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‘Scottish,’ she echoed, not considering him such at al . ‘The other’s a drink.’

‘I stand corrected,’ he responded with an amiability that left her feeling petty.

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she was hard to get along with.

At any rate, the doctor frowned in mild reproof before putting in, ‘It’s a common enough mistake. Our English counterparts often make it.’

‘Wel , I’l be careful not to make it again,’ the American declared. ‘I suspect it’s going to be hard enough getting the natives to accept me. There seems to be a general opinion that I’m going to raise rents automatical y, then evict those who can’t pay. I guess they think, being an American, I’l be after the quick buck and nothing else.’

Riona had the grace to blush. That was exactly what she and many of the other crofters had thought. They’d certainly not envisaged him taking

more than a monetary interest in his inheritance.

‘Oh, I’m sure it’s not personal,’ Dr Macnab was quick to reassure. ‘They’re just worried for their future. It’s not a hundred years since the last

clearances, when landlords evicted tenants to make room for sheep farming.’

‘So I’ve heard—’ the American nodded ‘—but the people surely don’t think that’l happen again? These days there must be laws to stop it.’

‘Possibly,’ the doctor agreed, ‘only we’re not talking law or logic, but a deep-rooted mistrust that’s been handed down through the generations. And, with so many of the lairds being absentee landlords, attitudes have been slow to change.’

‘How did they regard Sir Hector?’ Cameron Adams asked, and, when the other man hesitated, added, ‘You can be honest, Doc. I have no memories

of my great-uncle, fond or otherwise.’

The doctor took him at his word, saying bluntly, ‘Wel , Sir Hector wasn’t the best liked of men. He was autocratic and often downright rude to his

tenants. However, he was fair about rents and, though he’d sel off any crofthouses that fel vacant, he didn’t actively seek evictions.’

‘Is that such a bad thing—sel ing off empty houses?’ Cameron Adams obviously didn’t view it that way.

Riona broke her silence once more. ‘It is, if it’s to yuppies who fancy a Highland home for three weeks of the year.’

‘Aye,’ Dr Macnab agreed in a less abrasive manner, ‘it’s a shame when there’s young men forced to leave Invergair because there’s no place for

them to work or live.’

Cameron accepted the point with a thoughtful nod, before directing at Riona, ‘Is that what happened to yours?’

‘Mine?’ she echoed.

‘Your young man,’ he continued in a drawl. ‘I assume he must have had some reason to prefer going to sea than staying here with you.’

Matching his irony, Riona responded, ‘Perhaps he found me hard to get along with, too.’

The American laughed, while Dr Macnab looked more uncertain. He sensed there were undercurrents he didn’t understand.

‘Aye, I’d say Fergus would have stayed if he could,’ the doctor answered literal y, ‘but with two older brothers already working a not very large

croft, he had little choice. If only there was something else, other than the crofting, to keep the young folk here,’ he added with regret.

‘Wel , there must be possibilities,’ the American went on. ‘I’m told salmon-farming would be a good proposition, although it’s not very labour-

intensive. And there’s the knitwear and craft industries. With a little organisation they could be real money-spinners.’

‘In what way?’ Riona asked, her tone deeply suspicious. Not a knitter herself, she knew many ladies who subsisted on such work. They wouldn’t

like any radical change.

‘Wel , from what I’ve gathered,’ Cameron replied, ‘a fair number of women do outwork for a knitwear factory in Glasgow. They, in turn,

presumably export the handmade garments to retail outlets who then market them at inflated prices. Now I would think it should be possible to cut out at least one if not two middlemen in the process and thereby enjoy a greater share of the profit.’

It sounded simple. Too simple. Riona looked what she felt—whol y sceptical.

It was the doctor who said, ‘You mean have a label of our own. “Invergair Knitwear”.’

‘That’s the idea, Doc.’ Cameron smiled in return. ‘We could get some red-hot designer up from London to make up the patterns and then it’s just a

question of marketing. What do you think?’ he asked of Riona.

The question disconcerted her. It was easy enough to be sceptical. To come up with positive ideas was something else.

‘I...I don’t know much about fashion,’ she final y admitted.

‘Neither do I.’ He shrugged it off as a problem. ‘The important thing is to organise people who do and get them working for you.’

‘I’m afraid I know nothing about business either,’ she confessed, and realised how she must seem to him—a half-witted yokel.

