Читать книгу Heir To Glengyle - Miriam Macgregor - Страница 4

CATHIE CAMPBELL inhaled a breath of clear Scottish air as she stood on the balcony of the impressive Crieff Hydro hotel. Below her lay a section of its extensive gardens, and beyond them the town of Crieff, built on the River Earn in Perthshire, and gateway to the Highlands, clung to its steep hillside streets.

Gazing at the distant scene, she made an effort to etch it into her memory, because her period in Scotland would be limited; within a few days she would be on the other side of the world, at home in New Zealand.

It was her mother’s last letter that had sent Cathie to Crieff, pleading with her to make a duty call. ‘Before you come home, please do try to visit Aunt Amy,’ Mavis Campbell had written. ‘She is my mother’s sister, and therefore your great-aunt. She’ll be terribly hurt if she hears you’ve reached Edinburgh and haven’t made the effort to go the extra distance to Crieff, which is only about fifty miles away, more or less.

‘I know you’ve never met her,’ the letter had continued, ‘but Gran is sure to tell her you’re in Scotland, and it’s a matter of family contact. You know how Gran goes on about family.’

Indeed, Cathie knew how Gran went on about family. It was an obsession with her. ‘The family is a unit,’ she was in the habit of expounding. ‘Members should be able to rely upon each other in times of need. There should be family loyalty to give the unit strength. It’s a matter of united we stand, divided we fall.’

Cathie smiled whimsically. Unfortunately there were too few families that could qualify for Gran’s standard of perfection. And then she thought of the last lines in her mother’s letter. ‘If you are running short of funds, dear, just give us a phone call and your father will arrange for money to be sent. We’ve missed you and will be glad to see you home in New Zealand.’

The offer of financial assistance was in keeping with Gran’s philosophy, but in this case it was unnecessary. Cathie had saved for her holiday in the United Kingdom, and she had not spent lavishly despite the numerous items she had longed to purchase. Nor would she have stayed for even one night at the costly Crieff Hydro had it not been for its close proximity to the street in which Great-Aunt Amy MacGregor lived, and the fact that she could walk there.

It was early afternoon when she set off to visit her elderly relative, and as she walked down the hill she tried to recall what she’d been told about her grandmother’s sister. But only vague snippets of conversation filtered back into her mind, reminding her that Amy was the widow of Peter MacGregor, who had been a businessman with fingers in numerous pies.

Amy had nursed his first wife until that woman’s death, and now she lived very comfortably on the income provided by what was known as the Glengyle Estate. What would happen to the estate after Amy’s death Cathie was unable to remember, but in the meantime she understood it provided sufficient money for Amy to employ a companion-help to assist in overcoming her soul-destroying condition of arthritis.

It did not take long for Cathie to reach her destination, and for a short time she stood on the opposite side of the street while examining the white two-storeyed house. Solidly constructed, and with chimneys rising from the two end gabled walls, its oblong design was relieved by dormer windows and a garage built on to one end. Hanging baskets filled with pink petunias and trailing blue lobelia removed any austerity from the front façde, while the small garden offered a colourful display of impatiens, or Busy Lizzies, as her grandmother called them.

She crossed the road and went towards the front door which had a single word above it. ‘Glengyle.’ And even as she raised her hand to press the bell she was gripped by the oddest premonition that she would find more than her great-aunt in this house. But of course you will, stupid—she has a companion, she reminded herself.

However, she was not prepared for the sight of the man who opened the door, and for several moments she stood staring at him while becoming aware that he was one of the most handsome men she had even seen. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had dark auburn hair which betrayed a touch of bronze where the afternoon sun fell across his brow. His brown eyes regarded her with interest while he waited for her to speak.

At last she found her tongue. ‘Does Mrs Amy MacGregor live here?’

‘Yes. May I tell her who is calling?’ His deep voice with its resonant ring was without trace of a Scottish accent.

‘Would you please tell her it’s Cathie Campbell from New Zealand?’

‘Campbell?’ The man frowned as a complete change of expression swept over his features. His jaw tightened and a cold light crept into his eyes. ‘Campbell?’ he repeated, as though the name belonged to an enemy.

