‘Since you cooked all this, it’s only fair that I should wash the dishes,’ Heather offered as she gathered the plates and cups.
Claire checked her watch. ‘We’re not going to get time to get showered and dressed and do the dishes before we go out. Let’s just stack them in the sink and leave them until we come back.’
‘Where are we going?’ Heather asked, collecting the knives and forks.
‘Mass at the Cathedral – I thought you might like to go there for a change.’
‘I didn’t realise you went to Mass,’ Heather said, suddenly feeling herself start to blush. She had already talked with her mother about the situation of Mass when she was at Claire’s, and Sophie had said not to mention it as it might make Claire feel awkward. She said quietly, and out of Fintan’s earshot, that missing church for one week wouldn’t be the end of the world.
‘I go most Sundays,’ Claire said smiling. ‘And Andy often comes with me as well.’ She lifted the butter dish to put back in the fridge. ‘We’ve met a nice priest who’s sympathetic to mixed marriages and we’re hoping to have our marriage blessed some time.’
Heather’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I didn’t realise . . . I thought you’d completely left the Church.’
‘I may have left the church in Rowanhill,’ Claire said, ‘but I never left the Church completely. It was just the way things happened when Andy and I wanted to get married. None of the Catholic churches around were prepared to do the service for us, so we went ahead and got married in a register office.’
‘I don’t think my daddy or anybody knows that,’ Heather said, ‘and I’m sure Mona doesn’t think that.’
‘Nobody asked,’ Claire told her. ‘The minute they heard that Andy wasn’t a Catholic they just turned their back on me – they weren’t interested in the details.’
‘Will you tell them when you get the blessing?’
Claire shrugged and gave a wry little smile. ‘I don’t know . . . if they couldn’t accept me marrying him before, I don’t know if I want them to accept him now just because the Church recognises our marriage and he attends Sunday Mass with me. Andy McPherson is the same man now as he was when they first met him.’
After Mass they drove out to a huge art gallery on the outskirts of Glasgow where they spent a few hours, and then they came back in time for Claire to finish preparing an evening meal for Andy’s return.
The phone was ringing as they came in the door and Claire rushed to answer it. She chatted for a few moments then came back into the kitchen where Heather had started the washing-up.
‘That was Andy,’ she said, her face beaming. ‘He’s just leaving Edinburgh now and he said we have an extra two for dinner. He’s bringing two men out who are staying the night in Glasgow. Apparently the company have booked them into a hotel and it doesn’t do an evening meal.’
Heather looked startled. ‘Do you mind? Will you have time to get it all ready?’
‘It’s fine,’ Claire said, ‘and it’s already half-made. I usually cook enough meat to last us two days, so the two men can have Monday’s dinner. I don’t like wasting time cooking when Andy’s just arrived home so I do it in advance. I like to be able to sit down and have a drink and a chat with him when he gets in, so’s we can catch up on what we’ve both been up to.’ She went over to a large casserole dish on top of the cooker. ‘The beef is cooked from last night, so I just have to make the sauce and do the vegetables.’
‘Do you want me to help with anything?’ Heather asked.
Claire thought for a minute. ‘You could cut me up some fresh fruit if you don’t mind, and then I’ll get you to beat me up some egg whites to make up meringues. We’ll put them all together with fresh cream and it’ll make a nice dessert.’ She pursed her lips together, thinking. ‘Oh, I’ve got a fresh apple tart in the cupboard as well, so I think we’ve got plenty of everything.’
Two hours later the dining-table at the end of the long sitting-room was all set with the best cutlery and china, and Heather had put linen napkins at each place along with Claire’s best crystal wine glasses. The casserole and vegetables were keeping hot in the oven, and there was a bottle of Italian red wine in the middle of the table and a chilled bottle of German white. Heather stood back to admire her handiwork, thinking with some satisfaction that she would now know how to set a table properly, and she would be able to make a beef casserole and a fancy meringue dessert if she ever had to host a meal. Not that she could imagine those skills being called for in the foreseeable future. Claire looked at her watch, checking how much time they had before Andy and the others arrived. ‘I think we can treat ourselves to a glass of wine now, after all that hard work,’ she said, taking the bottle of wine they had opened last night out of the fridge. ‘And it might just help us to think of some scintillating conversation when we have Andy’s two work colleagues.’
