The Right Kind Of Man Page 12
Skye smiled weakly, and Duncan McPherson gave a dour nod in return. ‘You’d better come up to the house and get dry,’ he said.
‘I—I don’t want to be any trouble,’ she stammered between chattering teeth.
‘You should have thought of that before you got out of the car.’ said Lorimer with something of a snap, but he took off his tweed jacket and wrapped it round her shoulders. ‘Come on, let’s get moving. I don’t want you on my hands with pneumonia.’
The farmhouse stood square and solid at the end of the track. Duncan stumped into the kitchen and set the kettle on an old range, before disappearing upstairs and producing an old flannelette nightdress. It had long sleeves and a high frilled neck and smelt of mothballs. ‘This was my wife’s,’ he said gruffly, thrusting it into Skye’s hands. ‘Better put it on when you’ve washed.’
Skye squelched into the bathroom and peeled off her sodden clothes. The plumbing might look antiquated, but the water was gloriously hot and she felt much better by the time she had washed off the mud and towelled herself dry. Rubbing the worst of the wet from her hair, she pulled on the nightdress. Her slenderness was almost lost in its voluminous folds, but it was clean and warm and, best of all, dry.
When she made her way back to the kitchen, Lorimer was sitting at the wooden table with a mug of tea in his hands, talking to Duncan whose back was to the door. It wasn’t often that Skye had the opportunity to watch Lorimer’s face unobserved, and she hesitated, only to take a sharp breath as he smiled suddenly at something Duncan said.
As if sensing the force of her reaction, Lorimer looked over Duncan’s shoulder to where Skye stood framed in the doorway, and his smile faded. Her face was scrubbed and glowing, her curls still damp and flattened to her bead like a little girl’s, and she was quite unconscious of the fact that the light in the hall behind her shone right through the white material of the nightdress and silhouetted her slender curves.
After a moment, Duncan noticed the change in Lorimer’s expression and he swung round in his chair. ‘Come away in,’ he said, seeing Skye. ‘I’ll get you some tea.’
‘Thank you,’ she said nervously. The intensity in Lorimer’s eyes was making her feel stupidly shy and she tried not to look at him as she took the seat that Duncan had pulled out for her. ‘I’m sorry I’m giving you so much trouble.’
‘It’s the least I can do after you saved one of my sheep,’ Duncan said grudgingly. He set a mug of tea in front of her. ‘Not that a sheep is worth much nowadays, what with all the rules and regulations we farmers have to put up with, but…well, I appreciate the thought.’ His eyes twinkled at her and Skye realised that he was just playing up to his image of dour farmer, and beneath it all he was quite pleased to have his sheep back safe and sound. She cupped her hands round her mug and smiled back at him.
‘Did you know she was missing?’
‘Aye, I’d been up to count them in their field. They’re fenced off from the burn, but there’s always one that manages to get out. I’ve lost a few when the water’s up. I was checking along the banks for her when I saw your man here heading down the river from the opposite direction.’
‘I’d been up to the farmhouse,’ Lorimer explained. ‘But I couldn’t find Duncan, so I headed back to the car, only to find that you’d disappeared. I was not best pleased, as you can imagine, especially not when I heard a lot of unladylike shouting and swearing from the burn. Duncan obviously heard it too.’
‘Most unladylike,’ Duncan confirmed gravely, but he winked at Skye, who blushed and hung her head.
‘At least Duncan and I have had a chance to talk while you were in the bath,’ said Lorimer, relenting. ‘And Duncan has agreed to reconsider my new proposal.’
‘Oh, good.’ Skye brightened. Perhaps the whole afternoon wasn’t going to turn into such a disaster after all. ‘I saw your clubs in the hall,’ she said to Duncan. ‘You could play every day with a golf course right on your doorstep.’
‘Farmers don’t have time to play golf every day,’ Duncan grumbled. ‘And I don’t suppose a la-di-da course like this one sounds will be open to the likes of me.’
‘Of course it will,’ said Skye stoutly, ignoring Lorimer’s attempts to catch her eye. ‘Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if they made you an honorary member to thank you for making the course possible.’
