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Melanie looked from Rachel to Richard and back again, her eyes suddenly filled with sadness. She opened her mouth and licked her lips, then she slid off her chair, went to Richard and putting her arms round his neck she planted a kiss on his cheek. Then as if embarrassed by what she had done, she went and buried her head in Rachel’s lap.

Richard fingered his cheek thoughtfully. ‘I don’t ever remember her doing that before,' he said thoughtfully.

The journey home was uneventful until they reached the vantage point high above the loch. Melanie had been half asleep on Rachel’s shoulder, but when the car stopped she woke, obviously frightened.

‘Were you dreaming, dear? It’s all right, we’ve only stopped to admire the view,' Rachel reassured her as Richard rummaged for his binoculars.

‘We’ll be able to see better from over there,' he said, opening the door and unfolding his long legs.

Rachel opened her door to get out too, when suddenly Melanie sat bolt upright in her seat, clutched Rachel’s hand and let out a piercing scream, her face a mask of absolute terror. For fully half a minute she screamed, her whole body rigid, then, just as suddenly, she crumpled into Rachel’s arms and lay there, sobbing.

Rachel comforted her as best she could, mystified by such an outburst. ‘I think we’d better take her right home,’ she said to Richard. ‘Have you ever known this to happen before?’

He shook his head, obviously shaken. ‘That’s the first time she’s uttered a sound since ... for two years,' he finished, as mystified as Rachel had been. He turned the car and drove down to Ardenbeg and home to Glencarrick with one eye on the road and one eye on his daughter, now exhausted in Rachel’s arms, her face white and tear-streaked.

‘I’ll get her bathed and straight up to bed,’ Rachel said when they arrived at Kilfinan House.

‘Yes, I think that’s probably the best thing.’ Richard brushed his hand gently over Melanie’s head. ‘I wish ....’he began, then changed his mind. ‘I’ll put the car in the garage,’ he finished.

Rachel had bathed Melanie and was just tucking her into bed when there was a tap on the bedroom door and Richard came in.

‘Is she all right?’ he whispered.

Rachel nodded and tiptoed to the door with a backward glance at Melanie who, with her faithful teddy clutched in her arms, was already almost asleep through sheer exhaustion.

Richard stood outside in the corridor with Rachel, his face perplexed. ‘I can’t understand it,’ he whispered.

‘Come into my room, we can talk there,’ Rachel invited. ‘I’ll leave her bedroom door ajar so that I’ll hear if she wakes.’ She opened the door opposite to Melanie’s bedroom and Richard followed her into her sitting room and flung himself down into an armchair.

Rachel knelt down and switched on the electric fire with a slight shiver.

‘Cold?’ he asked.

She shrugged. ‘A little.’

He looked at her and his eyes were suddenly filled with compassion. ‘I’m sorry, Rachel,’ he said, ‘I really had no right to saddle you with my worries. Melanie Oh, I don’t know.’ He leaned forward and put his head in his hands and Rachel had an almost irresistible desire to put her arms round him and comfort him. Suddenly he looked up, his face tortured. ‘What am I going to
do
with her? What’s
wrong
with the child?’

Rachel sat back on her heels. ‘At least,’ she said slowly, ‘we’ve discovered today that her fear of going into Dunglevin has nothing to do with being afraid of Miss Botham. The vantage point on the road above the loch is what terrified her today. It seems to me that she’s afraid to even drive past that spot. Have you any idea why?’

She looked at Richard.

‘No, none at all,’ he said. ‘But of course, you’re right. Why has it never occurred to me, though? I’ve been taking her to speech therapy all this time assuming that is was simply the thought of going that frightened her—you see, she was always perfectly all right by the time we reached Dunglevin, and mostly I’d take her home the other way, coming in at the head of the glen so we didn’t use the scenic road at ail on the way home. It never occurred to me .....’

‘It probably would never have occurred to me either if you hadn’t stopped the car there and she hadn’t been so petrified,’ Rachel pointed out fairly. ‘I don’t imagine you’d ever stopped there with her before.’

‘No, you're right, I hadn’t.’ Richard stared down at his hands.

‘Is there anything special about that place?’ Rachel asked. She hesitated. ‘I mean, is that the spot where ... Celia ... your wife's car ...?’