Heather laughed. ‘I don’t think you’d ever get stuck for conversation, Claire. I think you could talk to anybody. You’re the most confident person I’ve ever met.’
‘They always say the Irish have the gift of the gab,’ Claire said, pouring wine into two of her more ordinary wine glasses. ‘But the confidence is something I’ve learned over the years – and there are still plenty of occasions where I look more confident than I actually feel.’ She handed Heather a glass, lifted her own and said ‘cheers’, and then took a sip of the delicious cold wine.
‘How do you do it?’ Heather asked in amazement. ‘I’d love to always look confident at work and in all different kinds of situations . . . but I’m useless at pretending. How I feel is usually stamped all over my embarrassed face.’ She sipped at her wine, finding she was getting used to the taste and was enjoying it more.
‘The trick is to just keep calm and smile,’ Claire told her, jokily demonstrating a sophisticated little smile. ‘And to say absolutely nothing until you’re sure of your ground.’
‘When I get embarrassed,’ Heather said, ‘I just end up saying the first stupid thing that comes into my head . . .’
‘Well, next time it happens,’ Claire told her, ‘just make sure you keep calm and smile!’
Then they both shouted out together ‘and say nothing!’ Then they both went into giggles of laughter.
‘There’s another little tip I should tell you,’ Claire said, as they stood chatting. ‘Always take the time to put on a little bit of mascara and some lipstick if you’re going to be in a situation where people might be looking at you. It helps you to feel more confident, and it just gives you that little edge.’ She shook her head. ‘It would amaze you the number of women who don’t make the effort to look their best, when a few minutes makes all the difference.’
Heather took a drink of her wine. ‘Well, I’m going to take your advice right now,’ she said, ‘and put on a little bit of make-up, because I’m absolutely terrified at the thought of having dinner with Andy and the other two businessmen.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly!’ Claire said. ‘I was talking about when you were in a work situation or something like that – you look lovely as you are already. I wasn’t suggesting that you needed to do anything to improve yourself now.’
‘I know that,’ Heather said, smiling back at her. ‘But since we have a few minutes to spare I think I’ll just go and tidy myself up a little bit.’
She went into the bedroom and on an impulse changed from her plain black skirt and cream blouse into the new skirt and soft grey sweater that Claire had bought her yesterday. She sat in front of the mirror and brushed out her glossy chestnut hair then put on a light coat of foundation, some brown mascara and a slick of lipstick. She studied herself for a few seconds, then she went back into her little make-up bag and took out an eye-shadow palette and brushed her eyelids over with a light bronze powder that she knew would really emphasise the hazel-brown of her eyes.
‘You look great!’ Claire told her when she went back into the kitchen. ‘The colours make you look all warm and soft – very femin
ine.’
Just at that, the doorbell sounded and Andy’s key could be heard turning in the lock, followed by the sound of men’s laughter. As Claire rushed out from the kitchen and down the hallway to meet them, Heather finished the last couple of mouthfuls of her wine. Then, she took a deep breath and hoped that she would remember to smile and stay calm if she felt overwhelmed in the strange company of these mature businessmen.
She could hear Claire chatting away to them in the hallway, and then she could hear her showing them into the sitting-room. Heather stood still in the kitchen now, wondering whether she should go and meet them or whether she should wait until somebody came for her. She decided to wait.
A few moments later she heard Claire’s heels tapping towards the kitchen. ‘Heather,’ she called, ‘you must come and meet everyone.’
