Sally Wentworth - Tiger in His Lair Read online

  'They both intend to live at the hotel, do they? I mean, your brother isn't going to keep on his own job and just come up at the weekends or something?'

  'No. He's given up engineering. His contract in Bahrain came to an end soon after Carol's father died, so they decided to come back to Scotland. They wanted to see more of the boys, you see.' Romily raised questioning eyebrows. 'You did know that they have two sons?'

  'Yes, I think I heard. One of them was called Simon, wasn't he?'

  'Yes, the younger.'

  'And are the boys going to be at home with them?'

  'No, they're going to stay on at their boarding- schools in England. But they'll come home for holidays, of course.'

  'Yes, of course. Would you like some coffee?'

  'Please.'

  James went to get it and Romily watched his tall figure as he threaded his way through the tables. Was he really interested in her? she wondered. When he'd said about staying overnight at Pitlochry, had it been a proposition or not? Usually it was easy to tell when a man was propositioning you, but with James she wasn't so sure. Maybe he'd just been sounding her out, seeing how she would react. But at least her answer had been loud and clear; she wasn't available or interested, even if she was free. Maybe it would have been better to tell him she had a boyfriend right at the start, but she didn't see why she should have to lie to protect herself. And he had at least made the suggestion in a subtle way so that it wasn't hanging between them, always in the background. That would have been unpleasant when they met in the future. If they ever met again after tomorrow. Romily remembered that he'd promised to introduce her to his old cook before he'd made that veiled suggestion. Now that she'd turned it down he might not be at all eager to see her again.

  He came back with the coffee and pushed his chair out from the table to drink it so that he could cross his legs, sitting back in easy relaxation.

  'Do you have a job as well as looking after your estate?' Romily asked him curiously.

  He gave a short laugh. 'Are you implying by that that running an estate isn't real work?

  Romily shrugged. 'I don't know. Is it? I've absolutely no idea how much—administration it involves.' She had been going to say work, but remembered his hands. They were capable hands, but they weren't the hands of someone who used them manually for a living.

  'As a matter of fact it does entail quite a lot of work, but I've organised it so that it doesn't take up my whole time. And yes, I do have another job—or jobs. I'm on the boards of several firms, both in Inverness and elsewhere.'

  'You're a company director, then?'

  There was a hint of disparagement in her voice which made James give her a keen glance. 'Yes,' he agreed.

  He waited for her to say something to explain her tone, but Romily picked up her cup and drank the last of her coffee, evading his gaze. Richard had been a company director, although still a very junior one, in a high-powered firm that had been more important to him than anything else. Certainly more important than her and probably, she thought cynically, a great deal more important than his wife. Wherever in the world they had wanted him to go he had gone, even at only a few hours' notice. But now she came to think about it, she supposed that it was quite possible that Richard had used the firm as an excuse when he had had to break a date with her because he couldn't get away from his wife. And the opposite must certainly be true: that he'd used the firm as an excuse to get away from his wife and come to her. For a moment Romily felt physically degraded as she sat lost in bitter memories.

  'They must be really unhappy ones, not worth even a penny.'

  'What?' James's voice roused her from her reverie and she looked at him rather abstractedly, still hundreds of miles away.

  'Your thoughts; I don't think they can be very happy ones. You looked—positively bleak.'

  Romily gave a small, forced laugh. 'Did I? It was because I realised that I'd forgotten to get something for Carol that she particularly wanted. I shall be in dire trouble if I go home without it.'

  'Is that all?' James didn't look as if he believed her but he let it go. 'Is Carol such a hard taskmaster, then?' he asked lightly.

  'Oh, absolutely terrible! My back is covered in lash marks from the way she whips me whenever I slow down,' Romily said facetiously.

  James laughed. 'Somehow that doesn't quite ring true. From what I remember of her, Carol has far more subtle and clever ways of getting everyone to do her bidding.' He stood up. 'If you'll excuse me, I'll go and pay the bill.'