‘I—I think she’ll know who I am,’ Cathie faltered, feeling slightly nonplussed by the intangible aura of antagonism that seemed to emerge from him.

His eyes took in details of her slim form, then moved from the curled ends of her wavy shoulder-length red hair to the tendrils framing her face. His gaze held her steady hazel eyes for several moments before he muttered in a cool tone, ‘Excuse me—I’ll see if she’s receiving visitors today.’

‘She’ll receive me—’ Cathie began, then found herself left standing at the door. ‘Especially after coming all this way,’ she mumbled audibly to herself, feeling vaguely irritated by this man’s offhand manner. Who was he? she wondered.

While waiting, she peeped into the hall, noticing that the floor was well carpeted, and that the walls were panelled. A large oil painting of the Scottish Highlands hung on one side of the hall, and an antlered stag’s head gazed sightlessly from the opposite wall. The solid hallstand and chair appeared to be of an earlier period, causing her to wonder if they were valuable antiques.

And then a woman came into the hall, her appearance giving Cathie a shock because of the strong likeness to her grandmother—except that on closer observation this person appeared to be slightly older and more frail. Also, her movements were slower, and she walked with the aid of a walking stick—but when she spoke her voice could have belonged to Gran.

‘Cathie—is it really you—one of my own people from so far away? Why Baird left you standing on the step I’ll never know.’

Fascinated, Cathie looked at the short wavy grey hair and at the bright blue eyes. Then she entered the hall and kissed her great-aunt.

She was then led to a living room where the sun filtered through windows to fall upon the two occupants of the room. One was a comfortably built middle-aged woman who Amy introduced as her companion, Elspeth Johnstone. The other was the Greek god who had opened the door to her, and who now sat at a table with several books spread before him. He stood up as they entered.

When introducing him Amy said, ‘This is my late husband’s grandson, Baird MacGregor. You should find plenty to talk about because he also comes from New Zealand.’ Then to Baird she explained, ‘Cathie is my sister’s grandchild.’

The man’s handsome face remained unsmiling. ‘You’ve been over here for so long, Amy—I’ve never thought of you as being a person with relatives of your own in New Zealand.’

Amy sighed. ‘I’ve only my sister and her daughter—and Cathie, whom I’m meeting for the first time, although of course I’ve heard about her in letters. My sister and I write to each other every fortnight. We keep in touch because we’ve so little in the way of real family.’

Cathie suppressed a smile. Family. Dear heaven—she had only to close her eyes and this was Gran speaking from across the miles.

Baird’s voice held a cool note as he spoke to Amy. ‘I’d have thought my parents and I could have been looked upon as family. My father was Grandfather’s only child, if you care to remember.’

A thought flitted through Cathie’s mind. His father—of course that was where the Glengyle Estate would go.

‘Yes, naturally I look upon you as family,’ Amy hastened to assure him. ‘But there isn’t the blood tie of a sister, and I never hear from any of you. There’s little or no contact. Besides, I’ve often wondered if there isn’t—’ The words faded as she fell silent.

‘If there isn’t—what, Amy?’ Baird regarded her intently.

Amy hesitated, then drew a deep breath as she said, ‘Well—if you want me to be frank, dear, “resentment” was the word I was about to use.’

He frowned. ‘Resentment? What are you talking about?’

Amy drew another deep breath, almost as if the discussion was beginning to cause her distress, her voice shaking slightly as she said, ‘You know exactly what I mean. If your grandfather hadn’t married me, the estate would have been wound up and paid out years ago—instead of which I have sat in the way.’ Then she sighed as she added, ‘That’s why I think your parents haven’t written to me.’

‘Then please understand that I’m here to rectify the omission,’ he told her gravely.

‘Thank you, dear. I was so pleased when you phoned from Bradford.’

Elspeth now spoke to Baird, her soft voice holding a strong Scottish accent. ‘If you’ll pardon my saying so, you appear to have been making much closer contact with the past than with the present.’

Baird sent her a level glance. ‘Are you hinting that I’ve been unsociable? You must appreciate that this has been my first real opportunity to examine my grandfather’s books.’ He then turned bleak eyes upon Cathie. ‘I’ve been absorbing details about the Campbell clan.’

