Wild Melody by Sara Craven Page B

feeling vaguely gratified
    at the appreciative wolf whistles from a group of workmen busily
    renovating a house, as they caught sight of her slim figure in the grey
    pinafore dress and scarlet shirt.
    When she arrived at the Trust, identifiable by a small shabby board nailed to
    one of the gate pillars, she was a few minutes early so she had time to look
    the building over before she went in. It was a large house, even from the
    front, and she could see it extended well into the grounds at the rear. There
    was a prevailing air of shabbiness, in spite of the obvious fact that someone
    had recently been busy with a paintbrush. Even her untrained eye could spot
    missing slates and chimney stacks that needed re-pointing. Catriona sighed,
    remembering what an uphill job it had been to keep Muir House sound and
    weatherproof, quite apart from in good decorative order. She went up the
    wide stone steps to the front door, which stood ajar and peeped into a large
    un- carpeted hall. Somewhere she could hear the murmur of voices and the
    rattle of cups and cutlery, but she could not identify which of the several
    doors that opened off the hall the noise was coming from.
    To her left, a wide flight of stairs, also uncarpeted, led upwards to a long
    landing, while ahead of her a dark- seeming passage led to the back of the
    house.
    Catriona hesitated, then called, 'Is anyone there?' a little tentatively.
    'Hang on. I'm coming!' a man's voice called in reply. One of the doors on the
    left of the hall opened and a young man appeared. He was of medium height
    and stocky build, wearing paint-stained corduroy trousers and an ill-used

    dark green sweater. He carried a tea towel in one hand and had another
    tucked round his waist like an apron.
    'You've caught us washing up, I'm afraid,' he said. 'Can I help you?'
    'I'm Catriona Muir.' She fumbled in her shoulder bag and produced the card
    from the agency.
    He smiled delightedly at her. 'That's great. To be honest, I wondered
    whether—but never mind. Come on in.'
    He crossed the hall and flung open the door opposite, ushering Catriona into
    a large sunny room that looked as if it had been recently hit by an
    earthquake. The main furniture was two massive old-fashioned dining room
    tables which had been extended to their fullest limits. One of them carried
    an equally old-fashioned-looking black typewriter. There were files
    everywhere, especially upside down on the floor, Catriona noted with a
    feeling of resignation, and more files protruded untidily from the open
    drawers of two big wooden filing cabinets. A white cupboard, used to store
    stationery, also stood open and in turmoil.
    Catriona turned to look at her companion. His lips quirked ruefully. 'I'm not
    very well organised, I'm afraid,' he said with" devastating understatement.
    'I'm Andrew Milner, and if you want to just walk out of here and forget
    about it, I shall quite understand.'
    Catriona managed a faint smile. 'Oh, I don't think I'm likely to do that.'
    'The typewriter came out of the-Ark, I think,' he went on rather sadly. 'And
    we haven't a photo-copier, just an old duplicator that spits ink at you when
    you least expect it.' He looked doubtfully at her clothes.
    'Well—perhaps there's an overall somewhere, if I have to use the thing,'
    Catriona suggested.
    'Yes, of course. I'm sure Jean would . . . well, you'll be meeting her shortly
    anyway. You must think I'm mad telling you all this, but the truth is that
    your predecessor had very different views of what an office should be like.

    She stuck it for three days, which I suppose was good of her under the
    circumstances, but there were—problems.'
    'Well, I've got" something to tell you, Mr Milner.' Catriona began to jut her
    chin, then decided it wasn't necessary after all. 'I've only ever worked as a
    secretary before for my aunt back in Scotland, so I may not live up to your
    requirements.'
    His smile was cheerful and not diffident at all. 'Oh, but I think you will,'