Heather followed her aunt back into the sitting-room, where the two guests were politely on their feet waiting to be introduced. Feeling self-conscious amongst all the strangers – because she hardly knew Andy that well – she kept her gaze lowered and was only aware of an immediate impression of typical businessmen: formal dark suits with white shirts and sober ties.
‘Hello, Heather!’ Andy said in a very hearty manner, a welcoming smile on his face. He motioned to the shorter of the two men, a pleasant-looking, sandy-haired man in his fifties who immediately came forward with his hand outstretched. ‘This is Tony Ballantyne.’
‘Delighted to meet you, Heather,’ he said. ‘You’re Andy’s niece, I believe?’
‘Actually, she’s Claire’s niece,’ Andy told him, then guided her over towards the younger man. ‘And this is Tony’s son – Paul Ballantyne.’ Jokingly, he tapped his finger on the side of his nose. ‘A great asset to his father’s business.’
Ballantyne – Heather instinctively reacted to the name. They were obviously not Catholics with such a Scottish-sounding name. Too many years of hearing people like Mona analysing the Irish Catholics and Scots Protestants had obviously left their mark. She lifted her gaze and found herself looking at piercing blue eyes and probably the most handsome boy she had ever seen. His smiling, cheery face was topped by a thick but well-cut head of fair hair.
For just a second their eyes met and she suddenly felt all flustered and tongue-tied. She managed a vague smile, hoping that she looked calm and serene – the way that Claire had advised her. She glanced over to where Claire was standing, then realised her aunt had gone back into the kitchen.
‘Hello, Heather,’ Paul said, taking her hand and shaking it. His handshake felt warm and confidently firm for a young man. ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’
‘Hello,’ she said, making herself look up at the deep blue eyes again. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, too.’
Their gaze met fleetingly once again, but in that short time Heather felt a breathless, fluttery sensation in her chest and she had to quickly turn away.
‘Well now!’ Andy said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. ‘Let’s get you all settled down and I’ll bring everyone a drink. We deserve it after the work we’ve done over this weekend. Tony – whiskey and water?’
‘Perfect!’ Tony Ballantyne said, sitting down in one of the armchairs.
‘Paul – beer or wine?’ Andy asked.
‘A glass of beer would be great,’ Paul said, sitting down on the end of the sofa.
‘Heather!’ Andy suddenly said. ‘My apologies, dear – I should have asked you. Ladies first and all that.’
‘I’m OK, actually . . .’ Heather said, moving out towards the hallway. ‘I’ll just go into the kitchen now and see if Claire needs a hand.’ And as she turned away, she was acutely conscious of Paul Ballantyne’s eyes on her.
‘Go back in and chat to them,’ Claire told her in the kitchen. ‘Everything’s under control here.’
‘Oh, no,’ Heather whispered. ‘I couldn’t . . . not with three businessmen. I wouldn’t know what to say to them.’
Claire looked at her, her eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘But the younger one – Paul – must be around the same age as yourself.’
Heather took a deep breath. ‘I couldn’t . . .’ she repeated. ‘I’d rather just stay here until we’re taking the food through.’
‘OK,’ Claire said, nodding understandingly. ‘You can take that dish of roast potatoes and put it on the mats in the centre of the table, because they’ll probably need a few minutes to cool. And you’ll find serving spoons in the top drawer of the sideboard. I think four will probably be enough.’
‘Thanks, Claire, I feel better doing something.’ Heather said, lifting the dish. For a split second she wished she was like Kirsty. Chatting to the three men wouldn’t have bothered her in the slightest, and she probably would have been in there in the middle of them now, finding everything out about the good-looking Paul Ballantyne.
She walked back through to the sitting-room, trying to look relaxed and confident, which she certainly didn’t feel, only to find it silent and empty. Then she heard voices coming from the front door, and she could hear Tony Ballantyne asking about a building away in the distance. The high-up aspect of the house gave a good view of the surrounding area.
Heather put the dish of potatoes on the table and then went over to the sideboard to get the spoons.
‘It’s a lovely house, isn’t it?’