Amy said hastily, ‘Baird is in the UK to examine machinery—’

But without allowing her to give further explanation Baird cut in, his voice holding a faintly sardonic ring, ‘So—your sister’s daughter married a Campbell?’

‘That’s right—and a fine fellow he is, or so I’m told.’

‘Really?’ Baird’s voice rang with something that sounded like incredulity.

Nor was the tone of it lost on Cathie, and, vaguely puzzled, she turned to regard Baird with eyes that were full of questions. Suppressed anger was niggling at this man, she realised, while the suspicion that it concerned herself left her feeling even more puzzled. She shot glances at her great-aunt and at Elspeth, and the fact that neither seemed anxious to meet her eyes only added to her bewilderment.

Perhaps it was the tense atmosphere that brought Elspeth to her feet. ‘I’ll make a pot of tea,’ she said hastily. ‘Amy always has tea in the afternoon. Could we have a wee bit of space on the table, Baird?’

Amy was quick to agree with her, and she now spoke firmly. ‘Yes, dear—it’s time you put those books away. You’ve been delving into them from the moment you arrived, and I don’t believe they’re doing you the slightest atom of good. In fact I’ve a strong suspicion they’re putting you into a very depressed state of mind.’

‘They’re making him live in the bad old days when the clans were at each other’s throats like wild dogs,’ Elspeth threw over her shoulder from the doorway.

Baird began to stack the books into a pile. ‘I’ll admit Scottish history is depressing,’ he said ruefully. ‘But I want to know about it. After all, it’s part of my heritage.’

‘Yes—yes, of course,’ Amy agreed.

He went on, ‘I’m thankful my grandfather’s books are here so that I can learn about the different clans. I trust you’ll take care of them, Amy.’

She became indignant. ‘Of course I’ll take care of them,’ she retorted sharply. ‘What are you afraid I’ll do? Sell them—?’

‘No, I don’t think you’d do that. It’s just that books go astray very easily, especially if they’re lent,’ he reminded her blandly.

‘Then be assured that I have no intentions of lending a single item that belongs to the Glengyle Estate.’ Her tone was still sharp.

Baird ignored her obviously ruffled feelings as he continued, ‘The clans appear to have been like large families who stuck together.’

‘The clans had to stick together, considering they spent most of their time fighting with their neighbouring clans, or with clans against whom they held a grudge,’ Amy pointed out drily. ‘In most cases they were as bad as each other, their sins lying six on one side and half a dozen on the other. But those events took place so long ago that, personally, I consider them better forgotten.’

‘I doubt I’ll forget some of the incidents recorded in these books,’ Baird gritted as he carried an armful towards the door. ‘Some of those villains stand out like black beacons,’ he added while flicking a glance towards Cathie.

She felt shaken. ‘I don’t think he likes me,’ she whispered to Amy when Baird had disappeared.

‘Nonsense, my dear. You’ve only just met. I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be abrupt with you.’

Cathie shook her head. ‘I can feel his antagonism.’

Amy kept her voice low. ‘I’m sure you’re mistaken. It’s just, as I said, he’s been positively steeping himself in the MacGregor clan history and parts of it have made him really angry. Just before you arrived, Elspeth and I feared he was working himself into a fine old rage while reading about the way in which the MacGregors had lost so many of their lands to the Campbells. There were the Glenorchy and the Glenlyon lands—’ She paused, her voice falling away as realisation dawned while staring at Cathie.

‘Yes, go on,’ Cathie prompted. ‘I’m beginning to understand.’

Amy swallowed but went on bravely, ‘Worst of all, there was the Glencoe massacre, which concerned the MacDonald clan.’

‘The—the massacre?’ Cathie licked dry lips, feeling suddenly apprehensive about what she was going to hear. Even in far-away New Zealand schoolchildren were told of the Glencoe massacre.

‘You see—Baird’s grandmother was a MacDonald,’ Amy said as though that explained everything. ‘And even his mother belonged to the clan—which means that Baird has a fair splash of MacDonald blood in his veins.’

Baird’s voice spoke from behind them. ‘Allow me to tell her about the affair, Amy. It would give me great pleasure to acquaint Miss Campbell with the facts of Glencoe.’

