by Jessica Hart
‘Skye, you don’t seem to realise that we’re going to the country,’ said Lorimer through his teeth. ‘We’re going to be tramping over muddy fields and negotiating with tough old farmers, not taking part in some fashion show. You’re going to look out of place as it is, without going over the top with cosmetics.’
‘Well, if I’m going to look that out of place, a dab of lipstick isn’t going to make much difference, is it?’ Skye said rather indistinctly as she blotted her lipstick carefully with a tissue. ‘Besides, I feel better if I’ve got some on.’ Lorimer stared at her in baffled frustration as she snapped the lid back on the lipstick, dropped it back in her bag and smiled brightly at him. ‘It’s green,’ she said kindly, pointing at the traffic light.
The cars banked up behind them were already tooting their horns impatiently. ‘You’re so superficial,’ said Lorimer, grinding the gears in his bad temper at having been caught unawares. ‘You don’t seem to think of anything but your appearance. ‘I shall be glad when Moira takes over from you and I can have a secretary who’s capable of thinking about something other than herself for a change.’
‘Moira was wearing make-up at Fleming’s,’ Skye said, nettled. ‘I didn’t notice you giving her a lecture about being superficial!’
‘Moira wasn’t at work. You are. This isn’t just a jaunt into the countryside, Skye. It’s taken me a long time to set up this deal and I don’t want you jeopardising all my negotiations with some flippant remark. It’ll be bad enough taking another English girl down as it is. God knows what the Buchanans will think when they clap eyes on you!’
‘Honestly, anyone would think I were some kind of alien!’
‘An alien might be a little more predictable than you seem to be. As far as I can see, your approach to life is completely illogical.’
‘We can’t all be programmed to think like computers,’ Skye protested. ‘Millions of people are illogical. It doesn’t make us freaks.’
They had been inching along behind a double-decker bus, but Lorimer managed to overtake it at last. ‘You can’t tell me millions of people would drop everything to follow a man who was patently uninterested in them!’
Skye flushed. ‘Who says Charles isn’t interested in me?’
‘Is he?’
There was a short silence. Skye looked out of the window at the solid Edinburgh houses with their austere facades that gave little hint of the warmth and comfort within. Like Lorimer, she thought irrelevantly, with his stern mouth and his forbidding frown and his ability to turn her emotions upside-down with the merest touch. How could she tell him that she hadn’t given Charles a thought since that devastating kiss?
‘I haven’t given up hope,’ she said stiffly. Let Lorimer think that she was still hooked on Charles. She had few enough defences against him as it was; she couldn’t let her pride crumble too.
‘Ever obsessed,’ Lorimer sneered. ‘I can’t think what you see in him. He seems a cold fish to me.’
‘That’s good coming from you!’
‘What makes you think I’m cold, Skye?’ Lorimer cast a brief sideways glance at her averted profile as they reached the dual carriageway and he accelerated out of the traffic. ‘Did you think I was cold when I kissed you?’
Skye felt a humiliating wave of colour sweep up her throat to stain her cheeks scarlet. ‘I would have thought you’d want to forget that particular episode,’ she managed with difficulty at last.
‘Would you?’ he said unhelpfully, and in spite of herself Skye’s eyes flickered across to meet his. His expression was quite unreadable.
‘Well, I want to forget about it,’ she said, as if to convince herself.
‘Why? You enjoyed it…and don’t try and deny it,’ he added as Skye opened her mouth to try and deny it.
‘Why should I enjoy being kissed by you when I’m in love with Charles?’ she asked, stung by the cool mockery in his voice.
‘Perhaps it means you’re not in love with him at all.’
‘I hope you’re not suggesting I’m in love with you?’ said Skye furiously.
‘I hardly think that’s likely,’ said Lorimer with another cool look. ‘It certainly won’t get you very far if you are! You need to find a long-suffering type who’s prepared to put up with you.’
‘I don’t need anybody.’ Skye didn’t know whether she felt more hurt or angry. ‘I’m perfectly happy on my own.’