Duncan shot a speculative look at Lorimer. ‘Aye, well, there might be something in that,’ he said slowly.
‘I’m sure we could work something out.’ Lorimer was looking resigned.
‘Think how nice it would be just to stroll down the track and have a round or two whenever you felt like it,’ Skye added persuasively. ‘It must be lonely living up here on your own. I’m sure there would be masses of visitors who’d like to play with someone like you who really knows the course.’
Duncan’s eyes took on a far-away look, clearly imagining how grateful visitors might like to express their appreciation of his local knowledge at the nineteenth green afterwards. ‘It might not be so bad, I suppose,’ he said with a sly grin at Skye. ‘Do you play?’
‘Yes,’ she said proudly, remembering her lesson, then caught Lorimer’s eye. ‘Well, a bit.’
‘Then perhaps we’ll have a game some time.’
Skye beamed at him. ‘I’d like that.’
‘She’ll need a bit of practice before she takes on a player like you,’ said Lorimer drily. ‘Sky still thinks a wood is a lot of trees and an iron is something you use when the laundry basket is full.’
Skye glanced across the table at him. A reluctant smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth and he was watching her with a mixture of amusement, resignation and exasperation…and something else that Skye couldn’t identify but which made her feel hollow inside. She jerked her eyes away and cradled the mug in her hands as if she were cold.
Beneath his dour demeanour, Duncan proved to have a sardonic sense of humour and he had taken a quite unexpected liking to Skye. Prompted by her interest, he told her all about his wife and how they had struggled to keep the farm going over the years. Their only son had flatly refused to have anything to do with anything as unprofitable as a farm and, much to Duncan’s disgust, had gone off to be an accountant in Dundee. Since his wife’s death ten years ago, Duncan had carried grimly on by himself, unable to contemplate a different life, the sheer hard work broken only by his weekly round of golf at Kielven, half an hour’s drive away.
All this he told Skye, while Lorimer pushed back his chair slightly and turned to watch them both, the tough old farmer and the vibrant girl with the sympathetic blue eyes and the curls drying in wild golden disorder around her face. When Lorimer glanced at his watch and indicated that they should be on their way, Duncan was well-embarked on a vituperative denunciation of the current agricultural policy and was disappointed to be stopped in full flight.
‘Are you away back to Edinburgh?’
‘No, we thought we’d stay for the presentation dinner tomorrow. You’ll be there, won’t you, Duncan?’
He nodded. ‘I won the Kielven Cup this year,’ he said proudly. ‘I’m going to collect it.’
‘In that case, we’ll see you there,’ said Lorimer. ‘You’ll have had a chance to think things through by then, so perhaps you could let me know then if you’ve decide to accept my proposal?’
But Duncan was too canny to be rushed into a sudden decision. ‘I might have decided by then, but I might not,’ was all he would say.
Outside, it was dark and cold and wet. ‘I’d better carry you,’ said Lorimer, looking down at Skye’s bare feet. Duncan had insisted that she keep the nightdress for the time being and had bundled all her wet clothes into a plastic bag. When Lorimer lifted her up into his arms, Skye linked her arms awkwardly around his neck, shocked at how desperately she wanted to relax into him and bury her face against his throat. She was burningly, agonisingly aware of her nakedness beneath the nightdress, and of Lorimer’s strong arms holding her easily against his chest.
Lorimer turned to look at Skye as the engine throbbed into life and his smile glinted briefly in the lights from the dashboard. ‘I’m beginning to think you might be right,’ he said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
KIELVEN was a small village of huddled white-washed houses on the coast where the hills rolled down into the sea. At low tide, the water was sucked out into the Solway, the firth that divided Scotland from the hills of Cumbria, leaving behind a vast expanse of gleaming mud threaded with silver channels. You could walk for three miles out to sea on the mud flats, Lorimer had told Skye that morning, but the tide could be treacherous, rushing in at a tremendous speed and drowning unwary walkers in its dangerous currents. There were points, the locals said, where the incoming tide could overtake a man on a galloping horse.