  Taking the opportunity to go into the ladies' room, Romily applied fresh lipstick, then stood back to look at her reflection in the mirror. She would have to be more careful, she hadn't realised that her thoughts showed so openly on her face. Strange, though, she thought, that James had said that about Carol; he must have known the family better than he'd implied.

  He was waiting for her at the entrance and they walked together back to the High Street. 'Sure you can find your way now?' James asked her.

  'Oh, yes, I only have to go back to the precinct.'

  'I'll leave you here, then. My car's parked at the Town Hall, in the opposite direction.'

  'Goodbye, then. Thanks for lunch.'

  'It was my pleasure.' He handed her parcel back to her. 'Don't forget to pick up your tyre on your way home.'

  'I won't. 'Bye.' And she turned and walked briskly away from him, but this time she paused when she reached the pedestrian crossing and looked back. He was still standing on the corner, and he raised his hand in farewell as he saw her look towards him, then turned quickly and strode down the street.

  'Marvellous! You've got everything I wanted,' Carol exclaimed with relieved pleasure when Romily got back. 'I'll put these curtains up straight away so that they don't crease. Can you give me a hand or are you too exhausted?'

  'No, of course not. Which room are they for?'

  'The television room.'

  The two women carried the curtains across the hall, but it was Romily who eventually went up the step-ladder to hang them while Carol took the weight from below.

  'How did you like Inverness?' Carol asked her. 'I suppose you found it very small after London.'

  'You're the second person who's asked me that today. The clothes shops aren't very exciting. There's hardly any summer stuff in yet.'

  ' We don't often get much summery weather until well into June,' Carol reminded her wryly. 'Who was the other person?'

  'What?'

  'Who was the other person who asked you how you liked Inverness?'

  *Oh—James Gordon. I need another curtain hook.' Romily glanced down. 'Carol, I need another hook.'

  'Oh sorry.' Carol passed her one up. 'Did you run into him in town, then?'

  Romily climbed down the ladder. 'There, that one looks OK. No, I had a puncture on the way and luckily he came along and changed the tyre for me. Then he asked me to have lunch with him in Inverness.'

  'To have lunch?' Carol looked at her quickly and then gave a rather harsh laugh. 'I hope you said no.'

  'Well, no, as a matter of fact I did have lunch with him. Shouldn't I have done?' Romily looked at the other woman in surprised puzzlement.

  'Not if you value your reputation. You have to be careful, Romily.' Carol turned to pick up the other curtain and put the hooks in. 'James Gordon is the local playboy. His intentions towards women are never—shall we say—honourable.'

  'He's a womaniser, is he? I suspected as much.'

  'Oh, really? Why? Did he—did he…'

  'Make a pass? Sort of.'

  'What do you mean?'

  Romily looked at Carol with a slight frown but her sister-in-law's back was still towards her. 'Well, he didn't exactly come straight out and ask me to go to bed with him or anything, but he dropped a line that I could have taken up if I'd felt that way inclined.'

  Carol turned to look at her, her face tight. 'But you didn't?'

  'No,' Romily agreed shortly, 'I didn't.'

  'Oh, good,' Carol's feat
ures relaxed and she gave a light laugh. 'I should hate to think that you'd got mixed up with our local rake before you'd been here more than a couple of weeks. I suppose I should have warned you about him. After all, I am responsible for you.'

  'Thanks, but I'm quite capable of taking care of myself,' Romily answered crisply. 'And I can recognise a—a man of that type when I meet one.'

  'Why—why, yes, of course. Sorry. I'm afraid I still tend to think of you as Gerald's little sister.' Carol sounded taken aback by her sharpness, but as Romily went up the ladder again, she realised that she had just told what was probably the biggest lie in her life. Richard had been a playboy, but she had been so gullible that she hadn't realised it for two years, and had only found out in the end by accident. But now, and probably for the rest of her life, she would be on her guard, and it came as no surprise to find that her suspicions about James Gordon were correct; he was far too sophisticated and good-looking to be taken seriously.