‘No,' he interrupted, ‘but it was along that road.’

‘Oh.’ Rachel could see that it was still painful for him to talk about his wife’s death. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, a frown creasing his brow. Suddenly he opened them. ‘It couldn’t have been anything to do with that, though. Melanie wasn’t with Celia when the accident happened. It was late at night and Celia was alone.’

‘I see.’ Rachel got up off her knees and took off her jacket, hanging it over the back of a chair. Then she stood leaning on the chair back. ‘But
something
must have happened to Melanie at some time at that spot. Something, the memory of which still fills her with terror. What on earth could it be?'

Richard shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea at all.’ He looked up and his eyes met hers and held them. Suddenly the familiar surge of emotion filled her, almost choking her with its intensity, and she gripped the back of the chair to steady herself.

In a moment he was by her side. ‘Rachel, are you all right? Is something the matter?' He put an arm round her shoulders solicitously and tilted up her face. ‘You’ve gone quite pale.'

She resisted the urge to rest her head on his shoulder and twisted away from him, not trusting herself to speak until she had put the width of the table between them. ‘I’m fine,' she said shakily. ‘A little tired, that’s all, and dying for a cup of coffee. Would you like some,. too?'

‘I would, indeed.’ He was regarding her strangely. ‘I’ll go and make it, if you like.'

‘No, no, I’ll go. It won’t take a minute,' she managed a breathless smile. ‘Perhaps you’d like to put a record on while I go and do it. You’ve put quite a varied selection at my disposal. You’re fond of music?’ She knew she was prattling but she couldn’t help herself.

‘Very.’ He was still looking at her oddly.

‘Good. So am I.' She reached the door. ‘It’ll be interesting to see if our tastes coincide.' She escaped and hurried along the corridor and down the stairs. Her cheeks, which had been cold, were now flaming and she pressed her hands to them. What was the matter with her, behaving like a lovesick schoolgirl over this man? The kitchen was cool and she tried to compose herself as she made coffee and prepared cheese and biscuits—anything to keep her hands and her mind busy. One thing was certain; Richard Duncan must never know the devastating effect he had on her. That would be just too humiliating.

With this in mind she carried the tray back upstairs. It had begun to blow outside and the wind gusted Hurries of rain on to the window, making the atmosphere in her comfortable sitting room seem even more cosy and inviting. By the time she got back Richard had discarded his jacket and had rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing tanned muscular forearms, and was busy selecting a record from the rack. ‘I hope you like Brahms,’ he said, without turning round.

‘I do. Particularly his first symphony.’ She put down the tray as the strains of music began. ‘Oh, that’s exactly what you’re playing! ’

‘It's one of my favourites, too.’ He got to his feet and took the coffee she had poured for him and went over to the nearest armchair. Rachel poured a cup for herself and went and sat opposite to him. The scene was altogether too domesticated and intimate for her peace of mind. She sipped her coffee and gazed at the flickering effect the electric fire gave out. Synthetic flames. Unreal. Illusory. Exactly like the situation she was in at this moment. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to fantasy and the music.

‘Majestic, isn’t it?’ said Richard, as the last notes died away. He came over to her and took her empty coffee cup and refilled it for her. ‘What would you like now? A contrast? Mozart, maybe? Mendelssohn?’

‘The Mendelssohn violin concerto, please.’ She allowed herself a brief glance up at him as she spoke.

He put her coffee on a stool and sat down on the arm of her chair, his face full of concern. ‘Rachel, what’s wrong with you? You’re as jumpy as a kitten. Are you worried about your aunt?’

‘Yes,’ Rachel clutched at the straw he offered, ‘I am. Your father says she’ll be all right, he’s spoken to ... to ....’ her mind was whirling at his closeness and she couldn’t think straight.

‘Archie Murdoch,' he finished for her. ‘Yes. And if Archie says she’ll be all right you can take his word for it she will be.' He spoke gently, which only served to increase the turmoil within her. She escaped by getting up and going over to the record player, but before she could select another record he had come up behind her.