Cathie quailed beneath the harshness of his tone and the cold glitter in his eyes, but she said nothing.

Baird settled himself in a chair, and at that moment Elspeth came in with a trayload of afternoon tea. She placed it on the table and began to fill the cups.

Amy attempted to use it as an excuse to deter Baird. ‘Ah, tea,’ she said happily. ‘Shall we keep the story until later, Baird? You can’t talk with your mouth full of Elspeth’s delicious shortbread and oatcakes.’

But Baird was not to be diverted. ‘There’s no time like the present,’ he informed Amy smugly.

‘In any case, Cathie probably knows the story,’ Amy said in a resigned manner.

Baird’s mouth twisted into a mirthless grin. ‘I doubt that the family dine out on it,’ he said.

‘So why don’t you get it off your chest?’ Cathie put the query in a scathing tone, instinct warning that it was a story she had no wish to hear.

‘Right—I’ll do just that,’ he declared with barely concealed relish. ‘It happened in the February of 1692—’

‘Good grief—and you’re still simmering over it?’ Cathie cut in.

He ignored the interruption. ‘At that time, William of Orange sat on the English throne. He decreed that by a certain date an oath of allegiance must be sworn by all the Highland chiefs.’

‘Aye—those chiefs were a troublesome lot,’ Elspeth put in. ‘Especially the ones who wanted their own King James on the throne. Another piece of shortbread, Baird?’ she offered, passing the plate. ‘It acts well as a sweetener to the thoughts.’

Baird sent her a bleak glance. ‘Does it indeed? I’m afraid it would take more than an entire batch of shortbread to sweeten my thoughts at the moment, Elspeth.’ He drew a hissing breath then continued, ‘Old Ian MacDonald set off from Glencoe, which is a valley surrounded by mountainous hills in northern Argyll, but snowstorms and blizzards—plus the treachery of deliberately sending him to the wrong place—made him arrive three days after the appointed first of January.’

‘Poor old man,’ Amy said in a voice that was full of sympathy.

Baird went on, ‘Nearly a month later about a hundred and twenty-eight soldiers arrived at Glencoe. They billeted themselves on the MacDonalds, living on friendly terms with them for about twelve days and, needless to say, eating them out of house and home. Then, in the early hours of February the fourteenth, in the midst of a snowstorm, they arose and dragged the MacDonalds from their beds, murdering all who were unable to escape. Many who did escape died of starvation and exposure out in the snowstorm, but a few got away to tell the tale.’

The story made Cathie feel sick. She began to tremble, her hand shaking so badly that it was necessary to put her cup of tea down before the contents slopped into the saucer. She also knew that Baird watched her with a glint in his eyes, making her suspect that worse was to come. Nor was she mistaken.

‘The instigator of that ghastly massacre, and leader of the military group, was Captain John Campbell of Glenlyon,’ he said in a voice that gritted with bitterness.

Cathie almost shrank visibly. She fought to control the emotions that were threatening to bring tears, and were also preventing her from thinking clearly. Why was he doing this to her? He didn’t appear to be a man who would deliberately hurt a complete stranger, therefore he must have a reason.

The thought forced her to ask a question. ‘You were submerged in all this horror and blood on the snow just as I rang the doorbell?’

He drew another hissing breath. ‘I was up to my neck in it. It had got right into me until I was positively seething with a mad rage,’ he admitted bluntly, and in a voice that still rasped with inner fury.

‘And when you opened the door there was a hated Campbell standing on the mat. Right?’

‘Right,’ he snarled, still frowning.

Cathie’s confidence returned to her, then her lip curled as she said with derision, ‘Mr MacGregor—your body might portray a fine physique, but your mind is pathetic when it allows events of so long ago to send you up the wall.’

‘You don’t understand,’ he gritted. ‘I have blood ties with the MacDonald clan.’

‘So, on their behalf, you’re hitting out at me. I’m sure they’ll be most grateful,’ she added scornfully, then turned quickly to Amy. ‘Please forgive me, Great-Aunt Amy, but this had to be said, because from the moment of my arrival this man’s manner towards me has bordered on rudeness—and all because I happened to have been born a Campbell. Really—it’s quite ridiculous to be wallowing in what happened three hundred years ago.’

