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‘Oh,
there
you are. I was looking all over for you.’ Rachel feigned surprise. ‘Well, there are lots of things I need to know about. Will you help me?’

Melanie nodded. She neither smiled nor lifted her eyes. It was going to be a long, slow business getting through to the little girl, Rachel realised, but, feeling the warm little hand in her own, she had no doubt that she would win in the end.

The day passed quickly. When Melanie had taken her to see everything in the house that Rachel could think of they went to Melanie’s playroom and did jigsaws and cut out pictures. Rachel was saddened to see the brand-new, expensive toys that lined the room, mostly unused—bought, she guessed, mostly by Alistair as a sop to his conscience.

The rain was coming down in torrents by now and the top of the mountain was completely hidden in the thick accompanying mist. This was something that never ceased to amaze Rachel; how a huge solid bulk that was a mountain could seem to disappear so utterly and completely, just as if it had been spirited away.

She voiced these thoughts to Melanie. All day long she had talked to the child, telling her about her home in Suffolk, about the children she had taught and the funny things they did; she told her about Rose, that she had had an accident and been taken to hospital but that they hoped she would be better before long. Occasionally she threw in a question, hoping that perhaps in an unguarded moment Melanie might forget herself and answer. But she didn’t. A nod or brief shake of the head was the only indication that she had even heard what had been said to her.

Patience, Rachel reminded herself as she tucked the little girl into bed and kissed her goodnight. Melanie must be given time.

It was arranged that Rachel should eat her evening meal with Alistair and Richard after Melanie was in bed, so she changed the maroon trousers and blue sweater that she had been wearing all day for a dress of pale green and went down to the dining room. Alistair was there, alone. He was wearing a tweed suit and turtle-neck sweater.

‘Richard’s not back yet. Don t know what’s kept him. He said he'd be back for dinner,’ he said in his abrupt manner, adding, ‘We don’t dress for dinner when we’re by ourselves, but I’m pleased to see you’re wearing a dress. Pity to cover up a pair of shapely legs with trousers. Sherry, lassie?’

‘Please.' Rachel couldn’t help smiling. Alistair Duncan was blunt and direct, you felt you knew where you stood with him.

‘Celia wore trousers sometimes. Not always, though. Not always. She knew I liked to see her in a dress. She knew how to dress, too, did Celia.’

‘You must miss her,’ Rachel prompted.

He nodded. ‘Yes. She was a bonny lass.’ He didn’t speak of her further but it was obvious from his tone that he had been fond of his daughter-in-law.

Over dinner, cooked by one of the women who came in from the clachan, Alistair talked about Rose. His concern for her went far beyond that of an employer towards his employee, he spoke of her as a long-standing and very dear friend.

The meal was dull and not particularly well cooked, but Alistair didn’t seem to notice and when it was over he excused himself and went to his study. Rachel went up to her sitting room, first looking in at Melanie.

She was fast asleep, clutching an old teddy, but instead of the relaxed features of a normal healthy child, her face wore a frown and her whole body was tense. Rachel stood looking down at her for a long time. If only she could find a way through the barrier of silence that engulfed Melanie!

She went thoughtfully to her room and turned on the radio to drown the sound of the rain lashing down. Melanie, it seemed, had never been a talkative child, but it was not until her mother’s death that she had ceased talking altogether. Rachel frowned. She knew so little about Celia, yet everything she had heard pointed to her having been a remarkable woman. What little Alistair had said of her had been with a note of affection, Ben had clearly been more than half in love with her, and Richard had still not got over losing her, hiding his broken heart at times under a veneer of suave cynicism. Yet there was no clue to her actual character; only Rose had given a hint when she said, ‘Richard’s wife hated it here. She missed the social life she had been used to.’ Yet she had given it up to marry Richard and bury herself in the country with him. She must have been very much in love—a feeling Rachel didn’t find it hard to understand.

At ten o’clock Rachel still had not heard the sound of Richard’s car on the drive. Several times during the evening she looked out of the window, thinking she heard it, but each time she had been mistaken. She told herself that he was probably spending the evening at the farm with Moira after their day in Glasgow, or perhaps they had gone to dinner and the theatre there. None of these alternatives gave her any comfort at all, in fact she found that there was an uncomfortable feeling, not unlike jealousy, gnawing inside her. It’s nothing to do with me what Richard Duncan does, she told herself sternly, nor who he is with. I’m only here to look after his daughter.

