September

second his expression remained blank, then slowly, incredulously, he smiled,

'Virginia.'

'I don't believe this…'

'Well, I'll be god-damned.'

'I thought I recognized your voice.'

'What are you doing here…?'

The boot-faced girl was not amused. 'Excuse me, sir, but would you mind signing?'

'I live near here.'

'I never knew…'

'And you…?'

'I'm staying…'

'And how will you be paying, sir?' Boot face again. 'By credit card or cheque?'

'Look,' said Conrad to Virginia, 'this is hopeless. Give me five minutes and I'll meet you in the bar and we'll have a drink. Can you do that? Have you time?'

'Yes, I have time.'

'I'll get settled, wash up, and then join you. How's that?'

'Five minutes.'

'No more.

The ladies' room, frilled and chintzy, was mercifully empty. Virginia had shed her grotty old Barbour, been to the loo, and now stood at the mirror gazing at her own reflection, and feeling more disorientated than ever by the astonishing unexpectedness of her encounter with Conrad. Conrad Tucker, not seen nor thought of for twelve years or more. Here, in Relkirk. Come from London, and for what reason she could not imagine. She only knew that she had never been so glad to see a known face, because now, at least, she had someone to talk to.

She was not dressed for socializing. Blue jeans and an old grey cashmere sweater with a muffler of a collar. Her appearance was scarcely better. Hair lank with rain, her face clean of make-up. She saw the lines on her forehead and at the corners of her mouth, and the dark bruises beneath her eyes, evidence of her sleepless night. She reached for her bag, found a comb, fixed her hair, fastened it back from her face with an elastic band.

Conrad Tucker.,

Twelve years. She had been twenty-one. So long ago, and so much, since, had taken place, that it took some effort to recall the details of that particular summer. But they had met at the country club in Leesport. Conrad was a lawyer, in business in New York with his uncle. He had an apartment in the East Fifties, but his father owned an old house in Southampton, and Conrad had come from there to Leesport to play in some tennis championships.

So far, so good. How had he played? That was lost in the mists of time. Virginia simply remembered that she had watched the match and cheered for him, and afterwards he had sought her out and bought her a drink, which was exactly what she had intended should happen.

She searched in her bag, in vain, for a lipstick, but found scent and splashed it on.

It had been a good summer. Conrad turned up in Leesport most weekends, and there were midnight barbecues and clambakes on the Fire Island beach. They played a lot of tennis, sailed Grandpa's old sloop out onto the blue waters of the Bay. She remembered Saturday nights at the club, and dancing with Conrad on the wide terrace with the sky full of stars and the band playing 'The Look of Love.'

Once, mid-week, she had driven up to the City with her grandmother, to stay at the Colony Club, do a bit of shopping, and take in a show. And Conrad had phoned, and taken her out to dinner at Lespleiades, and after that they had gone on to the Cafe Carlyle and stayed until the small hours listening to Bobby Short.

Twelve years. Light-years ago. She picked up her bag and her Barbour and went out of the room and up the stairs and into the bar. Conrad had not yet reappeared. She bought herself a whisky and soda, a packet of cigarettes, and carried her drink to an empty table in the corner of the room.

She drank half the whisky at a single go, felt at once warmed, comforted, and marginally stronger. The day was not yet over, but at least she was being offered a little respite, and she wasn't alone any longer.

She said, 'You start, Conrad.'

'Why me?'

'Because before I say a single word, I have to know what you're doing here. What has brought you to Scotland, to Relkirk? There has to be some logical explanation, but I can't think what it is.'

He smiled. 'I'm not in fact doing anything. I'm on a long vacation. Not exactly a sabbatical, just an extended break.'

'Are you still a lawyer in New York?'

I am.

'Working with your uncle?'

'No. I'm the top of the heap now.'

'How impressive. Go on.'

'Well… I've been away about six weeks. Travelling in England, staying with various acquaintances. Somerset, Berkshire, London. Then I came north and I've been in Kelso for a few days with some distant cousins of my mother's. It's a great place. Great fishing. Left them after lunch today. Caught the train up here.'

'How long are you staying in Relkirk?'

'Just tonight. Tomorrow morning I'm hiring a car, and driving on north. I have to go to a party.'

'And where is the party?'

'Some place called Corriehill. But I'm staying at another house called Croy. With-'

'I know.' Virginia interrupted. 'Archie and Isobel Balmerino.'

'How do you know?'

'Because they're our closest friends. We all live in the same village, Strathcroy. And… you know Katy Steynton?'

'I met her in London.'

'You're the Sad American.' Virginia said this without thinking and could at once have bitten out her tongue.

'Sorry?'

'No, Conrad. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It's just that nobody could remember your name. That's why I didn't know it was you who was coming.'

'You've lost me.'

'We had lunch with the Balmerinos on Sunday. Isobel told me about you then.'

Conrad shook his head. 'I knew you'd married and I knew you'd married a Scotsman, but no more than that. I never imagined we'd meet up like this.'

'Well, here I am, Mrs. Edmund Aird.' At least I think I am. She hesitated. 'Conrad, I didn't mean to say that. The Sad American bit, I mean. It's just that Isobel didn't seem to know anything about you. Except that Katy had met you in London. And that your wife had died.'

Conrad was holding his whisky tumbler. He turned it in his hand, watching the amber liquid swirl. After a bit he said, 'Yes. That's right.'

'I am so very sorry.'

He looked up at her. He said, 'Yes.'

'Can I ask? What happened?'

'She had leukemia. She was ill for a long time. That's why I came over. After the funeral.'

'What was she called?'

'Mary.'

'How long were you married?'

'Seven years.'

'Do you have children?'

'A daughter. Emily. She's six. Right now she's with my mother in Southampton.'

'Getting away… has that made things better for you?'

'I'll know when I get back.'

'When are you going?'

'Next week sometime.' He tossed back the last of his drink, got to his feet. 'I'll get us the other half.'