Rachel's Coming Home (6 page)

Gemma seemed interested. She nodded and licked the last of the strawberry ice cream from her fingers. ‘So are you thinking of posters to put up around town? Or an advert for the paper?'

‘Both, I suppose. Although the advert would cost money. And I thought some of those little bits of paper you can hand out to people.'

‘Flyers. Yes. We could do those as a smaller version of the posters.'

‘So you'll help?'

‘Yes, why not?' Gemma looked down as she spoke but Anthony thought she was pleased. ‘It sounds like fun. Come on now, we'd better run or we'll miss the bus. Unless you've something you need to stay in town for?'

‘No, I'm coming home too.' Anthony wasn't going to miss the chance to spend extra minutes with her.

‘When do you want to start?' she said, once they had found seats on the bus.

‘As soon as possible.'

‘Can I come to your house? I don't think my dad will be … too keen on us working at mine.'

‘Of course. We can work on the computer in my room.' Anthony wanted to punch the air, this was going so well. ‘We could go back there now, make a start straight away.'

‘No, Dad'll be expecting me home. But I could come round tomorrow morning, say about ten?'

‘Brilliant. Don't say anything to Mum and Dad about what we're doing. I want this to be a surprise.'

Chapter Five

Rachel walked slowly up the winding track towards Courockglen House. It was cool under the shade of the broad-leafed trees and smelt of warm, damp undergrowth. Normally she would have enjoyed the way the sunlight filtered through the greenery, dappling the ground with golden patches, but just now she was too busy chewing her lip and wondering if this visit was a good idea.

She was very sorry about Ben's injury and had apologised to Philip Milligan more times than she could count. The sensible thing to do would have been to phone to check on his progress and then try to forget the whole incident. But when she mentioned a possible visit, her mother had been delighted with the idea. She seemed to think it was just the thing to mollify Philip Milligan. Rachel wasn't so sure. The man would probably think her visit an imposition, quite unnecessary, but she had come so far now she had to go through with it.

And part of her was interested to see the reputedly beautiful old house, tucked away so deep among the rolling hills and woods that you never caught a glimpse of it from the road.

She knew she was nearing the dwelling when the trees were replaced by rhododendrons, and then the drive opened out onto a grassy area. She paused and blinked in the sudden sunlight. The house stood foursquare before her, even larger than she had expected, and beautiful in the local grey whinstone with red sandstone around the windows and door.

‘Gosh,' she said under her breath. ‘This isn't a house, it's a mansion.' She glanced back over her shoulder at the cool tunnel of the driveway, but there was no chance of disappearing unseen. The door to the front porch was open and the dogs had heard her footsteps. With a volley of barks, they threw themselves towards her.

Rachel walked to meet them, smiling as she bent to acknowledge their welcome. Bill reached her first, pushing his beautiful soft face against her hand, whining with pleasure. Ben arrived more slowly, hampered more by the plastic collar he still wore than any obvious injury to his leg.

‘Hello, my darling, how are you?' she said, running her hand along his silky back and gently over his haunches. ‘I'm sure you're not supposed to be running about like this. Didn't the vet tell you to try and rest?'

‘Not much chance of that when visitors arrive unannounced,' said a voice from the doorway.

Rachel sighed. She knew Philip's welcome would never match that of the dogs, but he could be a little bit more pleasant, couldn't he?

‘I'm sorry,' she said, determined to remain good-tempered. ‘I hope I haven't caused him to do anything silly.'

‘No more than he's been doing since we got home,' said the man grimly. ‘I've tried to keep him inside but with the weather so sultry we've had the doors open and any excuse and he's off …' He bent and patted the dog. ‘You're an idiot, aren't you? But then we've always known that.'

Rachel smiled more genuinely, seeing his affection for the great soft beast.

‘I just wanted to pop by and see how he was doing,' she said, deciding it was best to explain her presence. ‘It's good that he's so bright in himself. I hope the cut is healing all right.'