The doctor chimed in, ‘It’s foreign territory to me, too, I have to admit, but it sounds an exciting venture. Where would you start?’

‘Wel , an initial step would be to hire a consultant to look into the feasibility of the project,’ the American explained. ‘Before that, however, I’d have to talk to the actual knitters, because if the idea isn’t a runner with them it’s going nowhere. My only problem is approaching them.’

Dr Macnab nodded. ‘I’m afraid that
is
a problem. They’re hard workers, the ladies of Invergair, and they’re reliable, but they’re slow on accepting new ideas, especial y...’

‘Especial y coming from someone who’s only been here five minutes,’ Cameron Adams concluded for the older man, and the two laughed together.

Riona felt she had to defend her friends and neighbours. ‘You can’t blame them. Some of them depend entirely on knitting for their living.’

‘Real y?’ The American was obviously surprised, but he ran on, ‘In that case, al the more reason to make it a decent living. Perhaps you could help.’

‘Me?’ Riona echoed suspiciously.

‘Yes, you could come round the area with me, introduce me to the knitters, help me to sel the idea to them.’

‘I’m sorry—’ she shook her head ‘—but it’s out of the question. I’m afraid I just can’t spare the time from the croft.’

‘No problem,’ he dismissed. ‘I’l get one of the estate workers to cover for you, perhaps do some repairs while he’s at it.’

‘Yes, wel ...’ Riona scrabbled around for another excuse, one he couldn’t argue against.

It was Dr Macnab who put in, ‘I think Riona may be hesitating because she’s not completely sold on the idea herself. Is that it, lass?’

‘Aye. Yes.’ Riona grateful y seized on the doctor’s suggestion.

She breathed a sigh of relief when Cameron Adams said, ‘Fair enough.’ It was somewhat premature, as he ran on, ‘I can appreciate that, but I’d say

it’s al the more reason to come round with me.’

‘You would?’ Riona felt herself back on treacherous ground.

‘Wel , I imagine you have the knitters’ interests at heart rather than mine,’ he continued drily, ‘and I’m sure you won’t hesitate to butt in if you don’t agree with me.’

‘I...’ Riona frowned in response. He real y did make her sound a difficult character and perhaps she was, because she certainly didn’t want to spend whole days in his company. ‘What about Isobel... Isobel Fraser?’ she suggested desperately. ‘She’d be better, surely? She knows most of the knitters, too, and she’s got
much
more idea of business.’

‘Possibly,’ Cameron conceded, ‘but Isobel isn’t likely to disagree with me. She’s far too sweet a girl for that,’ he added with a slanting smile.

Sweet
! Isobel Fraser?
Sweet!
Riona almost exploded at this description. How wrong could he be? How easily he’d been taken in! If he thought Isobel Fraser sweet, then he was in real danger of ending up husband number three.

The doctor, probably thinking the same, said with gentle irony, ‘Aye, you’l have no argument from Isobel.’

And Riona added in a mutter, ‘Not with her eye on the main chance, anyway’

Cameron looked quizzical. ‘The main chance?’

‘Never mind.’ Riona shook her head, deciding against explaining that
he
was it—the main chance. Why should she be the one to spoil his il usions about Isobel?

He continued to stare at her, eyes narrowed, as if he might pursue the subject, but then Dr Macnab stepped into the rescue and asked his plans along the salmon-farming line.

Cameron relayed his intention of going to visit a couple of farms already in operation, with a view to judging the feasibility of such a scheme on Loch Gair. He confessed to knowing little about fishing of any variety, and the doctor, a keen angler, took it as an invitation to offer his knowledge and advice.

Riona fel silent again. Having entered the last conversation and ended up wishing she hadn’t, she decided to adopt a low profile and hope the idea of her helping him had been dropped. She assumed it had, as, lunch over, she made her excuses and departed, expressing a positive desire to walk the three miles back to her croft. She did so with a distinct spring in her step that came from relief.

* * *

The relief lasted til the next morning. Seven-thirty a.m. he arrived. He and Rob Mackay, one of the estate farm workers. To say she was put in a

dilemma would be untrue. Dilemma implied choice and she was given none. She was barely given time to tel Rob the jobs needing attention before Cameron Adams hustled her towards the estate Land Rover and away. He instal ed her into the passenger seat, then lowered the back tail-gate for Jo to jump in.