She turned around to find Paul Ballantyne standing casually at the sitting-room door, glass of beer in hand. The fluttery feeling started in her chest again. ‘Aye,’ she said, ‘it’s really lovely . . .’
‘Where d’you live yourself?’ he asked, coming across the room towards her.
‘Out near Motherwell,’ she said, ‘in a wee village called Rowanhill.’ She looked at him now, thinking that he really was a fine-looking fellow – and completely the opposite in looks to Gerry Stewart. Where Gerry had been of medium height and stocky, Paul Ballantyne was taller and slimmer, and of course fair-headed as opposed to dark.
He nodded, smiling straight at her. ‘I’ve been through there a few times. It’s near Wishaw and Cleland, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right,’ Heather said, thinking that he would know immediately that she didn’t live in a big fancy house like this. He would know that the houses in Rowanhill were mainly very plain houses, two or four to a block. She turned back to the sideboard now, looking for the serving spoons, and sure she could feel his eyes still on her.
He put his glass on the table then pulled out the carver chair at the top of the table, and sat down. ‘Do you come into Glasgow often?’
‘I don’t come out to this part that often,’ she said, ‘but I work in an office in the city centre, so I’m in every day.’ She found the spoons and went back to the table to place them in the centre.
‘Who do you work for?’ he said, sounding very interested.
Heather explained all about Seafreight and the work she did in the office, then he asked where exactly the office was, as he only really knew the Central Station and Queen Street Station and the main shopping areas.
‘What about at night?’ he asked. ‘Do you come in for the dancing or the picures or shows or anything?’
‘Occasionally,’ she hedged, wondering if the Christmas meal out with her office counted, because apart from that, she had only been in the once for the show with Sarah. ‘I came in just after Christmas and stayed the night with a friend out in Govanhill.’ She halted. ‘You have to be careful travelling in and out on trains now with that fella still on the loose.’
Heather felt herself beginning to relax a little more now. Although he was handsome, he was actually quite easy to talk to, especially for someone who obviously had an important job. In fact, his manner was so down-to-earth she was sure that if she had met him in her office or somewhere ordinary like that, she wouldn’t have felt at all intimidated by him.
Paul Ballantyne nodded. ‘We live up in Edinburgh, and although there’s been no evidence of the same man being around out there, Mother still worries about
my two younger sisters. I suppose you never know . . . and you can’t blame parents for worrying.’ He paused for a moment, his blond head tilted thoughtfully to the side. ‘Do you like working in Glasgow?’
‘Aye,’ Heather said, wondering why he was so fascinated by the city. ‘I love it. I enjoy the fact that it’s lively and friendly, and I like being near the big shops and everything.’
‘I think that’s more a female priority than a male’s,’ he said, raising his eyebrows and laughing.
Heather caught her breath as she watched him. He really was very attractive – and he had something that she hadn’t found in too many lads before. He was both very nice to look at and obviously intelligent and entertaining and interesting to talk to. So far he seemed to have all the things she would look for in a boyfriend. But she wondered what he would be like if she really got to know him. She wondered if after a while the flaws would start to show – the way they had with Gerry.
‘The reason I’m so interested in Glasgow,’ Paul said now, dropping his voice and glancing towards the doorway, ‘is that I’m going to be moving there in the next couple of weeks, and I don’t actually know that many people.’ He rolled his eyes and laughed. ‘Actually, I don’t know anybody apart from Andy and his wife – and I certainly don’t know anybody around my own age . . .’ He looked at her now. ‘Andy has been good enough to offer me to stay here with them for a few weeks until I get a flat or something sorted.’
Heather’s heart lifted at this news, as it meant she would probably see him again if she was out visiting. ‘That will give you a good start,’ she ventured. ‘Give you a chance to get to know Glasgow and decide where you want to live.’
‘I was just thinking,’ he went on, a slight hesitancy suddenly evident in his manner, ‘maybe we could meet up for lunch or something like that when I do start? Would you mind?’
The Grace Girls Page 49
