'That's nice of you,' Chavasse said. 'But I'd rather get back to the lodge. My uncle's promised to introduce me to the finer points of deer stalking this afternoon.'
Donner shrugged. 'All right, make it dinner tonight. Seven-thirty suit you? Of course I'll expect Colonel Craig as well.'
'Fine by me,' Chavasse said.
Donner climbed back into the saddle and Asta said suddenly, 'Deer stalking-that sounds simply marvellous, I don't suppose your uncle would have room for another novice this afternoon, would he?'
Chavasse hesitated, knowing that she would be in the way, and Donner grinned suddenly, as if perfectly aware of his dilemma.
'A good idea, angel. I'm sure Colonel Craig won't mind and I've lots of paper work to get through this afternoon.'
And looking up into her shining face, Chavasse was trapped. 'One o'clock on the dot,' he said, 'and we'll be leaving the lodge on foot.'
'One o'clock it is,' she replied and turned to follow Donner who was already cantering away along the track.
Chavasse reached for a cigarette, but his hand found only a soggy, waterlogged mass. He sighed heavily, turned and started to walk back towards Ardmurchan Lodge. Ah, well, he could still do all that needed to be done that afternoon without her being any the wiser as long as he was careful.
And for a while that afternoon he almost forgot what he had come to this wild, remote place for as they climbed the glen away from the lodge, cutting deep into the hills.
The colonel and George Gunn followed in their own good time and Chavasse and the girl forged ahead, leaving them far behind as they pushed through the heather towards the first great shoulder of the mountain.
She wore a plaid skirt and sleeveless white blouse, a yellow scarf around her hair and as she climbed ahead of him, he was suddenly happy. The air was like wine, the sun warm on their backs and when they reached the top and looked down, the colonel and George seemed very far away.
They moved on and a few minutes later, came over an edge of rock and the mountain fell away before them to the glen below, purple with heather, sweet smelling and beyond, shimmering in the heat haze, the islands were scattered across a calm sea.
The wind folded her skirt about her legs outlining the clean sweep of the limbs and when she pulled off the yellow scarf, the near white hair shimmered in the sun. She fitted the scene perfectly-a golden girl in a golden day and he was suddenly sad, because below in the valley was Loch Dubh, the island in its centre like a grey-green stone, and he had work to do and whatever happened she would be hurt by this affair-that much at least was certain.
'Quite a sight,' he said. 'Let's see if we can spot any deer.'
He took the binoculars from the case which was slung around his neck, focussed them and worked his way carefully across the great slope of the deer forest.
'See anything?' Asta demanded.
There was a sudden movement and a stag moved out of a corrie perhaps a quarter of a mile away and paused in the open. Chavasse pulled Asta close with his free hand. 'Down there by that grey outcrop of rock. Can you see?'
He handed her the binoculars and the breath went out of her in a long sigh. 'I'd no idea they were so handsome. Oh, blast, he's moved out of sight.'
'Probably got wind of us,' Chavasse said. 'From what my uncle was telling me, they can, even at this range.'
She handed the binoculars back and moved to the very edge of the slope and he sat down, his back against a boulder and focussed on Loch Dubh. The grey, broken walls of the old castle sprang into view. There was a square tower at one end, typical of Scottish keeps of the period, which seemed in a reasonable state of repair, but nothing moved.
He followed the shore line carefully, pausing at a wooden jetty. A motor boat was tied up there. As he watched, Jack Murdoch appeared from an arched entrance in the castle wall and walked down through the bushes to the jetty. He dropped into the boat and cast off. Chavasse was aware of the engine, echoing faintly in the valley below and then Murdoch spun the wheel and moved away.
Chavasse lowered the binoculars slowly and when he looked up, saw that Asta had turned and was staring at him, a slight frown on her face. 'Isn't that a motor boat down there on the loch?'
He nodded and got to his feet. 'It certainly looks like it.'
'That's strange,' she said. 'Max told me at lunch that there were terns nesting there this year. That he didn't want them disturbed which was why he's banned the fishing this season. I should have thought a motor boat would have disturbed them even more.'
'Oh, I don't know,' Chavasse said. 'He probably wants to keep an eye on them.'
She still looked dubious and, in a deliberate attempt to steer the conversation away from the dangerous course it had taken, he pointed down the hillside to where a stone hut nestled in a hollow a couple of hundred feet below.
'That'll be the deer stalker's bothy my uncle said we'd make for. Come on-let's see what you're made of.'
He grabbed her hand and plunged down the mountainside and Asta Svensson shrieked in delight as they rushed downwards, stumbling over tussocks, never stopping until they reached the hollow.
They went over the edge, sliding the last few feet and then she lost her balance and fell, dragging Chavasse with her. They rolled over twice and came to rest in the soft cushion of the heather. She lay on her back, breathless with laughter and Chavasse pushed himself up on one elbow to look down at her.
Her laughter faded and in a strangely simple gesture, she reached up and touched his face gently and for one long moment he forgot everything except the colour of that wonderful hair, the scent of her in his nostrils. When they kissed, her body was soft and yielding and she was all sweetness and honey, everything a man could desire.
He rolled on his back and she pushed herself up on one elbow, looking utterly complacent. 'Not unexpected, but very satisfactory.'
'Put it down to the altitude,' he said. 'I'm sorry.'
'I'm not.'
'You should be. I'm fifteen years too old for you.'
'Now that's the English side of you coming out,' she said. 'The only country in Europe where age is presumed to have a dampening effect on love.'
He lit a cigarette without answering and she sighed and leaned over him, a frown on her face. 'Each time we meet I have the same feeling-that somehow, you are in two places at once. Here in person, somewhere else in thought.'
'You're a romantic, that's all,' he said lazily.
'Am I?' she said. 'But this raises limitless possibilities. I can imagine anything I want, for example.'
'Such as?'
'Oh, that you are not what you seem to be. That you followed me over the mountain for a deeper reason than you admitted. That you aren't even a university lecturer.'
'That's licence, not imagination,' he said lightly.
'Oh, but I'm not the only one to think so.'
He turned to look at her sharply and, suddenly, his face was wiped clean of all expression, the face of a stranger. 'And who else indulges in this kind of fantasy?'
'Max,' she said. 'I heard him talking to Ruth last night. He told her to get in touch with Essex University. To check on you.'
Chavasse laughed harshly. 'Perhaps he wonders whether I'm after your money. I don't think he's pleased to see other men in your life.'
She rolled on to her back and stared up into the sky, her face troubled. 'He's over-protective, that's all. Sometimes I think that perhaps I resemble my mother too much for his comfort.'