She went to bed. She had never before slept in a four-poster bed and she found it a luxurious feeling. All the same she couldn't sleep and at eleven she went downstairs to make herself a milky drink in the hope that it would help her to sleep.

She found milk in the fridge and when she had warmed it she put it in a mug taken from a hook on the dresser. She was about to carry it up to her room when she heard the front door bang and a few seconds later Richard strode into the kitchen, his face like a thundercloud. He was wearing yellow oilskins, but even so he was soaked to the skin and looked frozen with cold.

‘Car broke down the other side of Ardenbeg, he said briefly, ‘miles from anywhere. And not another car passed me. I've had to walk twelve miles. Of all the filthy nights for this to happen! ’

‘Why didn’t you phone for help?’ Rachel asked.

‘Lines are down. I tried.’

Rachel put her tray down on the table in order to help him off with his oilskins. ‘Good thing I always keep these in the car,’ he said as he struggled out of them. ‘Don’t pull there, get hold of the sleeve.’ He put his arm out impatiently, ‘That’s better. God. I could do with a drink, but I must get some dry clothes on first.’

‘But what about Moira?’ Rachel gave a final tug. He had made her nearly as wet as he was himself, the front of her housecoat was saturated. ‘You can’t leave her stranded in a broken-down car on a night like this.’

He looked blank for a moment. ‘Moira? Oh, she’s spending the night with friends. I only gave her a lift into Glasgow, I don’t know what she was doing after that, except that she wasn’t coming back tonight. Ugh! ’ He took off his shoes; they were full of water. ‘I’m going upstairs to change.’

'Would you like me to make you a drink?’ Rachel asked.

‘Please. The Scotch is on the sideboard in the dining room, and I’d like a large one. On second thoughts bring the decanter. I’ll be in my study, it’s probably warmer there than it is down here.’ He went off, muttering to himself.

Rachel, her milky drink forgotten, collected the whisky decanter from the dining room and took it to Richard’s study, first slipping back to her own rooms to change from her wet housecoat to a long woollen skirt and lambswool sweater because she was beginning to feel chilled.

Richard’s study was not a big room although the high ceiling gave an illusion of space. The walls were lined with books and charts and the flat-topped desk by the window was littered with papers. Two leather-covered armchairs flanked the electric fire, which Rachel was glad to switch on, putting the tray holding the decanter and glass on a low table beside it. Then she poured a generous drink for Richard.

‘Didn’t you bring a glass for yourself?’ He came in, wearing sandals, jeans and a dark green sweater, towelling his hair dry as he came. ‘Never mind, it doesn’t matter, I think there are some here.’ He went over to a small comer cupboard hanging on the wall and took out a tumbler, handing it to her. Then running a comb through his hair he threw himself into the nearest armchair and took a gulp of his drink. ‘Ah, that’s better. I feel a little more human now.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I’ve had one hell of a day in Glasgow and the car breaking down just about clinched everything.’

Rachel perched on the arm of the other chair, sipped her drink and said nothing.

After a moment he opened his eyes. ‘Have you made any progress with Melanie?’ he asked. His voice had a sharp edge to it.

Rachel was taken slightly aback at his tone. ‘I’ve only been with her a day,’ she reminded him. ‘I can’t work miracles.’

‘No, of course not.’ He poured himself another drink. ‘I’m still not convinced that this is the right thing for the child, although my father, naturally, is happy about it. I think school is what she needs. Plenty of discipline .....’

‘Security is what Melanie needs more than anything,' Rachel found herself saying vehemently.

‘Nonsense. She's secure enough. She’s lived here all her life; she knows every inch of the house and grounds. What better security could she have? No, it’s discipline she needs. She’s spoiled, that s the trouble.’ He drained his glass and put it down on the tray. ‘My father’s the culprit, of course. You must have seen all those expensive toys in the playroom. He buys her all these things, but she never plays with them, she’s simply not interested. She’d rather be running wild in the woods, or out with Ben. It's not good for her. As I see it, school’s the only answer.'

