‘Sister said you’ve had no visitors.’

  ‘No. My aunt’s in Florence on holiday. And my sister’s in the States, her husband is doing an exchange job with the university in Philadelphia.’

  ‘Does she know you’re in hospital?’

  ‘I wrote to her this morning.’

  ‘And where will you go when they discharge you?’

  ‘Aunt Cassie should be back by then. I expect I’ll go to her. She lives in Surrey.’

  Mr William considered this, his expression thoughtful. Embarrassed by the silence, Joanna smelled the freesias again. He said, choosing his words carefully, ‘I think you should have a little holiday. Get right away.’

  The word holiday made her feel exhausted. She imagined crowded airports; grappling with luggage, heat, for foreign languages, the sort of hotels that look like hen batteries. She said, faintly, ‘I don’t think I’ve got the energy.’

  He did not appear to think this was a stupid remark. He continued to survey her thoughtfully. And then he said, ‘Have you ever been to Scotland?’

  She said, fearfully, ‘No.’ Scotland conjured up even more fatiguing images. Of cold and rain, and having to climb steep hills, or stand waist deep in running water trying to catch a fish. She had seen photographs.

  ‘Then why not go to Scotland for a week or so? It’s a most restoring place.’

  ‘I don’t know anybody in Scotland.’

  ‘But I do. Don’t forget, I hail from north of the Border. I have some great friends, Mr and Mrs Duffy. They live on a farm, in the country. They would be so pleased to have you to stay with them.’

  Joanna eyed Mr William with suspicion. ‘How do you know they would be pleased?’

  He smiled. ‘Because I have already spoken to them on the telephone. So will you think about it?’

  She said, ‘Whereabouts in Scotland?’ as though it could make any difference.

  He told her, ‘Near Relkirk. You could go by train. Someone would meet you at the station. Very civilised,’ he added, encouragingly, perhaps seeing the doubt on her face. ‘I’d like you to see the place where I was born and brought up. The farm is called Whitebarns and the countryside is very peaceful and beautiful.’

  This was a new side to Mr William. ‘I never thought of you as a country boy.’

  ‘I came to London when I was nineteen. That’s a long time ago. But my roots are still in the north.’ He stood up. ‘You’ll think about it?’ he said again, and because he had taken so much trouble, Joanna said that yes, she would.

  * * *

  ‘Was that your boyfriend?’ asked Mrs Wilson when the visitors had gone.

  ‘No, he’s my boss.’

  ‘Oh, your boss.’

  She sounded coy, Joanna firmly nipped any rumour in the bud. ‘He’s married, and he has three children.’

  Mrs Wilson’s face fell. She had scented a romance. To cheer her, Joanna said, ‘He wants me to take a holiday in Scotland.’

  Mrs Wilson was intrigued. ‘I went there last year on a coach trip. Lovely it was, except that it rained the whole time. Are you going to go?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Joanna. ‘I don’t suppose I will.’

  But of course she did. Aunt Cassie was enjoying Florence so much that she wrote to tell Joanna she had decided to stay out there until the end of the month. And by the same post came a letter from Mr William enclosing her rail ticket and a generous cheque ‘to cover expenses’.

  The Duffys are expecting you and much looking forward to your visit. Willie Duffy will doubtless meet you at Relkirk station. Have a good rest and let me know when you want to return to work, but not until you are quite strong again.

  And he remained hers, sincerely, William Anderson.

  Joanna folded the letter and put it back in the envelope.

  ‘Are you going to Scotland?’ asked Mrs Wilson.

  ‘Yes,’ said Joanna.

  It was late summer. The train drew out of a Euston sweltering in airless heat which had accumulated at the end of a stifling day. It drew into Relkirk at seven o’clock on a cool and pearly morning and the air through the opened window of Joanna’s carriage smelled of real air, as refreshing as a long drink of cold water.

