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This unexpected championship was too much for Frances in her overwrought state, and she began to weep.

‘Hey, none of that!’ Lesley protested. ‘It’s bad for the bairn. You’ve got to be strong, Fran, we’ve a lot to do.’

Frances sniffed and wiped her eyes.

‘What?’ she asked.

'As soon as we get to Glasgow you must visit a clinic, and I’ll break the news to your in-laws. Then you’ll have to meet them. They’ll be glad because ...' her own eyes filled and she turned away, ‘if Gray never comes back, you’ve got all we have left of him.’ She hastily overcame her weakness and went on: ‘Then there’s Crawfords, we’ve got to put some ginger into Sandy. He always was a pessimist.’ She lifted her small chin defiantly. ‘Crawfords must survive, for Gray’s child.’

Frances was amazed. Lesley was four years younger than herself, but she had a drive and initiative that was lacking in both Ian and Sandy. Then she remembered that Gray had asked her to ensure that Alison and Sandy did not sell up. At the time she had taken little heed of his words, but it would almost seem he had foreseen this emergency. Haltingly she told Lesley about it, for the memory of that day on the Loch was hurtful. Lesley nodded.

‘Yes, he believed in the business. Of course it’s a bad time, but I’m sure with energy and resource it can be made to pay.’ Her face puckered. ‘Silver Arrow carried a lot of prestige and I . . . loved that boat. I can’t understand what happened, in fact there are a lot of things about this affair which don’t add up, and 1 don’t believe Stu Lambert has told all he knows. If only I could have gone instead of Sandy, I’m sure I could have dug something up. But Sandy will swallow any plausible tale, and Stu has the money .. . and the power ... to do anything. Money talks.'

She sat down again on the bed, chin on band, brooding. She looked like a young witch, weaving a spell. Frances watched her wonderingly. Not so long ago Lesley had tried to drown her, now she was offering her friendship and support. She did not doubt she could trust her. Lesley was a person of extremes, and having, decided to transfer her loyalties, she would stand by her in any eventuality.

‘You don’t think Mr Lambert is telling the truth?’ she asked.

‘He may be as far as he know's it. I’ve nothing against old Stu, he’s an honest man and he's fond of Gray, but he’s got a son and a daughter who are not. Sam might do anything out of pique, if Gray rejects her, as he probably has, and Brett is a treacherous cad.’

She stood up and began to straighten Frances’ bedclothes.

‘You look fagged out, Fran—stay here and have a lie down, and I’ll do the chores.’

This Frances knew was a noble gesture, for Lesley hated anything in the nature of housework, but she did feel exhausted and she lay thankfully down on the bed; she was more cheered than at any time since Gray’s departure.

Frances
sat in the swivel chair behind the opulent desk in the managerial office at Crawfords, which should of right been occupied by Gray. She was literally keeping his place warm for him. She was a privileged person now, for her grandfather had died, and as she was his only surviving relative, had left her a considerable sum of money. She could hardly be expected to grieve for someone whom she had never met and who had ostracised her parents, but she regretted that she had never attempted to contact him, for this benevolence suggested he had been lonely during his last years. The money was very welcome. She had invested the bulk of it in Crawfords and the much-needed capital had done much to set the firm upon its feet again. Her action, together with the birth of her son, had made her doubly acceptable to Gray's family. She had refused to call the boy Graham, saying there could be only one Gray, and had named him Robert, after his paternal grandfather, which was also the name of one of Scotland’s most famous kings.

The office had caused friction with Sandy, who considered it was a waste of good accommodation to let it be unoccupied, but Frances had insisted it was to be kept ready for Gray. She had it cleaned every day, and fresh flowers placed on the desk in a slender silver vase which held one or two blooms. Often she would sit in it herself when she came to call at Crawfords, and go into a daydream, imagining Gray walking in at the door, for both she and Lesley were firm in their conviction that he was alive and would one day return.

Most of his associates thought he must be dead, as no trace of him had ever been discovered, in which case Frances, as his widow, would inherit his large holding of stock. Therefore she was humoured, amid sorrowful headshaking. The puir lassie was deluded, but as she was very sane upon every other subject, it did no one any harm to let her have the office if it comforted her.

