Christine, in white chiffon with a sash of her own tartan tied about her slim waist, was giving her hair a final brush when Iona came in to see if she was ready.
“I wish I could have worn white,” she said with an appraising look at the chiffon dress. “But I’m really too sallow, especially once I’ve had a touch of sunburn, and, besides, mother likes me in blue.” They went down the stairs together and were soon in the car speeding toward the city.
Douglas, in his kilt, looked very handsome and Flora smiled indulgently at her son.
“The Hamiltons will be there, Douglas,” she remarked. “You haven’t seen the girls since they came back from Canada.”
Douglas agreed that he had not and put on more speed, which his mother happily did not appear to notice. They were soon threading their way through the traffic crossing the river and negotiating the rest of the slow journey to the hotel.
A little group of people stood laughing and talking at the head of the staircase. Christine was on the point of walking around them when she heard a familiar voice. It was a lazy, half-mocking voice with a note of amusement in it, and it had the sudden power to stir every pulse in her body.
She looked up and met Huntley Treverson’s sardonic smile, and before she could turn her eyes away he was crossing the carpet toward her.
“Christine in Glasgow!” he exclaimed. “I can scarcely believe it!” The mocking note was uppermost in his voice. “Do I attribute this meeting to fate or merely to coincidence?”
“You can attribute it to my aunt, who is an indefatigable worker for the society!” she answered calmly, wondering, as they shook hands, whether she should introduce him to Flora. “I believe she attends most of these gatherings.”
“And I attended this one under pressure! Surely one detects something more than cold coincidence there? I did not even know that you were in Glasgow.”
“I’ve been here for more than a week,” she told him.
“Why?”
In vain she tried to control the flush that crept into her cheeks. “Because I have always meant to take a holiday and this is it.” She smiled at him and attempted to move away. “We’re blocking the staircase, I’m afraid, and my aunt is waiting for me. Goodbye.” He stood back to let her pass, a tall, commanding figure in full Highland evening dress, and her heart caught on a memory of the land she had left. He seemed so essentially a part of the Highland scene, so much a being of the high mountains and deep glens.
“I had no idea you knew anyone in Glasgow, Christine,” her aunt remarked as they made their way to the cloakroom. “Your friend looks—most distinguished, but I don’t remember seeing him at our gatherings before. I see he is with a party.”
Christine’s eyes gleamed mischievously for a moment.
“He’s from Kinaird,” she said. “At least, that is where we met.”
“Indeed? Then you must know him quite well?”
“Not very well.” That was true enough. “His uncle lives there.”
“You must introduce him to me later in the evening.” Flora took off her coat and turned to survey herself in the mirror. “There will be quite a few partners for you, of course, among Doug’s friends, but if you know this young man—”
Christine’s face sobered.
“I don’t know him sufficiently well to expect him to leave his friends and dance with me,” she said. “Besides,” she added almost defiantly, “perhaps you know him by name. It’s Treverson ... Huntley Treverson.”
“Christine, my dear! How dreadful for you.” Flora was immediately concerned. “Would you like to go home?”
Christine’s surprise was quite genuine.
“Why should I? The fact that Huntley Treverson is here needn’t spoil my evening, or anyone else’s,” she added bluntly.
Christine had scarcely noticed Huntley’s companions. The surprise of their meeting and his own dominant personality had obliterated everything else from her mind. She expected that he would stay with his friends, yet she could not help being aware of his presence as they filed into the dining room. His place was at the far end of the room from where she sat between her aunt and Douglas, and a great deal of merriment stirred at that end of the table. There was loud applause for the speeches and much happy chatter, and she saw the secretary go down the room and speak to his partner. The girl’s face was vaguely familiar, bringing with it a memory of Kinaird, and suddenly she realized that the girl was Laura Bramshaw.
Laura’s reputation in Kinaird was as sensational as Huntley’s own, but Christine had never actually met George Bramshaw’s daughter. Their worlds were far apart, and even when Laura stayed at The Mains the doctor’s daughters were never invited to visit.
Christine found herself glancing down the long table more than once during the hour of congenial company and witty speech-making, and it was not always Huntley Treverson at whom she looked. She was vitally aware of his companion, aware of Laura’s air of sophistication and her gay laughter and the way she looked at Huntley more than at any other member of their small party. They looked amazingly distinguished together and very much at ease, sure of their ability to carry off any situation to their own advantage.
“Why the sudden gloom?” Douglas asked in a whispered aside. “Are the speakers too much for you?”
“No ... I’ve loved them,” she declared, smiling back at him determinedly. “But they’ve made me think of Kinaird.”
The orchestra began to play and the first bars of a popular waltz drifted across her thoughts.
“I’ve been waiting for this opportunity.” Huntley Treverson was standing beside her, smiling a little ironically, his tall figure blotting out the dancers on the floor as she turned to look at him. “In common decency, Christine, you can’t refuse to dance with me.”