  She was going to be met, Mr William had promised, but how Mr Duffy would look was a complete mystery. She got out on to the platform and the sleeping-car attendant lifted down her cases, and she stood there, waiting to be claimed and feeling mildly panic-stricken. She was always wary, at the best of times, of meeting new people. But the station had a country air which was reassuring, with a crate of chickens loaded on to a trolley, and a tweeded man collecting his dog from the luggage van where it had spent the night. The dog was a golden Labrador, and so delighted to be free that it tore about in excited circles.

  ‘Are you Joanna Crayshaw?’

  Startled, she turned from watching the dog and found her eyes on the level of a blue, open-necked shirt. They travelled up to the face of an extremely tall young man. It was a sunburned face, with very blue eyes, topped by a thatch of reddish fair hair. His expression was that of a man prepared to go as far as was necessary in the cause of good manners, but no further. Friendly but reserved. She felt slightly chilled, but told herself that there was no reason why he should be delighted to see her.

  She said, ‘Yes, I am. How clever of you to know.’

  She sounded gushing, even to herself, and perhaps he thought she sounded gushing too, because his expression didn’t soften. There was a small uncertain hiatus which ended in their shaking hands.

  ‘There wasn’t anyone else got off the train who could possibly have been you,’ he said, and picked up her suitcase.

  His voice was unmistakenly Scottish. Joanna said, almost running to try and keep up with his long legs, ‘Are you Willie Duffy?’

  ‘No,’ said the young man. ‘Willie couldn’t come. One of the cows is sick and he’s waiting on the vet.’

  There didn’t seem to be any comment to make on this, so Joanna said nothing. She was half-expecting him to introduce himself, but such social niceties appeared to be beyond him. She began to wonder if he was shy or merely rude, but could only follow him past the ticket barrier, and out into the station yard, where he strode over the cobbles to a waiting Land Rover, heaved her case over the tailgate, and opened the door for her.

  * * *

  She climbed in, looking about her. A street of Georgian houses led down from the station yard towards an open park with large, leafy trees. A bridge curved over a ribbon of water and beyond were hills, rising softly to other hills.

  He clambered up beside her, slammed the door shut, started the engine. She said, ‘What a pretty town,’ but he only said, ‘It’s all right,’ and let in the clutch and they were away.

  It took only minutes before they were in open country, a wide, flat valley of fields and lanes and trees, sparsely dotted with farmsteads. Sometimes these buildings were white, sometimes a deep terracotta. Cattle grazed peacefully and tractors were out at work.

  The silence between them was not exactly strained, but even so it could not go on forever. Joanna glanced sideways at the strong-featured profile and decided he had an ungiving face.

  She took a deep breath and tried again. ‘Do you work at Whitebarns?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you work for Mr Duffy?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Do you know Mr William Anderson?’

  This time, a slight inclination of the head. ‘Yes, I know him well.’

  Joanna battled on. ‘Do you live with the Duffys?’

  ‘No, I’m away on my own.’

  She decided that he was hopeless and stopped trying. The countryside was infinitely more rewarding. Now, there were fruit orchards and fields of raspberry canes. The Land Rover bumped over a level crossing and then ran down a straight lane between hawthorn hedges, and stopped before a small cottage, single storied, with a neat garden and a blue front door.

  ‘Here we are,’ she was told.

  ‘Here?’

  She had not meant to sound surprised, but had never imagined a dwelling so modest. The young man blew a blast on the horn, a dog started barking and then the front door opened and a woman came out with a sheepdog at her heels. She had reddish hair, turning white, and a blue apron over her green and white dress.

  ‘So you’re Joanna Crayshaw, and here you are safe and sound. And I’m Mrs Duffy. So Bob found you all right. Now, can you bring her case in, Bob? You must come this way and I’ll show you your room. Willie’s away out to see the vet, but I thought that you would maybe take a bite of breakfast …’ Inside, the house was larger than it first appeared because at some time a modern kitchen and two extra rooms had been added to the back. Mrs Duffy showed Joanna into one of these rooms, which had a window looking out on the orchard, and there was flowered wallpaper, and white cotton curtains, which were blowing in the morning breeze. Mrs Duffy made clucking noises and was about to shut the window.

  Outside the door Bob’s voice called, ‘Where shall I put the case?’