‘No one would guess it from the way you carry on. You pursue Charles Ferrars four hundred miles, and then when he gives you no encouragement you start on my staff.’
‘Your…?’ Skye gaped at him, astonishment momentarily conquering her anger. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’ve seen you chatting up every male in the office. You’re all smiles and laughs and fluttering eyelashes with them.’ A sudden suspicion that the strange note in his voice was jealousy flashed through Skye’s mind, only to be instantly dismissed. He would never have been able to mock the suggestion that she might be in love with him if he was jealous. He could hardly have made it clearer that the very idea appalled him.
‘I do not flutter my eyelashes,’ she said crossly. ‘I’m just being friendly.’
‘What about all these invitations to go out in the evening? I suppose an office doesn’t give you enough scope! You always seem to be going out with someone or other.’
Skye was surprised that he had even noticed. ‘Haven’t you ever heard of a social life?’
‘I just don’t want you upsetting anyone. They were all quite happy before, but you’ve stirred them all up. Girls like you always mean trouble. Next thing, I’ll have all my men at each other’s throats over your big blue eyes!’
The big blue eyes in question were flashing dangerously. ‘The occasional trip to the pub is hardly likely to upset anyone! You just don’t like the idea of your staff enjoying themselves.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he snapped. ‘The only thing I don’t like is the sight of a woman going all out to get a man.’
Skye gave an exasperated sigh. She wished she had never told Lorimer about her crush on Charles. ‘I’m surprised you could bear to bring me along with you on this trip,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Aren’t you afraid I’ll jump on the first man I meet?’
‘You’re not likely to have much success on this trip,’ said Lorimer. ‘You’ll remind people too much of Caroline.’
‘Caroline?’
‘She was the executive sent up from London by my original investors. I brought her down to Galloway to look at the site, but she managed to upset the Buchanans and alienate Duncan McPherson so completely that the whole deal fell through. The Buchanans have come round, but Duncan’s a stubborn old devil and he’s not likely to forgive the way Caroline treated him. I’m going to have to approach him very carefully. He owns the farm adjoining the Buchanans’ property and some of his fields which have been set aside because of overproduction would be perfect for another nine holes of the golf course. I’m keen to get hold of his land as an eighteen-hole course is essential for the sort of prestige development we’re aiming for, but Duncan won’t discuss anything on the phone, so I’m going to try and beard him in his den tomorrow. Whether he’ll be prepared to listen or not is another matter.’
‘What happens if he won’t?’
‘We could go ahead without him and have a nine-hole course, but I want this hotel to be up with the best, and that means eighteen holes.’
‘So if you can’t get this Duncan McPherson to agree to sell you his set-aside land, you might have to abandon the whole idea?’
‘That’s about it.’ Lorimer grimaced. ‘I’m convinced that I can turn the Buchanans’ house and grounds into a superb hotel and golf course, but it’s a question of getting all the different parties to agree. I’m so close to putting all the pieces together after Caroline’s disastrous intervention, but if I lose one bit, like Duncan McPherson’s land, the rest will fall apart again, and with it my reputation.’ His brows were drawn together
in concentration as he considered the problem. ‘I’ve spent years working my way to the top of the market, and changing direction like this means putting my reputation—and that of my firm—on the line, but it’s more than that in this case. Galloway is an area that means a lot to me. Making a success of this development is important to me personally as well as professionally, hence my reluctance to have you as my PA. I don’t want to risk offending anybody by giving them the idea that I’ve got another Caroline in tow.’
‘Am I so like her?’ Skye asked, not at all sure that she wanted to know the answer.
‘You’re English,’ he said as if that was all that mattered. ‘That’ll probably be enough to tar you with the same brush, but otherwise no, you’re not like her at all. Caroline was very smart, very efficient, very arrogant and utterly ruthless. She didn’t care whom she trampled on to get her own way.’ Lorimer’s voice was tinged with bitterness and Skye glanced at him. Had he been attracted to Caroline only to find himself disillusioned? It seemed unlikely; Lorimer wasn’t the kind of man who got trampled on. Still, it might explain his resentment of the English.
