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Judith could have saved herself the worry of whom to accompany to the evening of Highland games, for Barbara decided that Susan was well enough to be taken and even Andy spared time to come, so Judith became merely one of the Greenwoods’ party. At the ferry Mairi waited with her mother and Neil.

Halfway along the road to Cruban, Stuart’s car passed and stopped to pick up Mrs. Drummond and whoever else wanted a lift, but only Mairi accepted. Fiona, sitting next to Stuart, waved casually to those left behind and Stuart called, “See you all at the ground.”

Neil, as though he were under invisible observation from Mairi, chose to walk with Susan and Robbie some distance ahead. Judith reflected that in the end it had all come to the same thing. If she had accepted Stuart’s invitation, she would still have been a third party.

By the time they had all found seats in the grandstand a pipe band led the two shinty teams on to the field, and after a few explanatory remarks over the loudspeakers for the benefit of ignorant tourists and others, the exhibition match began. Judith had never seen the game before and thought it resembled a particularly fast and furious kind of hockey.

Red-and-black-stripes scored a goal against All-reds, and Judith applauded enthusiastically when they scored a second.

“Shame on you, Judith!” exclaimed Andy. “All-reds are the home team.”

“Then you should let the outsiders have a chance to win,” she retorted.

After the match, with Red-and-black-stripes victorious by three goals to one, there were Scottish reels and dances expertly performed by eightsomes.

Enormous kilted men exhibited their skill as well as strength in throwing the hammer and tossing the caber, and challenged members of the public to compete with them.

More dancing followed, and although Judith was interested, some of her attention was focussed on the dramatically beautiful sunset and the reflected luminous light over the wooded hills surrounding the park.

The evening’s events were over and the crowds began to melt away.

Clear of the grandstand shuffle, Judith suddenly found herself between Neil and Stuart.

Stuart suggested coffee and drinks at the Roxburgh Hotel. “I’ll get my car out of the crush. Where’s Mairi and her mother?” He turned back towards Judith. “I could take you as well.”

“Thank you, Stuart, but I’ll walk with the others.”

“I’ll take the children, then.” Susan and Robbie went off with him and Fiona.

In the lounge of the Roxburgh, Mrs. Drummond suddenly leaned forward towards Judith. “I hear you had a good trip to Iona and Staffa the other day.”

“Yes. I enjoyed it very much.”

Barbara glanced up. “Oh, yes, I have the photographs here.” She rummaged through her handbag.

The postcards were handed around with comments and laughter.

“So you went on the trip, too, Stuart,” Fiona’s voice was low-pitched and intensely angry. “You didn’t tell me.” He swung his coffee around in the cup and smiled lazily. “Somebody had to substitute for you.”

“Yes, but—”

“We were glad to have Stuart with us,” Barbara broke in hastily before Fiona could say more, “to point out the places of interest.”

Judith caught Fiona’s furious glance and looked away, only to meet Neil’s gaze, which she could not fathom. It could have been contempt, resentment or merely a passing interest in the conversation. But she felt nettled that so much emphasis should be placed on casual meetings with her sister’s friends and neighbours.

“In a week’s time, I shall be back in London,” she said distinctly, but without annoyance, “and all the lovely Scottish islands will be just a pleasant memory.” Perhaps that reminder would still Mrs. Drummond’s tongue and set Fiona’s fears at rest.

When the Kylsaig party landed at the ferry, the long northern summer twilight gave enough light to see the path across the island and down to Andy’s croft. Of all the memories, Judith thought, Kylsaig was the place she would remember best for its charm, it's unbelievable remoteness within two miles of Cruban’s civilisation, its stormy history and present decay.

For the remainder of her holiday, she became involved in an almost hectic itinerary of outings and trips. Fiona drove her to Inverness for the day; Mairi escorted her by coach to Glencoe and back by yacht. Barbara and Andy took her across the Clachan bridge, proudly described as “the only bridge across the Atlantic,” to Easdale where a cluster of whitewashed cottages was scattered like a handful of chunky beads.

“We’ve let you waste your time,” Barbara said unhappily. “It’s gone so quickly and you haven’t seen half the well-known beauty spots, let alone the others that tourists don’t know about. I’m sorry Andy’s been so tied up with the crops and everything. He could have shown you many more interesting places.”

