It was bad enough trying to forget him here, so far away. It would never be possible in Scotland. She snatched at her thoughts which were whirling out of control. It was no more than a friendly visit. It couldn't be. Or perhaps it was business? She had never been concerned with his dealings in Holland for the bleaching. How ironic if he had business with her own family.
'Rory? What are you doing here in Amsterdam?' she managed to say.
'I came on business,' he replied after a slight hesitation. 'I had to visit the bleaching fields where I send my linen, and as I was so close to Amsterdam I thought I would come and see how my former manager was.'
Jan stepped forward, holding out his hand. 'Welcome. I deduce that you are Mr Napier?'
Catriona suddenly realised she was behaving like an idiot, and managed to introduce Jan. 'He oversees the printing,' she explained.
'But you must stay and dine with us, Mr Napier,' Jan invited. 'My mother would be delighted to talk with you. Catriona has told us so much about Scotland.'
The meal was a torment for Catriona. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, so much she wanted to know about the life she had left behind. Rory seemed abstracted, as if forcing himself to be polite when asked a question, and returning short, almost abrupt answers when she referred to Scotland. Most of all, she wanted to know when Rory was getting married, but that was one question she could not ask. He didn't mention Susannah and she did not dare introduce the subject. It was too painful. Not once did he mention either Susannah or Silas.
Instead, she was forced to listen to Rory explaining the situation of the linen industry in Scotland in reply to questions Hans asked.
'The English imposed taxes to protect their woollen exports, I understand,' Hans said after he had said grace, and the maids served a fish soup. 'As indeed did the Dutch and the French on the import and production of printed cotton.'
'The English Parliament, yes,' Rory confirmed. 'After the Union we have no Parliament in Scotland, and now we have no Secretary of State either. The Home Office in London deals with Scottish affairs.'
Catriona tried to swallow the soup, from which a delicious aroma rose, but found it difficult. She pretended to be absorbed in Hans's questions, but it was difficult to concentrate. Rory kept looking across at her, an unfathomable expression in his eyes.
'And no doubt, being so remote, they do not understand your needs?'
Rory looked blank for a moment, as though his attention had strayed. 'Who? Oh, you mean the English. Wool has always been England's main export, and when the cottons from India became so popular, the wool merchants wanted protection.'
'As here and in France,' Hans said with a wry smile.
'Especially when we began to copy the designs,' Jan said. 'But they cannot always prevail. Even in France, where the import as well as production is forbidden, there is a great deal of evasion. I am told the law is about to be repealed there, and about time too.'
'But the situation is different for you in Scotland, no? There is some encouragement, I hear,' Hans said. 'It is a pity my other son Wilhelm is away on business. He knows Scotland well, and would have enjoyed talking with you.'
'Yes,' Rory admitted. 'The outcry was so great when England tried to impose duties on linen for sheets and handkerchiefs, especially as the linen industry is the most important one for us, the law has been changed and help is given.'
'Such as grants for laying out bleaching fields,' Hans suggested. 'So why do you send your linen to Holland for this?'
Rory looked rueful. 'My uncle found it difficult to maintain the fields. The process needed constant supervision, and for many years the Minister of that parish was hot against his flock working on the Sabbath. The Dutch are still more skilled than we are.'
'You are not so far behind, from what I hear,' Hans replied. 'Soon you may be able to send your linen to a Scottish field, even if you cannot mend your own.'
'I mean to repair them, I have already started it,' Rory said, and Catriona noted the determination in his voice, and the look in his eyes. He would succeed without her, and the desire to be involved became so overwhelming she had to bite her lip and take deep breaths to control her trembling.
'What other help is given?' Maigret asked.
Rory smiled at her. 'The import of French cambric is forbidden, which helps the cotton manufacturers. There is encouragement for weavers of flax and hemp to settle in Scotland. The British Linen Company was set up, and both trades for itself and gives loans to other linen manufacturers. The situation is much better, and I mean to make a success of both my uncle's business, and my own printing workshops.'
