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David and Moira arrived promptly at seven; the meal was timed for quarter to eight. Rachel had left Mrs Munroe careful instructions and a strict timetable to work to, so everything was under control by the time she went upstairs to bath and change. Melanie was to join them until her bedtime at seven-thirty.

Rachel chose to wear a dress she had bought in Dunglevin on one of her visits to Rose. It was a mix 'n match print of delicate greens and browns on a cream background, with shoe-string shoulder straps and a closely fitting bodice which moulded her figure and showed off her tiny waist, falling in tiers of gathers to the ground. It was simple and very feminine. She brushed her hair until it shone and let it fall loose to her shoulders.

‘Nice,’ said Melanie, when she went to see if the little girl was ready. Melanie, too, had a long dress. Hers was in white seersucker with tiny yellow flowers. It had a deep flounce at the hem and a wide yellow velvet ribbon at its high waist. Rachel had also fastened a yellow ribbon in Melanie’s hair.

‘You look nice, too, Melanie,’ Rachel smiled, and took her hand, noticing that it was unusually clammy. Melanie looked pale, too. Rachel hoped she wasn’t going to be ill.

They went downstairs and greeted Richard, who was pouring drinks for Moira and David. He poured lemonade for Melanie.

‘Thank you,’ Rachel prompted, but Melanie mutely nodded her thanks in the old way and declined to speak.

David McLeod was as handsome as she had remembered, his chestnut hair perhaps a little longer and more straggly but still thick and wavy. He was obviously pleased that Rachel was to be his partner for the evening and impatient for Melanie to be sent to bed so that he could have her all to himself.

Melanie, for her part, clung to Rachel in a jealous and possessive way which was almost embarrassing. And she refused to speak at all, much to Richard’s annoyance. Even Rachel was glad when it was time for Melanie to go to bed.

‘What on earth’s got into her?’ Richard hissed as they passed his chair.

Rachel shook her head. Who could know what went on in the strange little girl’s mind?

Melanie clung very tightly to Rachel when she kissed her goodnight. In fact, it was only by letting her have Droopy to cuddle that Rachel could leave her and return downstairs. Droopy was the long-eared, lugubrious-looking fluffy dog that sat on Rachel’s bed and held her nightdress.

Dinner was a success and for that Rachel was grateful. They had stuffed mushrooms, cutlets of venison (from the deer culled from the Estate) in chestnut puree followed by oranges in Grand Marnier. Everything was delicious, Mrs Munroe had followed Rachel’s timetable rigidly, but it wasn’t until she plodded in with the cheeseboard that Rachel felt she could begin to relax.

David had no such inhibitions. The wine Richard had chosen had loosened his tongue and he paid Rachel the most extravagant compliments and overtly tried to hold her hand across the table. Desperately, she tried to make him keep his distance, conscious that Richard, although deep in conversation with Moira, was nevertheless watching everything that was going on.

Coffee and liqueurs were served in the lounge, where a huge fire burned in the grate against the chill of the early autumn evening. Two deep settees stood adjacent to the fireplace and Moira settled herself in one of these, patting the space beside her. ‘Come on, Rick. Come and be cosy,’ she invited.

Richard smiled briefly and sat down, whereupon she curled her feet under her and nestled up to him, her head on his shoulder.

Rachel had no choice but to sit on the settee opposite, where David soon joined her, his arm carelessly across the back. He ran a strand of her hair through his fingers. ‘Just like spun silk,' he murmured, his hand finding the nape of her neck.

She leaned forward and began to pour coffee, set out on the low table between the settees, her hand shaking a little as she did so. She had never felt more miserable and uncomfortable in her life.

‘Leave mine on the table,' said Moira, as Rachel handed her a cup. She clearly didn’t want to change her position, close to Richard.

‘Thank you,' Richard managed somehow to lean forward far enough to take his cup without dislodging Moira and his eyes met Rachel’s as he did so. Rachel couldn’t read the expression in them; they were dark, almost black, and they seemed to bore right down into her soul as he held her gaze—was it accusingly, or disdainfully? Whatever it was it sent a surge of colour to her cheeks and made her drop the sugar spoon. Why did this man have such an effect on her? Why could he not leave her as completely unmoved as David McLeod, who she was sure would need little encouragement to begin a fullscale affair with her, or Ben, who would never be anything more than a very dear friend?

With trembling hands she poured David's coffee and handed it to him, nearly tipping it straight into his lap as an agonised scream came from Melanie, upstairs.

