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Cathie obeyed, not only because she wished to please Amy, but also because she felt so comfortable in the garments.
They went to find Baird, whose attention had been caught by the piles of tartan rugs stacked on shelves, but instead of affording Cathie’s new outfit so much as a second glance he appeared to be intent upon giving them minute examination by checking their size, scrutinising the weave and running his fingers over the nap.
Was this his way of indicating he disapproved of her accepting gifts from Amy? she wondered. Then doubt crept in as she recalled that only the day before yesterday he’d advised her to accept graciously whatever Amy wished to offer. And then enlightenment dawned as she realised he could not be expected to admire a Campbell kilt, no matter how beautifully the pleats hung.
When she least expected it he turned and surveyed her, drawling in a sardonic tone, ‘Very voguish, Miss Campbell.’
She smiled sweetly. ‘I thought you’d never notice—although I can hardly believe that you really think so—Mr MacGregor.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Obviously for you it’s the wrong tartan.’
He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘I’m afraid you don’t really know much about me. You’re unaware that high-quality woollen goods always please me, no matter what colour of pattern. Just look at the excellence of these rugs.’
And so her smart appearance was dismissed as he turned his attention back to the shelves and their contents. Nor could she understand why she should feel so disappointed in his lack of interest, especially when it was what she’d expected.
A short time later they were joined by Amy, who had completed her own shopping, and when Baird examined the contents of the plastic carrier bags he displayed much more interest in the shoulder cape and poncho than he’d given to the new garments Cathie was wearing. ‘Very nice,’ he said. ‘Are you ready to go home now? I suspect Elspeth will be wondering where we are.’
‘She will not,’ Amy assured him. ‘She’s out visiting a friend. But in any case I am ready, because I want to wrap a couple of small gifts to take to your mother.’
He looked pleased as he said, ‘That’s kind of you. May I ask what they are? Something you’ve bought here—?’
‘Indeed no. They’re two Royal Doulton figurines I have at home—my own, and not part of the Glengyle Estate,’ she added quickly.
He laughed. ‘It wouldn’t matter if they were.’
She went on, ‘I call them my two old dears because they’re both elderly women. One is a sitting figure in a brown skirt and tartan shawl. She holds a bunch of coloured balloons which she hopes to sell. I always feel sorry for her.’
‘And the other?’ Baird queried.
‘The other wears a blue dress and white apron. She bends forward slightly while holding a jug of milk and a saucer to feed her cat, which squats before her with one paw up. Her expression indicates that she adores the cat.’
‘I’ve noticed them,’ Cathie put in. ‘They’re both on the windowsill in the lounge.’
‘I’ve always loved them,’ Amy admitted to Baird. ‘I hope your mother will also love them.’
‘And you’re sure you’re willing to sacrifice them? Amy, you’re very sweet,’ he said softly.
‘Not at all,’ she returned in a brisk manner. ‘It’s just that I wouldn’t take anything to her unless it was something that I myself really liked.’
When they reached home Amy led the way towards the lounge, but at the doorway an exclamation of dismay escaped her. ‘Oh, dear—they’ve gone!’ she cried. ‘Where can they be? And look—the window has been left slightly open. Do you think they could’ve been lifted through—?’
‘That’s hardly likely, in broad daylight,’ Baird pointed out. ‘Perhaps Elspeth has moved them.’ He put his arms about Amy, drawing her close to him in an effort to comfort her, then produced a clean handkerchief to wipe a tear that had appeared on her cheek.
‘Do you usually leave windows open when you go out?’ Cathie asked.
‘No, never. And Elspeth is always so careful,’ Amy said.
Watching Baird, Cathie felt moved by his sympathy towards the older woman. The fact that he really cared for Amy became emphasised in her mind, and not for the first time she wished that his underlying antagonism towards herself could be wiped away.
He looked at her across the top of Amy’s head. ‘I think a cup of tea would be a help. Would you make one while we search in the other rooms?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She went to the kitchen where the recollection of his attentions to his stepgrandmother remained with her, and as she filled the electric kettle she visualised them walking through the rooms, his arm still about Amy’s shoulders.
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