September

'We'll get it out this afternoon. You're beautiful in it, Isobel. Every man in the room will be in love with you. We couldn't have found anything more becoming.' She turned to smile at the silent but satisfied saleslady. 'We'll have it.'

The dress was unzipped, gently removed, and taken away to be parcelled up.

'Pandora!' Isobel whispered urgently, reaching for her Marks and Spencer's petticoat. 'You never even asked the price.'

'If you have to ask the price, you can't afford it,' Pandora whispered back and disappeared. Isobel, torn between excitement and guilt, was left to put on her blouse and skirt, button up her jacket and lace up her shoes. By the time she had done this, the cheque had been written, the price-tag removed, and the ravishing dress packed into a huge box.

The saleslady went to open the door for them.

'Thank you so much,' said Isobel.

'I'm glad you found something you liked.'

The whole transaction had taken no more than ten minutes. Pandora and Isobel stood on the pavement in the sunshine.

'I can't thank you…'

'Don't thank me…'

'I've never in my life owned such a dress…'

'Then it's about time you did. You deserve it…'

'Pandora…'

But Pandora did not want to hear any more. She looked at her watch. 'It's only a quarter to twelve. What shall we go and buy now?'

'But haven't you spent enough money?'

'Heavens no, I've only just started. What's Archie going to wear to the party? His kilt?'

They began slowly to walk down the pavement.

'No. He hasn't worn his kilt since his leg was shot off. He says a horrible tin knee sticking out is an obscenity. He'll just wear his dinner jacket.'

Pandora stopped dead. 'But Lord Balmerino can't go to a Highland dance in his dinner jacket.'

'Well, he's been doing it for years.'

A fat lady with a basket, annoyed by the obstruction they were causing, said 'Excuse me,' and pushed her way between them. Pandora ignored her.

'Why doesn't he wear tartan trews?'

'He hasn't got any.'

'Why ever not?'

Isobel tried to think why this obvious solution had not solved the problem years ago, and realized that, along with his leg, Archie had lost all pride and pleasure in his appearance. It was as though it didn't matter any longer. As well, luxury clothes cost money, and there always seemed- to be something else more essential to spend it on.

'I don't know.'

'But he always used to look so yummy at dances. And what's more, knew he did. In a boring old dinner jacket, he'll look like an undertaker, or a part-time waiter. Or worse, a Sassenach. Come on, let's go and buy him something brilliant. Do you know what size he is?'

'Not offhand. But his tailor will.'

'Where's his tailor?'

'In the next street.'

'Would he have tartan trews? Off the peg?'

'I should think so.'

'Then what are we waiting for?''And Pandora was off again, striding away with her mink coat open and flying. Isobel, lugging her parcel, had to run to keep up with her.

'But even if we find some trews, what's he going to wear with them? He can't wear a dinner jacket.'

'Papa had a very handsome velvet smoking jacket. Faded bottle green. What's happened to that?'

'It's up in the attic.'

'Well, we'll go and find it. Oh, how exciting. Just imagine how majestic the dear man is going to look.'

They found the old tailor working away at his table in the back regions of the shop, a Gentleman's Outfitters Specializing in Highland Dress for All Occasions. Disturbed, he raised his head from an unrolled bolt of tweed, saw Isobel, laid down his scissors and favoured her with a beaming smile.

'Lady Balmerino.'

'Good morning, Mr. Pittendriech. Mr. Pittendriech, do you remember my sister-in-law, Pandora Blair?'

The old man looked at Pandora over the top of his spectacles. 'Yes, I remember. But it's a long time ago. You couldn't have been more than a wee girl.' Across the table, he and Pandora shook hands. 'Very pleased to see you again. And how is His Lordship, Lady Balmerino?'

'He's very well.'

'Is he able to get up the hill?'

'Not very far, but…'

Pandora, impatient, interrupted. 'We've come to buy him a present, Mr. Pittendriech. A pair of tartan trews. You know his measurements. Would you come and help us choose a pair?'

'Most certainly. It would be a pleasure.' He abandoned his cutting and emerged from behind his table to lead them back to the main shop, where a plethora of tartans, leather sporrans, skean dhus, diced hose, lace jabots, silver-buckled shoes, and cairngorm brooches fairly dazzled the eye.

Mr. Pittendriech obviously felt that all this was a little beneath his dignity.

'Would it not be better if I were to tailor His Lordship a pair of trews? He's never been a gentleman to buy his clothes off-the-peg.'

'We haven't time,' Isobel said for the second time that morning.

'In that case, would it be regimental tartan, or family tartan?'

'Oh, family tartan,' said Pandora firmly. 'Anyway, it's such a pretty one.'

It took a little time to find the right tartan, and then more time fiddling with a tape measure to ensure that the inside leg was the correct length. Finally, Mr. Pittendriech made his choice.

'This pair should do His Lordship very nicely.'

Isobel considered them. 'They aren't going to be too narrow, are they? Otherwise he won't be able to get them over his tin leg.'

'No, I think they should be amply comfortable.'

'In that case,' said Pandora, 'we'll have them.'

'And how about a cummerbund, Miss Blair?'

'He can wear his father's, Mr. Pittendriech.' She turned her dazzling smile upon him. 'But perhaps a really lovely new white cotton shirt?'

More parcels, more cheques. Out on the pavement again. 'Time for lunch,' said Pandora, and they headed, mutually delighted with themselves, in the direction of the Wine Bar. Propelled into this popular rendezvous by the revolving door, they came up against the first obstacle of the day. There was no sign of Lucilla and Jeff, most of the tables were occupied, and those that weren't had 'Reserved' notices placed upon them.

'We want a table for four,' Pandora told the superior-looking woman behind the high desk.

'Have you resairved?'

'No, but we still want a table for four.'

'I'm afraid if you haven't resairved, then you will have to await your turn.'

Pandora opened her mouth to argue, but before she could say anything the telephone on the desk began fortuitously to ring and the woman turned aside to pick up the receiver. 'This is the Waine Bar.'

Behind her back, Pandora dug Isobel in the ribs, and then, looking unconcerned, stalked over to where an empty and reserved table stood by the window. Reaching it, she unobtrusively whisked the 'Reserved' sign up and pushed this deep into the pocket of her coat. A brilliant and professional piece of sleight of hand. She then settled herself gracefully, disposed of her bag and parcels, spread the mink over the back of the chair, and reached for the