“Nonsense,” Judith reassured her. “I’ve had a wonderful time, and the weather’s been so lucky for me.”

“Weather! Goodness! You brought that with you. This will go down to history as the summer when people had to water their gardens!” Barbara sighed. “I know it’s silly of me, but when there’s a fine spell like this, I try to enjoy living here. Sometimes I pretend we’re just here on holiday staying in a rented house. But the thought of another autumn and winter appalls me. The gales and rain and mist. That’s when I feel cut off.”

Judith stretched out her hand towards Barbara. “Don’t be unhappy, dear.” She was really at a loss for the right sympathetic words, for she realised that Barbara would never grow to love Kylsaig—unless a miracle happened.

“I’ve tried to talk Andy into giving it up.” She shook her head despondently. “It’s no use. You see, Graham Mundon could easily fix up a marvellous job for him. I was talking to him the other night at the games. Graham has other interests besides hotels, and if only Andy would listen—”

“What sort of job could he offer Andy?” Judith asked cautiously, knowing her brother-in-law’s almost fierce independence.

“Representative for catering equipment or anything else Andy prefers. Graham is on the board of several companies, and he has influence.”

Judith remained silent, and Barbara continued, “It isn’t that I want a glamorous life. I just want something more settled, not so dependent on the price of sheep. I want my children to go to decent schools, and there are times when I long to be dashing in and out of West End shops, not even buying things, but just feeling the glitter and bustle of it all. Or dolling up in the evening just once in a while, walking into a restaurant or ballroom, knowing that you look sophisticated and poised, whatever you’re feeling inside.”

Judith laughed lightly to try to relieve the tension. “Even
looking
sophisticated is something I shall never manage!”

“Never mind, darling. You’re sweet as you are, and it’s an absolute mystery to me why you’re not already married to some charming man.”

“Simple. I just don’t charm the men.”

“I’m not sure about that. Stuart was eager enough to come to Iona with us, and I don’t think he would have bothered if I’d been alone. And I’ve seen even our taciturn and unsusceptible Neil giving you some interesting looks.” Judith chuckled. “I should soon be in disfavour with their respective partners if I encouraged either of them. Besides, I’ve tried never to take holiday friendships too seriously.”

“But soon you’ll have to begin to take somebody seriously. You’re twenty-two.”

“Does that mean I’m on the shelf?” Judith queried.

Barbara laughed. “Not quite, but you have your toe on it. Another year or so and—”

“Yes, I know. Any eligible young man who’s likely to be also a good provider will wonder why I haven’t been snapped up already and whether my past holds a bundle of dark secrets.”

The two girls burst into laughter, and Judith was glad to be the butt of her sister’s gentle digs if that helped Barbara to forget her own problems.

IT was Judith’s last free day and, as always at the end of a holiday, it seemed only yesterday when she had arrived. She would have preferred to spend the day wandering around Kylsaig, alone, storing up the memory of its colour and solitude, its little frothy-edged bays and swampy seashores and the ring of mountains surrounding it, but Barbara had suggested spending the day in Cruban.

Judith and Barbara spent the morning in the shops, with an interval for coffee and shortbread in the harbour cafe. There were small presents to buy for the children and Andy and some dainty extravagance for Barbara. Judith bought herself a length of fine heather-mist tweed to take home.

They lunched at the Roxburgh Hotel and Graham Mundon joined them in the sun-lounge for coffee.

“Judith’s last day here,” Barbara told him. “I'd like her to stay longer, all the summer, but she won’t.”

Judith flushed under Graham’s tolerantly amused gaze.

“It would surely be too much to expect two such attractive sisters to stay longer than they can help in these outlandish parts,” he said.

No doubt Graham was all right and a kind and helpful friend, thought Judith, but she did not care much for his smooth style and could well understand Andy’s refusal to take a job offered by him. Graham was so obviously the successful business man, he exuded prosperity without too much ostentation, and Judith wondered what kept him in such a small remote town as Cruban if the Roxburgh Hotel was only one of his many interests.

