September

'Sorry to disturb you, but that's Edie Findhorn on the telephone; wants to speak to Mrs. Geordie Aird.'

Misfortunes always came in threes.

Violet instantly felt very cold, as though the opened door had admitted not only Agnes, but a freezing, icy draught as well. She rose to her feet so abruptly that she would have knocked over her chair had not Noel put out a hand to steady it.

Nobody spoke. They were all looking at her, their faces mirroring her own concern. She said, 'If you will excuse me…' and was ashamed of the shake in her voice. '… I won't be a moment.'

She turned and left the table. Agnes held the door open for her, and she went through it, through to IsobePs big kitchen. Agnes followed her, but that didn't matter… privacy was, at the moment, the last thing to worry about. The telephone stood on the dresser. She picked up the receiver.

'Edie.'

'Oh, Mrs. Aird…'

'Edie, what is it?'

'I'm sorry to get you out of your dinner party…'

'Is Lottie there?'

'It's all right about Lottie, Mrs. Aird. You were right. She did make her way to Strathcroy. Caught a bus. She went to my cottage. She got in through the back door…'

'You weren't there?'

'No, I was no' there. I was here at Balnaid.'

'Thank God for that. Where is she now?'

'Mr. Ishak telephoned the police and in five minutes they were there in a wee Panda car and picked her up.'

'So where is she now?'

'Safely back in the hospital…'

Relief made Violet feel quite weak. Her knees shook. She glanced about for a chair, but there was none within reach. However, Agnes Cooper, seeing her need, came forward with one, and Violet was able to take the weight off her legs.

'And you're all right, Edie?'

'I'm fine, Mrs. Aird.' She stopped- Violet waited. There was something else. She frowned. 'How did Mr. Ishak know about Lottie? Did he see her?'

'No. Not exactly.' Another long pause. 'You see, that's not all. You'll need to tell Edmund. He and Virginia must come back. Henry's here. He's run away from school, Mrs. Aird. He's come home.'

Edmund drove, too fast, in the rain and the darkness, away from Croy and down the hill to the village. Virginia, her chin buried in the fur collar of her coat, sat beside him, staring ahead at the swinging windscreen wiper. She did not speak. Not because there was nothing to say, but because so distanced had they become from each other, so shocking was the situation in which they found themselves, that there was no way of saying it.

The short journey took only moments. They sped through the gates of Croy and out into the village street. Another hundred yards or so, and then over the bridge. The trees; the open gates; Balnaid.

Virginia spoke at last. She said, 'You mustn't be angry with him.'

'Angry?' He could scarcely believe that she could be so unper-ceptive.

She said no more. He turned the BMW into the backyard, slammed on the brakes, switched off the engine. He was out of the car before she was, leading the way to the house, flinging open the door.

They were in the kitchen, Edie and Henry, sitting at the table. Waiting. Henry faced the door. His face was very white, and his eyes round with apprehension. He wore his grey school sweater and looked pathetically small and defenceless.

How the hell had he managed that long and solitary journey? The thought flashed through Edmund's mind, and was gone.

He said, 'Hello, Henry.'

Henry hesitated for only an instant, and then slipped off the chair and bolted for his father. Edmund scooped him up into his arms, and the boy, it seemed, weighed nothing, no more than a baby. Henry's arms were locked about his neck, and he could feel Henry's tears wet on his own cheek.

'Henry.' Virginia was there, beside him. After a bit, gently, Edmund set Henry down on his feet. Henry's stranglehold loosened. He turned to his mother, and Virginia, in one graceful fluid movement, dropped to her knees, with no regard for her evening gown, and gathered him into her soft and furry embrace. He buried his face into her collar.

'Darling. Darling. It's all right. Don't cry. Don't cry…'

Edmund turned to Edie. She had risen to her feet, and down the length of the scrubbed kitchen table she and Edmund faced each other in silence. She had known him all his life, and he was grateful to her because there was no reproach in her eyes.

Instead she said, 'I'm sorry.'

'What for, Edie?'

'Spoiling your party.'

'Don't be ridiculous. As if it could possibly matter. When did he get here?'

'About fifteen minutes ago. Mrs. Ishak brought him.'

'Has anybody phoned from the school?'

'The phone's broken. Nobody can call.'

He had forgotten. 'Of course.' So there were things to be seen to, practical matters of the utmost urgency. 'In that case, I must go and do some telephoning.'

He left them, Henry still weeping. Made his way through the quiet house to the library, switched on the lights, sat at his desk, dialled the number for Templehall.

The ringing sounded only once before the receiver was snatched up.

'Templehall.'

'Headmaster?'

'Speaking.'

'Colin, it's Edmund Aird.'

'Oh…' The sound came down the line on a sigh of audible relief. Edmund found time to wonder how long the poor man had been trying to make some sort of contact. 'I've been going insane trying to get in touch with you.'

'Henry's here. He's safe.'

'Thank God for that. When did he turn up?'

'About a quarter of an hour ago. I haven't heard the details. We're only just back ourselves. We were out for dinner. The message came through there.'

'He disappeared just after bedtime. Seven o'clock. I've been trying to get hold of you ever since.'

'Our phone's on the blink. No incoming calls.'

'I finally found that out. When I did, I rang your mother, but there was no reply from her number either.'

'She was at the same dinner party.'

'Is Henry all right?'

'He seems to be.'

'How the devil did he get home?'

'I've no idea. Like I told you, I've only just this minute got here myself. I've hardly spoken to him. I wanted to talk to you first.'

'I'm grateful.'

'I'm sorry you've been put to so much trouble.'

'It's I who should apologize. Henry's your son, and I was responsible for him.'

'You'-Edmund leaned back in his chair-'you don't know if anything in particular precipitated his flight?'

'No, I don't. Nor do any of my senior boys. Nor do any of my staff. He didn't seem either happy or unhappy. And it always takes a week or two for a new boy to settle down and get used to his new life, accept the change, and the unfamiliar environment. I kept an eye on him, of course, but he showed no signs of taking such dramatic action.'