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“And will you call it ‘The Huntly Arms’?” Neil Raeburn spoke as he came from behind the shelter of the broken wall.

The two men eyed each other with hostility. Then Neil’s glance slid downwards and Judith realised that her hand was still tightly clasped within Stuart’s. She felt a blush sweeping into her face and neck and wriggled her fingers. Stuart responded with a tightening pressure, then suddenly he swung their joined hands and released her so that their hands parted almost under Neil’s nose.

“Have you met Neil Raeburn, Judith?” he asked. “Oh, yes,” she answered quickly. “At Barbara’s house.” She hoped he would not refer to that earlier meeting outside his own cottage.

“That was our second meeting,” Neil said. “Or even more precisely, our third.” His glance flicked towards Stuart.

“Well, yes, unofficially, I suppose,” Judith agreed lamely. “I’d lost my way,” she explained to Stuart, “and Mr. Raeburn directed me.”

“Misdirected you, so I understood.” Neil smiled before lighting a cigarette.

Judith tried to laugh lightly. “Well, it’s all straightened out now. Mr. Huntly has shown me the way and I can see where I went wrong.”

Neil continued to smile. “I’m very glad.”

“It’s natural that I should know Kylsaig better than you do, Neil,” Stuart’s voice was friendly, but not without a hint of patronage. “I’ve probably explored every inch of it at some time or other.”

“Oh, yes, I’m aware that even after twenty years of living here, I’ll still be counted as a ‘foreigner’. 1 haven’t the advantage of ancestors who’ve owned the place for three hundred years.”

Neil’s tone was just as friendly as Stuart’s but Judith was aware of an uncomfortable tension between the two men.

Stuart nodded. “We came down to see what progress we can find on the new slipway, but it doesn’t look as though the stone has arrived. You haven’t seen any signs of a boat from the mainland, have you?”

Neil shook his head. “I didn’t really come down here for that purpose.”

“No?”

“No. I assume it’s not yet forbidden to walk down here for a quiet smoke. Perhaps in the future—when you’ve done your rebuilding—it won’t be so attractive. Good afternoon, Miss Whitacre.”

Neil whistled, and Jess, the black and white collie, came immediately, but stopped to sniff uncertainly at Judith’s trousers before shoving her nose momentarily into the girl’s hand. Then the dog bounded off behind Neil.

“Thanks for your suggestion about the name of the inn,” Stuart called after him, “but I think we’ll stick to the old name.”

Neil merely half turned and nodded, but asked no question.

Judith, however, could not restrain her curiosity.

“What was the name of the inn?”

“The Bride of Kylsaig.”

JUDITH discovered that going across to the mainland to dine with friends was likely to be a minor battle with the elements.

“Usually I wear strong shoes and stockings,” Barbara told her, “and carry my best nylons and daintier shoes to change into when I get there.”

“Of course we have to walk, over to the ferry,” Judith said. “Stuart pointed out yesterday how much more convenient it would be for you and Andy when the slipway is built on this side.”

Barbara laughed quietly. “So Stuart has roped you in to support his schemes, has he?”

“Well, hardly—seeing that I’m only here for a short holiday. I don’t suppose my opinions would count either way.”

Judith chose the only dress she had brought with her for any kind of formal occasion, a smooth cotton printed in a blurred pattern of dark blue and black. She had designed and made it herself, and Barbara generously admired it.

“Yes, it suits you and you’ve cut it well. You ought really to try for a job as a designer instead of just selling clothes off the peg.”

“I’m hoping to get something like that next winter.” Judith always glowed with pleasure whenever her sister with such critical standards praised her clothes.

Barbara herself wore a deceptively simple two-piece of nubbly woven material in a warm oatmeal shade that on anybody else would have appeared insipid of drab, but under the jacket a chestnut satin blouse with a high draped neck lifted the whole outfit into the model class, Barbara’s class. With her fair hair freshly shampooed and set today, with a dozen thin gold bangles on one wrist, Barbara could have gone straight on to the catwalk of any model salon.

“You look very chic,” Judith told Her sister. “Not a bit like a weather-worn housewife at the mercy of a primitive sheep-farm.”

Barbara smiled and her light brown eyes gleamed with pleasure.

