Judy dimpled suddenly and deliciously.
“That could be remedied,” she said.
Amanda’s eyes widened slowly.
“You mean...?”
“Oh, nothing ... nothing, darling! It was simply an idea that occurred to me during the night. I didn’t sleep awfully well, because the bed’s a bit bumpy.” She extended an appealing hand. “Be a honey and go and get me some more clothes, and pay our hotel bill and tell them we won’t be returning. It’s perfectly all right,” smiling coaxingly. “Urquhart has invited us to stay!”
Amanda sighed, and then walked to the window. From there she could see the woods running right down to the edge of the shimmering bright blue water that lay between them and the mainland. And the purple hills of the mainland, the shadowy valleys and the craggy heights, the sparkling hills and the placid streams, were all bathed in the golden splendour of the morning.
She could almost smell the sweetness of the wet heather from where she stood, the blood-quickening scent of warm pine needles.
“I feel I owe you something,” she confessed, turning to confront her friend, “because you invited me to stay with you at a time when I was awfully hard up and had little to look forward to, and I’ve had a wonderful time with you in Australia. But the fact that we’ve known one another for a good many years gives me the right to warn you. I don’t think you’ll get very far with Alaine Urquhart. He isn’t like the other men you’ve met.”
“He’s a man. I rather think he likes the look of me.”
“Of course he does. All men like the look of you.” This was so true that Amanda made the admission without even a hint of envy. “But underneath that suave exterior of his I think he’s a cool customer. I don’t know why, but he makes me think of polished steel.”
Judy surveyed her with amused eyes.
“Steel can be bent.”
“Yes, but it requires, I believe, a tremendous amount of heat.”
“I generate heat ... when I’m not feeling terribly cool and detached.”
That was true, too. She blew hot and she blew cold, and at all times she was in complete control of the situation ... whenever, that is, there was a man involved.
“All right.” Amanda sighed again, and she had no real idea why she sighed—except that she wished they were returning to the mainland for good. Somehow Ure, to her, spelt trouble ... for someone.
“I’ll go and get your things,” she said. “And mine. The people at the hotel will probably think it a little odd when I tell them we’re terminating our stay with them because we’ve been invited to stay on here.”
“Never mind the people at the hotel.” Judy stretched her arms gracefully above her head, and there was a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. “The trouble with you, Amanda, is that you’re always bothering about what people think. I never do. I’m a law unto myself ... I believe in being a law unto myself. It’s much more fun. Now, be a honey and don’t keep Duncan waiting. I’ve an idea he’s a testy old thing, and last night for some reason we threw him into a state of panic. I’ve an idea he thought we weren’t the solid individuals we are.”
“Did he say anything to you about the Bride of Alaine?” Amanda asked, recalling the extraordinary affect her appearance in the mist had had on Duncan.
Judy nodded, and there was a cat-like gleam of satisfaction in her eyes this time.
“Oh, I know all about the Bride of Alaine. I’ll tell you about it some time.”
CHAPTER IV
DUNCAN was waiting when Amanda reached the shore, and she thought he looked particularly dour in the bright morning light. He was older than she had thought him the night before, and he eyed her with a kind of fixed, suspicious hostility when she took her place in the boat.
Amanda, who was looking very un-ghostlike with her soft hair waving in the breeze, her warm brown eyes smiling and friendly, and just the right amount of make-up on her smooth face, greeted him cordially.
“It’s a beautiful morning. Do you have many mornings like this in this part of the world?”
The boat shot out across the loch, and as he worked the oars in their rowlocks Duncan, quite obviously, gave the question somewhat brooding thought. “Och, aye,” he answered at last. “We have good weather some o’ the time.”
“You have wonderful long, light evenings, don’t you?” trying to sound natural and chatty. “At this time of the year, I mean. Even last night, although there was such a lot of mist, it didn’t get really dark for ages. That’s how I was able to find my way to the Tower.”
