watched her thoughtfully. He looked as though he might be going to say something else sensible and Jessica broke in before he could utter whatever it was. There is nothing more infuriating than resolute rationality in the face of the inexplicable, and Jessica was entirely on Anita’s side. Whether or not she had heard phantoms in the dark she should not be subjected to the chilly scepticism of the narrow minded. ‘Ghosties and ghoulies and long-legged beasties,’ she said, adding lamely, ‘and things that go bump in the night.’ She sipped her coffee.
Finlay’s sister-in-law brought in a fresh pot. She was moving rather more slowly than usual: Anita noticed that she seemed to be limping slightly and bent upon her a look of smiling concern. It was wasted as Finlay’s sister-in-law, having put down the coffee pot, was gazing through the window. She lifted a hand and Anita turned to see whom she was waving to. Nobody as far as Anita could tell. The woman was probably the result of too much in-breeding, and wanting in the head.
Jon sat down beside Jessica, in two minds as to whether or not she should be forgiven. He had thought last night when he saw the women climbing into the professor’s Jag that they were Jessica and Anita and had dreamed of death. He had been relieved when he realized that they were walking home, although he felt strongly that Jessica should have hung behind and waited for him – but maybe she was shy. But then
he
had waited, lying naked on his bed, for her to come to him. It had been nearly dawn when he had tried her door and found it locked. There was no excuse for that. How would she talk herself out of it if he challenged her? ‘What did you do last night?’ he asked.
Jessica was thinking about Bannockburn, and the ghosts of Highlanders, and the horrid ways of Sawney Bean and didn’t really notice the abruptness of his question. ‘What?’ she said. ‘Oh, I went to the dance . . .’ She took another sip of coffee.
‘Were you so terribly tired?’ he asked. Tiredness would not be a perfect excuse but it was better than nothing.
Jessica looked up at him. She had the feeling that they were at cross-purposes. ‘It must have been after midnight when I got to bed,’ she said.
So she was still playing with him, laughing at him. He felt his mind clear suddenly as though a great wave had passed over it. If she meant to carry on like that he would show her that in this game he was her master. He laughed, and to a casual watcher it would seem that he relaxed. His beautiful face lost the set smoothness it had worn; small, human lines of mirth appeared at the corners of his eyes, wrinkled the top of his nose. He seemed, in an instant, attractive and full of humour. ‘I’ll race you to the beach,’ he said.
Mesmerized, Jessica rose and followed him. Ronald sat with an unchewed mouthful of shortbread. Over the past few minutes he found he had unwittingly made a clear clinical diagnosis: one of his fellow-guests was quite, quite mad – far gone in paranoia and with marked schizoid tendencies. What a nuisance, thought Ronald; but he was on his holidays and there was nothing he could do about it. He swallowed his shortbread.
‘Scotland
is
haunted,’ said Anita. ‘Everywhere there are ghosts of the past.’ Finlay came into the room with an armful of logs. ‘Is the inn haunted?’ she asked him.
Finlay put down his logs and stood, considering. ‘Aye,’ he said, and went out again.
‘There,’ said Anita. ‘I told you so.’
Jessica ran along the sand after Jon, leaping the ridged sea streams, until it occurred to her that she was getting on a bit for this sort of thing. She wondered what her agent would say if she saw her, and slowed down.
‘Tortoise,’ said Jon, waiting for her to catch up with him. He took her hand as they walked and let it go before the gesture could seem too intimate. ‘There’s a deserted house just before the point,’ he said. ‘Let’s explore.’
He
Finlay’s sister-in-law brought in a fresh pot. She was moving rather more slowly than usual: Anita noticed that she seemed to be limping slightly and bent upon her a look of smiling concern. It was wasted as Finlay’s sister-in-law, having put down the coffee pot, was gazing through the window. She lifted a hand and Anita turned to see whom she was waving to. Nobody as far as Anita could tell. The woman was probably the result of too much in-breeding, and wanting in the head.
Jon sat down beside Jessica, in two minds as to whether or not she should be forgiven. He had thought last night when he saw the women climbing into the professor’s Jag that they were Jessica and Anita and had dreamed of death. He had been relieved when he realized that they were walking home, although he felt strongly that Jessica should have hung behind and waited for him – but maybe she was shy. But then
he
had waited, lying naked on his bed, for her to come to him. It had been nearly dawn when he had tried her door and found it locked. There was no excuse for that. How would she talk herself out of it if he challenged her? ‘What did you do last night?’ he asked.
Jessica was thinking about Bannockburn, and the ghosts of Highlanders, and the horrid ways of Sawney Bean and didn’t really notice the abruptness of his question. ‘What?’ she said. ‘Oh, I went to the dance . . .’ She took another sip of coffee.
‘Were you so terribly tired?’ he asked. Tiredness would not be a perfect excuse but it was better than nothing.
Jessica looked up at him. She had the feeling that they were at cross-purposes. ‘It must have been after midnight when I got to bed,’ she said.
So she was still playing with him, laughing at him. He felt his mind clear suddenly as though a great wave had passed over it. If she meant to carry on like that he would show her that in this game he was her master. He laughed, and to a casual watcher it would seem that he relaxed. His beautiful face lost the set smoothness it had worn; small, human lines of mirth appeared at the corners of his eyes, wrinkled the top of his nose. He seemed, in an instant, attractive and full of humour. ‘I’ll race you to the beach,’ he said.
Mesmerized, Jessica rose and followed him. Ronald sat with an unchewed mouthful of shortbread. Over the past few minutes he found he had unwittingly made a clear clinical diagnosis: one of his fellow-guests was quite, quite mad – far gone in paranoia and with marked schizoid tendencies. What a nuisance, thought Ronald; but he was on his holidays and there was nothing he could do about it. He swallowed his shortbread.
‘Scotland
is
haunted,’ said Anita. ‘Everywhere there are ghosts of the past.’ Finlay came into the room with an armful of logs. ‘Is the inn haunted?’ she asked him.
Finlay put down his logs and stood, considering. ‘Aye,’ he said, and went out again.
‘There,’ said Anita. ‘I told you so.’
Jessica ran along the sand after Jon, leaping the ridged sea streams, until it occurred to her that she was getting on a bit for this sort of thing. She wondered what her agent would say if she saw her, and slowed down.
‘Tortoise,’ said Jon, waiting for her to catch up with him. He took her hand as they walked and let it go before the gesture could seem too intimate. ‘There’s a deserted house just before the point,’ he said. ‘Let’s explore.’
He
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