course not. I know you’ve more important things to do, but I promised to practise regularly.’
‘Do you always keep your promises, Fran?'
'If humanly possible.’
'Good, because I’m going to extract one from you which may be a severe test of your resolution.’
Ian, she thought despairingly. Have I got to swear I won’t speak to him, or jeopardise my job? That lad's an obsession with him. How can I convince him that I only care for him as a friend?
But though she was sure of her feelings in that direction, she feared Ian’s were very different. He never said anything, but his eyes were eloquent when he looked at her. and of course Gray had noticed. He was being tyrannical and unfair, for if she had returned Ian’s devotion there was no barrier between them except possibly finance. She had no idea what the young man’s prospects were, but presumably Gray could not debar him from marriage indefinitely, and he was himself involved with an American heiress, which should make him sympathetic. She resolved that if Gray made any unreasonable demand, she would speak her mind and risk dismissal. She did not think he would go that far now that she had made herself so useful to Mrs Ferguson, and she was not going to submit to his despotic whims, however much the others might kow-tow to him.
Although he was watching her face intently, Gray did not elucidate further. Instead he said suddenly:
‘Race you down to the quay!’
His seriousness had vanished in a surge of boyish exuberance, and the trio set off down the hillside, Caesar barking excitedly. He outdistanced her easily, and when she reached the quay, out of breath and laughing, for the speed of her going had exhilarated her also, Gray was in the boat and shoving out an oar. Then she realised that this expedition had been premeditated, for the rowboat was not usually moored to the quay. There was even a cushion in the stern seat. He gave her a hand over the side, and Caesar followed cautiously; he was used to boats and knew how to balance his bulk. Frances seated herself in the stern and he curled up at her feet, as Gray undid the painter and pushed the boat away from the pier. It was an old rowboat, sturdily built, with more strength than elegance. Apparently the twins, whose names kept cropping up, used it for picnics up the lake. Gray sculled easily, though boat and passengers were no light weight. Frances wiped her face with the towel she was still carrying, wishing she had her make-up with her; she had not put any on for the anticipated swimming. Her hair hung over her shoulders and she started to plait it.
‘Leave it,' commanded the autocrat at the oars. ‘I like to see it flowing.'
‘Anything to oblige,’ she murmured with pretended meekness.
Gray rowed up the loch away from the sea. In places the mountains rose steeply in rocky outcrops, crevices in them filled with ferns and the ubiquitous rhododendrons. Wild duck skittered across the bows, occasional seagulls flapped overhead. Frances was wearing a white dress with a mauve belted cardigan. She was glad of the latter, for the wind was cold. Her bare feet were encased in white sandals. She looked down at them, remembering how Gray had caressed them on the white sands of Morar. Unpredictable man, there was no knowing what he would take into his head to do next, like this boat trip today. A lump rose in her throat. Soon an ocean would divide them, and how dreary the days would seem without the excitement of his sudden appearances.
Gray pulled into a little cove sheltered from the wand, a miniature harbour. The prow of the boat grated on the shelving shore. He shipped the oars, and sprang out to make the painter fast to a dead tree trunk, evidently put there for that purpose, and it must be a familiar spot, for Caesar jumped out, rocking the boat, and dashed away amid a flurry of wings from startled waterfowl. Gray climbed back into the boat and sat down on the plank seat dicing Frances. Now it’s
‘Do you always keep your promises, Fran?'
'If humanly possible.’
'Good, because I’m going to extract one from you which may be a severe test of your resolution.’
Ian, she thought despairingly. Have I got to swear I won’t speak to him, or jeopardise my job? That lad's an obsession with him. How can I convince him that I only care for him as a friend?
But though she was sure of her feelings in that direction, she feared Ian’s were very different. He never said anything, but his eyes were eloquent when he looked at her. and of course Gray had noticed. He was being tyrannical and unfair, for if she had returned Ian’s devotion there was no barrier between them except possibly finance. She had no idea what the young man’s prospects were, but presumably Gray could not debar him from marriage indefinitely, and he was himself involved with an American heiress, which should make him sympathetic. She resolved that if Gray made any unreasonable demand, she would speak her mind and risk dismissal. She did not think he would go that far now that she had made herself so useful to Mrs Ferguson, and she was not going to submit to his despotic whims, however much the others might kow-tow to him.
Although he was watching her face intently, Gray did not elucidate further. Instead he said suddenly:
‘Race you down to the quay!’
His seriousness had vanished in a surge of boyish exuberance, and the trio set off down the hillside, Caesar barking excitedly. He outdistanced her easily, and when she reached the quay, out of breath and laughing, for the speed of her going had exhilarated her also, Gray was in the boat and shoving out an oar. Then she realised that this expedition had been premeditated, for the rowboat was not usually moored to the quay. There was even a cushion in the stern seat. He gave her a hand over the side, and Caesar followed cautiously; he was used to boats and knew how to balance his bulk. Frances seated herself in the stern and he curled up at her feet, as Gray undid the painter and pushed the boat away from the pier. It was an old rowboat, sturdily built, with more strength than elegance. Apparently the twins, whose names kept cropping up, used it for picnics up the lake. Gray sculled easily, though boat and passengers were no light weight. Frances wiped her face with the towel she was still carrying, wishing she had her make-up with her; she had not put any on for the anticipated swimming. Her hair hung over her shoulders and she started to plait it.
‘Leave it,' commanded the autocrat at the oars. ‘I like to see it flowing.'
‘Anything to oblige,’ she murmured with pretended meekness.
Gray rowed up the loch away from the sea. In places the mountains rose steeply in rocky outcrops, crevices in them filled with ferns and the ubiquitous rhododendrons. Wild duck skittered across the bows, occasional seagulls flapped overhead. Frances was wearing a white dress with a mauve belted cardigan. She was glad of the latter, for the wind was cold. Her bare feet were encased in white sandals. She looked down at them, remembering how Gray had caressed them on the white sands of Morar. Unpredictable man, there was no knowing what he would take into his head to do next, like this boat trip today. A lump rose in her throat. Soon an ocean would divide them, and how dreary the days would seem without the excitement of his sudden appearances.
Gray pulled into a little cove sheltered from the wand, a miniature harbour. The prow of the boat grated on the shelving shore. He shipped the oars, and sprang out to make the painter fast to a dead tree trunk, evidently put there for that purpose, and it must be a familiar spot, for Caesar jumped out, rocking the boat, and dashed away amid a flurry of wings from startled waterfowl. Gray climbed back into the boat and sat down on the plank seat dicing Frances. Now it’s
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