“There’s a path which leads to the Tower all the way from the shore if ye know about it and ye’re not trespassing,” Duncan growled ungraciously in answer.
Amanda looked at him guiltily.
“Yes, I’m afraid we were trespassing, weren’t we?”
Duncan muttered something to himself, and she decided to address no further remarks to him for the moment.
She had half expected to run into Urquhart himself on the way to the boat, but there had been no sign of him. The great hall and the room in which he had received her the night before had looked terribly shabby with the June sunlight streaming through the deep-set windows and picking out the flaws in the rugs and curtains. It was obvious Jean was not house-proud, for the furniture all needed a thoroughly good polish, and most of it had a film of dust on it. The books on the bookshelves looked as if they were inches deep in dust.
And yet Alaine, the night before, had been sitting before his lordly fire in some state, wearing the conventional evening dress of his kind with much dignity, and profiting enormously from the contrast of dark blue velvet and well-preserved lace. The dark blue velvet had looked reasonably new, and his kilt was not a well-worn one. If he was financially insecure—and judging by the condition of the Tower he was—he did not neglect to maintain the elegance of his person.
Which could indicate an extreme amount of fastidiousness so far as anything that touched him closely was concerned.
“Do you make many trips across to the mainland in the course of a day?” she asked, as she noticed that they were drawing in towards the jetty on the opposite shore.
Duncan looked surprised that she should ask such a question.
“Nae mair than we need,” he answered, as if it was beyond him to understand why anyone should wish to separate themselves from the island of Ure unless it was strictly necessary. “I fetch the post i’ the morning, and the master comes across to buy stores or for a meal at the inn. Sometimes I take him to pick up the London train at the junction.”
“Oh, then he goes to London sometimes?” sounding surprised.
“Of course.” Duncan glared at her. “Why not? He has business to which he must attend sometimes in London.”
Amanda did not waste any time once the boat tied up, but made for the inn. Duncan had made it clear that he could allow her an hour, but no longer, and she had all Judy’s clothes to pack, as well as her own. Whenever Judy moved in she unpacked everything, and her things would be littered all about the room she had occupied for such a short time.
The landlady looked surprised—as well she might, Amanda thought—when told that the two rooms would be no longer required, and that Amanda wished to settle the bill. When told that they were staying on Ure for a few days because Miss Macrae had strained her ankle she didn’t look so much surprised as intrigued.
“Well now, that’ll give Jean something to do,” she said. “The last time Mr. Urquhart entertained visitors at the Tower her cooking was so bad that he had to bring them across here for their meals.”
Amanda muttered something about Jean providing them with a very good breakfast, and bent over the cheque-book she had extracted from her bag.
“How much?”
“Och, that’ll just be the one night and the lunch you had yesterday.” She watched the girl busily writing the cheque, and as it was already signed she realised that she was merely acting upon instructions from Miss Macrae. Miss Macrae was the young la
dy with the money, as everything she wore, and everything that accompanied her on her travels, proclaimed. Her suitcases all matched, and were of lightweight morocco with her initials in gold on most of them. She had a fur coat that had made the landlady’s mouth water when she saw it for the first time, just as her slim-fitting slacks and her expensive pullovers had made her mouth water. And the dinner dress in which she appeared during her one night’s stay at the hotel.
Now she said curiously, with a kind of relish in her voice:
“Your friend’s an Australian, isn’t she? I suppose they make all their money out of sheep?”
“Something like that,” Amanda answered a little distantly.
“She asked so many questions about Ure and Urquhart’s Tower that we wondered whether she was thinking of buying it,” the innkeeper's wife continued. Amanda looked blankly at her.
“I’m afraid I’m not really in her confidence,” she replied.
“Would you be a sort of secretary-companion to her?”
“No, I’m a friend. We went to school together.”
“And you don’t know whether she’s interested in the Tower?”
“No.”
The landlady smiled suddenly.
“Mr. Urquhart would know, of course.” She jerked her head. “He’s over there, in the bar.”