Amy looked at her in silence for several moments, and then all she said was, ‘Please don’t call me Great-Aunt. It makes me feel a hundred. Just call me Amy.’

A smile of relief lit Cathie’s face. She had expected her outburst to have annoyed Amy to the extent of being shown the door, but that didn’t seem to be the case. However, she said, ‘Thank you—I’d like to call you Amy, but I doubt there’ll be much opportunity before I leave for Edinburgh to catch a flight to Heathrow, and from there to New Zealand.’

Amy’s face reflected her disappointment. ‘My dear—I thought you’d spend at least a few days with me!’ she exclaimed in dismay. ‘Where’s your suitcase?’

‘It’s at the Crieff Hydro where I stayed last night. I’ll sleep there again tonight and leave in the morning.’

Elspeth spoke quietly. ‘Goodness—isn’t that a very expensive hotel?’

‘Yes—but in this case the expense was warranted because it was so near to here.’

Amy began to plead with her. ‘Cathie, dear, please stay with us for a few days. I’ll be so unhappy if you refuse to.’

Baird spoke to Amy, his voice holding undisguised satisfaction. ‘You’re forgetting that Miss Campbell’s flight will be already booked.’ He stared into his cup as though awaiting the result of this remark.

He doesn’t want me to stay here, Cathie thought, a surge of defiance rising within her.

Elspeth leaned forward, her grey eyes regarding Cathie intently. ‘Is it booked—or is it an open ticket?’ she queried.

Cathie hesitated, then admitted, ‘Actually, it’s a Singapore Airlines ticket, but the date is still open.’

‘There now, that settles it,’ Amy beamed. ‘You can’t possibly travel this distance just for a cup of tea. Besides, there’s so much I want to know about your grandmother—all the things she considers too trivial to put in letters. So will you please stay so that we can get to know each other?’

Cathie found it impossible to ignore the plea in the older woman’s voice, and she also knew that Amy was right in asserting that the distance and expense warranted staying for a longer period. Further, there was the fact that her refusal to stay with Amy for a few days would cause her mother and grandmother deep disappointment, so she said, ‘Yes—thank you, Amy, I’d love to have a short period with you—so long as Mr MacGregor can tolerate being under the same roof as a Campbell.’

The glance she flicked across the room showed that his face had become quite inscrutable. And if, as she suspected, he was bubbling with anger inside, it was completely hidden.

Amy appeared to be oblivious to the tension between them as, smiling happily, she said, ‘Now, about your suitcase; Baird will take you in the car to collect it—and he’ll fix everything else.’

Cathie was quick to protest. ‘That’s quite unnecessary,’ she assured Amy hastily. ‘I can manage it myself—’

Baird crossed the room and glared down into her face, his jaw tightening as he rasped, ‘Nevertheless I shall take you to collect it, and I trust you’ll come without further tantrums.’

‘Tantrums?’ Cathie returned his glare, the gold flecks in her hazel eyes flashing sparks as she flung at him, ‘It’s just that I wouldn’t like you to break an arm while lifting a case for a Campbell, Mr MacGregor.’

Amy showed signs of agitation. ‘My goodness, is this how young New Zealanders go on these days? One would almost imagine you didn’t like each other.’

Words that would excuse their behaviour and lighten the situation evaded Cathie, who found herself saying, ‘I’m afraid that some of the men from Down Under get beyond themselves, especially if they imagine they have a girl at a disadvantage.’

Baird gave a short laugh. ‘As for the women, some of them have tongues as sharp as butchers’ knives—especially the redheads,’ he added cynically.

The silence following his words was broken by a sigh that came from Amy. ‘It would please me greatly if you’d both try to be friends,’ she said in a pathetic voice that held a slight tremor.

Baird’s tone became ironic. ‘I’m afraid we can’t have everything we desire in this life, Amy.’

‘Yet you appear to be doing very well for a young man of thirty-three,’ she said drily. She then turned to Cathie. ‘That makes him nine years your senior, because I think Ellen said you are now twenty-four. Isn’t that right?’

