carry it up to her room when she heard the front door bang and a few seconds later Richard strode into the kitchen, his face like a thundercloud. He was wearing yellow oilskins, but even so he was soaked to the skin and looked frozen with cold.
‘Car broke down the other side of Ardenbeg, he said briefly, ‘miles from anywhere. And not another car passed me. I've had to walk twelve miles. Of all the filthy nights for this to happen! ’
‘Why didn’t you phone for help?’ Rachel asked.
‘Lines are down. I tried.’
Rachel put her tray down on the table in order to help him off with his oilskins. ‘Good thing I always keep these in the car,’ he said as he struggled out of them. ‘Don’t pull there, get hold of the sleeve.’ He put his arm out impatiently, ‘That’s better. God. I could do with a drink, but I must get some dry clothes on first.’
‘But what about Moira?’ Rachel gave a final tug. He had made her nearly as wet as he was himself, the front of her housecoat was saturated. ‘You can’t leave her stranded in a broken-down car on a night like this.’
He looked blank for a moment. ‘Moira? Oh, she’s spending the night with friends. I only gave her a lift into Glasgow, I don’t know what she was doing after that, except that she wasn’t coming back tonight. Ugh! ’ He took off his shoes; they were full of water. ‘I’m going upstairs to change.’
'Would you like me to make you a drink?’ Rachel asked.
‘Please. The Scotch is on the sideboard in the dining room, and I’d like a large one. On second thoughts bring the decanter. I’ll be in my study, it’s probably warmer there than it is down here.’ He went off, muttering to himself.
Rachel, her milky drink forgotten, collected the whisky decanter from the dining room and took it to Richard’s study, first slipping back to her own rooms to change from her wet housecoat to a long woollen skirt and lambswool sweater because she was beginning to feel chilled.
Richard’s study was not a big room although the high ceiling gave an illusion of space. The walls were lined with books and charts and the flat-topped desk by the window was littered with papers. Two leather-covered armchairs flanked the electric fire, which Rachel was glad to switch on, putting the tray holding the decanter and glass on a low table beside it. Then she poured a generous drink for Richard.
‘Didn’t you bring a glass for yourself?’ He came in, wearing sandals, jeans and a dark green sweater, towelling his hair dry as he came. ‘Never mind, it doesn’t matter, I think there are some here.’ He went over to a small comer cupboard hanging on the wall and took out a tumbler, handing it to her. Then running a comb through his hair he threw himself into the nearest armchair and took a gulp of his drink. ‘Ah, that’s better. I feel a little more human now.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I’ve had one hell of a day in Glasgow and the car breaking down just about clinched everything.’
Rachel perched on the arm of the other chair, sipped her drink and said nothing.
After a moment he opened his eyes. ‘Have you made any progress with Melanie?’ he asked. His voice had a sharp edge to it.
Rachel was taken slightly aback at his tone. ‘I’ve only been with her a day,’ she reminded him. ‘I can’t work miracles.’
‘No, of course not.’ He poured himself another drink. ‘I’m still not convinced that this is the right thing for the child, although my father, naturally, is happy about it. I think school is what she needs. Plenty of discipline .....’
‘Security is what Melanie needs more than anything,' Rachel found herself saying vehemently.
‘Nonsense. She's secure enough. She’s lived here all her life; she knows every inch of the house and grounds. What better security could she have? No, it’s discipline she needs. She’s spoiled, that s the trouble.’ He drained his glass and put it down on the tray. ‘My father’s the culprit,
‘Car broke down the other side of Ardenbeg, he said briefly, ‘miles from anywhere. And not another car passed me. I've had to walk twelve miles. Of all the filthy nights for this to happen! ’
‘Why didn’t you phone for help?’ Rachel asked.
‘Lines are down. I tried.’
Rachel put her tray down on the table in order to help him off with his oilskins. ‘Good thing I always keep these in the car,’ he said as he struggled out of them. ‘Don’t pull there, get hold of the sleeve.’ He put his arm out impatiently, ‘That’s better. God. I could do with a drink, but I must get some dry clothes on first.’
‘But what about Moira?’ Rachel gave a final tug. He had made her nearly as wet as he was himself, the front of her housecoat was saturated. ‘You can’t leave her stranded in a broken-down car on a night like this.’
He looked blank for a moment. ‘Moira? Oh, she’s spending the night with friends. I only gave her a lift into Glasgow, I don’t know what she was doing after that, except that she wasn’t coming back tonight. Ugh! ’ He took off his shoes; they were full of water. ‘I’m going upstairs to change.’
'Would you like me to make you a drink?’ Rachel asked.
‘Please. The Scotch is on the sideboard in the dining room, and I’d like a large one. On second thoughts bring the decanter. I’ll be in my study, it’s probably warmer there than it is down here.’ He went off, muttering to himself.
Rachel, her milky drink forgotten, collected the whisky decanter from the dining room and took it to Richard’s study, first slipping back to her own rooms to change from her wet housecoat to a long woollen skirt and lambswool sweater because she was beginning to feel chilled.
Richard’s study was not a big room although the high ceiling gave an illusion of space. The walls were lined with books and charts and the flat-topped desk by the window was littered with papers. Two leather-covered armchairs flanked the electric fire, which Rachel was glad to switch on, putting the tray holding the decanter and glass on a low table beside it. Then she poured a generous drink for Richard.
‘Didn’t you bring a glass for yourself?’ He came in, wearing sandals, jeans and a dark green sweater, towelling his hair dry as he came. ‘Never mind, it doesn’t matter, I think there are some here.’ He went over to a small comer cupboard hanging on the wall and took out a tumbler, handing it to her. Then running a comb through his hair he threw himself into the nearest armchair and took a gulp of his drink. ‘Ah, that’s better. I feel a little more human now.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I’ve had one hell of a day in Glasgow and the car breaking down just about clinched everything.’
Rachel perched on the arm of the other chair, sipped her drink and said nothing.
After a moment he opened his eyes. ‘Have you made any progress with Melanie?’ he asked. His voice had a sharp edge to it.
Rachel was taken slightly aback at his tone. ‘I’ve only been with her a day,’ she reminded him. ‘I can’t work miracles.’
‘No, of course not.’ He poured himself another drink. ‘I’m still not convinced that this is the right thing for the child, although my father, naturally, is happy about it. I think school is what she needs. Plenty of discipline .....’
‘Security is what Melanie needs more than anything,' Rachel found herself saying vehemently.
‘Nonsense. She's secure enough. She’s lived here all her life; she knows every inch of the house and grounds. What better security could she have? No, it’s discipline she needs. She’s spoiled, that s the trouble.’ He drained his glass and put it down on the tray. ‘My father’s the culprit,
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