Although she took no active part in the business, she was keenly interested in all that appertained to it. Today, Ian was showing her some designs for canoes. Canoeing, he told her, was an increasingly popular sport, and light, strong craft that were not too expensive would find a market.

Both of them had changed. Ian had matured, his features hardening into a more manly mould, and he had gained in assurance, but though many girls had tried to attract him, he never swerved in his devotion to Frances.

She looked a little frail. She had not fully recovered from Robert’s birth, which had been difficult, though the child was nearly six months old. Her hair had been cut in hospital, and she wore it in a shining bell to below her ears, and her face had ripened into real beauty. In repose her mouth had a wistful droop, and her eyes often had a faraway expression, but her manner was serene and gracious. She was dressed in a black woollen dress with white collar and cuffs, opening on to a V-shaped lace vest, and round her throat was a necklace of pearls, a present from her mother-in-law on Robbie’s birth, which were no more silky than her skin. Lovely, aloof and unattainable, Ian thought as he watched her surreptitiously over his drawing board. Was she still grieving for the man who had treated her so cavalierly?

Frances and Lesley were sharing a flat with the baby, Murdoch and Caesar. Lesley was working in Crawfords’ spare parts store, and often regretted the freedom of Craig Dhu. Mrs Crawford had gone to live with her daughter Alison, and Ian lodged with Margaret, with old Morag to look after them. They had sold their house
_}
when Lesley announced that she was going to live with Frances, and had no room for Murdoch and Caesar. Frances had taken him in to care for the dog, and found he was an excellent baby-minder. He adored the wee bairn, as he called Robbie, and there seemed to be an affinity between the weatherbeaten Highlander and the small person who as yet could only express himself with coos and yells.

Ian pushed aside his board and looked at Frances intently.

‘Are you going to wait all your life in the hope that Gray will come back?’ he asked abruptly.

Frances turned her wedding ring absently on her finger.

‘He’s only been gone about fifteen months, she
said slowly.

Her baby had done something to fill the gap, but she had never ceased to yearn for her husband.

‘Only!’ Ian exclaimed. He looked away from her towards the window which overlooked a drab street. ‘In another nine months you could divorce him for desertion.’

Frances stared at him. ‘Why on earth should I do that?’

‘Because you’re waiting your youth on a man who treated you badly,’ Ian told her forcibly. ‘He should either have taken you with him or let you alone. His only excuse is that he’s probably dead . . .’

‘No, he’s not,’ Frances interrupted. ‘If he were I’d know it here.’ She touched her breast, and Ian made an impatient movement.

‘Very well then, but face it, Fran, he’s left you, probably for another woman. He isn’t worthy 01 your love and fidelity.’ He leaned towards her, speaking low and earnestly. ‘You should have a man to ... to look after you. Robbie needs a father. I don’t approve of one-parent families, they’re incomplete.’ He laid his hand over hers which lay on the desk, and his dark eyes sought hers, full of pleading. ‘If you’d only marry me, Fran, I d be so good to you. I wouldn’t ask much of you, just the privilege of caring for you and your child. You must be often lonely, Les has her own life to lead, and will leave you in time. I’ve always loved you, right from the start, but of course with Gray around ...’ He made a grimace.

Frances looked down at his hand over hers, but she made no attempt to withdraw it. She was touched by Ian's devotion, and she was lonely at times. Lesley was often out in the evenings, there was a young man at the works who was paying her attention, and though she derided the notion that there was anything between them, she did not seem to want to dismiss him. It was true what he said about Robbie, a boy needed a man. But Ian awoke no sexual response within her at all, never had done. Ironically he had all the other attributes to make a good husband, but the thing Gray had had in such abundance was lacking. She smiled sadly and said: 'Penelope waited twenty years for Ulysses to come back, but he returned in the end.'

‘Yes, after having had a whale of time with Nausicaa, Circe and all the rest, while she, poor mutt, sat at her loom fending off her suitors. I don’t think she was to be admired, I think she was a fool. You’re a modern woman, Fran, you have rights poor Penelope never dreamed of. You shouldn’t let yourself be neglected, sexually starved, abandoned. Besides, if Gray ever does come back, he’ll be changed, and have formed other attachments . . .’ Frances winced. What she feared was only too probable. ‘Sorry, darling,’ Ian noticed her expression, ‘but do come out of your dreams and face realities. The life you're leading isn’t normal.’