Cathie nodded without speaking.

Baird looked pointedly at Cathie as he said, ‘Twenty-four, eh? Surely that’s an age when we should begin to grow up.’

‘Yes, it is,’ she agreed sweetly. ‘However, I’ve noticed some who continue to be a pain in the neck until into their thirties.’

Amy sighed. ‘Really, you two—I can’t understand—’

Baird grinned at her. ‘I’ll get the car out. Perhaps Miss Campbell will be good enough to come to the garage entrance.’

Cathie felt guilty, and the moment Baird left the room she turned to apologise to Amy. ‘I’m sorry, Amy. I’ll try to keep myself under control. I told you he doesn’t like me, and you can also blame this awful red hair for my unruly tongue.’

Amy’s mouth tightened. ‘That auburn hair of his also has a good splash of red in it, but it’s no excuse. I’m sorry he’s like this, dear. I’ve never known him to be in such a cross mood.’

Elspeth said darkly, her broad Scottish accent seeming to be more pronounced, ‘I blame all that tramping through the heather he’s been doing. It has a weird effect on many people filled with Scottish blood. It stirs their roots and they begin to hear the skirl of the pipes out on the hillsides. They see men wearing the kilt, their plaids flung over their shoulders, come marching out of the mist.’

Amy snorted. ‘That’s only after they’ve been on the bottle for too long. But I’ll agree with you on one point—Baird’s roots have definitely been stirred up, and for that I blame his grandfather’s books.’

Cathie said, ‘I’d better not commit the sin of keeping him waiting. He’s mad enough with me as it is—’

She hastened outside to where Baird had backed the car from the garage. He opened the door for her and after muttering a brief thank-you she sat in silence until he had driven up the hill to the Crieff Hydro hotel.

‘I’ll not be long,’ she informed him coldly as the car stopped near the front entrance. ‘I’ll just collect my case and pay my account.’ She then left the car and hurried into the hotel.

A short time later when she reached the office situated in the wide and lengthy hall the woman behind the counter smiled affably. ‘It’s all settled, Miss Campbell,’ she said. ‘That gentleman over there has paid your account. I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay—’

But Cathie scarcely heard her. Her cheeks pink with anger, she crossed the hall to glare at Baird who was examining one of the many paintings on the wall.

‘Did you pay my account?’ she demanded furiously.

‘Yes. What of it?’ He turned to look at her.

‘How dare you put me under an obligation?’

‘It was Amy’s request. Didn’t you hear her ask me to fix everything else?’ His tone had become bored.

Cathie’s jaw sagged slightly. ‘I didn’t realise she meant—’

‘You weren’t listening,’ he cut in acidly. ‘You were too busy thinking up bitchy remarks to fling at me.’

‘My oath—hark at who’s talking,’ she snapped indignantly.

‘Get in the car. I want to talk to you.’ He picked up her case and carried it through the wide entrance doors.

‘You mean you want to recount more Campbell atrocities?’ she panted, having to run to keep up with his long strides as he made his way towards the car.

‘Nothing of the sort,’ he retorted abruptly.

Slightly puzzled, she sat in silence while they made their way down the hill, then left the town to drive a short distance to where a factory made colourful paperweights. Baird parked the car, then led her into the showroom where she was allowed only a short viewing of the brilliantly coloured balls and shapes before being led back to the vehicle.

‘Amy will be pleased I’ve shown you this display,’ he remarked nonchalantly. ‘And it will account for the extra time we’ll be taking over the discussion I intend to have with you.’

Even more bewildered, she sat in the car staring straight ahead, waiting for him to begin.

He turned in his seat to face her, his brown eyes watching her intently for several moments before he said, ‘With regard to the hotel account—can you be gracious enough to accept it without fuss?’

‘But there’s no need—’

‘What has need to do with it? It is something Amy wanted to do because she wants you to be her guest. Is that too much for you to understand?’

‘I suppose not,’ she conceded reluctantly.

‘Nor is there any need for you to concern yourself about the expense. Financially, Amy is very comfortable. My grandfather saw to that fact by leaving her the interest from the Glengyle Estate. But you probably know that in any case.’