  ‘In here.’ He appeared, ducking his head cautiously in this house which had been designed for folk much smaller than himself. ‘That’s it, just there in the corner,’ Mrs Duffy said.

  Bob set it down and straightened. ‘I’ll be off then,’ he said, hovering in the doorway.

  Joanna pulled herself together, and turned from the delights of the view.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ she said, ‘for coming to meet me.’

  ‘No bother.’ He smiled. The smile was disarming and took her unawares. Joanna suddenly realised that she had enjoyed the last half-hour in the company of a handsome and personable man.

  ‘Bye, Minnie,’ he said to Mrs Duffy and took himself off. The Land Rover roared away down the lane.

  Then Minnie Duffy said, ‘He’s a good boy, and no mistake. Mind, he’s a different cup of tea from Bill, a different man altogether. A real country boy, but he has a mind of his own. If he has a fault, it is that he’s backward in coming forward. But tell me, now, how is Bill? And the children? It seems a long time since we’ve set eyes on the dear wee souls.’

  Joanna was disorientated. She said, quietly, ‘Bill?’

  ‘Mr William Anderson. Of course Mr Duffy and me have known him since … he was a wee thing. Since Duffy started here, as cattleman, twenty-five years ago or more …’

  She chattered on, and Joanna, listening in horrified disbelief, realised that the taciturn Bob was none other than Mr William’s younger brother. That he was the owner of Whitebarns, and far from working for Mr Duffy, he actually employed him. Thinking of the gaffes she had made, the questions she had asked, made Joanna feel quite hot with embarrassment.

  She said, ‘I had no idea who he was. Why didn’t he tell me?’

  Minnie Duffy shook her head. ‘That Bob! Isn’t it just like him not to introduce himself? He’ll be the death of the lot of us one day, with his close ways. But it was funny Bill didn’t put you a wee bit more in the picture, as they say.’

  * * *

  A day went by and a second, and a third. The sun, obligingly, shone. Joanna stayed in the cottage garden, pretending to read a book, or helping Mrs Duffy thin her lettuces. Later, when she felt more energetic, she took undemanding walks down the flat lanes between the orchards.

  More adventurous still, she finally walked to the river, swollen to a great estuary two or three miles wide. Here the water was tidal and the mudflats inhabited by a marvellous variety of birds. Peewits nested in the marshy seafields and there were flocks of black and white birds that she could not identify.

  She was sitting at the edge of the grassy shore, watching them, wishing that she had binoculars, when she heard a dog barking up on the slope behind her, and a man’s voice, and she turned and saw coming through the open gate at the top of the slope a herd of black cattle, harried by a dog, and being driven down by none other than Bob Anderson himself.

  Joanna’s heart sank and she dithered as to what she should do. Pretend she hadn’t seen him? Stand up and wave? Or walk up the grass to meet him and risk a possible snub?

  The cattle scented the fresh grass, decided to stop being frisky and peacefully began to graze. Bob whistled, and the dog scampered back to his side. She watched him come through the gate and close it behind him. He started down the slope towards her and after a moment’s hesitation, Joanna went to meet him.

  He waited for her, one foot braced against the slope of the grass. He wore an elderly tweed hat, pushed on to the back of his head, and a pair of jeans washed and faded to the palest of blues.

  He did not smile, but said, in quite a friendly way, ‘How are you getting along?’

  ‘I’m all right, thank you.’

  ‘Is Mrs Duffy looking after you? Feeding you all right?’

  ‘She’s being marvellous. I shall be so fat by the time I get back to London I shan’t be able to get into any of my clothes.’

  ‘You could do with a bit of fattening up,’ he said, as though she were one of his cows, but Joanna did not feel insulted. In fact, she was delighted, because they seemed to have embarked upon what could almost be termed a conversation.

  * * *

  Encouraged, she said, ‘You know, I never realised you were Mr William’s brother. You probably guessed I didn’t realise it.’

  ‘Minnie Duffy said I should have told you myself. But I don’t know, I never thought much about it.’ He obviously didn’t seem to think that the confusion of their first morning mattered at all, and if he didn’t think it mattered, then why should Joanna? ‘Did you walk down here? That’s quite a way. You must be recovering.’