  She hung the curtains and then climbed down. 'They look good, don't they? Match the wallpaper perfectly.'

  'It's the other way round; I chose the paper to go with the curtains. Of course we could really do with a new carpet in here, but it will have to wait until we've got some money coming in, I'm afraid,' Carol answered, looking round the room. She paused, then added, 'I really do feel that it would be better if you didn't see James again. He's good-looking, of course, but not the type a girl wants to get—well, involved with, if you see what I mean.'

  'You don't have to worry, I'll keep him at a distance.'

  'You haven't—you haven't arranged to meet him again, have you?' asked Carol with some alarm in her voice.

  Romily didn't particularly want to discuss her private life with Carol, but realised that in a place like this it would probably get back to her anyway, so admitted reluctantly, 'Yes, tomorrow night, as a matter of fact. But only because he's going to introduce me to his old cook. I want to see if I can learn some old Scottish dishes from her.'

  'Oh, I see. Well, be careful, won't you? I know he's very attractive to women, but he isn't any good for you, my dear.'

  'I'll remember,' Romily said lightly. 'Is there anything else you want me to help you with, or shall I go and decide what to make for dinner?'

  Alone in her kitchen, Romily got down a couple of cookery books and began to go through them, but her mind drifted back to that conversation with Carol. She wondered how her sister-in-law had known that James was a womaniser when she'd lived abroad for such a long time, but then realised that she probably still had a great many friends in the area that would have brought her up to date on all the latest gossip. Or Carol might be basing her warning on the fact that James had that kind of reputation before she went to Bahrain. Fleetingly Romily wondered if perhaps James might have changed and grown out of his libertine tendencies in the ten years that Carol had been away, but then dismissed the idea. Once a stud, always a stud, she decided with bitter cynicism. She was glad that Carol had warned her against him; now she would be doubly on her guard.

  And it was with this thought in mind that she walked up the lane to meet James the following evening. It was dark, the moon not yet out, and she carried a torch to light her way. The night was dry, but there was a cold wind so she had put on a thick coat and tied a scarf, gypsy-fashion, around her hair. Romily had expected to see a car parked at the end of the lane and stopped to look round for it.

  'Hallo, Romily.'

  She turned quickly, surprised to see James standing nearby. 'Where's your car?'

  'I thought we might walk up. Do you mind?'

  'No, I suppose not.' She lifted her torch to see him better. He was bareheaded, but was wearing a thick Aran sweater under his jacket.

  He smiled. 'Good. I was afraid you might be wearing four-inch heels or something.' She fell into step beside him, just able to make out his figure in the darkness. 'I don't suppose you did much walking in London,' he remarked.

  'On the contrary. I like to walk. I often used to go into Hyde Park, and sometimes we went jogging on Hampstead Heath.'

  'We?'

  'A—some friends and I,' Romily prevaricated.

  'There are some good walks round here, but it's advisable to go with someone who knows the area. It's easy to get lost, and sometimes the mist can come down quite suddenly.'

  'I should have thought you'd get more climbers than walkers,' she remarked.

  'We get some. The Monadhliath mountains just south of Inverness are quite high and they lead down to Ben Nevis, but most people who come to climb them stay at Fort William or Fort Augustus.'

  'You're glad to say,' she observed with mock wryness.

  James laughed. 'The walkers and the climbers I can understand; at least they get to know the countryside and have a respect for it. It's the hundreds of tourists in their coaches and caravans I can't tolerate. All they ever seem to do is to drive from one whisky distillery to another, and from town to town where they make for the nearest souvenir shops. If they ever walk more than half a mile from their car or coach I should be very surprised.'

  'But think of all the work they bring to the area.'

  'And think of all the unemployment they leave behind in the winter. It's no real solution to the problem.' He glanced at her. 'Does Abbot's Craig intend to stay open in the winter?'

  'I don't think so. Gerald said he would probably close at the end of October, but he's thinking of opening again for the New Year if he can get enough bookings.'

  'And what will you do in the winter?'

