The Skylark's Secret, стр. 35
‘Nothing at all, Lady Helen. I hope you had a good day’s fishing? I have everything in hand, so you have time to go and dress for dinner.’
Sir Charles’s voice boomed down the corridor, calling his wife back to the other side of the green baize door, and she gave Flora an apologetic smile before hurrying away.
A moment later, the kitchen door was flung open and Alec strode in, dressed in his tweeds and still wearing his tall fishing boots. Without saying a word, he gathered Flora in his arms and kissed her. She breathed in the scent of the hills and the river from his jacket.
‘My darling, I’m absolutely furious with my father over this. He had no right to demand that you do the cooking for tonight. They should have asked Mrs McTaggart to stay. Or paid someone else to come in.’
‘Och, I don’t mind a bit. I’ve enjoyed preparing the meal and it means I get to see you too.’
He gazed at her fondly and gently wiped a smudge of flour from her cheek with his thumb. ‘Let me do something to help? Washing up? I’m a dab hand at that, though I’m afraid my cooking skills leave much to be desired.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s all done. Honestly, Alec, I’m fine. You’d better go and get changed. Dinner will be ready in an hour and you don’t want to keep your guests waiting.’
Reluctantly, he allowed her to shoo him out once he’d stolen another kiss from her, and she smiled as she listened to his footsteps retreating down the corridor to the boot room. Then she busied herself with the final preparations, setting plates and gravy boats to warm and sharpening the knife ready to carve the venison.
When Lady Helen reappeared in the kitchen to let Flora know that the guests were seated in the dining room, she was transformed. Her dark golden hair, shot through with those few strands of silver, was drawn back from her face with a pair of diamond clasps, highlighting the delicate structure of her cheekbones. Her fishing tweeds had been replaced with an evening gown the colour of the sea, embellished with crystal beading that sparkled softly, reminding Flora of moonlight on water.
But Flora’s eye was drawn to a brooch pinned to the dress. It was far less opulent than the rest of the costume, a simple silver depiction of an anchor surmounted by a crown, set in a wreath of acanthus leaves.
Lady Helen noticed Flora looking at it. ‘It’s rather pretty, isn’t it? It’s a Royal Navy sweetheart brooch, given by my father to my mother. He served in the Great War. I know it doesn’t quite go with the rest of my get-up, but it’s far more precious to me than these diamonds.’ She gestured to the hair clasps, the rings on her fingers sparkling as their facets caught a ray of evening sunlight that glanced through the window behind her.
She reached for the heavy serving plate on which Flora had arranged the salmon, decorated with thin slices of cucumber to look like fish scales. But as she tried to lift it, she winced with pain.
‘Are you all right?’ Flora asked.
‘Silly me – I sprained my wrist a few days ago and it still doesn’t seem to be working properly.’ Lady Helen gently probed her arm with her fingertips. Flora noticed that it was swollen, and the delicate skin on the underside was discoloured with an angry-looking purple bruise.
‘Shouldn’t that be strapped up?’ Flora asked. She’d done some first-aid training as part of her ambulance driving course and was eager to try out some of her newly acquired skills. So far she’d only been able to practise on Mairi and Bridie, but here was what looked like a bona fide injury.
‘It’ll be fine, Flora dear, really, I don’t want to make a fuss.’ Lady Helen waved her away.
‘Well, at least let me carry that through,’ Flora said, picking up the platter. ‘You need to rest that wrist to let it heal. And you don’t want to risk spilling anything on your gown.’
In the dining room, the conversation was already animated, the guests having whetted their appetites with generous drams of whisky and glasses of sherry in the drawing room. A quick glance around the table told Flora that Diana wasn’t there, although Mrs Kingsley-Scott was holding forth about the difficulties of planning a wedding at the family estate in the Borders with the war on.
The talk among the men was of the day’s fishing, with speculation as to the weight of a salmon landed by Sir Charles and tales of other fish caught on other rivers.
One of the men boomed across the table, ‘That ghillie of yours isn’t exactly a talkative chap, eh, Charlie? Bit of an old curmudgeon, what? But he knows his stuff, I’ll give him that.’
Lady Helen shot Flora an apologetic smile before quietly saying, ‘Set it on the sideboard, dear. I’ll get Alec to help me serve.’
He had already pushed his chair back from the table and was quickly at her side, taking the heavy platter from her. ‘You should be seated next to me, not having to wait on us,’ he muttered.
She smiled at him in gratitude, but shook her head and hurried away, preferring the peace and quiet of the kitchen, thankful for the green baize door which deadened the racket from the dining room.
She took the meat from the oven, setting it to rest on a warmed platter, then began to make the gravy with the juices in the pan.
It was bubbling nicely, and she was just draining the vegetables and putting them in their dishes when Alec appeared, carrying a pile of fish plates. He set them on the table and put his arms around her, burying his face in her hair.
‘How’s it going?’