  ‘I was looking at the birds. I know the peewits. But the big black and white ones …?’

  ‘They’re shelducks. Beautiful birds. But not as beautiful as the greylags, the wild geese. They’re here for the wintertime. Arrive on the twenty-first of September, give or take half a day or so. And they stay all the winter and go back north in the spring. Hearing them fly over, on a cold morning, honking and talking away to each other … it’s one of the best sounds ever.’

  She said, ‘I wish I had a bird book.’

  ‘I’ve got a book at the house. If you like I’ll lend it to you.’

  ‘Would you?’

  He had a long crook with him. Now he set this into the ground and leaned his chin on the carved horn handle. He said, ‘Tell you what, come along to the house this evening, and I’ll give it to you.’ Joanna looked at him. His eyes were very blue, quite friendly. Ulterior motives did not appear to lurk behind them. And she was disarmed by his friendliness. She said, ‘I’d like to.’

  ‘About seven then.’ With this settled, he straightened up. ‘I’ve got the Land Rover here in the field. Do you want a ride back?’

  But Joanna said she liked the walk and so, with the dog at his heels, he left her, and she went back to watching the birds and told herself that he was just being neighbourly.

  In the Duffy’s house the evening meal took the most splendid form, High Tea. At half past five a pie was produced, or minced beef, or fried haddock, to be followed by home-made scones and butter, sugared cakes and endless cups of tea. Joanna wondered how Mrs Duffy had managed to keep her neat shape after a lifetime of such spreads. That evening, when she had helped Mrs Duffy with the dishes, she set off, armed with a gingerbread as a present for Bob, to walk across the orchards to the farmhouse.

  It was a beautiful evening, very still and scented with the sea-smells of a flood tide. Whitebarns stood perhaps half a mile from the Duffy cottage, and was screened by trees. As she approached, Joanna saw the steading, the barns, the high wall built around the garden. The door into the house stood open, and she stepped into a flagged hallway from which rose a charming staircase. There was a cool, scrubbed smell, rather like well-kept dairies.

  She waited. ‘Is anyone at home?’ she called, and the dog barked, and the next moment Bob emerged from a door at the end of the hall and came to greet her.

  ‘You found your way?’

  ‘It wasn’t too difficult. And Mrs Duffy sent you this.’ She gave him the gingerbread.

  ‘That’s very kind.’ He took it. ‘Now, would you like a cup of coffee or a glass of lager or something?’

  ‘I’d love some lager …’

  ‘I thought we’d go out into the garden. It’s still warm.’

  He poured the lager neatly, and handed Joanna the glass. He said, ‘I found the book. It’s on the chest in the hall, so don’t forget and go back without it.’

  ‘It’s so kind of you …’

  ‘How much longer are you going to be here?’

  ‘I think about a week.’

  ‘You’re looking better. A different person to the girl who got off the train.’

  ‘I still feel badly about that day.’

  ‘No cause to feel badly. It was my fault. Bill always said I should take a course in making friends and influencing people. He said if I didn’t watch out, I’d win the prize for the rudest man in the county.’

  ‘I can hear him saying that.’

  ‘You know … I don’t know anything about you. Except that you work for William.’

  ‘That’s about all there is to know.’

  And then, because this sounded a little bleak, she enlarged on it. ‘I mean there’s nothing very interesting. I have a flat in London that I sometimes share with another girl and I work for Anderson’s Trading, and that’s about it.’

  ‘I can’t believe it’s as simple as that.’

  ‘I’m afraid it is. Would you like me to pretend my life is seething with intrigue?’

  He said, very seriously, ‘I wouldn’t want you to pretend anything.’

  His calm voice, his steady eyes, somehow caught her unawares. She knew a moment of panic, and to change the subject she said, in a voice bright with interest, ‘Have you always lived at Whitebarns?’

  ‘Yes, man and boy.’

  ‘Who looks after the house for you?’

  He grinned, suddenly looking young as a boy. ‘Minnie Duffy has already told you I haven’t got a wife?’