Cold, Lone and Still

than ever. I told her so. Neither of us referred to the return of the engagement ring. I had it with me, but, unless the right moment offered itself, there was no point in attempting to return it.

At six fifteen I called a taxi and we arrived at the restaurant to find more than half the company already assembled and chattering over cocktails in an anteroom to that in which we were to dine. Cheerfulness was the keynote and, needless to say, Carbridge was never mentioned. The students (Patsy in a surprisingly simple and restrained dark green dress which she informed me she had borrowed for the occasion because the warden was going to be present) all had best-behaviour faces and sleekly groomed hair. Dame Beatrice was in dark red and the warden’s wife in black and gold, but to my mind the lovely Hera stole the picture; there was no doubt that Todd thought so too, and, as a fair-minded man, I could not blame him for wanting to dance attendance on her.

I had calculated that, if everybody whom Trickett had intended to invite had accepted, we should be seventeen at table, but there was an extra guest in the person of the warden’s son, Dominic Terrance, an engaging youth who was going up to Cambridge as soon as the term started.

The dinner was table d’hote, there was a choice of red or white wine and there were place cards, so that everybody knew where to sit. The seating had been worked out carefully, I thought. Dame Beatrice took the head of the table, Laura the foot, so that both of them had the rest of us in their eye. My dinner partner was Jane Minch and on my other side was Rhoda Green.

The warden and Mrs Terrance were on either side of Dame Beatrice and young Dominic partnered Tansy Parks. Sandy had refused the invitation without having given me any specific reason except to say that he was not acquainted with any of the company.

‘You know Hera, me, Trickett, Sally Lestrange and Dame Beatrice,’ I pointed out. He replied that he knew Dame Beatrice only by repute and that when Trickett had come to the office it was only to speak to me and not to him. He added that dinner parties which numbered more than four people were not much in his line unless all the guests were of the male sex, and that he could see Hera and myself any time he wished and in much less boring circumstances.

Conversation at table was lively and of a general nature, even Rhoda and Tansy joining in. Most of the subject matter was centred on the West Highland Way and, needless to say, again nobody mentioned Carbridge. When we rose from table, Todd said to me, ‘I’ve been told that some of you are to go back with the warden, so I’ll see Hera home. There’ll be no hanky-panky. I know her too well for that.’

I found this remark disquieting, but there was no opportunity to question it. The students, delighted with their evening, were leaving and taxis were being summoned for the rest of us. Hera and Todd went off in the first one and I found myself in the vestibule of the restaurant with Dame Beatrice, Laura, Sally, Perth, young Dominic, the warden and his wife.

The Minches had gone off together on foot, so had Rhoda and Tansy, and the four students also appeared to be hunting in couples, for I saw Trickett and Coral go off in one direction and Freddie and Patsy in another.

I shared a taxi with Sally and Laura, while Dame Beatrice was accompanied by the warden and his wife and son, but, before the taxis came, Laura contrived to segregate me from the others.

‘I expect you wonder what all this is about,’ she said.

‘Not at all. I think you and Dame Beatrice wanted to see all of our walking party together, so that you could sum up one against the other, so to speak. I don’t know, though, why Perth and I have been invited to finish the evening at the hall of residence as guests of Mr and Mrs Terrance.’

‘You may not know, but there is no harm in hazarding a guess.’

‘In that case,’ I said, ‘perhaps Dame Beatrice is going to question Perth about the various relationships between members of the tour party and wants to have me present as a check on what he tells her.’

‘That’s about the size of it.’

When we reached the hall of residence, we were taken up to the warden’s quarters. Having seen us settled and indicated a small side table which held bottles and glasses, he and his wife and son took themselves off, having told us that they would be in the small sitting-room next door. They took Sally with them. I poured whisky for myself, Perth and Laura, but Dame Beatrice refused a drink and, eyeing us benevolently, began her interrogation.

It was directed, as I had anticipated, at Perth, and I guessed from his demeanour that he had expected to be the leading light and was quite happy to be in that position. In his quiet way, and like most Scotsmen, he had a pretty good conceit of himself. Laura had produced writing materials from somewhere and was poised to record in shorthand what he had to say.

‘You, my dear Mr Melrose,’ Dame Beatrice said to me, ‘will amend, confirm or contradict Mr Perth’s statements if and when you see occasion to do so.’

‘Aye,’ said Perth approvingly, ‘ye should always monitor your experiments. What is your wish that I should tell ye, mistress?’

‘What different connotations the same word can have!’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘ “Mistress” is a case in point. In England it means either a female employer of domestic servants or an alternative to a wife. In Scotland it is a form of address to a married woman of reputedly acceptable behaviour. I believe that the Scots’ use of the word is in accordance with its original meaning, and is preferable, in my opinion, to the Frenchified and somewhat stilted “madam”.’

‘Mistress is used by Shakespeare in a pleasant way in The Merry Wives of Windsor,’ said Laura. ‘ “Mistress Ford and Mistress Page are the liveliest of women.” ’

‘Ladies of unblemished virtue and of great wit and charm,’ I said, and I was about to recount my grandfather’s reminiscences of his falling in love with Edith Evans in 1925 on seeing her as Mistress Page, when I realised that, as P.G.W. causes one of his characters to say, we are not put into this world for pleasure alone, so I left the little story untold and waited upon Dame Beatrice’s next words.

‘What did you make of Mr Carbridge?’ she asked Perth. ‘What was your first impression of him? Did you find reason to alter it in any way as the tour progressed?’

‘I’ll answer ye categorically. I thought the man was a fule when first I met him and I still think the man was a fule.’

‘Interesting. Why did you think that, I wonder?’

‘Ye have an English saying that onlookers see most of the game. I kept yon man Carbridge in my sights from the beginning.’