‘Was she attractive?’
Lorimer shrugged. ‘Very, if you like ice queens.’
‘She sounds just your type,’ said Skye grumpily. ‘Cool, smart, efficient… all the qualities you’re always complaining that I haven’t got.’
‘There’s a difference between efficiency and being hard as nails.’ Skye decided she had been wrong about the bitterness. Now he simply sounded bad-tempered. ‘You and Caroline are at two different extremes. She was ruthless, you’re hopeless, but when it comes to the kind of girl I would least like to have at my side on this trip it’s hard to choose between you. Frankly, I’d have preferred to have left you in Edinburgh, but I don’t see why I should pay you to sit around on your hands when I need an assistant down here.’ He glanced across at Skye. ‘I just hope you’ve realised how important it is for you to keep quiet and let me do the talking.’
Skye folded her hands virtuously and assumed a lofty expression.
‘You won’t even know I’m there,’ she promised and Lorimer sighed.
‘I’ll believe that when I see it!’
They drove past the source of the Tweed and on through bare yellow-brown hills. Skye spotted the occasional isolated farmhouse but otherwise the landscape was empty except for a scattering of resigned-looking sheep and the pine plantations slowly spreading dark green tentacles over the bleak grandeur. It all looked deceptively mellow in the pale sunshine, but she shivered as they passed the Devil’s Beef Tub, a huge, natural hollow in the hills where the Border thieves used to hide their stolen cattle and where the Devil reputedly laughed as he threw his victims from the top. Even on a bright day like this, the place had a brooding, sinister atmosphere, and she was glad that Lorimer didn’t stop the car.
Once down from the hills, the country was softer and more gentle. Trees lined the winding roads and the famous Belted Galloways with their wide white bands around their middles grazed contentedly in the fields. There was something so still and timeless in the way they stood, heads down, legs staggered, their black and white colouring striking against the Galloway green grass that Skye couldn’t help remembering the plastic cows on the toy farm her brothers had had when they were small.
They reached Glendorie at midday. The Buchanans lived in a great grey granite house outside the little village, and Skye could see instantly what a wonderful setting it would be for a hotel. The low hills behind rolled down into woodland, and the lawn in front of the house stretched down to the water which was too big to be a mere burn, too small to merit being called a river, although it was flowing high and fast today.
The Buchanans were a gentle couple in their late seventies, obviously rattling around in the huge house. They came out of the house as the car crunched over the gravel, accompanied by two black Labradors.
‘Now, remember, you’re to behave yourself,’ Lorimer reminded Skye as she reached for the door-handle. ‘And please don’t drink too much. We don’t want another performance like the one you gave at Fleming’s!’
‘Don’t worry,’ Skye flashed back with a challenging look. ‘I wouldn’t risk a repetition of what happened afterwards!’ Pinning a bright smile on her face, she got out of the car before he had a chance to reply.
She was determined to show Lorimer that she was more than capable of appearing quietly aloof, but her impression of dignified reserve was immediately ruined by the two Labradors who bustled up excitedly to greet her. Ignoring Angus Buchanan’s embarrassed attempt to call them off, they thrust their heads under her hand until she laughed and patted their sleek coats.
‘Oh, dear, you’ll be covered in dog hairs now,’ said Isobel Buchanan apologetically as she pushed the dogs aside and shook Skye’s hand. ‘I hope you don’t mind the dogs?’
‘Of course not.’ Skye smiled at her, warm and friendly and transparently honest. ‘We always had Labradors at home. They’re lovely dogs, aren’t they?’
‘They obviously like you, anyway.’ Angus Buchanan turned from greeting Lorimer to eye Skye with undisguised approval. ‘Always a good judge of character, dogs.’
‘As long as they haven’t ruined that smart outfit.’ His wife had been studying her guest’s striking appearance with some alarm, but was evidently relieved when Skye only laughed.