Philip tossed back the dark hair and considered her for a moment. She wondered if he was going to remind her it was no thanks to her if it did heal fine. Instead he said after a pause, ‘That's very kind of you. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?'

Rachel was stunned. ‘Oh, no, I don't want to trouble you. I was just popping by …'

‘Have you walked all the way here? That's not just “popping by”.'

‘I like to walk,' said Rachel simply. She gestured to the trees and the hills beyond. ‘Especially here. It's lovely, isn't it?'

‘Very. It's also rather warm and I'm sure you could do with some refreshment. Do come on in.'

‘Well …' Rachel was pleased to be invited, but she still wasn't sure how she felt about this man. His moods could change all too quickly.

Ben nudged her leg and Philip said, ‘See, Ben wants to see a bit more of you.' There was the sound of a child's voice from the house and his mouth became a grim line again. ‘And you can come and say hello to my niece Amelia. Perhaps you'll know how to talk to her.'

Rachel was interested now and followed him inside without further protest.

She barely had time to take in the polished wood of the porch and the coloured glass of the secondary front door before they were in the gloom of a large hall. It was degrees cooler in here and Rachel felt she had taken a step back in time. The walls were wood-panelled, the floor tiled in a complicated pattern.

Then the child's voice could be heard again, and this time Rachel realised it was a cry.

‘Oh, no, what has she done now?' said Philip, hurrying through another door at the rear of the hall that took them into a massive kitchen. A tiny blonde girl was standing beside the white sink, trying to rinse her hand but yelping every time the water touched her.

‘Amelia! What happened?' Philip rushed forward and then stopped before he reached the child, as though unsure what to do next. He put out a hand and then dropped it to his side.

‘I cut myself,' said the girl in a whisper.

‘For goodness sake! What were you doing with a knife? You should have asked …'

‘Let me have a look,' said Rachel calmly. Shouting was the very last thing the youngster needed. She was in shock and wanted reassurance.

She put one arm around the child's shoulders and gave her a slight hug, and then took the injured hand in her own. Blood was welling up along the edge of a cut, but when she rinsed it under the tap the bleeding slowed. After a further rinse it had almost stopped.

‘Not too much to worry about,' she said cheerfully. ‘Nothing like the mess Ben got himself in to, you'll be glad to hear. Now, if I could have a clean tissue for you to hold over it for a while …?' She looked at Philip who looked blank. ‘Or kitchen towel, perhaps?'

‘Yes, yes, of course.' He hurried to bring her what she required and watched in silence as she settled the child in a chair at the long wooden table. Then he cleared his throat, seeming to realise that some comment was called for. Rachel smiled to herself. It was strange to see the confident television personality at a loss for words before a small child.

‘I'll, er, put the kettle on for that tea, shall I?'

‘That would be good,' she said encouragingly. ‘Perhaps your niece would like a cup, too? With sugar.'

‘I'm not supposed to have sugar in my tea,' whispered the girl.

‘It's for the shock, an important medicinal purpose,' said Rachel firmly. ‘And now I suppose I should introduce myself, shouldn't I? I'm Rachel and I live not far from here …' She kept up a flow of chatter, partly to soothe the child, but also to give Philip time to collect his wits. And as her father would have said, chattering wasn't exactly a hardship to Rachel.

By the time tea and biscuits were on the table she had spoken of her move home, enthused over the Southern Uplands, petted the dogs, and found out that Amelia was seven-years-old.

‘What a grown up girl you are for seven,' she said encouragingly. ‘Is this fruit salad you're making?'

The girl nodded her shiny blonde head. She was small for her age but her eyes were bright with intelligence and she seemed to take in everything Rachel said. The problem was getting her to respond.

‘Who showed you how to make fruit salad?'

‘My mum.'

‘That's very clever. My mum's the one who taught me to cook, too. Preparing food's fun, isn't it?'

The child nodded and took a biscuit. Rachel decided to let her eat it in peace and turned her attention to the uncle who now sat down opposite her. He nodded towards the child. ‘Is she going to be all right?'

