Rosamunde Pilcher - September

"It's not that I don't want to stay, but I have to take some stuff up to Corriehill for Verena. Flower vases. Things like that. If you don't mind, I think I'd better get home."

"Whatever you want."

"We'll all see each other tomorrow at Vi's picnic."

"Not me. I'm shooting. But Lucilla and Jeff and Pandora will take Conrad along with them."

Conrad had retrieved his bag from Virginia's car and was standing waiting for what was going to happen next. Virginia went to him and gave him a kiss. "See you tomorrow, Conrad."

"Thanks for everything."

"It's been great."

She got back into the Subaru and drove away, back under the trees and down the hill. When she had gone, Archie turned to his guest. "How very nice that you already know Virginia. Now, come along and I'll show you where you're sleeping…"

He led the way up to the door and into the house, and Conrad, slowing his pace down to his host's halting step, followed him.

Back at Balnaid, in her flower pantry, searching for jugs, urns, bowls, old soup tureens, Virginia was grateful for domestic occupation. At the moment she needed neither idle hands nor an empty mind. Especially an empty mind. She assembled her loot and then collected pin-holders and screwed-up pieces of chicken wire, essential for keeping top-heavy flower arrangements in place. Making two or three trips, she carried everything out to the Subaru and stowed it all neatly into the back of the car.

Meanwhile, she made plans. Tomorrow morning early, Alexa and Noel and Alexa's dog would be arriving, having driven up from London overnight. They would be at Balnaid for breakfast. When I come back from Corriehill, she told herself, I shall get the bedrooms ready for Alexa and Noel. Bedrooms. Not a bedroom. In London they slept together, in a double bed, but Virginia knew that if she were to put them in a double bed at Balnaid, Alexa would be embarrassed, and even more put out than her father.

Tomorrow. She would think about tomorrow. She would not think about yesterday, nor the day before. Nor last night. They were over. Finished with. Done. Nothing could be changed and nothing could be altered.

When the bedrooms were finished, she would emulate Isobel and make lists, visit Mrs. Ishak and do an enormous shop. The dogs would have to be walked. After that she might do some cooking, make a cake or a pot of soup. Or brownies for tomorrow's picnic. By then it would be evening, and then night, and the long lonely, soul-searching day would be over. She would sleep in her empty bed, in her empty house. Without Edmund, without Henry. But the morning would bring Alexa and Noel, and with them for company surely things must get better; life would seem less impossible and easier to bear.

She drove to Corriehill and found the place in a turmoil. Alien vans and lorries were parked on the gravel outside, and inside, the house appeared to have been taken over by armies of workmen, as though the family were on the point of moving out, or moving in. In the hall, most of the furniture and the rugs had already been shunted aside, electric cables snaked in all directions, and the open doors of the dining-room revealed that this, by means of festoons of darkly striped material, had been transformed into a lightless cave. The night-club. She paused to admire but was almost instantly asked to move aside by a young man with long hair who staggered, with bent knees, beneath the weight of some piece of audio equipment.

"Do you know where I can find Mrs. Steynton?"

"Try the marquee."

Picking her way through the confusion, Virginia made for the library and saw, for the first time, the gargantuan tent that had been erected on the lawn the day before. It was very tall and very wide, and took most of the daylight from the rooms inside. The French doors of the library had been removed, and house and marquee were joined by the umbilical cord of a wide, tented passageway. She went down this and stepped into the aqueous, filtered gloom that was the interior of the marquee, saw the soaring tent-poles, tall as masts, the yellow-and-white-striped lining. On the top of tall ladders, more electricians were perched fixing the overhead lights, and at the far end a couple of burly men were constructing, with trestles and planks, a platform for the band. There was the smell of trodden grass and canvas, rather like an agricultural show, and in the middle of it all she found Verena with Mr. Abberley, who was in charge of the entire operation, and apparently being given a piece of Verena's mind.

"… but it's ridiculous to say we've got the measurements wrong. You took the measurements."

"The thing is, Mrs. Steynton, that the floor comes in prefabricated units. Six by three. I explained when you ordered my largest tent."

"I never imagined there would be a problem."

"And there's another thing. Your lawn's not level."

"Of course it's level. It used to be a tennis court."

"I'm sorry, but it's not. Sinks down in that corner a foot or more. That means wedges."

"Well, use wedges. Just be certain the floor doesn't collapse."

Mr. Abberley looked hurt. "My floors never collapse," he told her, and took himself off to mull over the situation.

Virginia said, "Verena." Verena turned. "I don't seem to have come at a very good time."

"Oh, Virginia." Verena ran fingers through her hair in a most uncharacteristic fashion. "I'm going demented. Have you ever seen such a mess?"

"I think it looks fantastic. Terribly impressive."

"But it's so huge."

"Well, you're having a huge party. When it's full of flowers and people and the band and everything, it'll be quite different."

"You don't think it's all going to be the most dreadful flop?"

"Of course not. It'll be the dance of the century. Look, I've brought the flower vases. If you tell me where to put them, I'll bring them into the house and then get out of your way."

"You are a dear. If you go into the kitchen, you'll find Katy and some friends of hers. They're making silver stars, or streamers, or something, to decorate the night-club. She'll show you where to put them."

"If there's anything else you're needing…"

But Verena's attention was already wandering. "If I think of anything, I'll call you…" She had too much on her mind. "Mr. Abberley! I've just remembered. There's something else I want to ask you____________________"

Virginia drove home. By the time she reached Balnaid again, it was nearly two o'clock. She was beginning to feel ravenously hungry, and decided that before she did anything else, she must have something to eat. A cold beef sandwich, perhaps, some biscuits and cheese, and a cup of coffee. She parked the Subaru at the back door and walked indoors and into her kitchen.

All thoughts of food instantly flew out of her head. She stopped dead, her empty stomach contracting in a spasm of shock and outrage.

For Lottie was there. Waiting. Sitting at the kitchen table. She did not look abashed in the very least, but smiled as though Virginia had asked her to drop by, and Lottie, graciously, had taken up the invitation.

"What are you doing here?" This time Virginia made no effort to keep the irritation out of her voice. She was startled but she was as well enraged. "What do you want?"

"Just waiting for you. And I wanted a wee word."

"You have no right to walk into my house."

"You should learn to lock your doors."

Across the kitchen table, they faced each other.

"How long have you been here?"

"Ooh, about half an hour." Where else had she been? What had she been doing? Had she been snooping around Virginia's house, gone upstairs, opened cupboards, opened drawers, touched Virginia's clothes? "I thought you'd not be long, leaving the doors open like that. Course, the dogs barked, but I soon quieted them down. They can always tell a friend."