As she and Barbara were leaving the hotel, he hoped politely that she would have a pleasant journey and visit Cruban again another year. Then she heard him murmur to Barbara, “Don’t worry. Everything will be all right, I promise you.”

Barbara was unusually silent as they walked along the promenade, then round by the harbour to the railway station.

“We’d better make sure about the trains,” Barbara muttered.

“There’s no need. Only the nine-fifteen is any use for the connection at Stirling. I’ve checked that already.” But Judith accompanied her sister to the boards displaying the time-tables.

Outside the station, Stuart was sitting in his car.

“Judith darling, I hope you don’t mind,” Barbara said hurriedly, “but Stuart’s going to take you to Port Appin for the afternoon.”

“What about you? Aren’t you coming?” queried Judith, surprised at this sudden hasty arrangement.

“No, I’ve some more shopping to do. Then I’ll go home, but you come back whenever you like.”

Judith stood uncertainly beside the open car door, and Stuart began to laugh. “You don’t seem exactly overjoyed to have a surprise invitation, do you?”

“I—I’m—yes, I’m glad, but—”

“Oh, don’t worry on my account,” interrupted Barbara. “I really ought to be home by the time the children get back from school, but it cuts your day short, too, and you might as well spend all the time you can touring the countryside.”

She smiled and waved goodbye to them as Judith entered the car.

“It’s shameless of Barbara to foist me on you like this.” she said, as he drove along the promenade and out of the town. “She didn’t breathe a word to me about it.”

“Actually, I invited you both for a trip out somewhere for your last day before going back tomorrow. But Barbara said you had shopping to do, so I suggested afternoon tea in a very special hotel I know.”

“Barbara could still have mentioned it to me.”

“Am I less welcome then because you didn’t know?”

“No, of course not.” But she was thinking that with this blatant piece of wire-pulling on her sister’s part, perhaps it was just as well to be leaving Scotland tomorrow or some very complicated situations might arise. She wondered idly if Fiona knew of today's outing and whether she would have demanded to be included. The thought brought a wicked little smile to Judith’s lips.

Stuart drove along the edge of the loch, and even this part of the mainland, she noticed, was sparsely populated; a few cottages here and there; farther on, an isolated church without any kind of habitation apparently within miles. Yet the land seemed prosperous, with clear pasture and extensive forestry plantations. Cars were few and far between.

“A paradise for motorists,” she remarked.

“Yes, provided you don’t have a breakdown.” He grinned at her. “No need to worry. All my maps are marked with red dots for petrol stations or garages, so I always know exactly how tar I have to walk.”

At the hotel, a long, low building of rough grey stone, Stuart was warmly welcomed by a small, grey-haired woman.

"Everything is ready, Garranmure,” she told him. Judith had learned during her holiday that Stuart was often addressed by the name of his house. He introduced her to Mrs. McKechnie, who led them into a dining room overlooking the garden and showed them to a large, square table almost entirely covered with all that goes to the making of a good Scottish tea. A dozen different kinds of bread; baps and bannocks; scones, girdle cakes, a richly dark plum cake and one with walnut icing.

“I’ll bring the tea now,” Mrs. McKechnie said briskly, “and if there is anything else you will be wanting, then just to ring the bell.”

“We’re not expected to eat all this, are we?” Judith whispered when Mrs. McKechnie had gone.

“She’ll be upset if you don’t make considerable inroads into everything. It’s all home-made and she’s probably one of the best cooks in the country. Even Granna has to admit that when she comes here.”

After tea, and the food was so delicious that Judith admitted that she had made a pig of herself, she and Stuart walked down towards the shore of the loch. Now she was trying to etch on her memory every detail of this last happy day in Stuart’s company.

“Oh, if I were here a month, two months or even the whole summer, I could never hope to explore properly this part of Scotland, the islands and lochs. I’ve never realised how beautiful it is.”

He was watching her face. “You must come again. In the autumn, perhaps? That’s one of the best seasons for the Highlands.”

“I shall try,” she murmured vaguely, knowing that a further holiday was out of the question.

They dawdled home to Cruban, but she refused his suggestion of dinner at one of the hotels. “I think Barbara and Andy will expect me to have an evening meal with them, as I’m leaving tomorrow.”