September

menu.

Isobel, horrified, hovered. 'Pandora, you can't…'

'I have. Bloody woman. Sit down.'

'But someone's reserved it.'

'But we've got it. Possession is nine-tenths of the law.' Isobel, who dreaded any sort of a scene, continued to hesitate, but Pandora took no notice of her waffling, and after a bit, with no alternative, she sat down as well, facing her blatantly criminal sister-in-law. 'Oh, look, we can have a cocktail. And we can eat quiche and salad, or an omelette aux fines herbes.'

'That woman's going to be livid.'

'I hate cocktails, don't you? Do you suppose they have any champagne? Let's ask when she comes gunning for us.'

Which she did, almost immediately.

'Excuse me, madam, but this table is resairved.'

'Oh, is it?' Pandora's eyes were bland and innocent orbs. 'But there's no sign.'

'This table is resairved, and there was a sign upon it.'

'Where can it be?' Pandora craned her neck to look under the table. 'It's not on the floor.'

'I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you will have to move and await your turn.'

'I'm sorry, but I'm afraid we're not going to. Will you take our order, or would you rather send one of the waitresses?'

The woman's neck was growing red, like turkey wattles. Her mouth worked. Isobel felt rather sorry for her.

'You know perfectly well that there was a resairved notice upon this table. The manager put it there himself this morning.'

Pandora raised her eyebrows. 'Oh, there's a manager, is there? Then perhaps you would like to go and find him, and tell him that Lady Balmerino is here and wishes to order lunch.'

Isobel, hot with embarrassment, felt her cheeks bum. Pandora's adversary by now looked as though she was about to burst into tears. Humiliation stared her in the face. 'The manager is not in this afternoon,' she admitted.

'In that case, you are obviously in charge, and you have done all you can. Now, perhaps you will send a waitress over and we can order.'

The poor woman, reduced to pulp by such nerveless authority, dithered for a moment, but finally collapsed, her ire deflating like a pricked balloon. In silence, gathering her tattered dignity about her, and with lips pressed together, she turned to go. But Pandora was remorseless. 'Just one more thing. Would you be very kind and tell the barman that we'd like a bottle of his best champagne.' Her smile dazzled. 'Iced.'

No more objections, no more argument. It was over. Isobel stopped blushing. She said, 'Pandora, you are shameless.'

'I know, darling.'

'Poor female. She's practically in blubs.'

'Silly old cow.'

'And the Lady Balmerino bit…'

'That's what did the trick. These sort of people are the most appalling snobs.'

It wasn't any good trying to scold her. She was Pandora, generous, loving, laughing… and ruthless if she didn't get her own way. Isobel shook her head. 'I despair of you.'

'Oh, darling, don't be cross. We've had such a heavenly morning, and I'll be good for the rest of the day and hump all your grocery boxes. Oh, look, there are Lucilla and Jeff. Laden with rather tatty carrier bags. What could they have been buying?' She waved, flapping a red-nailed hand. 'Here we are!' They saw her, and came over. 'We've ordered champagne, Jeff, so you're not to be boring and say you'd rather have a can of Foster's.'

Over the champagne, Lucilla and Jeff were told, in lowered tones and with a certain amount of muffled mirth, the saga of the resairved table.

Lucilla was amused, but at the same time almost as shocked as her mother, and Isobel was glad to see this. 'Pandora, that's dreadful. What's going to happen to the poor people who did reserve the table?'

'That's the old bag's problem. Oh, don't worry, she'll tuck them in somewhere.'

'But it's frightfully dishonest.'

'I think you're being very ungrateful. If it wasn't for my quick-thinking enterprise, we'd all be standing in a queue with aching shoppers' feet. Anyway, she was offhand and rude to me. And I don't like being told I can't have anything I really want.'

Archie, left on his own and forbidden by his wife to leave the purlieus of the house, decided to fill in the time before their guest arrived by clearing up the first of the fallen leaves that littered the lawn beyond the gravel sweep. He would then perhaps find time to cut it, and all would look orderly for the party on Friday night. With only his dogs for company, he duly drove his garden tractor out of the garage and set to work. The Labradors, who had imagined that he was about to take them for a small walk, sat about and looked bored, but diversion was on its way, for Archie had only completed a couple of runs before a Land Rover came spinning up the front drive, turned in over the cattle-grid, and came to a halt a few yards from where he laboured.

It was Gordon Gillock, the Croy keeper, with his two spaniels penned into the back of the vehicle. A cacophony of barking instantly erupted, from both inside and outside the Land Rover, but all four dogs were swiftly silenced by a stream of routine abuse from Gordon, and quiet was once more achieved.

Archie stopped his machine and switched off the engine, but stayed where he was, seated, because that was as good a place as any to engage in conversation.

'Hello, Gordon.'

'Good morning, milord.'

Gordon was a lithe and stringy Highlander in his early fifties but looking, with his black hair and dark eyes, a good deal younger. He had come to Croy as an under-keeper in the days of Archie's father, and had been in the family's employ ever since. Today he wore his working clothes, which meant an open-necked shirt and a tweed hat stuck with fishing flies that had seen many years of windy weather. But on shooting days, he wore a collar and tie and a knickerbocker suit with a deerstalker of the same tweed, and was a good deal better-dressed than most of the other gentlemen out on the moor.

'Where have you come from?'

'Kirkthornton, sir. I took thirty brace of birds down to the game dealer.'

'Did you get a good price?'

'Not so bad.'

'What's happening tomorrow?'

'That's why I'm here, sir. Wanted a word. Mr. Aird's not going to be with us. He's away in America.'

'I know. He rang me before he left. We're shooting Creagan Dubh?'

'That's right, the main glen. I thought, first thing we'd drive the Clash, and then come in the other way over Rabbie's Naup.'

'What about the afternoon? Should we try the Mid Hill?'

'It's up to you, sir. But mind, the birds are getting pretty wild. They'll be coming in fast over the butts and the guns will need to keep their wits about them.'

'They know they're responsible for seeing that all the shot birds are picked up and brought down the hill? No runners abandoned. 1 don't want any wounded birds left to die.'

'Oh aye, they know that. Mind, there are some good dogs this year.'

'You were walking on Monday. How did you get on?'

'There was a fair wind and a lot of water about. Then an eagle and a buzzard started working overhead, and that scared the daylights out of the grouse. They either wouldn't get up or they flew in all directions. But there was some good shooting. We finished with thirty-two brace.'

'Any deer?'

'Oh aye, a big herd. Saw them on the skyline sticking their heads up over the Sneck of Balquhidder.'

'And how about that damaged bridge over the Taitnie burn?'