'Where Catriona was such an asset,' Maigret said softly, and Catriona could feel the sympathy flowing from the older woman.
She wondered how much her cousin guessed of her feelings, and whether she could continue to hide them from the less perceptive menfolk. But Rory was speaking, and hearing her name she forced her attention back to the conversation.
'Catriona was set to become another Christian Shaw,' he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.
'Who is he?' Jan asked.
'A female, a girl who began to copy the Dutch method of twisting sewing thread at her home in Bargarran.'
'So many of the best ideas have come from Holland,' Jan said softly, and Catriona saw him glance at her. She looked quickly away, afraid of what he might read in her eyes.
'The Bargarron Thread?' Hans asked. 'But that, Wilhelm tells me, is a vast concern.'
Rory nodded. 'At first she employed her mother and sister, then all the local lasses. It is supposedly even better than the Dutch thread,' he added, glancing at Jan. 'We have some enterprising females in Scotland. There are now, less than half a century later, almost a hundred mills in Paisley alone producing sewing thread.'
*****
Rory breathed in deeply as he walked along the canalside. That had been a difficult meal, but at least he now had Cat to himself for a while. It had been incredibly difficult to concentrate on her family's questions about Scotland and the linen industry there, while he wanted to talk to her. Now, though, thanks to Maigret, he had his opportunity.
Jan had wanted to bear him off to his own office for more talk when the meal had finished, but Maigret had intervened and suggested that he should take Catriona for a walk.
'I'm sure Mr Napier came to see her,' she said firmly. 'And you have work to do, Jan. Perhaps, Mr Napier, if you have time while you are here, you and Jan could talk tomorrow.'
Jan had been silent as Catriona fetched her hat, but said nothing. Rory had seen his gaze returning time after time to Cat during the meal, and detected signs of jealousy towards himself. What was the man afraid of? Would he oppose it if Catriona decided to return to Scotland? She was clearly producing designs they wanted here. But Jan's expression had conveyed more than a business interest in her skills. It was more the gaze of a lover.
Abruptly Rory forced his thoughts away from the implications of this development. They were uncomfortable, and he did not wish to examine them yet. But the notion of his Cat and Jan together kept intruding on his thoughts as they talked.
'Cat, I came here because I hoped you might perhaps be willing to design for me again.'
'How?' Catriona asked baldly. 'It would be impossible to do it from here, and I have made a new life for myself now.'
'Not from here,' Rory tried to explain. 'Cat, please come back to Scotland. Nothing has gone right there since you left. I need you to manage the printing workshop. I'll buy somewhere larger, so that they can be together. Won't that make it possible? Was that the only reason you left? Surely we can talk, discuss what's wrong, and resolve our difficulties?'
She made a sound between a laugh and a sob, then took a deep breath. 'No, I cannot. Rory, don't let's talk about it. It's impossible, what you ask. Look, they still use the old winches along here. Have you seen them operating before?'
He persisted, but she firmly turned the conversation onto other things, t
he sights around them, life in Holland, but never the designs she was doing. He wanted to shake her and make her listen. Eventually she led the way down a tiny alley.
'We can get into the garden this way. It's time we went back home.'
Home. She thought of this as home now. Rory felt bereft. Two minutes later, unaware of how he had arrived there, he was standing in the shade of an apple tree in her aunt's garden. It was beyond the back house, something he had never seen before. The garden was quiet and only overlooked by a couple of windows, of rooms that were rarely occupied in most houses, he'd heard, unless there were many visitors.
'How did you find me?' she asked suddenly.
'Silas, of all people, told me your cousin had been in Glasgow, so I knew his name. They are well-known here, a highly respected firm, and it wasn't difficult to trace them. Cat, I need you back.' Keep to business, he told himself. That was all that was at stake, wasn't it?
'It's impossible. It's too late.'
