounds horribly wheezy. They want to get her into hospital as soon as they can.’
‘I’m on my way,’ said Rachel. ‘If the ambulance arrives before we do, you go on to the hospital, we’ll follow you.’
Her heart was beating so fast she found it hard to concentrate. She looked desperately around for Anthony in the milling crowd and then realised that Philip was at her side.
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