“I wasn’t even thinking of refusing,” she assured him. “I always enjoy a waltz.”
She saw the mockery fade from his eyes as he took her in his arms.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
Memory transported her back to Lochaber and he was there, there beside the loch and her own high mountains as they had been that day at the lodge. The music was winding itself through her imaginings, weaving itself into the pattern of her thoughts, and then she was aware of the tightening of his arm as he demanded with an abruptness which she had learned to expect from him: “What brought you away from Kinaird? You didn’t come of your own free will. Was it the gossip ... people talking about that night at the lodge?”
The directness of his question nonplussed her for a moment.
“No, it wasn’t that entirely. I could have overcome the gossip,” she said with equal frankness.
“Then why did you leave?”
“Other people were involved—my mother and my sister.”
“They are still there,” he remarked acidly. “And what of our friend, the doctor? Hadn’t he something to say about it?”
“My father?”
He laughed.
“Oh, no! I think your father would agree to anything you did. I mean Dr. Kilbridge.”
“Nigel couldn’t stand in my way.”
“I thought he counted for more than that,” he mused, his handsome mouth slightly twisted. “I thought you were going to marry him.”
“I’m not in love with Nigel,” she answered swiftly. “I’m not in love with anyone.”
He looked down at her.
“Are you quite sure about that?” he asked. “Rash statements are often recalled.”
“I try not to make statements until I am very sure of them,” she told him.
“Then why did you say that you didn’t leave Kinaird because of the gossip? Surely the gossip was at the bottom of it all.”
“Perhaps it was.” She knew that it had precipitated Nigel’s proposal. “But going back won’t help.”
“Even if you want to go with all your heart?”
“You know all these things,” she accused him stormily, “yet you don’t really care for the gle
n one little bit. Kinaird means nothing to you.”
He took several seconds to answer her challenge and then, to her surprise, he said, “You’re quite wrong there, you know. I was brought up in Kinaird and there’s not much of Lochaber I don’t know and appreciate.”
“But you prefer to stay here ... you like this sort of life much better?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” He considered a moment. “If my uncle saw eye to eye with me, I wouldn’t stay in Glasgow a moment longer than it takes to pack my bags!”
She gazed at him in frank astonishment.
“You find it difficult to believe, I suppose?” he queried.
“Yes,” she admitted frankly. “I suppose it is because you always seemed impatient to be away.”
“I’ll admit I’ve been restless, but I’ve an idea it’s just an inability to know what one wants ... a quest, if you like.”
“And the end of the quest?” she asked.
“It might be in sight!”
His mouth was quite hard when he answered, his eyes curiously remote, so that she would not question him further, thinking that she must have touched upon something that affected him deeply. She was curiously glad at having struck such a chord, however, glad of having discovered something beyond selfishness in him. It brought back her first conception of him.
“I’m sorry about that day at home,” she said apologetically. “I must have sounded ... very curt and unmannerly, but it was the very last thing I expected.”
His fingers closed strongly over hers.
“Shall we try to forget about it?” he suggested. “You turned me down and that’s fair enough, but there’s no reason why we shouldn’t be friends ... unless your aunt doesn’t agree?”
“I don’t think my aunt has any say in the matter,” Christine returned firmly. “I’m quite old enough to choose my own friends.”
“And old enough to know when you should go back to Lochaber?”
“I hope so.” Her heart contracted at the thought of the long way ahead. “I could never be really happy here.”
“Happiness,” he said quietly, “is where you find it.”
“And I have found it in Lochaber. I am not a city child.”
“No.” Her hand was still in his. “One day you will go home.” The unexpected gentleness of his tone brought sudden tears to her eyes.
“I’m going to look for a job presently,” she told him. “There must be something I can do.”
He frowned. “For instance?”
“An office, perhaps.”
“It’s deadly monotonous,” he said crisply. “I can’t picture you happy chained to a desk.”
“Is that what you are feeling now?” she asked.
“Something like that,” he admitted. “But if you are determined to work in an office there’s always Treverson Industries.”
She blushed.
“I couldn’t ask you to make a place for me in your uncle’s firm,” she told him.
“Why not? I believe you are capable of holding down an office job, even though you won’t like it.”
“It ... just wouldn’t do.” She thought of Flora Lamington’s reactions to her accepting such a situation and smiled faintly. “My aunt believes that she can find me plenty to do at Merrivale, but sometimes I think that I shall want to assert my independence quite soon.” She looked up into his quizzical eyes. “Thank you for the dance,” she said almost hastily. “I’ve promised my cousin the reel, and the pipers are tuning up.”
Douglas came across the floor to claim her and they were drawn into a set where they stood. She saw Huntley move back against the wall, and during the reel she was conscious of his eyes upon her, watching her whirling figure until the final chain and swing brought her, flushed and breathless, back to where he stood.
“Not too bad!” he declared, smiling.
“Don’t you like a reel?” Douglas asked in a friendly way, mopping his brow with his handkerchief.
