Miriam Macgregor - Heir To Glengyle

His voice cut into her thoughts. ‘So you’ll do it?’

She was momentarily nonplussed. ‘Do it—? Do what—?’

His frown indicated impatience. ‘You’ll do your best to persuade Amy that the trip would not be the traumatic experience she imagines. Isn’t that what this conversation is about?’

‘Yes—I suppose so. When would you expect to leave?’

‘As soon as Elspeth can pack a couple of suitcases for her—and before she changes her mind about the entire project.’

‘It’s a pity Elspeth couldn’t go with her—’ Cathie began.

He cut in, ‘As I’ve already explained, it’s quite unnecessary. But apart from that fact Elspeth would not leave her husband. He works in Crieff, cares for the garden at Glengyle, and they’ll look after the place while Amy is away.’

‘So my added persuasion appears to be all you need.’

‘That’s right. Nothing more, nothing less.’

A sudden thought caused her to ask, ‘I presume you will have checked that Amy has a passport?’

‘Of course. Naturally it was the first question I asked. Fortunately she took a trip to Canada with Elspeth and it is still valid.’

‘So that apart from her own decision there shouldn’t be any obstacles in the way.’

His attitude was positive and sufficiently determined to forbid further argument on the subject, therefore she said, ‘Very well—I’ll do my best to convince Amy there’ll be little or no hassle on the flight.’

‘Thank you.’ He sounded relieved.

‘After that I presume you’d like me to get down the road, as we say at home?’

He frowned as though pondering the question. ‘Well—at least you’ll be able to become acquainted with each other in New Zealand, provided you’re successful in persuading her, of course.’

‘Am I right in assuming that you’ve really tried, but have got nowhere?’ she queried, wondering how much success she herself could expect.

‘Didn’t I tell you she’d used the difficulties of her arthritis as an excuse?’ He turned to regard her as a sudden thought appeared to strike him. ‘In any case, I presume you have a job you must return to?’

She sighed, realising she’d have to admit to being unemployed, and although she hated doing so she said, ‘At the moment I haven’t a job. I’ll look for one when I return.’ Then she hastened to explain, ‘Since I left school I’ve worked in an antique shop in Palmerston North.’

His mouth twisted into a sardonic grin. ‘Don’t tell me—let me guess. You got the push for dropping something of great value.’

‘No, I did not .’ She flared at him angrily. ‘Why must you continually think the worst of me?’

His face became serious as he admitted, ‘I don’t know. It’s something you do to me.’ He turned to stare at her, his brown eyes roving over her face as though searching for the answer in her clear complexion. ‘So what happened?’ he demanded.

She sighed while recalling the disappointment of losing her job, then her expression became bleak as she said, ‘Wouldn’t you prefer to dig up a theory of your own?’

‘Unless you tell me I’ll definitely believe the worst.’

She turned to glare at him. ‘Mr MacGregor, there are times when I find you completely obnoxious.’ But as she looked at his handsome features she knew the statement to be a lie.

‘Is that so, Miss Campbell? Despite your hot words and flare of temper I’m still interested in learning how you lost your job.’

‘It was quite simple,’ she said, deciding that there was no point in being secretive because Amy would be sure to ask similar questions. ‘My employer was a middle-aged widow who decided to get married again. Her new husband is an antique dealer from Auckland, therefore she packed up her entire stock, closed the shop and moved north.’

‘But with no suggestion of taking you with her?’

‘No. Her new husband has a daughter who has taken my place, so it left me high and dry and without a job, but still with a strong desire to handle antiques.’ Her face brightened as she added, ‘In England I went into every antique shop I saw. They were fascinating.’

His gaze rested upon her mouth then moved to the column of her throat as he said, ‘I’m curious to know what there is about antiques that gives you so much pleasure.’

‘I don’t know—unless it’s a feeling for the past. When I hold an old plate or ornament I’m conscious of a strange longing to know about the person who made it, and the people who used it. What were they like? Where did they live?’ She fell silent for several moments before adding, ‘It’s different from your own feeling for the past, which seems to give you only pain.’

‘That’s because it involves people rather than objects,’ he said.

‘The people have passed away, whereas the objects are still here to be cherished,’ she pointed out.

His brow creased as though something puzzled him, and at last he said, ‘Strangely, at home I don’t give the past a second thought. Only since I’ve been here has it affected me.’

‘Are you trying to say you’re a different person at home?’ she asked, a small smile betraying her doubt.

‘Entirely different,’ he retorted abruptly.

‘I must say it’s difficult to believe,’ she said, then added with forced sweetness, ‘That’s the trouble with first impressions—they’re inclined to cling for ever more. I’m unlikely to get rid of—’ Her words dwindled away.

‘Your first impression of me?’ he cut in. ‘Well, I don’t suppose there’s any degree of importance attached to that fact,’ he added while turning the ignition key.

Nevertheless his jaw had become set as they left the paperweight factory’s parking area, and while Cathie expected the drive home to be taken in silence it proved to be otherwise. On the contrary, Baird chatted amicably, mainly, she suspected, to prove that he couldn’t care less what her lasting impression of himself would be.

When they reached Glengyle Amy regarded them anxiously, obviously trying to decide whether the atmosphere between them was still frigid, or whether a thaw had set in. ‘You took your time in collecting one suitcase,’ she observed.

Baird spoke nonchalantly. ‘We visited the paperweight factory.’ He then indicated the suitcase. ‘I presume this goes into the room next to mine?’

‘Yes.’ Amy turned to Cathie. ‘Baird will take you upstairs and show you where you’re to sleep, dear.’

He strode ahead of her, leading the way to a small but cosy room with a dormer window. But before she could gaze at the view stretching below it her attention was caught by a single solid brass bedstead, and the bow-fronted mahogany Scottish chest of drawers. On it sat a Victorian toilet mirror, while nearby was a rocking chair.

‘Like it?’ he asked, a smile hovering about his mobile lips.

‘I’ll love sleeping in that bed,’ she admitted, noticing that the blue and silver-grey bedspread matched the curtains hanging at the dormer window.

‘Just don’t get yourself settled into it for too long,’ he advised in clipped tones. ‘No doubt you’ll soon notice that this house is full of antiques, but unfortunately they can do nothing to help Amy’s arthritis. Do you understand?’

She nodded without speaking.

‘Therefore I’ll rely on you to do your best, and as soon as possible. That is also understood?’

His dictatorial manner riled her, and although she knew he was concerned on Amy’s behalf she swung round to face him, at the same time making no secret of her resentment. ‘Now you listen to me, Baird. You’ve had your turn at persuading Amy, but with little or no success. Now it’s my turn. However, I have no intention of rushing into the job. I’ll attack it as I see fit and when the opportunity presents itself.’