The tide was on its way in when they got back to the hotel. Skye caused something of a stir being carried inside in Mrs McPherson’s nightdress, and all conversation stopped as Lorimer set her on her feet. ‘Why do you always make me feel as if I’m taking part in a bad play?’ he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
By tacit agreement, they avoided the empty dining-room and ate in the cosy bar with its crackling fire and the ranks of whisky jugs hanging from the ceiling above the bar. Skye had changed out of the nightdress, but seemed somehow just as conspicuous in jeans and a jewel-coloured jumper. Outside, the rain splattered against the windows with a rattle like a thousand tiny stones hitting the glass and whenever the door opened a great gust of wind would blow in the new arrival.
With conversation going on all around them, the atmosphere between them was easier than the night before, but, even so, Skye felt absurdly self-conscious. It was ridiculous. She had never been shy. It was just that desire wrenched at her whenever she caught sight of his hands around his whisky glass or his jaw with its faint prickle of stubble or the lean, decisive length of him as he leant against the bar. Skye twisted her glass desperately between her hands. She felt confused and panicky, overwhelmed by her conflicting feelings for the austere man sitting by her side.
‘Are you all right?’ Lorimner was watching her more closely than she knew, and she felt the treacherous colour deepen in her cheeks.
‘Yes,’ she said, hating how high and squeaky her voice sounded. ‘At least…it’s very stuffy in here, isn’t it?’
Lorimer glanced at the window. ‘The rain seems to have stopped. I wouldn’t mind going for a walk to clear my head either.’ He drained his glass and got to his feet. ‘Coming?’
He helped Skye into her jacket and she quivered at the brush of his fingers against her collar. Shrugging on his own, he held open the door and they went out into the night together.
The rain had stopped, but the wind was blowing the boats around and their halyards rattled frantically. When Skye leant over the sea wall, the water was slapping and chopping against the stones and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could see two wooden rowing boats straining against their buoys.
In silence, they walked past the low white-washed houses along the front and along the merse where the sea murmured just out of sight beyond the gorse bushes. The merse ended in a small shingle beach, sheltered from the worst of the wind, and Lorimer put out a hand to help Skye over the pebbles. His fingers were tight and warm over hers and for a moment she thought he was going to keep hold of her hand. The next, he had released her and she was scolding herself ferociously for letting her heart leap in such a stupid, hopeful way.
They sat together on a flat rock, listening to the waves breaking over the beach. They might have been alone in the world, Skye thought with a little shiver, surrounded by the inky blackness of the night. It had seemed dark in the village but there were no comforting lights here to chink the inky blackness. Skye could just see the froth of the waves as they crashed on to the rocks, but beyond that nothing. There was just the sound of the wind and the water, the sharp sting of spray on her face and Lorimer, still and solid beside her.
Ever since one of her brothers had shut her in a cupboard for one long, long afternoon when they were all small, Skye had hated and feared the close, claustrophobic blackness of the pitch-dark. It was one of the reasons she liked living in a city where it was never utterly dark or utterly silent. It was different here. There were no street-lamps, no passing headlights, no neighbours’ televisions blaring until the small hours, only the wind and the rain and the night.
Hoping that Lorimer wouldn’t notice, Skye edged a little closer to his reassuring presence. As long as he was there, she was safe, and the darkness itself was a comfort. It hid her bright, frivolous colours and made the differences between them seem unimportant. She turned her head to look at him. It was difficult to see him clearly, but she could just make out the line of his nose, the set of his jaw and the faint gleam of his eyes as he stared out into the dark, almost as if he had forgotten she was there.
Skye wondered what he was thinking about. Whatever it was, it wasn’t her, she realised with a pang. ‘Where’s your house?’ She asked the first thing that came into her head, seized by a sudden desire to remind him of her presence.
‘The manse?’ Lorimer seemed to rouse himself, and gestured into the darkness. ‘On the other side of the bay here. I thought we’d go there tomorrow, since we’ve got some time to kill before the dinner.’ He hesitated. ‘At least…you don’t have to come, if you don’t want to.’