The two girls exploded with laughter as they collected everything necessary for the journey. Judith picked up a jacket to wear round her shoulders, a full-length nylon raincoat to wear in the boat, a head scarf, a bag for her extra shoes and stockings.

“It would really be much simpler to wear a tweed suit and be done with it,” she giggled, “but honour must be done, I suppose, to the Huntlys’ invitation.”

All the same, she thought it was an exciting way to set out for a dinner date—with the slanting sun gilding the water and brightening the hills with a golden haze.

Andy was more concerned with the sound of his engine than with the scenic effect, and Barbara and Judith waited on the ferry slipway while he tinkered. Eventually, when he was ready and they were about to step into the boat, Mrs. Drummond came down the path and waved to them. “Off to the mainland?” she asked.

“To Garranmure,” Barbara called back. “The Huntlys have invited us while we have Judith with us—”

Judith, happened to turn at that moment, saw Mrs. Drummond’s instant change of expression from friendly interest to disappointment, but the next moment the older woman was smiling determinedly.

“Have a good time. Give Mrs. Huntly my kindest regards.”

Andy landed safely at a tiny wooden staging that led on to a small stony beach where a double row of planks saved the necessity of stepping on the rough stones.

Stuart had brought a car to meet them and now hurried down from the road.

“I hear you two have already met,” Barbara said.

Stuart nodded and smiled. “Twice. We’re now quite old friends.”

When Andy caught them up, they entered the car and Stuart drove up a winding lane, then through gates along a drive up to the house.

Mrs. Huntly, a tall, white-haired woman nearing seventy, greeted Judith warmly. The two girls were shown into a bedroom where they could change their shoes and finish titivating themselves.

Judith was impressed by the magnificent staircase, panelled in pale oak, the whole of the double flights and landings carpeted in deep fuchsia. The massive newel posts gained a light, almost frivolous, touch from the golden cherubs supporting clusters of amber lamps.

“Goodness!” she exclaimed softly to Barbara, as they went down the wide central flight to the hall, “you feel you ought to be wearing a ball gown with a sweeping train.”

“It’s certainly a handsome background for women,” agreed Barbara.

In the drawing room when they had all finished their drinks, Mrs. Huntly demanded, “Where is Fiona?” and stretched out her hand towards a bell, but at that moment a young girl appeared, breathless with apologies.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she began, but Stuart cut in quickly to introduce her to Judith.

“This is Fiona Melford. She lives here with us, a constant plague. Fiona, this is Judith, Barbara’s sister.”

Judith murmured a vague “How d’you do.” but was too engrossed in the lovely red-haired girl to make conversation. Slender, delicately-modelled, with a slightly pointed, mischievously appealing face, Fiona Melford was exquisitely beautiful. Her hair shone like silken flames and her eyes, neither green nor brown, seemed to change colour as they sparkled.

In the long dining room where the panelling had been painted pale grey to offset black oak table and chairs, and rich crimson carpets and curtains, Judith was placed next to Stuart, with Fiona on the opposite side facing her across the oval table. Judith had always been accustomed to being outshone by a beautiful sister and had accepted without envy Barbara’s loveliness, but now she became aware that sitting at the same table with Barbara and Fiona, she must appear very ordinary and commonplace.

Stuart glanced at her. “You’re looking very smart tonight, Judith.”

“Thank you.” Her spirits lifted and a flush of colour in her cheeks added sparkle to her eyes. If Stuart had known that she was feeling just a shade depressed at that moment, he must be uncommonly perceptive, she thought.

Fiona wanted to know about Judith’s work, and her life in London. “Are you also a model?” she asked.

“No. I’m not really in the same class as Barbara. I’m in the dress department of one of the stores. I’m hoping one day, though, to become a designer.”

“Oh, if only I were clever enough to take yards and yards of lovely material and create wonderful fashions!” Fiona exclaimed.

“No, Fiona, please! Not another enthusiasm!” Stuart pleaded mockingly. He turned towards Judith. “Fiona goes mad for a time about all sorts of things. One minute she’s going to be a painter. Then it’s acting or ballet. Music, pottery, sculpture—they’ve all had a turn.” He glanced back to Fiona. “How far have you got with your novel?”

She grimaced at him. “Sneak! That was a secret. Now I shan’t be able to surprise anyone.”

“Sorry. I thought you wanted all possible publicity.”

