Love Without Reason

‘Well, an initial step would be to hire a consultant to look into the feasibility of the project,’ the American explained. ‘Before that, however, I’d have to talk to the actual knitters, because if the idea isn’t a runner with them it’s going nowhere. My only problem is approaching them.’

Dr Macnab nodded. ‘I’m afraid that is a problem. They’re hard workers, the ladies of Invergair, and they’re reliable, but they’re slow on accepting new ideas, especially...’

‘Especially coming from someone who’s only been here five minutes,’ Cameron Adams concluded for the older man, and the two laughed together.

Riona felt she had to defend her friends and neighbours. ‘You can’t blame them. Some of them depend entirely on knitting for their living.’

‘Really?’ The American was obviously surprised, but he ran on, ‘In that case, all the more reason to make it a decent living. Perhaps you could help.’

‘Me?’ Riona echoed suspiciously.

‘Yes, you could come round the area with me, introduce me to the knitters, help me to sell the idea to them.’

‘I’m sorry—’ she shook her head ‘—but it’s out of the question. I’m afraid I just can’t spare the time from the croft.’

‘No problem,’ he dismissed. ‘I’ll get one of the estate workers to cover for you, perhaps do some repairs while he’s at it.’

‘Yes, well...’ Riona scrabbled around for another excuse, one he couldn’t argue against.

It was Dr Macnab who put in, ‘I think Riona may be hesitating because she’s not completely sold on the idea herself. Is that it, lass?’

‘Aye. Yes.’ Riona gratefully seized on the doctor’s suggestion.

She breathed a sigh of relief when Cameron Adams said, ‘Fair enough.’ It was somewhat premature, as he ran on, ‘I can appreciate that, but I’d say it’s all the more reason to come round with me.’

‘You would?’ Riona felt herself back on treacherous ground.

‘Well, I imagine you have the knitters’ interests at heart rather than mine,’ he continued drily, ‘and I’m sure you won’t hesitate to butt in if you don’t agree with me.’

‘I...’ Riona frowned in response. He really did make her sound a difficult character and perhaps she was, because she certainly didn’t want to spend whole days in his company. ‘What about Isobel...Isobel Fraser?’ she suggested desperately. ‘She’d be better, surely? She knows most of the knitters, too, and she’s got much more idea of business.’

‘Possibly,’ Cameron conceded, ‘but Isobel isn’t likely to disagree with me. She’s far too sweet a girl for that,’ he added with a slanting smile.

Sweet! Isobel Fraser? Sweet? Riona almost exploded at this description. How wrong could he be? How easily he’d been taken in! If he thought Isobel Fraser sweet, then he was in real danger of ending up husband number three.

The doctor, probably thinking the same, said with gentle irony, ‘Aye, you’ll have no argument from Isobel.’

And Riona added in a mutter, ‘Not with her eye on the main chance, anyway.’

Cameron looked quizzical. ‘The main chance?’

‘Never mind.’ Riona shook her head, deciding against explaining that he was it—the main chance. Why should she be the one to spoil his illusions about Isobel?

He continued to stare at her, eyes narrowed, as if he might pursue the subject, but then Dr Macnab stepped into the rescue and asked his plans along the salmon-farming line.

Cameron relayed his intention of going to visit a couple of farms already in operation, with a view to judging the feasibility of such a scheme on Loch Gair. He confessed to knowing little about fishing of any variety, and the doctor, a keen angler, took it as an invitation to offer his knowledge and advice.

Riona fell silent again. Having entered the last conversation and ended up wishing she hadn’t, she decided to adopt a low profile and hope the idea of her helping him had been dropped. She assumed it had, as, lunch over, she made her excuses and departed, expressing a positive desire to walk the three miles back to her croft. She did so with a distinct spring in her step that came from relief.

* * *

The relief lasted till the next morning. Seven-thirty a.m. he arrived. He and Rob Mackay, one of the estate farm workers. To say she was put in a dilemma would be untrue. Dilemma implied choice and she was given none. She was barely given time to tell Rob the jobs needing attention before Cameron Adams hustled her towards the estate Land Rover and away. He installed her into the passenger seat, then lowered the back tail-gate for Jo to jump in.

When she finally had the chance to protest, they were in motion. ‘Has it occurred to you I may not want to do this?’ she asked in the iciest tone she could manage.

Only to have him smile in return. ‘Sure. Why do you think I got here early?’

‘But what’s the point?’ she pursued. ‘If I won’t co-operate...’

‘You’ll have to—’ he continued to smile ‘—otherwise we’ll spend the day driving round and round in circles, ‘cos I don’t know where any of the ladies live.’

He obviously thought he had her, but Riona took a leaf from his book and shrugged. ‘So? It’s no skin off my nose. Rob’s doing my work for the day.’

Then, having said her piece, she folded her arms and took to staring out of the window. The Land Rover provided a fine view. She felt certain she could outlast him.

He took the road to the village and parked outside the shop, where Mrs Ross and a Jean Macpherson were standing gossiping. ‘Well, which way to—’ he checked a list on a clipboard ‘—to Annie Fac-quhar-eson’s?’

‘Fackerson, it’s pronounced,’ Riona relayed with a superior air.

‘Right, Fackerson. Which way?’ he repeated.

Riona didn’t answer. Instead she asked, ‘Who compiled this list for you?’

‘Isobel. Why?’

‘No reason.’

‘Come on,’ he said at the ‘I know something you don’t’ look on her face, ‘what’s wrong? Is this Annie person not one of the knitters?’

‘Well, she was,’ Riona conceded.

‘But she’s given up?’ he guessed.

‘You could say that,’ she responded drily, before admitting, ‘Old Annie Facquhareson died a month ago. It seems to have slipped Isobel’s notice, unless, of course, she means young Annie.’

‘That must be it,’ he put in, and read off the address, ‘Braeside, Ardgair.’

She nodded, ‘Aye, that’s young Annie’s address all right. But I don’t imagine she’ll be doing the knitting yet. Though I might be wrong.’ Riona pretended to consider the possibility. ‘No, I doubt it. Five would be a bit young, don’t you think?’

‘Young Annie’s only five?’ he concluded with exasperation.

‘I just said that.’ Riona smiled to herself.

He grimaced, stroked out the name of Annie Facquhareson and went on to the next. ‘Right, Jean Macpherson. First of all, is she dead or alive?’

‘Alive,’ Riona confirmed, able to see Jean Macpherson just a few yards away, still talking to Mrs Ross.

‘Good. And does she knit?’ he enquired drily.