Rachel got up, kicked off her flimsy gold sandals and rushed for the stairs. It wasn't until she reached Melanie, who was screaming and sobbing alternately, that she realised Richard was right behind her.

‘It's all right, darling, I’m here.' Rachel gathered the little form into her arms. ‘It's all right. Calm down.’ She had never seen Melanie so distressed since the day at the vantage point. Melanie clung to her tightly. ‘Don't go,' she cried in a strangled voice, ‘don’t leave me!’

‘I won’t leave you, Melanie, never fear.’ Rachel cradled her in her arms and rocked to and fro.

Richard standing helplessly by, a worried frown on his face, handed Rachel a large white handkerchief. ‘Her tears are making your dress wet,’ he explained.

Rachel smiled her thanks and wiped Melanie's face. She was calmer now, her tears had gradually subsided and although her eyes were wide with fear, she managed a small smile.

‘Was it a bad dream, little one?’ Richard asked kindly.

Melanie nodded.

‘Would you like to tell us about it, then you can forget it ever happened? Things are never so bad if you talk about them.’ He sat down on the bed close to Rachel and leaned over to smooth the hair away from his little daughter’s face.

Melanie looked at him for a moment, then shook her head and buried it on Rachel's breast. Richard continued stroking her hair, his other hand resting on the bed behind Rachel to support his weight. Rachel could feel the rough texture of his jacket on her shoulder; he was so close to her that she could feel the beat of his heart, and she realised that she and Melanie together were almost encircled in his arms. She held her breath.

Suddenly, Melanie lifted her head and smiled at them both. ‘Better now,’ she said. ‘Nasty’s gone.’

‘Good.’ Rachel lowered her back on to her pillow.

‘Stay with me.’ Melanie clutched Rachel’s hand.

‘All right, darling, just for a while.’ She was glad; she had no wish to return downstairs to David’s unwelcome attentions, nor to watch Moira’s possessive manner with Richard.

‘You’ll come down when she’s asleep?’ Richard bent his head to whisper in her ear as he left.

‘Of course.’

He stood looking down at his little daughter for several moments, then he bent and dropped a light kiss on her forehead. ‘Goodnight, little one,’ he said softly.

Rachel stayed with Melanie much longer than she intended. Sitting quietly beside the little girl she began to realise how busy her day had been preparing for Richard’s dinner party, and then the added strain of being polite to David and Moira, neither of whom, it suddenly struck her, she cared for in the least, had all taken their toll. She was very tired. She was asleep almost as soon as Melanie.

When she woke it was quite late. Hurriedly she went to the top of the stairs, just in time to hear David say, ‘I’ll bring the car round. You wait inside, Moira,’ as he went out of the front door.

She slipped quietly down the stairs. Halfway down she was able to see through the open door into the lounge, She stopped. There, standing by the fire, locked in a passionate embrace, were Richard and Moira. As she watched, rooted to the spot, Richard lifted his head and saw her. For a moment his gaze held hers, then, deliberately he bent his head and kissed Moira again.

Rachel turned and went back to her room, where she undressed and got into bed as quickly as she could and lay gazing into the darkness, dry-eyed and miserable. Why, oh, why couldn’t she hate Richard Duncan?

Melanie’s birthday was on the twenty-first. Rachel had made and iced a cake for her, but she still insisted that she didn’t want a party—indeed, other than Mrs Munroe’s Jeannie who was there to invite? So Rachel suggested a visit to the cinema in Dunglevin where a Walt Disney film was showing.

‘Oh, yes!’ Melanie clapped her hands. ‘And Daddy must come. Then we’ll have tea at the Pat... Pat ....'

‘Patisserie.’ Rachel helped her out. Her speech was becoming more fluent now, but she still had complete days when she said little or nothing and Rachel felt they still hadn’t got to the bottom of Melanie’s problem. ‘Very well, but
you
must ask him.'

Rachel was not too happy with Melanie’s idea. She had avoided Richard as far as possible since the night of the dinner party and the prospect of a birthday tea at the Patisserie with him filled her with misgivings.

Misgivings he, apparently, did not share. ‘Oh, dear, I have a fishing trip booked for that day, little one,’ he said. ‘I’ll see if I can alter it, but if I can’t, let’s see, the film should be over by a quarter to five—I could meet you for tea. How would that be?’ He smiled at Melanie, ignoring Rachel, standing nearby.

‘I’d like that,’ said Melanie.

