Love Without Reason

The doctor raised a brow at such formality, but said nothing, as he led the way into the dining-room.

Though she’d lunched many times at the doctor’s, Riona was the one who felt ‘out of it’. While Dr Macnab and Cameron Adams chatted easily about both local and world affairs, she sat largely silent. Several times the doctor tried to draw her into the conversation, but she was completely inhibited by the American’s presence.

She listened, however, and gathered that the American did not intend to sell the estate, as they’d all assumed he would.

‘Initially I’ll have to employ a manager to run it,’ he said to the doctor. ‘Apart from not having the experience, I’ve commitments in America.’

‘So you’ll be returning home soon?’ Riona asked him.

‘Is that wishful thinking?’ he suggested drily, before saying, ‘Not for a few weeks. I’ve managed to wangle a month’s vacation from work.’

‘May I ask what you do?’ the doctor put in.

‘I’m in construction,’ Cameron Adams answered readily enough.

In construction? Riona wondered what that actually meant. Was he a bricklayer, an architect, or what? He certainly had the muscles for labouring work, but his manner implied more authority. Unless, of course, the air of authority came with his expensive clothes, which in turn came from his great-uncle Hector’s money.

‘You’re a builder?’ Riona dared to suggest.

‘You could say that,’ he replied, giving little away.

‘What do you build?’ she pursued.

He shrugged. ‘Malls, mostly. The occasional cinema duplex. Condominiums, sometimes.’

‘I see.’ Riona absorbed this information with what she hoped was an intelligent nod. She wasn’t about to admit she hadn’t understood a word. Malls, duplexes and condominiums, whatever they were, weren’t thick on the ground in Invergair.

‘I can see I’ve left her deeply unimpressed,’ Cameron Adams remarked to the doctor.

‘Not at all,’ the older man tried to make up for her lack of response. ‘I’m sure it’s most interesting work.’

‘Fraid not, Doc,’ the American laughed. ‘When you’ve built one mall, you’ve built them all. So, who knows? Maybe it’s time for a change.’

‘You mean—move to Invergair?’ Riona asked in alarm.

‘Why not?’ He smiled at her less than ecstatic expression. ‘I am half Scotch, you know.’

‘Scottish,’ she echoed, not considering him such at all. ‘The other’s a drink.’

‘I stand corrected,’ he responded with an amiability that left her feeling petty.

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she was hard to get along with.

At any rate, the doctor frowned in mild reproof before putting in, ‘It’s a common enough mistake. Our English counterparts often make it.’

‘Well, I’ll be careful not to make it again,’ the American declared. ‘I suspect it’s going to be hard enough getting the natives to accept me. There seems to be a general opinion that I’m going to raise rents automatically, then evict those who can’t pay. I guess they think, being an American, I’ll be after the quick buck and nothing else.’

Riona had the grace to blush. That was exactly what she and many of the other crofters had thought. They’d certainly not envisaged him taking more than a monetary interest in his inheritance.

‘Oh, I’m sure it’s not personal,’ Dr Macnab was quick to reassure. ‘They’re just worried for their future. It’s not a hundred years since the last clearances, when landlords evicted tenants to make room for sheep farming.’

‘So I’ve heard—’ the American nodded ‘—but the people surely don’t think that’ll happen again? These days there must be laws to stop it.’

‘Possibly,’ the doctor agreed, ‘only we’re not talking law or logic, but a deep-rooted mistrust that’s been handed down through the generations. And, with so many of the lairds being absentee landlords, attitudes have been slow to change.’

‘How did they regard Sir Hector?’ Cameron Adams asked, and, when the other man hesitated, added, ‘You can be honest, Doc. I have no memories of my great-uncle, fond or otherwise.’

The doctor took him at his word, saying bluntly, ‘Well, Sir Hector wasn’t the best liked of men. He was autocratic and often downright rude to his tenants. However, he was fair about rents and, though he’d sell off any crofthouses that fell vacant, he didn’t actively seek evictions.’

‘Is that such a bad thing—selling off empty houses?’ Cameron Adams obviously didn’t view it that way.

Riona broke her silence once more. ‘It is, if it’s to yuppies who fancy a Highland home for three weeks of the year.’

‘Aye,’ Dr Macnab agreed in a less abrasive manner, ‘it’s a shame when there’s young men forced to leave Invergair because there’s no place for them to work or live.’

Cameron accepted the point with a thoughtful nod, before directing at Riona, ‘Is that what happened to yours?’

‘Mine?’ she echoed.

‘Your young man,’ he continued in a drawl. ‘I assume he must have had some reason to prefer going to sea than staying here with you.’

Matching his irony, Riona responded, ‘Perhaps he found me hard to get along with, too.’

The American laughed, while Dr Macnab looked more uncertain. He sensed there were undercurrents he didn’t understand.

‘Aye, I’d say Fergus would have stayed if he could,’ the doctor answered literally, ‘but with two older brothers already working a not very large croft, he had little choice. If only there was something else, other than the crofting, to keep the young folk here,’ he added with regret.

‘Well, there must be possibilities,’ the American went on. ‘I’m told salmon-farming would be a good proposition, although it’s not very labour-intensive. And there’s the knitwear and craft industries. With a little organisation they could be real money-spinners.’

‘In what way?’ Riona asked, her tone deeply suspicious. Not a knitter herself, she knew many ladies who subsisted on such work. They wouldn’t like any radical change.

‘Well, from what I’ve gathered,’ Cameron replied, ‘a fair number of women do outwork for a knitwear factory in Glasgow. They, in turn, presumably export the hand-made garments to retail outlets who then market them at inflated prices. Now I would think it should be possible to cut out at least one if not two middlemen in the process and thereby enjoy a greater share of the profit.’

It sounded simple. Too simple. Riona looked what she felt—wholly sceptical.

It was the doctor who said, ‘You mean have a label of our own. “Invergair Knitwear”.’

‘That’s the idea, Doc.’ Cameron smiled in return. ‘We could get some red-hot designer up from London to make up the patterns and then it’s just a question of marketing. What do you think?’ he asked of Riona.

The question disconcerted her. It was easy enough to be sceptical. To come up with positive ideas was something else.

‘I...I don’t know much about fashion,’ she finally admitted.

‘Neither do I.’ He shrugged it off as a problem. ‘The important thing is to organise people who do and get them working for you.’

‘I’m afraid I know nothing about business either,’ she confessed, and realised how she must seem to him—a half-witted yokel.

The doctor chimed in, ‘It’s foreign territory to me, too, I have to admit, but it sounds an exciting venture. Where would you start?’