‘I think perhaps I should go,’ he said. ‘It’s quite late and you are obviously not yourself. No doubt this business with Melanie has contributed to that, as well as your concern over Rose.' He sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Rachel. Instead of coming here to recover from your own misfortune you seem to have become caught up in problems here which we’d no right to burden you with. But please try not to worry.’ He turned her to face him. ‘Look, I’ve told Moira I’ll take her sailing next week, I’ve not got a particularly busy week with fishing, so it seemed a good opportunity. I thought we’d go for a whole day and sail to one of the islands. Why don’t you come, too? And Melanie, of course.’ He smiled slightly. ‘I’m sure it won’t hurt her to have a day off “school”.' He emphasised the last word slightly. ‘Anyway, it can always be called an educational trip, can’t it?’

Clinging to the last threads of her self-control, Rachel managed to smile back. ‘I’m sure Melanie would enjoy that.’

‘And you?’

‘Oh, yes. Me, too.’

‘Good. I’ll let you know which day nearer the time. It depends to a large extent on the weather, of course.’ He studied her for a few seconds more. ‘I’ve never known you to look quite so strained,’ he remarked.

‘I expect I’m tired,’ she whispered, wishing he would go, yet wanting him to stay.

‘Mm. Yes, I suppose that’s what it is.’

She had never known him to be so concerned and solicitous. This was a new Richard and one she found it almost impossible to resist.

He nodded to himself, satisfied with her explanation. ‘Well, goodnight, sleep well, and thank you for your concern over my little girl.’ He tilted up her face and bent his head to drop a light kiss on her forehead, but suddenly his arms came round her in a vice-like grip and his mouth found hers in a kiss that seemed to her to last light years and sent her soaring through undreamed-of galaxies of stars.

At last he almost threw her from him. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. It was unforgivable of me,’ he muttered, turning away. ‘It was just ... a man has needs ... it won’t happen again, I promise you.’ He picked up his jacket and hurried from the room, leaving her, the back of her hand pressed to her bruised lips, with tears running down her cheeks. Whether the tears were of humiliation, hatred or happiness or a mixture of all three Rachel had no idea, but by the next morning, in the cold light of day, she realised that of the three happiness had very little part in it.

It
was not many days before Rachel regretted accepting Richard’s invitation to a day’s sailing. Apart from the fact that she realised that the less time she spent in his company the better it was for her peace of mind, there was Moira.

Moira had taken to calling at Kilfinan House on the flimsiest of pretexts and she called just after lunch one afternoon as Rachel was preparing to drive with Melanie into Ardenbeg. Melanie had run off to find Ben and Rachel was beside the Mini calling her when Moira’s car swept up the drive. As always, Moira was immaculately turned out, in honey-gold slacks that looked as if she had been poured into them and a brown, equally close-fitting jumper. She wore a silk screen-printed scarf in oranges, browns and yellows, at her neck, caught high on the shoulder with a large expensive-looking cameo brooch. Her auburn hair was secured with an ornate tortoiseshell comb.

Rachel went forward to greet her, feeling very ordinary in her gingham summer dress and sandals, a cardigan slung over her shoulders for when the day became chilly.

‘Where’s Rick?’ Moira was probably less than half an inch taller than Rachel, yet she managed to give the impression of looking down at her.

‘He’ll be out all day today. He went early this morning and he left a message that he wouldn't be in until late tonight.’

‘Oh! ’ Moira seemed to take this as a personal affront.

‘He’s supposed to be taking me sailing this week, but he hasn’t said which day.’

‘I believe we’re going the day after tomorrow, if the weather’s right,’ Rachel told her.

‘We? Are you coming, then?’ Again Moira managed to look down at Rachel, and this time there was no mistaking the disdain in her expression.

‘Richard thought it might be good for Melanie,’ Rachel explained wretchedly.

‘And of course you’ll have to come too, to look after the child,’ Moira’s face cleared a little. ‘I hope she’s not prone to seasickness.’

‘I hope so, too. I want her to enjoy herself.’ Rachel managed to smile at Moira. ‘I’m sure Richard will be in touch with you about the final arrangements. Of course, you do realise that he can’t make definite plans until the last minute, don’t you?’ She was trying hard not to feel antagonistic towards the other girl, but finding it very difficult.

‘Naturally
,'
Moira said coolly. ‘He told me that when I saw him last night.’

Melanie came running from between two trees, but as soon as she saw Moira she stopped, hovered for a moment like a bird, and then sped off towards the barn.