‘She'll be fine. Won't you, Amelia?' The child nodded, silent again. ‘How long is she staying with you?' Rachel asked Philip. It seemed an odd arrangement to her. Philip Milligan didn't strike her as very child-friendly.

‘A month or so,' he said without enthusiasm. ‘Her mum – my sister – is in hospital having an operation. The op's gone well, thank goodness, but it'll take her a while to get over it.'

‘It's very kind of you to look after your niece,' said Rachel. She suspected this wasn't something he had taken on willingly and the shrug he gave seemed to confirm this. Poor child. At least he didn't actually put his reluctance into words. ‘It's a great place for children here. All the gardens and open space, and the dogs to play with.'

‘It's a bit lonely. And Ben's not supposed to be playing just now.' He shot her a meaningful look so she knew he hadn't forgotten whose fault that was.

‘I wonder if I can find you any local families with children for her to play with,' mused Rachel. She was sure her mother would know someone suitable.

‘We're perfectly all right here,' said Philip abruptly, seeming to take this as criticism.

Rachel sighed. She never could say the right thing with him. ‘I'm sure you are. Now I'd better be on my way. Thanks for the tea. Can I have a quick look at your finger, Amelia? That looks fine. I don't think you'll need a plaster unless you're doing something that might get it dirty.' She wondered whether Philip would actually have plasters in the house. It was the sort of thing you kept a supply of if you were used to being around children, which he probably wasn't. She didn't ask. No doubt he would take that as criticism too.

He walked with her to the front door. ‘Thanks for calling round,' he said abruptly.

‘My pleasure. If you feel like bringing Amelia to visit us, feel free. You know my father would love to see you.'

He nodded but didn't actually agree. What a strange man. Rachel strode off across the gravel. She turned to look back at the house as she reached the entrance to the driveway and found he was still standing at the door, watching her. He raised a hand in farewell. For some reason she blushed as she waved in return.

Chapter Six

‘Just exactly what do you think you're doing?' demanded a deep voice that was all too familiar to Anthony.

He swung round, immediately guilty although he didn't know why he should be. He and Gemma were just putting up a few posters. The voice belonged to Sergeant MacFarlane, as he had known it would.

‘We're putting up posters,' he said, trying to be polite. Rachel had gone on and on at him about how being polite made life so much easier.

The policeman folded his arms across his broad chest and shook his head at them.

‘Is there a problem?' said Gemma. She sounded scared.

‘I don't see why there should be,' said Anthony.

‘Yes there is a problem.' The policeman sighed lugubriously. ‘Have you ever heard of fly-posting? It's against the law to put up posters on any property that isn't your own and even on your own property there can be restrictions.'

‘But that's ridic …' started Anthony, and then thought better of it. ‘That's really, er, a shame.' He could feel colour rising to his face and he hated that. They had put up at least twenty posters around Boroughbie and the plan had been to do the same in Moffat the next day.

‘I never thought,' said Gemma, chewing her lip.

‘Other people do it,' said Anthony.

‘Yes, and if caught they can receive a hefty fine.' The man glowered at them. ‘Is that what you want?'

Anthony balked. He still hadn't repaid Rachel for the last fine. ‘I suppose we could go and take them all down,' he offered, hoping he could remember where they had put them.

‘We're really sorry,' said Gemma. She sounded mortified and that made Anthony feel even worse. He was the one who had got her in to this. It had seemed such a good idea. And the posters were brilliant, they had used a photograph of the kennels around which Gemma had superimposed picture after picture of happy dogs. It was eye-catching and he had been sure it would bring in those much-needed extra few customers.

‘I had hoped not to come face to face with you for a while, young man,' said Sergeant MacFarlane, looking Anthony up and down. He didn't seem mollified by their offer or apology and Anthony could feel himself losing his temper.

‘Look here …'

‘What's all this about?' said a new voice.

Anthony had thought his spirits couldn't plummet any lower, but he was wrong.

Gemma's father had appeared out of nowhere. Now he was towering over all of them, looking very angry indeed.