Amanda gave one almost startled glance over her shoulder at the door of the bar that was standing open, failed to catch even a glimpse of her host, and hastily returned Judy’s cheque-book to her handbag and made for the stairs.
“I’ll go up now and pack,” she said.
Once she reached her room she decided to change before returning to the island, and put on a pair of navy-blue slacks and a chunky white sweater that had a high polo collar. It had been distinctly chilly coming across in the boat from the island, and the raincoat she had worn the night before was still soaked with the mist that had drenched it.
She would have liked to take a shower in the well-fitted bathroom before changing, but she decided she hadn’t time. So she contented herself with combing her hair and powdering her face—very lightly, because it interfered with the light tan she was acquiring, and had started to acquire in Australia—decided against anything but the merest application of lipstick, and then went downstairs to the hall where her own and Judy’s luggage was piled up.
What Duncan was going to say when he saw it she disliked to think, but she felt certain he would have something pretty dour to say. And then as she paused to tie a head-scarf over her hair and check her appearance in a mirror a man emerged from the bar behind her and came up and smiled at her reflected image.
“Charming,” he remarked smoothly. “Better than bloodstains on your cheek and briars in your hair. By the way, how is that graze on your cheek this morning? Unless you’ve camouflaged it very skilfully it has vanished overnight.”
Amanda turned and felt herself flushing under his quizzical, night-dark gaze. He was no longer dressed like a Highlander. In fact, he looked like any well-dressed man in tweeds that had been cut by a first-class tailor, and who had a weakness for impeccable linen. But even so, there was something that set him apart from any ordinary well-dressed man ... his distinction, his air of being a trifle alien. There was nothing of the raw Scot about him. He might have been a courtier at the time of Scottish Mary, with French blood in his veins.
And no doubt he had French blood in his veins, which accounted for the name of Alaine.
“I ... thank you, but it was never anything more than a graze.” Secretly she shuddered to think what she must have looked like when he set eyes on her for the first time last night. Whereas Judy had managed to remain presentable, she must have looked like some kind of a lost waif. “I’m afraid I gave you a bit of a shock last night, Mr. Urquhart—”
“Not at all,” he assured her. “You merely looked a little wet and woebegone. By the way, I see you’ve been collecting your luggage. Won’t you come in and have a drink before we return to Ure?”
She answered hastily, “I don’t think so. I don’t think I’ve got time.”
One of his dark eyebrows arched itself.
“You’re thinking of Duncan? But he’ll wait, of course. It’s his job to wait until I’m completely ready for him. And I’m not ready yet.”
He led the way into the comfortably furnished lounge, and signalled the waiter.
“What will you have?”
“Some coffee if it wouldn’t be any trouble.”
Urquhart smiled.
“You’re abstemious, Miss Wells.” And somehow Amanda couldn’t remember at what moment of time they had officially introduced themselves. “Of course you can have coffee, and of course it won’t be any trouble.” He had the air of a man who never expected any wish of his own to be looked upon by anyone as likely to involve trouble. And if it did involve trouble that was too bad.
Which was a little surprising considering the mouldering island tower that was his home.
Amanda thanked him automatically.
“You’re coming with us?” she asked.
“Of course. A host mustn’t neglect his guests.”
“I’m afraid we’re two guests who have more or less forced ourselves upon you, Mr. Urquhart,” she apologised.
He made a gesture with his hand which dismissed any such thing. She noticed that he still wore the handsome signet ring on his little finger.
“Nonsense,” he said. “As a matter of fact, life is rather dull sometimes on Ure, and new faces dropping in, out of the blue, as it were, are quite welcome.” There was a certain dryness in his tone, despite the attractive smile that curved his lips, and she realised that he would have said something similar even if the interruption had been most unwelcome—which it probably was.
“My friend was determined to get close to the Tower,” she explained. “It’s been a kind of obsession with her to visit Scotland, and the island of Ure.”
