Roses for Christmas. Бетти Нилс

in some astonishment. ‘Darling, you’ve said a dozen times how tedious it is going to Edinburgh by train, and then there’s the bus to Lairg first…’

      ‘I drive tolerably well,’ murmured the doctor. ‘We could go to Lairg and on to Inverness. It would save you a good deal of time, but of course, if you are nervous…’

      ‘I am not nervous,’ said Eleanor coldly. ‘I merely do not want to interfere with your holiday.’

      ‘Oh, but you’re not,’ he told her cheerfully. ‘I have to go to Edinburgh—I’ve just said so. I came here first because I had some books my father wanted your father to have.’

      Which led the conversation into quite different channels.

      It was a crisp, bright October morning when Eleanor woke the next day—too good to stay in bed, she decided. She got up, moving quietly round her pretty little bedroom, pulling on slacks and a sweater again, brushing and plaiting her hair. She went down to the kitchen without making a sound and put on the kettle; a cup of tea, she decided, then a quick peep at Mrs Trot and the kittens before taking tea up to her parents; and there would still be time to take Punch, the dog, for a short walk before helping to get breakfast.

      She was warming the pot when Fulk said from the door: ‘Good morning, Eleanor—coming out for a walk? It’s a marvellous morning.’

      She spooned tea carefully. ‘Hullo, have you been out already?’

      ‘Yes, but I’m more than willing to go again. Who’s the tea for?’

      ‘Me—and you, now you’re here.’

      He said softly: ‘I wonder why you don’t like me, Eleanor?’

      She poured tea into two mugs and handed him one, and said seriously: ‘I think it’s because you arrived unexpectedly—quite out of the blue—you see, I never thought I’d see you again and I didn’t like you when I was a little girl. It’s funny how one remembers…’

      He smiled. ‘You were such a little girl, but I daresay you were right, I was a horrid boy—most boys are from time to time and you were bad for me; you made me feel like the lord of creation, following me around on those fat legs of yours, staring at me with those eyes, listening to every word I said—your eyes haven’t changed at all, Eleanor.’

      Her voice was cool. ‘How very complimentary you are all of a sudden. You weren’t so polite yesterday.’

      He strolled over and held out his mug for more tea. ‘One sometimes says the wrong thing when one is taken by surprise.’

      She didn’t bother to think about that; she was pursuing her own train of thought. ‘I know I’m big,’ she said crossly, ‘but I don’t need to be reminded of it.’

      He looked momentarily surprised and there was a small spark of laughter in his eyes, but all he said was: ‘I won’t remind you again, I promise. Shall we cry truce and take the dog for a walk? After all, we shall probably not meet again for another twenty years or even longer than that.’

      She was aware of disappointment at the very thought. ‘All right, but I must just go up to Mother and Father with this tray.’

      He was waiting at the kitchen door when she got down again, and Punch was beside him. ‘I must take Mrs Trot’s breakfast over first,’ she warned him.

      They crossed the back yard together and rather to her surprise he took the bowl of milk she was carrying from her and mounted the ladder behind her while Punch, wary of Mrs Trot’s maternal claws, stayed prudently in the stable. The little cat received them with pleasure, accepted the milk and fish and allowed them to admire her kittens before they left, going down the short lane which separated the manse and the small church from the village. The huddle of houses and cottages was built precariously between the mountains at their back and the sea, tucked almost apologetically into a corner of the rock-encircled sandy bay. As they reached the beach they were met by a chilly wind from the north, dispelling any illusion that the blue sky and sunshine were an aftertaste of summer, so that they were forced to step out briskly, with Punch tearing down to the edge of the sea and then retreating from the cold waves.

      Eleanor was surprised to find that she was enjoying Fulk’s company; it was obvious, she told herself, that he had grown into an arrogant man, very sure of himself, probably selfish too, even though she had to admit to his charm. All the same, he was proving himself a delightful companion now, talking about everything under the sun in a friendly manner which held no arrogance at all, and when they got back to the house he surprised her still further by laying the breakfast table while she cooked for Margaret before she left for school. Half way through their activities, Henry came down, rather indignant that he had missed the treat of an early morning walk, but more than reconciled to his loss when Fulk offered to take him for a drive in the Panther. The pair of them went away directly after breakfast and weren’t seen again until a few minutes before lunch, when they appeared in the kitchen, on excellent terms with each other, and burdened with a large quantity of flowers for Mrs MacFarlane, whisky for the pastor and chocolates for Margaret. And for Eleanor there was a little pink quartz cat, a few inches high and most beautifully carved, sitting very straight and reserved, reminding her very much of Mrs Trot.

      ‘We had the greatest fun,’ Henry informed his waiting family, ‘and I had an ice cream. We went to the hotel in Tongue—one of those with nuts on top, and the Panther is just super. When I’m grown up I shall have one, too.’

      Eleanor, the little cat cradled in her hand, smiled at him lovingly. ‘And so you shall, my dear, but now you’re going straight up to the bathroom to wash your hands—dinner’s ready.’

      The rest of the day passed pleasantly enough, and if she had subconsciously hoped that Fulk would suggest another walk, she had no intention of admitting it to herself. As it was, he spent most of the afternoon with his host and after supper they all played cards until the children’s bedtime.

      She wakened at first light the next morning, to hear her brother’s excited whispering under her window, and when she got out of bed to have a look, it was to see him trotting along beside the doctor, laden with fishing paraphernalia—Punch was with them, too; all three of them looked very happy, even from the back.

      They came in late for breakfast with a splendid catch of fish, which provided the main topic of conversation throughout the meal, and when they had finished Mrs MacFarlane said brightly: ‘Well, my dears, fish for dinner, provided of course someone will clean it.’ A task which Fulk undertook without fuss before driving Mr MacFarlane into Durness to browse over an interesting collection of books an old friend had offered to sell him.

      So that Eleanor saw little of their guest until the late afternoon and even then Henry made a cheerful talkative third when they went over to visit Mrs Trot. It was while they were there, sitting on the floor eating apples, that Fulk asked her: ‘What time do you leave tomorrow, Eleanor?’

      ‘Well, I don’t want to leave at all,’ she replied promptly. ‘The very thought of hospital nauseates me—I’d like to stay here for ever and ever…’ She sighed and went on briskly: ‘Well, any time after lunch, I suppose. Would two o’clock suit you?’

      ‘Admirably. It’s roughly two hundred and fifty miles, isn’t it? We should arrive in Edinburgh in good time for dinner—you don’t have to be in at any special time, do you?’

      ‘No—no, of course not, but there’s no need…really I didn’t expect…that is…’

      ‘There’s no need to get worked up,’ he assured her kindly. ‘I shouldn’t have asked you if I hadn’t wanted to.’ He sounded almost brotherly, which made her pleasure at this remark all the more remarkable, although it was quickly squashed when he went on to say blandly: ‘I’ve had no chance to talk to you about Imogen.’

      ‘Oh, well—yes, of course I shall be delighted to hear about her.’

      ‘Who’s Imogen?’ Henry enquired.

      ‘The lady Fulk is going to