‘All right, I’ll see what I can do.’ He made a note in his diary, ruffled Melanie’s hair affectionately and went off, without even acknowledging Rachel’s presence. He’s rude, Rachel told herself fiercely. Rude and ill-mannered and I hate him. But she knew she didn’t.

The day of Melanie’s birthday was overcast, but it didn’t dampen her spirits in the least. Excitedly, she opened her cards and presents; an expensive ball game that looked as if it was more suitable for a boy from Alistair; a dainty dress which Rose had sewn and embroidered herself and which Melanie insisted on wearing immediately; Rachel had bought her a large selection of felt pens in their own leather case and even Mrs Munroe’s Jeannie had sent a tiny, rather oddly-shaped pottery bowl that she had made herself at school. Richard had left a card and a message, ‘I’ll give you your present at tea. Love, Daddy.’ There was not so much as a card from Moira.

‘No school today,’ Rachel announced.

‘Because I’m seven.'

‘That’s right, because you’re seven. What shall we do?’

‘Go to the waterfall.'

‘All right. The little one, Eas Beag. We can’t go up the mountain to Eas Mhor without your daddy.’

Melanie shuddered. ‘It’s gone.' She pointed to Ben Binnean, shrouded in thick mist. It was as if it had been spirited away.

Rachel smiled. ‘It’ll be there again when the mist clears.'

They donned jeans and wellingtons and set off. They met Ben on the way.

‘Happy birthday, poppet,’ he said, fishing in his duffle bag and bringing out a beautifully carved wooden rabbit. It was sitting in an alert, listening position and looked almost real. ‘I know you like watching the bunnies, so I thought you’d like one of your own.

‘Oh, thank you, Ben!’ Melanie flung herself at him in delight. ‘This is a lovely birthday! ’

Even rain couldn’t dampen Melanie’s spirits, although they drove to Dunglevin and the cinema in a misty drizzle. It couldn’t be much fun for Richard, fishing in weather like this, Rachel thought to herself.

Melanie enjoyed the film, laughing and crying and bouncing excitedly in her seat alternately, and afterwards they hurried through the rain to the Patisserie.

Richard wasn’t there. They waited until five-thirty and then, because the cafe closed at six, they had their tea. It was a subdued little girl who ate a second slice of peach gateau.

‘Daddy forgot,’ she said, a large blob of cream clinging to her quivering lip.

‘No, I’m sure he didn’t. Something must have happened. The car’s broken down—or something.’ Rachel tried to sound convincing, but it was a sad, silent little Melanie who sat beside her on the drive home.

They had barely got inside the house when the phone rang. It was Richard.

‘Can you send someone to pick me up at Ardenbeg,’ he said tersely. He sounded tired and bad-tempered. ‘I can’t drive my car.’

‘Melanie and I will fetch you,’ said Rachel. She couldn’t resist adding, ‘We’ve only just got back from Dunglevin.’

There was a silence. ‘Oh. Yes, of course. It’s her birthday, isn’t it.’ He swore under his breath. ‘I’ll be waiting at the pierhead. How long do you think you’ll be?'

‘Ten minutes.’ She put down the receiver.

‘Daddy?’ Melanie asked eagerly.

Rachel nodded. ‘It sounds as if I was right. He wants us to fetch him, so his car must have broken down.’

They drove to Ardenbeg in thickening mist and found Richard leaning on a bollard at the pierhead. His face was ashen and his hand was swathed in bandages.

‘I’m sorry about your birthday tea, little one,’ he said to Melanie as he wedged himself into the back seat of the Mini, ‘but there’s been a bit of an accident. I’ll tell you about it later,' he added to Rachel. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes.

Back at Kilfinan House he went straight to his room. Rachel helped Melanie prepare for bed, parrying the little girl’s questions with, ‘We shall have to wait and see. No, I don’t know what could have happened, we’ll find out tomorrow, I’m sure.’ She was just leaving Melanie when Richard came into the bedroom. His face had a trace more colour, Rachel noticed, but he looked haggard and drawn.

‘I’ve brought your birthday present, Melanie,’ he said. He handed her a small jewellers box. In it was a dainty gold cross and chain. ‘I’m sorry it’s so late, but at least it’s still your birthday.’

Melanie opened it and her eyes shone with pleasure. She sat up in bed and held out her arms. ‘It’s lovely, Daddy. Thank you.’ Smiling he bent down for her kiss, reeling a little as he stood up.