‘Then why don’t you send her?’ Rachel was becoming faintly irritated by his tone.

‘Because, to put it bluntly, I can’t afford to.’ He looked up at her, still perched on the arm of her chair, and his mouth hardened. ‘If you’ll spare a moment and sit in that chair properly I’ll tell you why.' Obediently, she slid into the seat of the chair.

He sat forward. ‘My father, as you’ve no doubt been able to reason for yourself, is a rich man,' he said. ‘This house ... the grounds ... outlying farms .....’ he spread his hands. ‘Also, you will have been able to see for yourself that he is neither too old nor too infirm to run the Estate. In fact, everything runs very smoothly under his direction and he s very happy doing it.' He leaned back in his chair. ‘So where does that leave me?’

‘As his assistant?’ Rachel suggested.

‘Oh, yes, he’d like that. In fact, he’d like that more than anything,’ Richard said bitterly. ‘But I shouldn’t. If I take over this estate it has to be on
my
terms. I would want to run it
my
way, not his. There are several areas where we don’t agree even now, and it would be even worse if we were actually working together.’ He shook his head. ‘No, until he retires I’ll have nothing to do with running this estate; that’s why I started my own business at Ardenbeg. It’s quite different, quite set apart from anything here, and eventually it should make me quite a respectable living. But, even more important than that, it’s completely mine. I run it the way
I
choose, I’ve built it up from nothing with no help, financial or otherwise, from anyone. Unfortunately, up to the moment, although it’s ticking over quite satisfactorily, the profits haven’t been sufficient to pay the fees of the school I have in mind for my daughter. Now, this is one area where I would be prepared to accept help from my father, but it is also, sadly, the one area where he is not willing to give it, simply because he doesn’t want Melanie to be sent away to school.’ He got up from his chair and stood with his back to the electric fire. ‘Call it blackmail if you like, but he has said he will pay for her to go to school if I come into his business. And this I refuse to do, even for Melanie, because I know what problems it would cause.’

‘And you’re trying to tell me that Melanie has security,’ Rachel breathed.

‘She has. All this is over her head. It doesn’t directly concern her at all.’

‘That’s what
you
think. Do you imagine she doesn’t sense the antagonism between you and your father? She may not understand it, but she’ll know it’s there
and
that she’s the cause of it. You’re
using
her, both of you, to get your own way.’

Richard shook his head coolly. ‘You’re wrong. My father is quite happy with the way things are. He’d like me back in the running of the Estate, but he’s in no desperate hurry. He doesn’t want Melanie to be sent to school, although he would finance this as a ...’ his lip curled sardonically, '... “reward” to me. No, by and large he’s got what he wants, which is a governess for her.’ He gazed at Rachel and his eyes were cold. ‘Believe me.
I'm
the one who isn’t happy about that, but at the moment there’s nothing I can do about it.’

Rachel felt her colour rising in humiliation. She put her glass down carefully on the tray and stood up. This was the side of Richard Duncan that she had encountered on their first meeting, on the journey to Glencarrick from Dunglevin; it showed a cold, ruthless man who had no feelings for others. The real Richard Duncan.

She went over to the door. ‘My concern is with your daughter,’ she said quietly, although she was seething with rage inside. ‘The difficulties between you and your father have nothing whatever to do with me. I’m here to help Melanie and to teach her what I can, and this I shall do to the best of my ability as long as I am required here.’ She went out, not waiting for him to reply, closing the door carefully behind her. At least now she knew exactly where she stood 'with Richard Duncan. Not only was she in the lowly position of being a governess to his child, but an unwelcome one at that. Could there be anything more degrading?

Back in her room she undressed, climbed into the four-poster bed and on her first night under the roof of Kilfinan House cried herself to sleep.

The
next morning Rachel woke early. The day was fine and the trees, saturated after the previous night’s rain, seemed to drip diamonds in the bright sunlight. She got up and dressed herself in a blue gingham dress and went to rouse Melanie. The little girl was already awake and out of bed sitting on the window seat and staring out of the window.