He stood up and came round the desk. Taking both her hands, he drew her to her feet. Holding them in his, he murmured softly:

‘Oh, Fran, Fran, I love you so!'

The passion shining in his eyes momentarily stirred her, but only for a moment. He bowed his head and kissed first one hand and then the other, gently touching her fingertips with his lips. Frances looked down on his bowed dark head with a tender expression, wishing she could requite him, while she sought for the right words to soften her refusal. They made a pretty picture, the young man caressing her fingers, the woman with an almost maternal smile on her lips.

‘What a charming scene! I’m afraid I'm intruding.'

The voice she had heard so many times in her dreams! Frances snatched her hands away and stared wildly at the door. It had been opened, and standing on the threshold was Gray. She rubbed her hand over her eyes, wondering if he were an hallucination, then stared again. He was still there. Incredulous with joy, she moved towards him, uttering an inarticulate cry, but the stony look he gave her caused her to halt.
Was
this Gray? He looked older and there were lines upon his face that had not been there before. His handsome mouth was set like an iron trap and his eyes as he surveyed her were colder than ice. He was immaculately dressed, in a perfectly tailored grey suit and waistcoat, blue shirt, and dark tie, but his sartorial elegance only emphasised his changed aspect.

Frances stood still, feeling her world was dissolving about her. So often she had envisaged this moment, when Gray did at last return to her. She had hoped for a tender greeting, a rapturous embrace, and then the revelation that she had borne him a son would surely move him. But the man regarding her so stonily was an inimical stranger. She glanced helplessly at Ian, who looked as bewildered as she did—worse, he looked guilty, though he had done nothing more than kiss her hands. But the intention had been there, he had been trying to steal Gray’s wife, and he, with his uncanny perception, knew it.

Gray came up to the desk, and touched its shining surface. A muscle in his cheek twitched.

‘My father’s desk! Stu told me he was dying, but I . . . couldn't come.’

‘He’s dead now,’ Ian said shortly.

‘I know.’ Gray turned a baleful eye upon the younger man. ‘Have you usurped his place:' He looked contemptuously at the vase of flowers. ‘And Fran has added the feminine touch. My father had no use for frivolities in business, nor women either.’

‘Then he was all behind the times,' Ian declared, for Frances could not speak. ‘Actually a woman has saved your business.’

Both were utterly dismayed by Gray’s attitude. He seemed to be accusing them, but he was the one at fault.

Frances touched Ian’s sleeve and shook her head. Now was not the moment to reveal what she had done for Crawfords. Gray marked the gesture.

‘A conspiracy?’ he asked, his voice dangerously soft.

Frances at last found her tongue.

‘No, of course not. No one has usurped your place, Gray, I . . . we . . . kept this office in readiness for your return, hoping every day we would hear from you.’

‘Couldn’t you think of a more convincing lie than that?’ Gray sneered, 'I came straight here from the airport to find out what was going on. It seems I’ve been superseded., in more ways than one.’ He pointed to Ian’s drawing board, ‘You’ve made yourself comfortable here.’

‘That was ... I only came in . . . Oh, but this is absurd, Gray, Arguing about an office when you’ve come back at last.’ He moved eagerly towards the other man. ‘Where have you been all this while? We feared you were dead.’

‘You mean you hoped I was, but if you think I’m going to play Enoch Arden you’re very much mistaken. I always thought he was a feeble character, I’m not going to steal away into the night, leaving you in possession. I’m the boss and you’re all going to know it.’

‘That's fine after being gone for over a year!’ Ian was becoming angry, while Frances was dumbfounded. ‘Of course we’re delighted to see you, but ...’

‘Are you? Gray’s voice cracked like a whip, and Frances recalled with dismay that when he had come in Ian had been kissing her hands. He had always been jealous of her friendship with Ian and now he was putting the worst interpretation upon what he had seen. In the story of Enoch Arden, the husband had been away considerably longer than Gray had been, but the reference was clear. Enoch had gone away without revealing himself, but Gray had no intention of being so self-sacrificing, nor would she have wanted him to do so. She longed to throw herself into his arms, express her delight at his reappearance, but what was happening was a night mare, and Ian was making things worse by being belligerent.