Highland Fling by Katie Fforde Read Free Book Online Page B

business than just profit.
    Lady Dalmain, who had not been the centre of attention for some moments, reclaimed it. ‘Philip, darling, do you think you could go and see what is taking Felicity so long in the kitchen? And tell her to make sure the vegetables are properly cooked. The other night the carrots were almost raw.’ She turned her critical gaze on Lachlan. ‘So, Mr McGregor, what do you do?’
    Lachlan took a breath. Jenny felt a sense of kinship with him. They were alone with the gorgon and either of them might be turned to stone at any moment.
    ‘I’m a peripatetic camelid clipper.’
    Jenny took too large a gulp of whisky and coughed, and then turned her attention to an arrangement of dead birds that stared beadily at her from inside a glass coffin.
    ‘I beg your pardon?’ demanded Lady Dalmain, no beg about it.
    ‘I travel the country, though I’m in the North and Scotland mostly, clipping llamas, alpacas, and similar animals.’
    Lady Dalmain considered, stiffened and became unbearably regal. ‘You mean, you’re a sheepshearer?’ She couldn’t have made it sound a less desirable profession if she’d said ‘whoremonger’.
    ‘No,’ said Lachlan calmly. ‘I shear other animals, not sheep.’ He held Lady Dalmain’s gaze and Jenny noted with relief that she appeared to respect him for it; he may be a manual worker, and therefore quite beyond the pale, but he wasn’t a coward.
    Jenny found she’d drained her glass and realised that since she’d arrived she’d consumed more neat whisky than in the whole of the previous year. Henry would be horrified. If she were being driven to drink before she’d even spent a night in the place, in what condition would she be by the time the job was finished? She resolved to become teetotal before her liver forced her into it.
    ‘So, Lady Dalmain, do tell me, what is your book about?’ Jenny felt it was her turn to break the deadly silence.
    ‘It’s really quite involved, Miss Porter, I doubt if you’re really interested.’
    ‘I did read history at university, so I might be able to grasp it,’ she replied evenly.
    ‘And was it a proper university? Or one of these jumped-up polytechnics?’
    ‘A proper university.’ She longed to say Oxford or Cambridge, but was afraid to be caught out in the lie. ‘So, please do tell me about your book? I’d be
fascinated
to hear about it.’ Oh God, the whisky was affecting her already.
    But before she could be fascinated, Felicity and Philip came in. ‘It’s ready,’ said Felicity. She looked hot, her hair was coming down in swathes, and her nose was shiny. She glanced anxiously at Lachlan, checking to see if he’d been turned into a pig, or bore any other physical scars of her mother’s rancour. Lachlan, Jenny was touched to observe, smiled reassuringly back.
    Philip went to help his mother, although Jenny thought she looked perfectly spry. Felicity went to Lachlan and peeped up at him, suddenly girlish.
    Everyone got to their feet and Lady Dalmain said, ‘Philip, dear, you lead the way with Miss Porter.’ Somehow, she managed to manipulate everyone so that Felicity was last in the queue to leave the room. ‘Just see to the fire, dear, will you?’ Satisfied that her daughter was in her rightful place in the pecking order, she processed on.
    In the way of dining rooms, it was even colder than the rest of the house. A beautiful long mahogany table was set with what must have been Dalmain’s best. Jennysaw the Georgian silver cutlery, small and showing centuries of use, the dinner service that could have been Sevres, and the heavy lead-crystal glasses. There were lace mats under every glass and plate. It was all charming – faded, gracious, an antique collector’s dream (she made a note to tell Henry about it) and yet it seemed to Jenny to have poignancy: all this beauty and apparently no happiness.
    Lady Dalmain took the head of the table. ‘Mr McGregor, if you go on my right, Philip on my left.’ She