article was well written, Gayle told herself, skimming down the page again, the shadow of Cam’s presence banished from her mind. And the journo had picked up on more than just the timeline for the arrival of the athletes at the village; he had written about the different ways that sportsmen and women from so many nations were preparing for this Scottish summer ahead, injecting a touch of wry humour about the probability of rainfall and the thousands of Games umbrellas already being sold around the city.
Gayle glanced out of the window again, remembering the feel of the early-morning sun on her skin and wishing hard that this summer might be warm and sunny day after day after day, unlike any Scottish summer she had known in her twenty-five years.
Peter MacGregor glanced across the aisle at Joanne. He had eased a bit more belt from the lap strap, aware of the curve of his stomach under the cashmere sweater. Where had that well-toned sportsman gone? He grinned ruefully, remembering the days of his youth when he and Jo had shared such a passion for athletics. She was still a trim woman, he thought, looking at his wife’s slim legs in their designer jeans.
You
could
pass
for
forty,
he’d told her as they’d stood in the house that morning, making her blush and protest.
Well,
fifty
anyway,
he’d conceded, and he believed it. Joanne MacGregor, with that sleek bob of highlighted hair and her fine cheekbones, was often asked her age, officials raising their eyebrows to find that this lovely woman was indeed a senior of sixty-four. She had her eyes closed as she always did before take-off, hands clasped loosely on her lap. They had chosen aisle seats in preference to sitting side by side, the long-haul flight necessitating some decent leg room, but it was at moments like this that Peter regretted their choice, wishing that he could have held her hand, sharing the surge of joy he felt that their long-planned dream was actually beginning.
In his head Peter went over the itinerary that had been so carefully worked out for the coming six months. London first, with all its sights, then up to Scotland, where they were to hire a car to take them on a tour of the Western Isles. Then it was across to Inverness and the journey south through MacGregor country until they reached Gleneagles. He and Mrs MacGregor wanted to explore the old home country on their own, he had told his hosts. Once they were in Glasgow Peter suspected that the MacGregors there would happily take over all of his plans, and part of him wanted to resist being whisked hither and yon by a group of strangers, no matter how kind their intentions were. He blinked as the engine noise rose to a climax and the big plane began to move along the runway. They had been very thoughtful, though, hadn’t they? They’d even reminded him not to bring his
sgian
dubh
. One adorned with the clan crest would be awaiting him in Glasgow. But that was still several weeks away and Peter smiled at the thought of all the sights they would see during April and May, months when the weather was meant to be at its best in Scotland and the azaleas and rhododendrons gave their bonniest show. It would be a quiet prelude to the excitement of the Commonwealth Games, the Gathering and finally the Ryder Cup, back in Gleneagles. By October they would no doubt be ready to return to Australia and its summer months.
As the plane’s nose tilted skywards, Peter MacGregor felt a childlike thrill of adventure. Melbourne lay below him, its familiar landmarks becoming smaller and smaller until they were swallowed up in cloud, leaving Peter with the drone of the engine ringing in his ears and a single thought in his head. He was on his way home!
Detective Superintendent Lorimer glanced back at the curve of the avenue as he turned the Lexus towards the main road. It was not yet six a.m., but there was a brightness in the sky that suggested another lovely day ahead. The drive into Glasgow was tinged with
Gayle glanced out of the window again, remembering the feel of the early-morning sun on her skin and wishing hard that this summer might be warm and sunny day after day after day, unlike any Scottish summer she had known in her twenty-five years.
Peter MacGregor glanced across the aisle at Joanne. He had eased a bit more belt from the lap strap, aware of the curve of his stomach under the cashmere sweater. Where had that well-toned sportsman gone? He grinned ruefully, remembering the days of his youth when he and Jo had shared such a passion for athletics. She was still a trim woman, he thought, looking at his wife’s slim legs in their designer jeans.
You
could
pass
for
forty,
he’d told her as they’d stood in the house that morning, making her blush and protest.
Well,
fifty
anyway,
he’d conceded, and he believed it. Joanne MacGregor, with that sleek bob of highlighted hair and her fine cheekbones, was often asked her age, officials raising their eyebrows to find that this lovely woman was indeed a senior of sixty-four. She had her eyes closed as she always did before take-off, hands clasped loosely on her lap. They had chosen aisle seats in preference to sitting side by side, the long-haul flight necessitating some decent leg room, but it was at moments like this that Peter regretted their choice, wishing that he could have held her hand, sharing the surge of joy he felt that their long-planned dream was actually beginning.
In his head Peter went over the itinerary that had been so carefully worked out for the coming six months. London first, with all its sights, then up to Scotland, where they were to hire a car to take them on a tour of the Western Isles. Then it was across to Inverness and the journey south through MacGregor country until they reached Gleneagles. He and Mrs MacGregor wanted to explore the old home country on their own, he had told his hosts. Once they were in Glasgow Peter suspected that the MacGregors there would happily take over all of his plans, and part of him wanted to resist being whisked hither and yon by a group of strangers, no matter how kind their intentions were. He blinked as the engine noise rose to a climax and the big plane began to move along the runway. They had been very thoughtful, though, hadn’t they? They’d even reminded him not to bring his
sgian
dubh
. One adorned with the clan crest would be awaiting him in Glasgow. But that was still several weeks away and Peter smiled at the thought of all the sights they would see during April and May, months when the weather was meant to be at its best in Scotland and the azaleas and rhododendrons gave their bonniest show. It would be a quiet prelude to the excitement of the Commonwealth Games, the Gathering and finally the Ryder Cup, back in Gleneagles. By October they would no doubt be ready to return to Australia and its summer months.
As the plane’s nose tilted skywards, Peter MacGregor felt a childlike thrill of adventure. Melbourne lay below him, its familiar landmarks becoming smaller and smaller until they were swallowed up in cloud, leaving Peter with the drone of the engine ringing in his ears and a single thought in his head. He was on his way home!
Detective Superintendent Lorimer glanced back at the curve of the avenue as he turned the Lexus towards the main road. It was not yet six a.m., but there was a brightness in the sky that suggested another lovely day ahead. The drive into Glasgow was tinged with
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