control.’
There was a long silence in which I felt very foolish and had to fight an urge to burst into tears. I withdrew my hand from Alec’ s and cradled my glass, studying its contents, then said, ‘Will you tell Sholto?’
‘ Of course not. Why would I do that?’
‘I thought you might think I’d deceived him in some way.’
‘You think Sholto would mind a bit of deception? He’s a past master himself.’
‘I haven’t lied to him. And I never would. I don’t mind if you do tell him about me. I will, if you like. It’s just… well, it’s just that I prefer to keep things simple now. Imogen Ryan was the novelist. The woman who cracked up. But Jenny is OK. Jenny loves what she does and feels strong. In control of her material. Because it’s all been lived already. It’s become a story . I just have to decide how best to tell it. And that suits me. It’s the part of writing I really love. Telling the story. And Sholto has so many wonderful stories.’
Alec raised an eyebrow. ‘Some of them possibly fictional.’
I managed a weak smile. ‘Oh yes, I’m aware a certain amount of embroidering is going on. But I don’t care. It’s his book. Sholto’s name will be on the cover, not mine.’
‘I’ve heard it said, all biography is fiction and all fiction is biography.’
‘That’s a massive generalisation, but there’s some truth in it. The fact that fiction could become biography was why I stopped writing it.’
Alec set down his empty glass. ‘I wish you weren’t so afraid, Jenny. There’s no need.’
‘I’m not afraid. Not any more. I let the f ear go with the fiction-writing. I have absolutely no power now, for good or bad. Jenny is just a channel through which stories are told.’
‘It’s a shame we’ve lost Imogen’s stories. My wife certainly used to love them.’
‘Oh, they wouldn’t have been any good – not once I’d decided I could make things happen. I was so afraid of abusing that power, I refused to wield it. I was crippled artistically.’ I swallowed another mouthful of whisky. ‘So… you don’t think I should tell Sholto?’
‘What would be the point? He’s happy. You’re happy.’
‘And Mrs. Guthrie? Will she say anything? She seems very protective of him.’
‘Och, no – she’ll not say a word. If she did, it might suggest Sholto had been taken in. And by an attractive young woman.’
‘Hardly young,’ I protested, embarrassed by Alec’s second reference to my appearance.
‘To a woman of Wilma’s years, you’re just a wee lassie. But you can rely on her discretion and her devotion to her employer. She won’t say anything. Neither will I.’
‘Thanks. Though I don’t know why I’m thanking you. I don’t believe I’ve done anything wrong.’
‘You haven’t and I wasn’t suggesting you had. I just couldn’t understand how someone as successful as you had ended up at Cauldstane, writing someone else’s life story. It didn’t add up. And that was bothering me. But I’m pleased to hear it doesn’t bother you.’
‘ When I came here, I wasn’t sure I wanted the job. I certainly didn’t think I’d get it. But I fancied an autumn trip to the Highlands and I thought it would be fun to meet Sholto. He was paying my travel expenses and offered me hospitality. How could I say no? Then of course, when I got here, I just fell in love. With Cauldstane, I mean. Once I’d seen the place and started to think about spending time here, writing about the family’s history, well, I was desperate to get the commission. As you pointed out, the money Sholto offered was pitiful, but I really didn’t care. I wanted the job so much, I wasn’t prepared to haggle. We compromised on my being allowed to stay at the castle as a guest.’
‘Which wasn’t exactly a big concession. Sholto will find it very convenient having you around. Office hours have never suited him.’
‘Yes, we have a fluid sort of arrangement. It wouldn’t suit everyone, I
There was a long silence in which I felt very foolish and had to fight an urge to burst into tears. I withdrew my hand from Alec’ s and cradled my glass, studying its contents, then said, ‘Will you tell Sholto?’
‘ Of course not. Why would I do that?’
‘I thought you might think I’d deceived him in some way.’
‘You think Sholto would mind a bit of deception? He’s a past master himself.’
‘I haven’t lied to him. And I never would. I don’t mind if you do tell him about me. I will, if you like. It’s just… well, it’s just that I prefer to keep things simple now. Imogen Ryan was the novelist. The woman who cracked up. But Jenny is OK. Jenny loves what she does and feels strong. In control of her material. Because it’s all been lived already. It’s become a story . I just have to decide how best to tell it. And that suits me. It’s the part of writing I really love. Telling the story. And Sholto has so many wonderful stories.’
Alec raised an eyebrow. ‘Some of them possibly fictional.’
I managed a weak smile. ‘Oh yes, I’m aware a certain amount of embroidering is going on. But I don’t care. It’s his book. Sholto’s name will be on the cover, not mine.’
‘I’ve heard it said, all biography is fiction and all fiction is biography.’
‘That’s a massive generalisation, but there’s some truth in it. The fact that fiction could become biography was why I stopped writing it.’
Alec set down his empty glass. ‘I wish you weren’t so afraid, Jenny. There’s no need.’
‘I’m not afraid. Not any more. I let the f ear go with the fiction-writing. I have absolutely no power now, for good or bad. Jenny is just a channel through which stories are told.’
‘It’s a shame we’ve lost Imogen’s stories. My wife certainly used to love them.’
‘Oh, they wouldn’t have been any good – not once I’d decided I could make things happen. I was so afraid of abusing that power, I refused to wield it. I was crippled artistically.’ I swallowed another mouthful of whisky. ‘So… you don’t think I should tell Sholto?’
‘What would be the point? He’s happy. You’re happy.’
‘And Mrs. Guthrie? Will she say anything? She seems very protective of him.’
‘Och, no – she’ll not say a word. If she did, it might suggest Sholto had been taken in. And by an attractive young woman.’
‘Hardly young,’ I protested, embarrassed by Alec’s second reference to my appearance.
‘To a woman of Wilma’s years, you’re just a wee lassie. But you can rely on her discretion and her devotion to her employer. She won’t say anything. Neither will I.’
‘Thanks. Though I don’t know why I’m thanking you. I don’t believe I’ve done anything wrong.’
‘You haven’t and I wasn’t suggesting you had. I just couldn’t understand how someone as successful as you had ended up at Cauldstane, writing someone else’s life story. It didn’t add up. And that was bothering me. But I’m pleased to hear it doesn’t bother you.’
‘ When I came here, I wasn’t sure I wanted the job. I certainly didn’t think I’d get it. But I fancied an autumn trip to the Highlands and I thought it would be fun to meet Sholto. He was paying my travel expenses and offered me hospitality. How could I say no? Then of course, when I got here, I just fell in love. With Cauldstane, I mean. Once I’d seen the place and started to think about spending time here, writing about the family’s history, well, I was desperate to get the commission. As you pointed out, the money Sholto offered was pitiful, but I really didn’t care. I wanted the job so much, I wasn’t prepared to haggle. We compromised on my being allowed to stay at the castle as a guest.’
‘Which wasn’t exactly a big concession. Sholto will find it very convenient having you around. Office hours have never suited him.’
‘Yes, we have a fluid sort of arrangement. It wouldn’t suit everyone, I
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