September

Warm dark breezes blew through the opened windows, and Rachmaninoff emanated from some unseen stereo, concealed by a gold-latticed trellis. The piano solo dripped its notes, pure as raindrops. From the terrace came the low murmur of comfortable conversation, Pandora and Jeff sounding peaceful and unimpatient.

There were other photographs on the mantelpiece, and Lucilla crossed the floor to inspect these more closely. Old Lady Balmerino, resplendent in a feathered tam-o'-shanter, apparently opening a village fete. A snapshot of Archie and Edmund Aird, two very young men sitting in the boat at the edge of the loch with their rods and their creels stowed on the thwarts. Finally, a studio portrait of herself and Hamish, Lucilla in smocked Liberty lawn and Hamish a fat baby on her knee. Archie must have sent that one to Pandora with one of his letters and she had framed it in silver and set it in the place of honour. Tucked into this silver frame was an invitation whose format was instantly familiar.

Pandora Blair Mrs. Angus Sceyncon At Home For Katy

Lucilla's first thought was, how nice. And then, how ridiculous. A waste of a card, a waste of a stamp, because there was not the slightest possibility that Pandora would accept. She had gone from Croy when she was eighteen and never returned. Resisted all pleading, first from her parents, and then from her brother, and stayed resolutely away. It was scarcely likely that Verena Steynton, of all people, would achieve what Pandora's own family had so abjectly failed to do.

'Lucilla!'

'Coming…'

'What are you doing?'

Lucilla, bearing the wineglasses, joined them on the terrace. 'Sorry. I've been snooping round that beautiful room. And listening to the music…'

'Oh, darling, don't you love Rachmaninoff? It's one of my most favourites. I know it's a bit hackneyed, but I seem to go for hackneyed things.'

'I'm just the same,' Lucilla admitted. 'Songs like 'Oh, Lovely Moon' and 'The Barcarolle' leave me quite weak- kneed. And some of the old Beatles records. I've got them all at home at Croy. And if I'm feeling really blue, I've got a tape of a Fiddlers' Rally in Oban and I play it and I can feel my spirits rise visibly, like mercury in a thermometer when you've got a temperature. All those dear old men and little boys in their kilts and their shirt-sleeves, and an endless round of jigs and reels, as though they didn't know how to stop and didn't want to anyway. I usually end up dancing all by myself and leaping around the room like an idiot.'

Jeff said, 'I've never seen you do that.'

'Well, if you hang around long enough, you probably will. But seriously, Pandora, this is the most beautiful place you've got. And our guest-house is perfection.'

'It is rather sweet, isn't it? I was so lucky to snap it all up. The people who lived here before had to go back to England; I was looking for somewhere to live and it seemed that it was just waiting for me. Jeff, you're meant to be pouring champagne…'

'And the furniture? Is that all yours too?'

Pandora laughed. 'Oh, darling, I haven't got any furniture, just little bits and pieces that I've gathered on my travels and cart about with me. Most of the furniture here I took over with the house, but of course I've changed almost everything. The sofas were the most hideous blue, and there was a carpet with swirls on. Got rid of that pretty sharpish. I took Seraphina over with the house as well, and she's got a husband who does the garden. All I'm missing out on is a little doggie, but doggies in Majorca are inclined to get shot by youths with airguns, or else they get ticks, or they get stolen, or run over. So there's not really much point.' All the glasses were now brimming full. Pandora raised hers.

'Here's to you both, and what heaven it is to have you here.

Lucilla, Jeff's been telling me all about your journey down through France. How fascinating it must have been. And you got to see Chartres, such an experience. I'm longing to hear more, get all the details; but first, and most important, I want to be told all about home, and my precious Archie and Isobel and Hamish. Hamish must be enormous now. And Isobel, with those tedious Americans to stay. I hear all about them in Archie's letters, when he isn't telling me about the latest grouse-bag, or the size of the salmon he caught last week. It's a miracle he's able to do so much with that terrible leg. Tell me how the poor leg is.'

'He can't actually do that much,' Lucilla told her bluntly. 'He just writes you positive letters because he doesn't want you to be upset. And his leg isn't anything. It's tin, full stop. It can't get any better, and we all pray it'll never get any worse.'

'Poor darling. Beastly, beastly IRA. How they dare to do such things, and to Archie, of all people.'

'They weren't necessarily gunning for him, Pandora. They were waiting, over the border, to blast off at a lot of British jocks, and he happened to be one of them.'

'Did he know they were there? Or was it an ambush?'

'I don't know. And if I asked, he wouldn't tell me. He won't talk about it. He won't talk about it to anybody.'

'Is that a good thing?'

'I don't suppose it is, but there's not much we can do about it.'

'He was never a great talker. The most darling man, but even as a little boy he always kept everything to himself. We never even knew he was courting Isobel, and when he told our mother that he wanted to marry her, Mama nearly dropped dead with astonishment because she'd got him lined up for some entirely different female. Never mind, she made the best of it. Just as she always made the best of everything…' Her voice faded. She fell silent, then swiftly emptied her glass. 'Jeff, is there any more left in that bottle, or shall we open another?'

But the bottle was not yet empty and Jeff refilled Pandora's glass, and then topped up Lucilla's and his own. Lucilla was now beginning to feel not only light-hearted but light-headed as well. She wondered how much Pandora had already consumed before they joined her. Perhaps the champagne was why she seemed to be talking so much.

'Now tell me…' She was off again. 'What are the two of you going to do next?'

Jeff and Lucilla looked at each other. Making plans was not one of their strong points. Doing things on the spur of the moment was half the fun.

It was Jeff who replied. 'We don't really know. Only thing is, I have to go back to Australia at the beginning of October. I've a flight booked with Qantas on the third.'

'Where do you fly from?'

'London.'

'So, sometime, you'll have to go back to England.' 'Right.'

'Is Lucilla going with you?'

Again they looked at each other. 'We haven't discussed it,' Lucilla said.

'So you're free. Free as air. Free to come and go as you wish. The world is your oyster.' She made an expansive gesture with her hand and spilled some of her champagne.

'Yes,' Jeff agreed cautiously, 'I suppose it is.'

'Then let us make plans. Lucilla, would you like to make plans with me?'

'What sort of plans?'

'When you were snooping, as you put it, around my drawing-room, did you notice that large and pretentious copperplate invitation on my mantelpiece?'

'From Verena Steynton? Yes, I did.'

'Have you been asked?'

'Yes. Dad sent my invitation on to me and I got it in Ibiza.'

'Are you going?'

'I… I hadn't actually thought about it.'

'Might you go?'

'I don't know. Why?'

'Because…' She laid down her glass. 'I think that I shall go.'

The shock of this announcement stunned Lucilla out of her delightful tipsiness and into a state of cold sobriety. She stared at Pandora in total disbelief, and Pandora stared back, her grey eyes with their huge black pupils bright with a strange elation, as though delighting in the expression of blank incredulity she had brought to Lucilla's face.