Friends and Lovers by Helen MacInnes

me to descend on you like this without warning, but frankly I had no idea how long I should have in Edinburgh between trains.”
    “When does your train leave?”
    “This afternoon. Rather late in the afternoon.” He had a very charming smile, Mrs. Lorrimer thought, with surprise. He went on, “It seemed very dreary to spend the day here by myself. I don’t know Edinburgh at all, you see. I thought that your daughters might lunch with me, and show me the Castle afterwards.”
    “I’m afraid Betty and Moira are both out. And Penelope has settled down to do some painting in her room. At the moment she says she is very behindhand with something or other.” “I should be sorry to interrupt,” he said. Careful now, careful he told himself. Gently does it.
    Mrs. Lorrimer’s sense of guilt at having missed so much of his first conversation now resulted in sudden affability. After all, a stranger in Edinburgh had to be welcomed decently. She eyed the thin book which he had drawn out of his pocket and now held in his hand.
    “I
    shall tell Penelope you are here, and she can thank you herself.” She rose and went to the door.
    “We have coffee at eleven in the morning.
    You will stay and have some with us?” He had obviously never expected to have luncheon here, she thought. That was a great relief. She left the drawing-room door open, and he heard murmured instructions to a maid, who then ran upstairs.
    David walked over to the window which overlooked the back garden.
    Front garden, he corrected himself. It was obvious from the care expended on it that this was really the front of the house. As if it had turned its back on the street to live its own life in contemplation of a long, narrow stretch of grass and flower-beds and cherry-trees within its own high walls. The city seemed remote.
    Smoking chimneys and tram cars and buses and shops and crowds did not exist.
    But it was a different kind of peace from that which he had just left in the Highlands. There it was peace with the feeling of a wild and savage freedom.
    Here it was sheltered, secure, possessive.
    It was my house, my garden, my peace. His sense of intrusion deepened, and he turned quickly away towards the door.
    He heard footsteps on the staircase running quickly down, and then a short halt in their rhythm followed by a thump as she landed neatly on both feet in the hall. She had jumped the last four or five steps.
    It was so out of pattern with the dignified house and its formal garden that his depression left him. A broad smile spread over his face.
    “What is it. Mother?” Penny was saying impatiently. And then she halted, and her voice altered,
    “David Bosworth!” She looked just as wonderful as he had remembered her.
    “Hello.” He tried to be casual. The result was that he forgot what he had been going to say. And the longer the silence lasted the more difficult it was to break. He dropped her hand as he heard Mrs. Lorrimer running to the room, and he spoke then much too quickly.
    “I brought you this book. I was passing through Edinburgh and had some free time. I hope I am not being a nuisance.”
    “Oh, no.”
    “What about your work?”
    “Oh, that’s nothing.”
    Mrs. Lorrimer established control the minute she entered the room.
    “Penelope, I never imagined you would come downstairs in that disreputable smock. You know, Mr. Bosworth, she won’t allow it to be laundered.”
    “What are you working on?” he asked curiously.
    “Oh,” she said, for the third time. And then, half laughing, “A chest of drawers.”
    Heavens, he thought, surely she isn’t one of those art-and- crafters, painting pretty flowers in between handles!
    Mrs. Lorrimer’s eyebrows had gone up as her daughter had spoken.
    “Why don’t you show Mr. Bosworth your work?” she suggested. Really, she was thinking indignantly, how silly of Penelope. Mr. Bosworth might have believed her.
    “I don’t think he would be interested,” Penny said.
    There was a