Rachel's Coming Home (12 page)

‘Thanks.' Rachel glanced down at her floaty pink and cream skirt, which she had paired with a short maroon jacket. She hoped it wouldn't look like she was trying too hard.

‘Charlie McArthur is a lovely man,' said her mother.

‘I know.'

‘He's got more than one or two of the local girls after him. It's very flattering that he's so keen on you.'

‘Mum, we're just friends.'

Maggie nodded understandingly. Then she said, as though there was a connection, ‘And have you seen anything of Philip Milligan recently?'

‘No. No reason why we should. He was very helpful that night you were rushed to hospital but he's got his own life, no doubt he's busy.'

Charlie took her to the Maypole House Hotel in a little village just outside Boroughbie. Rachel had forgotten what an attractive place it was, the four-storey house with its myriad sash and case windows, flanked at right-angles on each side by two two-storey wings. In the square this created was a complicated knot-garden of herbs and flowers. ‘It's very smart,' said Rachel, glad she had dressed up but worried now that Charlie was going to be spending rather a lot of money on her.

‘The food's good, that's the main thing,' he said. That was one of the nice things about Charlie, he was so easy going it was hard not to relax when in his company. He wasn't moody and unpredictable, like someone else she could mention.

They were shown to their table. Charlie ignored the almost intimidating array of snowy-white cloths and polished silverware and chatted away about his work and the Boroughbie Show. Rachel found it was easy to join in, sipping the one glass of white wine she had accepted, and beginning to enjoy herself.

They had reached the pudding stage when there was a crash followed by the sound of two familiar voices in an unfamiliar altercation. Rachel's seat gave her a lovely view of the gardens but she had her back to most of the room and had been unaware of who their fellow-diners were. Now she turned to see Philip Milligan and his little niece at a table not very far away, with a tumbler of some kind of coloured juice now spread over the white cloth and dripping on to the floor.

‘You need to be more careful …'

‘I'm sorry. I'm sorry.'

‘Not a problem, sir,' said a waiter, hurrying up with a pile of napkins and beginning the mop-up operation.

‘How many times have I told you?' said Philip to the girl. He was quite pink with embarrassment. This wasn't the sort of attention he was used to. The child looked close to tears.

Rachel moved to stand up, sure she could do something to help, and her action caught Philip's eye. ‘Amelia …' His voice tailed off.

‘How nice to see you,' said Rachel cheerily, as though there hadn't just been a small disaster. She kissed them both on the cheek, taking herself by surprise. ‘Are you here for lunch too?'

‘This place was recommended,' said Philip stiffly. ‘But I should have realised it really isn't suitable for a child.'

‘They're very helpful,' said Rachel, impressed at the way the waiter had removed the plates, whisked off the stained cloth and replaced it with another, all in the blink of an eye.

‘I spilt my juice,' said Amelia, still looking horrified.

‘These things happen,' said Rachel, patting her thin shoulder. Then she realised she had left Charlie alone at their own table and with a few more words of encouragement, withdrew.

‘That's that television guy, isn't it?' said Charlie. ‘He did a good job at the show. Not surprising, of course, with you there to help him. How're his dogs doing?'

‘They're fine,' said Rachel. ‘Luckily. You did a good job of sorting out Ben.' She wished she didn't have her back to the other couple. She wanted to know what they were doing but she couldn't keep turning round.

‘I heard he bought that lovely old house in the next valley to you. Is he going to settle in the area?'

‘I presume that's the plan,' said Rachel, wishing they could talk about something else. To her relief, a waitress arrived to see if they wanted coffee, and Charlie was distracted.

When they left she made sure she didn't go too close to Philip's table, just raised a hand in a casual farewell. At Charlie's suggestion they took a walk in the hotel gardens, which fell away to the river at the back. It was a lovely spot, if a little too manicured for Rachel's taste. She was about to suggest they head for home when she realised Philip and the child were coming to join them.

‘Thank you for coming to my aid back there,' he said. She wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic. He hadn't needed her to jump in like that.

‘No problem. Did you enjoy your meal?'