Fiona stared thoughtfully at Judith for a moment or two. “I’m wondering if I could use you,” she said. “Oh, I only mean in my novel,” she added hastily. “Now that you know that I’m writing one—”

Stuart cut in, almost sharply, “You’re forgetting, Fiona, that Judith is our guest.”

“Oh, I only mean to use her in the nicest way,” Fiona declared. “Well, of course—that depends. She might turn out to be a sort of interloper and come between the hero and heroine.”

“Indeed, I hope not!” murmured Judith gravely. “But it’s the first time anyone has wanted to put me between the pages of a book, so you must control me and see that I don’t misbehave.”

After dinner they all sat in the drawing room where the windows on two sides gave glimpses of Kylsaig and other islands more distant down the Sound.

Mrs. Huntly called to Fiona, who rose immediately and crossed the room with grace and poise, the wide skirt of her grey and gold dress swaying as she walked.

“I hope you weren’t offended,” Stuart whispered to Judith. “Don’t take too much notice of Fiona’s fads and whims. If she had to work for a living, she’d make up her mind what she wants to do. But with just enough money to live on, and a little more to come when she’s twenty-one, she has no strong pull in any direction.”

“Has she always lived here with you and Mrs. Huntly?”

“On and off. She’s no relation, but her parents both died when she was quite young and my grandmother encouraged her to come here for school holidays and so on. She has friends in a few places, but she regards this as her home. She’s quite a decent youngster really and he’s company for the old lady. My grandmother likes contact with young people. Oh, well, I daresay Fiona will fall madly in love with somebody, and when she marries she’ll have more important matters to occupy her time.”

Judith was faintly amused at Stuart’s calm, almost brotherly arrangement of Fiona’s future.

Fiona herself was now standing near the piano and tuning the strings of a violin.

“This is something she does really well,” Stuart told Judith. “Teachers say that if she’d only practise more seriously, she could be a first-class violinist.”

Barbara sat at the piano, ready to accompany. After a couple of Brahms waltzes, Fiona played several old Scots airs and then the “Eriskay Love Lilt.”

Judith watched the girl’s graceful arm movements, but her mind had soared away on the haunting strains of the music to heather-covered hills and the wild, lonely places of the islands.

When Fiona put down her violin and turned away from the piano, Judith’s thoughts were still outside in the imagined scene, and after a while she jerked herself out of the dream-like state to find that Stuart was watching her.

“You were miles away,” he said softly.

“She plays exquisitely,” Judith answered.

When the conversation became general again, there was talk of plans for sightseeing for Judith’s benefit.

“If you go to Iona and Staffa, may I come with you?” Fiona asked. “I’ve never been able to land there yet and go in Fingal’s Cave.”

“There’s never any certainty about landing on Staffa whenever you go,” Stuart pointed out.

“There’s a steamer trip tomorrow,” Barbara said. “What d’you think about the weather, Andy?”

“Fine tomorrow—probably two days after that. I’m not going to prophesy further than that, not in these changeable islands.”

“Fiona could take you on several car trips,” Mrs. Huntly said to Judith. “There are many beautiful spots on the mainland as well as on the islands.”

“We must go up to Glencoe and Fort William and Inveraray,” Fiona agreed eagerly.

“Not all on the same day, I hope,” put in Stuart. There was much discussion of all the interesting places that Judith ought to see, and she said with a laugh, “I shall need a couple of months to fit all this into a timetable.”

Eventually it was decided that Barbara, Judith and Fiona would take the steamer next day to Iona and Mull and hope, if the weather and tide were right, to land at Staffa.

Andy now suggested that he and Barbara, with Judith, would return to Kylsaig fairly early. “I’m not too sure about my boat. The engine’s falling apart, I think.”

When Stuart was ready to drive them all down to the shore, Fiona suddenly decided to accompany them.

Andy’s unsureness had a certain foundation, for the engine refused to start and Stuart would not hear of Andy rowing the boat across.

“Wait a few minutes and I’ll get mine out of the boathouse.”

Barbara, Judith and Fiona stayed in the car and a long silence fell upon the three girls, broken when Judith and Fiona both started talking at once.

“I’m sorry—” Judith apologised.

Fiona laughed. “My fault. I wondered if you’d seen the boathouse. You can’t see it very well now, but Stuart built the boat part on the ground floor and on top is a kind of studio that I use a lot.”