“And now that she’s seen it do you think she is very much impressed?” He had offered her a cigarette, which she had refused, and was now lighting one for himself, and was directing a fragrant puff of smoke at the ceiling.
“I’m sure she is,” Amanda answered cautiously.
He smiled and flicked ash from his cigarette into the ash-tray.
“She is a very attractive young woman, your friend,” he remarked. “A beauty by any standards, I suppose ... and an Australian! Are there many like her in Australia?”
Amanda shrugged her shoulders.
“I’m afraid I don’t really know. I’ve only seen one small section of Australia.”
He looked at her through a faint haze of smoke. “You don’t have to tell me that you’re not Australian,” he said quietly. “You and Miss Judith Macrae are as unlike one another as chalk is from cheese.”
She wondered whether she ought to feel offended, and decided that it didn’t really matter. He need not have gone out of his way to make it clear to her how vastly he considered her appearance differed from the exquisite Judith, but she was used to being overlooked, sometimes completely overlooked, when Judy was around, or being discussed, or anything of that sort, and therefore she merely looked a little wry as she acknowledged the chasm between them.
“As a matter of fact, Judy and I went to school together,” she explained. “I don’t know quite why, since we’ve very little in common, but we kept in touch after we left school, and when my father died and I was left with very little money Judy invited me to go out and stay with her in Australia. Then, while I was there, she developed this passion to visit Scotland, and as she is paying all my expenses I came along with her. I’m afraid it was my fault that she sprained her ankle last night. I was so anxious not to miss the boat and to get back to the mainland that she ran off and left me and came to grief in your wood. It’s not a bad sprain,” diffidently, “but I suppose she ought to rest it for a few days?”
He nodded, a trifle abstractedly.
“Of course,” he said. “I made that cl
ear to her last night.”
“And it isn’t terribly inconvenient ... having us?”
He turned his head towards her and his dark eyes appeared to melt for a fraction of a second.
“It’s not in the least inconvenient.”
She toyed with the crease in the left leg of her navy-blue slacks.
“It’s putting your servants to quite a lot of trouble, and I’m afraid Judy is so used to having people wait on her that she never thinks of the trouble she might be causing ... although, of course,” hastily defending Judy, “she doesn’t mean to give trouble. And I must admit she’s thrilled with the idea of staying at Ure. It seems to hold a kind of fascination for her.”
“And you?” he asked. “Does the old Tower appeal to you, or are you merely appalled by its shabbiness?”
“Oh, no!” she answered, at once. “As a matter of fact, I think it’s got so many possibilities that it fascinates me. I can quite understand why Judy is fascinated. A little money spent on it—”
She broke off, feeling horrified because that sounded rude.
“Yes; go on,” he said, watching her with a flicker of amusement in his eyes as well as a certain intentness.
She met his eyes fully with her warm golden-brown ones, and they apologised for her.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” she admitted, “although Judy wouldn’t hesitate to say it. She’ll probably tell you, before she leaves, all the things that could be done to improve the Tower, structurally as well as artistically, if a large sum of money was spent on it. She has the money, therefore she thinks in terms of money and all that it can provide. Naturally, since you choose to live in the Tower, you like it as it is—”
At that he put back his head and laughed, and it was such a genuinely amused and almost boyish laugh that it removed an oppressive sense of guilt she was suffering from at that moment.
“My dear Miss Wells,” he said, “or don’t you think I might be permitted to call you Amanda if you’re to be my guest for a few days?—you’re shrewd enough, I’m sure, to have arrived at the only satisfactory explanation of the reason why I continue to live at Ure while it’s more or less disintegrating about my ears. Only someone seriously short of funds would risk having the Tower fall down on his head rather than have something done about it I’m painfully aware of all its deficiencies, but it happens to be my home and I suppose I shall go on living there until it really does fall down, or I’m lucky enough to acquire a fairy godmother who’ll wave a magic wand and have everything put right for me! Even Duncan’s wages paid in full ... and I’m afraid they’re nearly always in arrears.”
Bride of Alaine Page 3