“I preferred to watch that one,” Huntley said.
Christine introduced them.
“Doug, this is Huntley Treverson. His uncle lives at Kinaird.”
In Douglas’s eyes that made them friends immediately.
“Are you just down for this occasion?” he asked.
“No, I’m working in Glasgow at present.”
“Strange we haven’t met before.” Douglas had measured his man and obviously liked him. “If you’re not with a party—”
“Oh, but Mr. Treverson is with a party,” Christine broke in, knowing that her cousin had been about to issue an invitation to join their small group at the other end of the hall.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Huntley agreed as Laura Bramshaw strolled casually towards them. “I’m glad we have met, though,” he added, shaking hands with Douglas.
“Lamington’s the name,” Douglas told him, eager to return his friendliness. “I’m Chris’s cousin. Anytime you care to come out Giffnock way, we’ll be pleased to see you at Merrivale. We’re leveling the tennis court. If you can wield a roller, we would be glad of a helping hand!”
Huntley was looking down into Christine’s flushed face and a curious half smile twisted his mouth.
“You’re being extremely generous,” he told Douglas. “I might avail myself of the invitation one day.”
“Do,” Douglas urged, and as they walked across the floor he said musingly, “He seems a nice chap. Funny, I’ve never heard you mention him before.”
“I don’t really know him very well,” Christine found herself saying as she met her aunt’s suddenly hostile stare. “We only met ... quite recently.”
“I think we must be in mother’s black books!” Douglas observed under his breath, forgetting about Huntley as he faced a not unfamiliar situation on the home front. “Do I see her frowning?”
“You do,” Christine answered, “but I don’t think you’re to blame this time. I rather fancy I’m the culprit.”
“Because you didn’t come back after the waltz? But you danced the reel with me. She sent me to make sure of you!”
Christine smiled.
“One dance wouldn’t have mattered, but I shouldn’t have introduced you to Huntley Treverson. Your mother doesn’t approve of him.”
Flora sat very stiffly erect beside Iona as they came forward but not until Douglas had guided his sister onto the floor for the next dance did she address her niece.
“I’m rather disappointed in you this evening, Christine,” she observed coldly. “Surely you could have avoided that man.”
“I don’t see that I really needed to avoid him,” Christine answered evenly. “He hasn’t done me any harm.”
“Quite so,” Flora agreed with commendable patience, “but did you have to introduce him to Douglas?”
“I don’t think it matters very much,” Christine pointed out. “He is with his own party, and that dance couldn’t have been anything more than a duty one. After all, we both come from Kinaird, Aunt Flora.”
“I understood that the young man was rarely in Kinaird these days,” her aunt returned dryly.
“That’s not exactly his fault,” Christine answered. “He would prefer to work in Kinaird, but Ben Treverson won’t have any other authority at the quarries but his own. He’s a likeable old rascal, but he’s terribly stubborn.”
“I don’t think the sort of life he leads in Glasgow can be so very disagreeable to young Treverson,” she remarked. “It appears to be wholly adequate.”
“Perhaps appearances are deceiving,” Christine suggested. “Sometimes ... we do something for a reason that is only clear to ourselves.” Her voice was suddenly not quite steady. “It isn’t always outside appearances alone that reflect the truth.”
“I still don’t think that he is a fitting companion for you, nor for Douglas or Iona. I’m sorry you found it necessary to introduce him to your cousin.”
“I don’t think Huntley Treverson will ever trouble you, Aunt Flora,” Christine answered dryly. “He has
so many friends in Glasgow that he must have very little time to himself.”
For the remainder of the evening Huntley stayed within his own circle of friends, and only when they rose to leave did he look in Christine’s direction again. He smiled and saluted her, but made no effort to cross to her side.
It had been an elaborate party and Christine thoroughly enjoyed it, yet deep in her heart she knew that she would have exchanged it all for her mother’s “wee ceilidh,” held regularly in the sitting room at home.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Christine,” Flora Lamington observed, looking up from her embroidery, “I’m not quite content about Iona.” Christine laid her book aside giving her aunt her full attention.
“She has changed lately,” Flora continued. “She’s become secretive. Yes, I think that’s the only word I can use with any degree of accuracy. It is certainly the only thing that accounts for her sudden moods and long silences.” She glanced at her niece. “She hasn’t confided in you, has she?”
Christine’s lips set. “No,” she said definitely. Flora sighed. “Of course, it may be nothing at all. I may be only imagining these things, but her thoughts seem to be so far away at times. She has always been a quiet girl,” she mused, “and a good daughter, and I have always shared her confidences in the past.”
“Iona is very keen about her work,” Christine offered. “She has always been the quiet, studious type.”
“But she has never been secretive!” Flora frowned. “She seems to have shut herself away these past few months. I have tried to urge her to confide in me, but it hasn’t done any good.” Once again she turned her penetrating gaze on her niece. “You’re quite sure she hasn’t said anything to you?”
Doctor's Daughter Page 5