What did she mean? 'You were right,' he admitted. 'I should not have tried to expand so quickly. It's been a disaster, nothing is going right, and only when I lost you did I really appreciate your value. Cat, I need you. Will you come back? I'll pay you double, and I promise you can have complete control. If I go on as I am, I'll never have a hope of making it a success. And together we were going to do so much.'
Catriona shook her head. 'I can't,' she said quietly. 'My life is here now.'
'With your cousin?' Rory asked, his voice growing hard. An odd pain had gripped him, making it difficult for him to speak. 'He seems very possessive. What does he mean to you?' he demanded, while dreading the answer.
'Nothing!' Catriona said, a little too quickly, turning away from him and beginning to walk towards the house.
Rory reached out and caught her hand, pulling her against him. 'I don't believe you! The way he looks at you, touches you when there's no need of it, he loves you, Cat!' he said, and groaned as he expressed the thought aloud at last. He had never experienced such devastation, even when his mother had died when he was a small boy, and he had heard of his father's death in battle.
'No!' she protested, struggling to get away from him, but he tightened his hold.
He held her shoulders, turning her to face him.
'Cat! Oh, God, what have I done? I've been such a fool! Cat, my darling, I've only just realised it. I took you for granted, and was so absorbed in the damned business I never thought beyond it! I can't let you go, I need you! Not for the business. I need you for yourself!'
He pulled her towards him, staring down into her eyes. Then bent towards her, and Catriona lifted her face to his, sighing as he kissed her eyes, her cheeks, and finally, bruisingly, with deep intensity, her mouth.
For a few moments he felt her relax, respond with the same urgency, and then she tried to draw away.
'Don't go, Cat. I need you so much!'
'To rescue your business?' she asked, trying to push him away from her. 'Rory, let me go! This is all wrong!'
'Come back to me, my love! I need you.'
She finally managed to break away, and turned so that he couldn't read her expression.
'Why are you fighting me?' he asked urgently.
'Susannah!' she said, her voice almost inaudible. 'This is impossible, Rory. Don't you see? I can't bear to be with you when you are betrothed to Susannah.'
Rory stiffened, and then groaned. 'Oh, Cat, what a terrible mess! I shouldn't have kissed you. I was so delighted to see you again, to find out my true feelings, I didn't even think of her.'
She struggled against her tears and moved towards the house. 'Rory, please go now. I have to forget you, and you must me.'
He knew she was right. After one last despairing look at her he turned and went towards the gate into the alley.
*****
Chapter 17
During the ride to Rotterdam, the passage on the boat, and the journey across Scotland, Rory cursed himself endlessly. How could he face life without his wildcat? Why had he not realised his true feelings for Catriona before he'd succumbed to making an offer for Susannah? Partly, he knew, it had been the feeling of misery that he and Catriona had disagreed. He hadn't been thinking clearly. Now he was, and he saw a joyless future. However successful he might be, without Cat to share the triumph it would be worthless. He'd been weak, and because of that momentary failing, his life, his future, and his happiness had all been destroyed.
He'd seen Susannah as a soft, pliable and restful alternative, without appreciating what she was an alternative for. Just as he'd never have considered Susannah as a possible business partner, he'd been so blinkered he'd never regarded Catriona as a possible wife.
He'd never once considered asking Catriona to marry him. She'd been there, in his business, and it had felt so right, so much what was ordained in the stars, that he had not looked ahead. He, fool that he was, had been content, had looked no further into his feelings for her.
After that devastating disagreement he'd been feeling sore that, in his view, she was being unreasonable and too cautious. She had been right, yet if she had stayed, perhaps it would all have been successful. He'd been so torn by anger, disappointment, and the need to resolve his problems, that Susannah's providential appearance on that fateful day outside Glasgow had made him lose his head. She had looked so afraid, and he'd been furious, as he told himself he would be on any girl's behalf, at her story. He'd accepted for years, in a desultory sort of manner, that one day she would make a conformable wife. He would probably have offered for her a long time since if her father and Uncle Matthew had not been so eager to push the match, and he so determined not to be pushed. Why had he never stopped to consider properly what marriage to Susannah would really be like?
