September

had eloped with an American, some other woman's husband, whom she had met in Scotland during the summer. With this man she flew to California, and in the fullness of time became his wife. Waves of shock and horror reverberated around the county, but the Balmerinos were so loved and respected that they were treated with much sympathy and understanding. Perhaps, said people hopefully, she will come back. But Pandora did not come back. She did not return even for her parents' funerals. Instead, as though engaged in an endless Strip the Willow, she flung herself, wayward as always, from one disastrous love affair to another. Divorced from her American husband, she moved to New York, and later to France, where she lived for some years in Paris. She kept in touch with Archie by means of rare and sporadic postcards, sending a scrawled address, a scrap of information, and a huge straggling cross for a kiss. Now she seemed to have ended up in a villa in Majorca. God knew who was her current companion.

Long since, Archie and Isobel had despaired of her, and yet, from time to time, he found himself missing her more than anybody else. For youth was over, and his father's household dispersed. Harris and Mrs. Harris had long retired, and domestic help was reduced to Agnes Cooper who, two days a week, climbed the hill from the village to give Isobel a hand in the kitchen.

As for the estate, matters were hardly better. Gordon Gillock, the keeper, was still in situ in his small stone house with the kennels at the back, but the grouse moor was let to a syndicate, and Edmund Aird paid the keeper's salary. The farm, as well, had gone, and the parkland was ploughed for crops. The old gardener-a weathered stick of a man and an important part of Archie's childhood-had finally died, and not been replaced. His precious walled garden was put down to grass; unpruned, the rhododendrons grew massive, and the hard tennis court was green with moss. Archie now was officially the gardener, with the sporadic assistance of Willy Snoddy, who lived in a grubby cottage at the end of the village, trapped rabbits and poached salmon, and was pleased from time to time to earn a little drinking money.

And he himself? Archie took stock. An ex-Lieutenant-Colonel in the Queen's Loyal Highlanders, invalided out with a tin leg, a sixty-per-cent disability pension, and too many nightmares. But still, thanks to Isobel, in possession of his inheritance. Croy was still his and would, God willing, belong to Hamish. Crippled, struggling to make ends meet, he was still Balmerino of Croy.

Suddenly, it was funny. Balmerino of Croy. Such a fine-sounding title, and such a ludicrous situation. It was no good trying to work out why everything had gone so wrong because there was nothing much he could do about it anyway. No more harking back. Duty called and the Lady Balmerino waited.

For some obscure reason he felt more cheerful. He started up the engine and drove the short distance across the gravel to the front of the house.

5

It had drizzled most of the day but now it was fine, so after his tea Henry went out into Edie's garden with her. This ran down to the river, and her washing line was strung between two apple trees. He helped her to unpeg the washing and put it into the wicker basket, and they folded the sheets together with a snap and a crack to get all the creases out of them. With this accomplished, they went back into the house and Edie set up the ironing board and began ironing her pillowcases and her pinafore and a blouse. Henry watched, liking the smell and the way the hot iron made the crunchy damp linen all smooth and shiny and crisp.

He said, 'You're very good at ironing.'

'I'd need to be after all these years at it.'

'How many years, Edie?'

'Well…' She dumped the iron down on its end and folded the pillowcase with her dimpled red hands. 'I'm sixty- eight now, and 1 was eighteen when I first went to work for Mrs. Aird. Work that one out.'

Even Henry could do that sum. 'Fifty years.'

'Fifty years is a long way to look ahead, but looking back it doesn't seem any time at all. Makes you wonder what life's all about.'

'Tell me about Alexa and London.' Henry had never been to London, but Edie had lived there once.

'Oh, Henry, I've told you these stories a thousand times.'

'I like to hear them again.'

'Well…' She pressed a crease, sharp as a knife edge. 'When your daddy was much younger, he was married to a lady called Caroline. They were married in London, at St. Margaret's, Westminster, and we all went down for the occasion, and stayed at a hotel called the Berkeley. And what a wedding that was! Ten lovely bridesmaids, all in white dresses, like a flock of swans. And after the wedding we all went to another very grand hotel called the Ritz, and there were waiters in tailcoats and so grand you've have thought they were wedding guests themselves. And there was champagne and such a spread of food you didn't know where to start.'

'Were there jellies?'

'Jellies in every colour. Yellow and red and green. And there was cold salmon and wee sandwiches you could eat with your fingers, and frosted grapes all sparkling with sugar. And Caroline wore a dress of wild silk with a great long train, and on her head was a diamond tiara that her father had given her for a wedding present, and she looked like a queen.'

'Was she pretty?'

'Oh, Henry, all brides are beautiful.'

'Was she as pretty as my mother?'

But Edie was not to be drawn. 'She was good-looking in a different sort of way. Very tall, she was, with lovely black hair.'

'Did you like her?'

'Of course 1 liked her. I wouldn't have gone to London to look after Alexa if 1 hadn't liked her.'

'Tell me about that bit.'

Edie set aside her pillowcases and started in on a blue-and-white-checked table-cloth.

'Well, it was just after your Grandfather Geordie died. 1 was still living at Balnaid, and working for your Granny Vi. It was just the two of us in the house, keeping each other company. We knew that Alexa was on the way, because Edmund had come up for his father's funeral and he told us then. 'Caroline is having a baby,' he told us, and it was a wonderful comfort to your Granny Vi to know that even if Geordie was with her no longer, there was a new wee life on the way. And then we heard that Caroline was looking for a Nanny to take care of the bairn. Your Granny Vi was up to high doh. The truth of the matter was that she couldn't bide the thought of some uninformed bisom having the care of her grandchild, filling her wee head with all the wrong ideas, and not taking the time to talk to the child, nor read to her. I never thought about going until your Granny Vi asked me to. I didn't want to leave Balnaid and Strathcroy. But… we talked it over and in the end decided that there was nothing else to be done. So I went to London…'

'I bet Daddy was pleased to see you.'

'Och, yes, he was pleased enough. And at the end of the day, it was a mercy I went. Alexa was born safe and sound, but after the baby arrived, Caroline became very, very ill.'

'Did she have measles?'

'No, it wasn't measles.'

'Whooping cough?'

'No. It wasn't that sort of illness. It was more nervous. Postnatal depression they call it, and it's a horrible thing to see. She had to go to hospital for treatment, and when she was allowed home she was really not good for anything, let alone take care of a baby. But eventually she recovered a wee bit and her mother, Lady Cheriton, took her off on a cruise to a lovely island called Madeira. And after a month or two there, she was better again.'

'Were you left all alone in London?'

'Not all alone. There was a nice lady who came in every day to clean the house, and then your father was in and out.'

'Why didn't you come back to Scotland and stay with Vi?'

'There was a time when we thought we might. Just for a visit. It was the week of Lord and Lady Balmerino's wedding… only then of course he was Archie Blair, and such a handsome young officer. Caroline was still in Madeira