When she final y had the chance to protest, they were in motion. ‘Has it occurred to you I may not want to do this?’ she asked in the iciest tone she could manage.

Only to have him smile in return. ‘Sure. Why do you think I got here early?’

‘But what’s the point?’ she pursued. ‘If I won’t co-operate...’

‘You’l have to—’ he continued to smile ‘—otherwise we’l spend the day driving round and round in circles, ‘cos I don’t know where any of the

ladies live.’

He obviously thought he had her, but Riona took a leaf from his book and shrugged. ‘So? It’s no skin off my nose. Rob’s doing my work for the day.’

Then, having said her piece, she folded her arms and took to staring out of the window. The Land Rover provided a fine view. She felt certain she

could outlast him.

He took the road to the vil age and parked outside the shop, where Mrs Ross and a Jean Macpherson were standing gossiping. ‘Wel , which way to

—’ he checked a list on a clipboard ‘—to Annie Fac-quhar-eson’s?’

‘Fackerson, it’s pronounced,’ Riona relayed with a superior air.

‘Right, Fackerson. Which way?’ he repeated.

Riona didn’t answer. Instead she asked, ‘Who compiled this list for you?’

‘Isobel. Why?’

‘No reason.’

‘Come on,’ he said at the ‘I know something you don’t’ look on her face, ‘what’s wrong? Is this Annie person not one of the knitters?’

‘Wel , she was,’ Riona conceded.

‘But she’s given up?’ he guessed.

‘You could say that,’ she responded drily, before admitting, ‘Old Annie Facquhareson died a month ago. It seems to have slipped Isobel’s notice,

unless, of course, she means young Annie.’

‘That must be it,’ he put in, and read off the address, ‘Braeside, Ardgair.’

She nodded, ‘Aye, that’s young Annie’s address al right. But I don’t imagine she’l be doing the knitting yet. Though I might be wrong.’ Riona

pretended to consider the possibility. ‘No, I doubt it. Five would be a bit young, don’t you think?’

‘Young Annie’s only five?’ he concluded with exasperation.

‘I just said that.’ Riona smiled to herself.

He grimaced, stroked out the name of Annie Facquhareson and went on to the next. ‘Right, Jean Macpherson. First of al , is she dead or alive?’

‘Alive,’ Riona confirmed, able to see Jean Macpherson just a few yards away, stil talking to Mrs Ross.

‘Good. And does she knit?’ he enquired drily.

She nodded, before saying, ‘Yes, but—’

‘I knew there’d be a but,’ he cut in. ‘Don’t tel me. She’s broken an arm? Busy sailing across the Atlantic single-handed? Emigrated to New

Guinea?’

‘No, she’s just out at the moment,’ Riona relayed.

‘Out?’ he repeated blankly.

‘Not at home,’ she said with exaggerated slowness.

His lips thinned. ‘How do you know?’ he asked in a manner that suggested he thought she was lying.

‘Maybe I’m clairvoyant,’ Riona responded unhelpful y, but her eyes betrayed her, wandering to the two women stil standing gossiping.

‘OK, which one is she?’ he demanded.

Riona was forced to admit, ‘The one in the blue dress.’

‘Right, we can either go talk to her now,’ he declared, ‘or you can direct me to the next on the list.’

‘I...’ Riona hesitated. She didn’t much fancy the idea of broaching the topic with Jean Macpherson in the middle of Invergair’s main street and

publicly advertising her association with the American, but she didn’t much like giving in, either.

She was forced into action as he made to climb out of the vehicle, and she grabbed his arm to stop him. ‘It’d be better if we cal ed at her home,’ she said, and, scanning the list for the easiest-going of the ladies, added, ‘We could go to Betty Maclean’s now. She’s only a couple of miles out of the vil age.’

‘Fine.’ He nodded and, putting the vehicle in gear, fol owed the direction she pointed in.

A smile had reappeared on his face. It was hardly surprising. He’d won.

The smile remained on his face when she introduced him to Betty and then sat, largely silent, while he proceeded to reduce the lady to fluttering

acquiescence.

They had a repeat performance in the next house and the next. Riona couldn’t believe it. She’d thought his brashness would put off each and every

lady. She’d thought they’d be suspicious of his grand schemes and offended by his sheer, overpowering confidence.

Instead they were carried along by his enthusiasm and bowled over by his charm. That he invited them to contribute any ideas they had to the