‘No, I’d like to,’ said Skye quickly, telling herself that she was simply curious to see the house that he had fallen in love with, and not desperate to be near him.
There was another long pause, then they both spoke
at once. ‘Will—?’ she said at the same time as Lorimer
began,
‘I—’
‘You first,’ said Skye awkwardly.
He was silent for so long that she began to think he hadn’t heard her. ‘I think I owe you an apology,’ he said out of the darkness at last. ‘I was quite wrong to insist that you wouldn’t be welcome down here because you were English,’ he went on, choosing his words with care. ‘The Buchanans obviously thought you were wonderful, and so did Duncan McPherson. You were the one who persuaded him to think seriously about selling his land, not me. If it hadn’t been for you, I might never have had the chance to talk to him at all.’ He had been looking straight ahead, but now he glanced down at Skye. ‘I haven’t thanked you for that. I should have done.’
‘You couldn’t be expected to thank me at once for disobeying all your strict instructions,’ said Skye fairly and his smile gleamed briefly through the darkness.
‘Knowing you as I do, I should never have expected that you would obey them! I just wanted to say that I was sorry,’ he continued more seriously. ‘I was instantly prejudiced against you just because you were English, and it made me unpleasant and unreasonable.’
Skye didn’t look at him, but she was very conscious of him beside her. This was a new Lorimer and she wasn’t at all sure how to deal with him or the strange new intimacy of the darkness. ‘It was an understandable reaction after the experience you had with Caroline,’ she said, a little hesitantly.
There was an infinitesimal pause, then Lorimer said, ‘Yes…’ She thought he was about to say more, but after a moment he simply repeated himself, more firmly this time, ‘Yes.’
The waves smacked and sprayed over the rocks and the wind keened over the water, but Skye didn’t hear them. She felt as if she and Lorimer were marooned in a bubble of silence that grew increasingly taut. She found that she was holding her breath, and let it out carefully, concentrating on the simple necessity o
f breathing in and out to take her mind off the sudden, urgent need to lean against him and press her lips to the faint blur of his throat, to feel his warmth and his strength and his hard, reassuring body.
In, out, in, out…just keep breathing, Skye told herself, but she was so tense that when Lorimer spoke her name hesitantly out of the darkness she froze.
‘Skye?’
‘Yes?’ she gasped on a sharp, inward breath.
Silence. ‘Nothing,’ said Lorimer brusquely as if he had suddenly changed his mind. He stood up, his feet crunching on the pebbles. ‘It’s getting cold. Let’s go back.’
Skye followed him more slowly up the beach, unsure of whether she felt relieved or agonisingly disappointed. There had been such a strange note in his voice as he said her name, and the base of her spine had clenched in a mixture of hope and panic and a wild, thrilling anticipation.
They were careful not to touch as they walked back to the inn without speaking. ‘I think I’ll walk on a bit,’ said Lorimer gruffly as they reached the door. ‘You go in.’ Without waiting for her reply, he turned and strode off, leaving Skye alone in the darkness that felt cold and threatening without him.
Inside, the pub was warm and bright, and she could hear voices raised cheerfully in the bar as she climbed the stairs. At this time of year, there were few visitors, and she and Lorimer had the floor to themselves. It was colder up there, too, and Skye shivered as she washed quickly in the old-fashioned bathroom and hurried back to her room along the draughty corridor.
It was years since she had slept between sheets. The unfamiliar blankets weighed heavily on her legs, and she shifted restlessly, wondering what Lorimer had been going to say before he changed his mind so abruptly. The lights from the bar below threw a dim yellow light up through the darkness and the occasional burst of laughter made her feel less alone, and she fell asleep at last, still wondering.
She was standing on the Solway mud watching the sea racing towards her. She knew she should run, but her legs wouldn’t move and beneath her feet the mud began to shift and suck her down. Suddenly Lorimer was there, on a wild-looking horse, and she stretched out her hand for him to help her, but he just galloped past, leaving her to the sea which bore relentlessly down on her, swirling her into a vicious whirlpool and dragging her down, down…