She felt he was watching her closely, so she ignored his last comment by saying, ‘I saw the name “Glengyle” over the door.’

‘He had numerous business interests, and when he died all his assets went into what became known as the Glengyle Estate. He liked the name because the famous—or infamous—Rob Roy MacGregor was born at Glengyle. You’ve heard of Rob Roy, I presume?’

‘Who hasn’t? But I’m amazed to hear you admit to the infamous aspect of him.’

‘We won’t go into that,’ he declared coldly.

‘I’ll bet we won’t,’ she snapped back at him. ‘Is this what you’ve brought me here to talk about?’

‘It is not. I want to talk about Amy. I want your help.’

Surprise caused her eyes to widen as she turned to stare at him. ‘Let’s get this straight. You’re asking a Campbell for help, Mr MacGregor?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this.’

His mouth twisted. ‘If you’d rather not hear it we can go home at once.’

‘I didn’t say that. So—how can I help you?’ She was now thoroughly curious.

‘I’d like you to pull your weight in persuading Amy to come to New Zealand for our summer. It would enable her to avoid the Scottish winter, which can be very cold.’

‘Far too cold for one who suffers from arthritis,’ she said with a feeling of sympathy for her great-aunt.

‘I’m glad you can see at least that much daylight,’ he observed, his tone ironic.

‘Thank you—you say the nicest things,’ she retorted sharply. ‘I had no idea I appeared to be somewhat dumb. It must be because I’m a Campbell,’ she added in a chilly tone.

‘No doubt it is,’ he agreed gravely. ‘And there’s something else—we must stop this continual bickering, because it’s starting to upset Amy. Heaven alone knows how it began.’

A bitter laugh escaped her. ‘You dare to ask that?’ she demanded incredulously. ‘How very typical—’

‘I mean I don’t know what the hell got into me. I know I’ve been most unreasonable—and I regret it.’

Cathie recalled Elspeth’s and Amy’s words, but without admitting where her ideas had come from she said, ‘I can guess what got into you. You were beset by ghosts of the past. They rose up out of the pages of your grandfather’s books. They leered at you—stabbing at you with dirks and daggers, and maddening you because you’re unable to do anything about it. They stirred up bitter hatred.’

For the first time he looked at her with real interest as he said, ‘You surprise me. You have more understanding than I’d have thought possible, especially in a woman.’

‘Again, thank you. You’re too kind.’

‘Then it’s agreed? We can be friends?’ he asked lightly.

She thought about it for several moments, but at last she shook her head as she said, ‘I doubt it, Mr MacGregor—I doubt it very much indeed.’

‘You sound quite adamant about it. Why is it so impossible?’

‘Because I know that you would never trust a Campbell. However, we can at least allow Amy to imagine we’re friends,’ she said guardedly.

Baird’s expression hardened. ‘But in the meantime you’ll reject my offer of friendship. Thank you very much.’

She turned to regard him frankly. ‘I can’t believe that friendship is what you really have in mind. To me it sounds more like a truce.’

‘A truce can be a temporary affair. I said friendship, and I meant friendship,’ he said in a tone that had become abrupt.

‘It takes two to be friends,’ she pointed out. ‘Nor am I in the habit of tossing real friendship about quite so lightly.’

‘But at least you’ll show a semblance of friendship for Amy’s sake,’ he persisted.

‘Yes—for Amy’s sake.’

‘Thank you.’

‘There’s no need to thank me. Amy is part of my family.’

‘Then will you accept this as a peace offering?’ he asked, extracting from his pocket a square object wrapped in tissue paper.

She took it from him, then removed the wrapping to reveal an attractive paperweight filled with brilliant colours that glittered and glowed. She had caught her breath over it in the showroom, but it had been too expensive for her to buy.

He said, ‘I noticed you admire it, so I bought it for you.’

‘Thank you, that was very kind—but of course I can’t accept it,’ she said regretfully.

‘Why not, for heaven’s sake?’ he rasped.

‘Because I feel it’s a bribe to persuade me to do whatever you wish me to do. You can take it home, and I’m sure your wife, or your girlfriend, or whoever, will appreciate it.’ She then spread the paper carefully, rewrapped the paperweight and handed it back to him.