‘Lorimer would say it just served me right if they had,’ she confessed. ‘He wanted me to wear a twin set and pearls or some scratchy tweed.’
Reassured, Mrs Buchanan smiled back. ‘There’s plenty of time for twin sets and tweeds when you get older. I like to see young people dressing with a bit of style.’
Skye was unable to resist shooting Lorimer a look of triumph. ‘You’re supposed to be fading into the background,’ he hissed in her ear as they went into the comfortable sitting-room.
Skye tried. She really tried, but the Buchanans had evidently decided to trust their dogs’ judgement and plied her with questions. Before long, Skye was chatting happily away, a sedate glass of sherry in her hand, fondling the Labradors’ ears as she admired photographs of the Buchanan grandchildren in Australia.
‘Another sherry, Skye?’
Angus Buchanan was standing over her, beaming. Behind him, Lorimer sent her a minatory look which Skye had no difficulty in interpreting as an order to refuse politely and shut up. Meeting his gaze with a bland smile, she held out her glass. ‘How lovely! Thank you!’
She was in sparkling form over lunch, and the Buchanans were clearly delighted with her. Lorimer, unable to shout at her as he was undoubtedly longing to do, sat looking increasingly boot-faced and seized the first opportunity after coffee to drag her out of the room.
‘Would you mind if I took Skye with me to look round the house? I’d like to take a few measurements.’
‘Of course, of course.’ Angus clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Enjoying ourselves so much, we’d forgotten you were here on business! You must forget yourself with a delightful assistant like Skye around! No, you carry on. Go wherever you like.’
‘Skye?’ Lorimer stood impatiently at the door and spoke her name through clenched teeth but Skye, with two sherries and a glass of wine under her belt, only finished her coffee with an infuriating lack of haste.
She put down her cup and got to her feet with a wink at Angus. ‘Coming, oh, master!’
All the way up the grand staircase she had to listen to the furious tirade that Lorimer had been bottling up over lunch. She was an appalling exhibitionist. Why couldn’t she ever do what she was told? She had deliberately set out to make him look ridiculous. She was flippant, unbusinesslike, thoroughly untrustworthy, absolutely impossible.
Suspecting that he was merely cross that he had been proved so wrong about the Buchanans hating her just because she was English, Skye bore it patiently and waited until he had got it all out of his system. Sure enough, when they reached the top of the stairs, Lorimer stopped as if he had abruptly run out of steam a
nd looked down at her.
Quite unperturbed by his savage denunciation of her character, Skye wisely said nothing but merely gave him a sunny smile, her eyes a bright, guileless blue. Lorimer struggled, but in the end even he wasn’t proof against their dancing appeal. ‘You’re hopeless,’ he said with a sudden, exasperated grin, and took her arm to lead her down the corridor.
Strangely enough, Lorimer’s tirade had cleared the air, and Skye felt unaccountably light-hearted as he showed her round the house. Upstairs, the rooms were in a poor state of repair and most of Lorimer’s notes were to do with the immediate alterations and restoration that would be necessary. The Buchanans had admitted over lunch that the maintenance of the house had become too much for them to cope with. Both their children were living overseas, and much as they had loved it the house was now a burden they were anxious to get rid of, as long as there were no more of the complications that had upset them so much before.
‘The property ends at the burn there.’ Lorimer was standing in the embrasure of a bedroom window and Skye joined him there to peer in the direction of his pointing finger. ‘Duncan McPherson’s land lies on the other side. You can see what a difference it would make if that were to be included in the complex. The first tee would be over there and the course would go up and around the side—’ he gestured ‘—and end up back here at the eighteenth green. It could be a first-class course if I can only persuade Duncan to sell.’
Skye looked rather doubtfully over the water. ‘What if he just doesn’t want to sell his land?’
‘He got as far as considering the idea before Caroline threw a spanner in the works, so I don’t think it’s got any particular sentimental value. The fields aren’t worth much as they are, and frankly Duncan could probably do with the money, but you’d never get him to admit as much.’
‘We all have our pride,’ Skye pointed out.