‘Once we got over the accident, yes, it was fine.'

‘I had a burger,' said Amelia. ‘It was really big. I couldn't finish it.'

‘It's a shame they don't do a children's menu,' said Philip.

‘They serve generous portions, don't they?' agreed Charlie. ‘I couldn't finish my steak, either, and I'm sure I've got a much bigger appetite than your niece.' He seemed quite taken with the child and took her down to the water's edge to see if they could spot any fish.

Philip hung back and Rachel felt she should stay with him out of politeness. He had been so good after the show, but now he was back to that supercilious tone she disliked so much.

He said abruptly, ‘Amelia and I wondered if you'd like to come and have supper with us one day.'

Rachel was dumbfounded. She had expected, hoped even, that she might see some more of him after his helpfulness. He had phoned a number of times to ask after her mother, but he had never suggested meeting up. At first, she had been too anxious to think anything of it, then she had told herself not to be silly. Why should Philip Milligan have time for someone like her?

And now this.

‘Do I presume that is a no?' he said, his grim tone making her realise she hadn't yet answered.

‘No … I mean, sorry, I was thinking. I'd love to come. That's very kind of you.' She met his eyes and felt herself beginning to blush. She looked quickly away. ‘What day were you thinking of?'

‘How about, say, Thursday? Yes?' His tone was cheerful now. ‘If you come along late afternoon we can take the dogs for a walk and eat afterwards. Amelia would like that.'

Oh, he was inviting her for Amelia's sake, was he? Well, that was fine.

Chapter Ten

Rachel hadn't forgotten she was going to do something about Anthony. On the Monday she made a trip into Boroughbie and sought out Rupert Randall's studio. She stood before the door for a moment, nervous now. She wasn't quite sure what she was going to say and had no idea if she would be welcome.

She tapped on the half-open door of what was clearly a converted garage, a square stone building with double doors.

‘In you come,' shouted a voice, so friendly she felt herself relaxing.

The room she entered was large and airy, lit by numerous skylights. A small, balding man was bent over a worktable in the centre. ‘I cannae stop the now,' he said. ‘But take a seat, I'll no' be a minute.'

‘Thanks. I'm sorry to disturb you.'

Rachel looked around for a chair, but found they were all being used to prop up canvases or hold piles of paper. She didn't mind. The place was fascinating enough for her just to stand and look. There were pictures everywhere, mostly the same distinctive black and white designs she recognised from the little card, but also sketches, water colours, and piles and piles of what she assumed to be artists' supplies – paper and ink and knives, brushes, sheets of lino, and she didn't know what else.

She was amazed to see all this here, in a little back road out of Boroughbie. She had thought of this as an agricultural area, a little market town, and now realised there was so much more she didn't know about the place.

The man finished his task and wiped his hands on a cloth. ‘Good afternoon to you,' he said with a twinkling smile. ‘Now, what can I do for you?'

‘I'm Rachel Collington. You won't know me, but I think you've met my brother.'

‘I recognise you from the papers,' he said with a grin. ‘You're the heroine.'

Rachel pulled a face. ‘Hardly. My brother came up and spoke to you at the show, a tall, fair-haired boy, nineteen-years-old?' She hoped the man remembered him. So much of her plan relied on that.

‘Aye, I mind him. Had a young lady and a wee lassie with him, did he no'?'

‘That's right. Our neighbour Gemma and the little girl was Amelia, niece of Philip Milligan who opened the show … But never mind about that. Anthony was really interested in your work.'

‘He said so. I told him to come and see me.'

‘Yes. The thing is, he's a bit … shy. And, I don't know, maybe it's just a teenage thing. He is really keen but he doesn't seem to know what to do with himself at the moment. He wanted to come but he wouldn't, so I thought I'd come and talk to you myself.'

‘Aye?' said the man. His round face seemed amused by her interference.

