Rosamunde Pilcher - September

"That's the old bag's problem. Oh, don't worry, she'll tuck them in somewhere."

"But it's frightfully dishonest."

"I think you're being very ungrateful. If it wasn't for my quick-thinking enterprise, we'd all be standing in a queue with aching shoppers' feet. Anyway, she was offhand and rude to me. And I don't like being told I can't have anything I really want."

Archie, left on his own and forbidden by his wife to leave the purlieus of the house, decided to fill in the time before their guest arrived by clearing up the first of the fallen leaves that littered the lawn beyond the gravel sweep. He would then perhaps find time to cut it, and all would look orderly for the party on Friday night. With only his dogs for company, he duly drove his garden tractor out of the garage and set to work. The Labradors, who had imagined that he was about to take them for a small walk, sat about and looked bored, but diversion was on its way, for Archie had only completed a couple of runs before a Land Rover came spinning up the front drive, turned in over the cattle-grid, and came to a halt a few yards from where he laboured.

It was Gordon Gillock, the Croy keeper, with his two spaniels penned into the back of the vehicle. A cacophony of barking instantly erupted, from both inside and outside the Land Rover, but all four dogs were swiftly silenced by a stream of routine abuse from Gordon, and quiet was once more achieved.

Archie stopped his machine and switched off the engine, but stayed where he was, seated, because that was as good a place as any to engage in conversation.

"Hello, Gordon."

"Good morning, milord."

Gordon was a lithe and stringy Highlander in his early fifties but looking, with his black hair and dark eyes, a good deal younger. He had come to Croy as an under-keeper in the days of Archie's father, and had been in the family's employ ever since. Today he wore his working clothes, which meant an open-necked shirt and a tweed hat stuck with fishing flies that had seen many years of windy weather. But on shooting days, he wore a collar and tie and a knickerbocker suit with a deerstalker of the same tweed, and was a good deal better-dressed than most of the other gentlemen out on the moor.

"Where have you come from?"

"Kirkthornton, sir. I took thirty brace of birds down to the game dealer."

"Did you get a good price?"

"Not so bad."

"What's happening tomorrow?"

"That's why I'm here, sir. Wanted a word. Mr. Aird's not going to be with us. He's away in America."

"I know. He rang me before he left. We're shooting Creagan Dubh?"

"That's right, the main glen. I thought, first thing we'd drive the Clash, and then come in the other way over Rabbie's Naup."

"What about the afternoon? Should we try the Mid Hill?"

"It's up to you, sir. But mind, the birds are getting pretty wild. They'll be coming in fast over the butts and the guns will need to keep their wits about them."

"They know they're responsible for seeing that all the shot birds are picked up and brought down the hill? No runners abandoned. 1 don't want any wounded birds left to die."

"Oh aye, they know that. Mind, there are some good dogs this year."

"You were walking on Monday. How did you get on?"

"There was a fair wind and a lot of water about. Then an eagle and a buzzard started working overhead, and that scared the daylights out of the grouse. They either wouldn't get up or they flew in all directions. But there was some good shooting. We finished with thirty-two brace."

"Any deer?"

"Oh aye, a big herd. Saw them on the skyline sticking their heads up over the Sneck of Balquhidder."

"And how about that damaged bridge over the Taitnie burn?"

"I've seen to that, sir. It was just about down, with the rain we've been having and the water in spate."

"Good. We don't want any of the London gentlemen suffering a ducking. How about beaters for tomorrow?"

"I've got sixteen."

"And flankers? The last time we drove, a lot of the birds slipped away because of poor flanking."

"Aye, they were a useless pair of buggers. But tomorrow I've got the schoolmaster's son and Willy Snoddy." The keeper caught Archie's eye and the two of them grinned. "He's an unreliable old villain but a rare flanker." Gordon shifted his weight, took off his hat, scratched the back of his neck, and then put his hat on again. "I was up at the loch early yesterday morning. Caught him there with that old lurcher of his, lifting your trout out of the water. He's there evenings forbye, making full use of the late rise."

"Do you see him?"

"He sneaks up the back lane from the village, but, aye, I've spied him more than once."

"I know he poaches, Gordon, and so does the local bobby. But he's done it all his life, and he's not going to stop now. I don't say anything. Besides"-Archie smiled-"if he's flung into jail, we're short of a flanker."

"True enough, sir."

"What about the beaters' money?"

"Went to the bank this morning, sir, collected it then."

"You seem to have got it all well organized, Gordon. Thank you very much for dropping. And I'll see you tomorrow…"

Gordon and his dogs departed, and Archie continued with his leaf-sweeping. He had just about completed the task when he heard a second car coming up the back drive from the village, and decided that this time, in all likelihood, it would be the Sad American in his hired car. He wished to hell he knew what the bloody man was called. In preparation, he once more stopped the tractor and switched off the engine, and as he eased himself cautiously onto his two feet, the car came down the avenue towards him and he realized that it was Edmund's Subaru, and so not the Sad American after all. Virginia was at the wheel, but a man sat beside her. The Subaru drew to a halt, and as Archie, awkwardly stiff, limped forward, they got out of the car and came to meet him.

"Virginia."

"Hello, Archie. I've brought your guest to stay with you." Archie, at a loss, turned to the stranger. Tall, well built, quite handsome in a weathered sort of way. Not young, and wearing heavy horn-rimmed spectacles. "Conrad Tucker; Archie Balmerino."

The two men shook hands. Archie said, "I'm sorry… I thought you were coming under your own steam, in a hired car…"

"I intended doing that, but…"

Virginia interrupted. "I'll explain. It's the most extraordinary coincidence, Archie. I met Conrad yesterday evening in the King's Hotel, in Relkirk. Out of the blue. And of course we're very old friends. We knew each other in Long Island when we were young. So instead of spending the night at the hotel as he'd planned, he came back to Balnaid with me and stayed there."

So all was clear. "But what a fortuitous meeting, and what a good idea." And then added, for Conrad's benefit, "The ridiculous thing is that my wife was either never told, or forgot, your name, and so Virginia would never have known that our house guest was yourself. I'm afraid sometimes we're dreadfully vague."

"It's very good of you to have me."

"Anyway…" Archie hesitated, wishing that Isobel were here. "… this is all splendid. Come along. Let's go indoors. There's nobody here but me because the others have all gone shopping. Have you got a bag, Conrad? What's the time? A quarter to twelve. The sun's not over the yardarm yet, but I think we could have a gin and tonic…"

Virginia said, "No, Archie," and she sounded jumpy and unlike herself. Archie looked at her with closer attention and saw the pallor beneath her tan and the dark rings under her eyes. She seemed upset and he was concerned for her, and then remembered that only yesterday she had had to take Henry to Templehall and leave him there. Which explained everything.

He felt very sympathetic and said kindly, "Why not? It'll do you good."