“Take the car, Priscilla,” ordered Hamish.

“Don’t worry. Jamie’s probably looking for me.”

Priscilla went out into the twilight. Poor Hamish! What an awful copper he’d got saddled with. Probably Blair’s choice, she thought, not knowing it was Daviot’s.

Mrs Wellington, the minister’s wife, drove up and stopped beside Priscilla. “Can I give you a lift?” she asked.

Priscilla hesitated. Jamie’s Jaguar was still parked outside the restaurant, but she did not feel like going back to join him. Besides, he appeared delighted with Jenny.

“Thanks, Mrs Wellington,” she said, climbing into the battered station wagon.


Inside the restaurant, Jamie and Jenny were down to the end of their second bottle of wine. He was really deliciously handsome, thought Jenny, and they had so much in common.

“What about a brandy for the road?” asked Jamie.

Jenny smiled. “I’d love that. Do you know, I just realized one marvellous thing. I get money from a family trust and Mummy can’t stop that, so I can take my law exams.”

“Forget about the brandy,” said Jamie. “This calls for champagne!”

Jenny giggled. He was really quite divine. And then a nasty voice in her head reminded her that Brian Mulligan had seemed really divine and then Matthew Cowper. She mentally jumped on that voice. Jamie was really wonderful. So strong, so masterful.

She wondered what it would be like to be a captain’s wife.

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