  Romily shrugged. 'I haven't thought about it. Get a job somewhere hot, I should think,' she said with a shiver.

  'It does warm up a bit in the summer.'

  'But not much?'

  'We have been known to have heatwaves, but they are, I must admit, something of a rarity. Are you very cold?'

  Afraid that he might offer to keep her warm, Romily said, 'No, I'm fine. What's your cook's name?'

  'Mrs MacPherson. I've always called her Maggie, but she can be a bit of a martinet, so I think you'd better stick to being formal for a start.'

  'Why? Does she disapprove of the younger generation?'

  'Not really. But she's a bit wary of strangers at first.'

  'And especially English and female strangers, I suppose.'

  James grinned. 'I'm sure you'll twist her round your little finger.'

  'I doubt it. I'm not you.'

  'What makes you think I can?'

  'Oh, I'm quite sure you're extremely good at twisting women round your little finger,' Romily retorted, unable to keep an acid note out of her voice.

  If he'd heard, he gave no sign of it. 'Maggie is a special case,' he told her. 'I've known her all my life. She used to let me have midnight feasts that no one else knew about, when I was a boy.'

  'You mean she spoiled you rotten.'

  'Something like that,' he agreed with a laugh. 'And when your brother's two boys are home and sneak into the kitchen looking for something extra to eat, won't you spoil them rotten?'

  'Why, yes, I suppose I will,' Romily admitted, rather liking the mental picture this brought to her mind. 'But I expect they're used to midnight feasts at school.'

  'They'll still try to steal cakes and biscuits if they can. Boys can never get enough of those.' James flashed the powerful torch he was carrying off to the right. 'We go up here.'

  Romily saw that they were almost at the castle and that there was a track going off below it. It was wide enough to take a car, so they continued to walk along side by side. She was aware of tall trees either side of them and once some creature in the forest gave a piercing cry quite nearby, startling her so that she turned in swift alarm. 'What was that?'

  'It's all right,' James reassured her, 'It's only an owl. We must have startled it.'

  'Not half as much as it startled me! I suppose there are quite a lot of animals roaming about in the woods at night,' she said rather nervously.

  'Yes, but none that aren't more frightened of yo
u than you are of them.'

  Romily rather doubted that but let it go. Ahead of them she saw a light and they soon came up to a stone-built cottage. James rapped on the door and it was opened by a small, sprightly looking woman of about seventy.

  'Hello, Maggie,' James greeted her. 'Here's the young lady I was telling you about.'

  Maggie gave Romily a good long look before she said, 'Come you in, then.'

  As she stepped into the hall, Romily said, 'Good evening, Mrs MacPherson. It's very kind of you to let me come and talk to you.'

  'We'll go into the parlour,' Maggie said decisively, showing them into a small but very clean room where a young man was reading the paper in front of a brightly burning fire. He jumped to his feet as they came in and Maggie introduced him as, 'My grandson, Ian.'

  Ian looked to be about her own age, possibly a bit younger, and he obviously hadn't expected anyone at all like Romily. He stammered a little as he greeted her and wiped his hand on his jeans before he offered it to her. Maggie gave him an impatient look and asked them to sit down, her eyes again going over Romily in the better light.

  It was warm in the room, so Romily unbuttoned her coat, but she didn't like to take it off when Maggie hadn't asked her to. She felt very much that she was on trial and that if she said or did anything wrong, Maggie would never take her into her confidence and part with any of her culinary secrets. James, though, was completely at home and started talking to both Maggie and Ian about ordinary, everyday things while Romily sat quietly by, but gradually and cleverly he brought her into the conversation so that they were all four talking together. Then James subtly switched to talking about forestry work to Ian, leaving the two women to hold a separate conversation. Following his tacit lead, Romily didn't attempt to ask Maggie directly to help her, instead encouraging her to talk of the years when she had been the cook up at the castle.

  The old lady reminisced for about half an hour and then got to her feet. 'Maybe you'd like to try one of my oatcakes? And won't you take off your coat, now?'