He shuddered. Where he had anticipated peace and calmness, a pliable woman happy to accept and agree with his opinions, to do as he wished, he could now see in Susannah a stubborn determination to have her own way. So did Catriona show similar determination, he reminded himself with a reminiscent smile, but in her case her intransigence was on his behalf, for the business, not for her own selfish gratification of passing whims. It was simply that Susannah went about it in a quite different manner to Catriona. And if it had to be a choice between furious argument and endless, insidious hints and complaints, gentle though they were, he preferred the fight. That was stimulating.
In his rooms he found a dozen notes from Susannah, and as many from Silas, demanding to know where he was and either begging, from Susannah, or ordering, from Silas, him to come at once.
He had not, naturally, told them where he was bound. His one thought had been to persuade Catriona to return, to work for him again. His sudden realisation that he loved her had been a shock to him. And now he had lost her for ever.
What should he do now? He could not jilt Susannah, that was unthinkable. His main concern was the scandal this would cause and the undeserved humiliation she would feel, but there was also the possibility that Silas would bring a breach of promise suit against him, and ask for damages that would ruin him. He straightened his shoulders. It was early evening, and unless they had gone to some party Silas or Susannah would be at home. He ought, for common courtesy, to go and try to explain where he had been.
As he walked towards Silas's house he reconsidered his options. He could not tell them the whole truth. He could not speak to anyone about Catriona for fear his voice, his expression, would give him away.
They were both at home, and he was ushered into the drawing room where Susannah sat with her embroidery in her hands, and Silas sprawled in a chair, reading some pamphlets.
'Rory! Where have you been?' Susannah exclaimed, leaping to her feet and scattering embroidery silks over the carpet.
'About time you came to explain yourself,' Silas growled.
Rory knelt to gather up the silks. 'I had to go away for a while, on business,' he said, keeping his eyes shaded. 'There was a problem, it needed my attention, and I left in a great hurry.
But I rather expected Jamie McTavish to have informed you,' he added, unable to keep the slight tartness from his tone.
'McTavish?' Silas asked.
'Don't play the innocent. Yes, your former employee. Or is he still in your pay? Your regular informant, at any rate, as to the state of my affairs. Even though he left my own employment, once I had discovered he was more loyal to you, I've no doubt he has ways of finding out about my affairs.'
Silas laughed. 'Don't take such offence, my boy. We should be working together, we're not enemies. I think I'm entitled to take an interest in the health of your business, with you marrying Susannah. Sit down, and Susannah will pour you a dram.'
Rory did so. 'Do you? That, I suggest, is something we need to discuss, soon,' he said curtly.
Silas smiled, unperturbed. 'Of course. But not now. I'll come to your office in the morning. There are quite a few things we have to discuss.'
'I won't be there,' Rory said, and wondered whether he was being childish in taking satisfaction from thwarting Silas. 'I have to see how the printing workshops are doing first,' he added, feeling Silas was owed some explanation, even though he did not intend to alter his plans to accommodate the older man.
'H'm. Time you paid heed to that, from all McTavish told me.'
Rory glared at him. Had the man no shame? He was about to speak when Silas held up his hand.
'It's your own business, after all, and what Susannah will have to depend on, apart from what she gets from me,' he said sternly.
'Rory, I want to show you some drawings,' Susannah interrupted. She sounded rather petulant, and both Silas and Rory turned to her in remorse.
'Sorry, my pet, we ought not to get absorbed in business matters,' Silas said, smiling fondly at her.
She looked up at Rory through her lashes. 'I hope when we're married you won't want to talk business all the time?' she asked, with a small pout.
'What drawings are these?' he asked, draining the whisky and setting down the glass.
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