Rachel tried again. ‘Anthony's not doing anything with himself at the moment. I wondered if he could spend some time with you as a, I don't know, an assistant or a dogsbody or whatever. He just seems fascinated by what you do and if he could get a chance to see it close up maybe it would give him an idea …' She tailed off. This had all made sense when she thought it through at home, but now, with the little man watching her silently from dark eyes she wondered if it wasn't an incredible intrusion. ‘I'm sorry, it's probably a cheek to ask you …'

‘He wants a job, does he?'

‘He wouldn't expect you to pay him. He just needs to do something, you know? Something he's interested in, for once. He's been helping my parents with the kennels they run, but that's their interest, not his.'

‘There's no' much money in print-making,' said the man. ‘It's not a great career.'

‘I've not got as far as thinking of a career just yet,' said Rachel. ‘First he needs to find out what he's interested in, then we can take it from there.'

The man continued to regard her in silence for a while. His cheery face did not lend itself to frowns, but he seemed to be considering. ‘I'm busy enough at the moment, an extra pair of hands wouldnae go amiss.'

‘That'd be brilliant.'

‘I'm not anyone's nursemaid, mind. He'd have to think for himself.'

‘Of course. He can do that.' Rachel hoped he could, at least.

‘Tell him to come by and see me himself and we'll take it from there.'

‘Thank you!' Rachel shook his hand enthusiastically. This was the best she could have hoped for. ‘I really appreciate it.'

She couldn't wait to get home to tell Anthony.

Anthony was feeling very pleased with himself. He had taken the bus in to Boroughbie with the vague idea of seeing Gemma. Apparently if he had got up earlier he could have got a lift in with Rachel, but on the whole he was glad he hadn't. She would no doubt be wanting to give him some good advice about how to live his life and he was fed up of all that.

He had drifted in to the Boroughbie Arms. He knew Gemma didn't like him to interrupt her at work but he thought he'd have a little chat with Mrs Mackenzie, who was always so friendly, and find out when Gemma finished. And that was when Mrs Mackenzie had made her surprising suggestion.

‘I suppose you're off to university yourself in a few weeks,' she had said, folding her arms across her ample chest and settling back for a chat.

‘No, I'm not, actually.' Anthony had so far told hardly anyone this and still felt embarrassed.

‘Did you no' get a place?'

‘Yes, yes I did. It's just I don't think it's what I want to do any more.'

‘Aye, well. Sometimes it takes a while to decide what you do want to do.' Mrs Mackenzie was so understanding that Anthony thought perhaps he was doing the right thing. She continued. ‘Be useful for the likes of me if a few more of you young people stayed around. I'm going to short of staff when they all go off to college. It won't be so busy, of course, after the summer rush, but I'll still be a waiter-cum-barman short.' She smiled at him. ‘I don't suppose you're looking for a job yourself?'

Anthony grinned back. A barman wasn't the height of his ambitions, but it would be a job, get him out of the house, earn some money. He would be independent at last. ‘Actually, I think I am.'

They agreed on a trial period and a start date and Anthony took himself off to dissipate his excitement by a long walk around town until Gemma was free.

Gemma wasn't nearly as impressed by his news as he had expected and by the time he returned home his mood had taken a definite downward turn. Gemma had also refused to go out with him, again. He was starting to think her father was just an excuse. If she really liked him she would take the risk, wouldn't she?

Rachel greeted him with, ‘You're late back. We were just about to start tea.'

Anthony shrugged. ‘I'm not that hungry.'

‘Come on through to the kitchen. Mum and Dad like it if we all eat together.'

Anthony sighed and followed her. He was actually quite hungry, but he was fed up of being bossed around by everyone.

‘Have a good day?' said his mother. ‘It's nice that you and Gemma are getting on so well.'

‘Yeah.'

‘I expect she'll be going off to college soon,' said his father, looking sadly across at Anthony. No one had criticised him for his decision not to take up his place at Edinburgh University. They just looked unhappy, which was worse.

‘Yes, she will.'

‘Have you decided what you're going to do with yourself?' asked his mother, passing him the salad. ‘Don't think I'm nagging, dear, but I just wondered.'

Rachel opened her mouth to say something but Anthony got in first. ‘Actually, I got offered a job today.'