Free Wildfire at Midnight by Mary Stewart Page A

would like to retort, but she merely pressed her lips together and turned back to stare out of the window. Roderick smiled at Roberta and turned his attention to his landing net. Then Ronald Beagle came out into- the porch, with a rucksack on his back.
    "Why," said Roberta, "Mr. Beagle's going. Are you really going up Sgurr nan Gillean in this, Mr. Beagle?"
    "I think it'll clear," said Beagle. "I'm going over there anyway, and if it clears in an hour or so, as I think it will, I'll be ready." He waved vaguely to all of us, and went out into the rain.
    "Well," I said to Roberta, "both the oracles have spoken, so I hope you do get your climb." "Are you going out too?"
    "My dear, I haven't even had my breakfast yet! And if I don't hurry I doubt if I'll get any!"
    But as I was halfway across the hall towards the dining room I was stopped by Major Persimmon's voice calling me from the office grille. I went over. The tall, thickset countryman was still there, bending over a tray of casts, his big fingers moving them delicately.
    Bill Persimmon leaned forward across the counter.
    "I believe you said you wanted to hire a rod, Mrs.— er, Miss Brooke, and fish a bit?"
    "Yes, I do, but I'm not quite sure when. I think I might wait a day or so, and have a look round first."
    "Just as you like, of course, only—" He glanced at the other man. "If you'd really like to be shown some fishing, you might care to fix it up in advance with Dougal Macrae here. He'd be glad to go with you, I know."
    The big man looked up. He had a square, brown face, deeply lined, and smallish blue eyes that looked as if, normally, they were good-tempered. Just now, they held no expression at all.
    He said, in the wonderfully soft voice of the Island men: "I should be glad to show the lady how to take a fish."
    "That's very good of you," I said. "Perhaps—shall we say Wednesday?"
    "Wednesday is a free day." Dougal Macrae nodded his big head. "Yes, indeed."
    "Thank you very much," I said.
    "Where shall I put you down for?" asked Major Persimmon.
    Dougal Macrae said: "The Camasunary river, please; the upper beat. If we cannot take a fish out of there it will be a bad day indeed."
    He straightened up, and picked up a well-brushed and formidable bowler hat from the office counter. "And now I must be on my way, or I shall be late at the kirk. Good day to you, mistress. Good day, Mr. Persimmon."
    And he went out into the grey morning. I found myself looking after him. It had been only the most trivial of conversations, but it was my first acquaintance with the beautifully simple courtesy of the Highlander, the natural but almost royally formal bearing of the crofter who has lived all his life in the Islands. I was very much impressed with this quiet man. Dougal Macrae. Heather Macrae's father. ...
    I nodded to Major Persimmon, and went to get my belated breakfast.
    I had been (rather foolishly, I suppose) dreading my next meeting with Marcia, so I was glad that she was not in the dining room. Indeed, before I had poured out my first cup of coffee, I saw a big cream-colored car come slowly past the window, and slide to a halt outside the porch door. Almost immediately, Marcia, looking enchanting and very urban in royal blue, hurried out of the hotel and was ushered into the front of the car by a handsome boy in uniform, who tucked rugs round her with solicitous care. Still in expensive and effortless silence, the car moved off.
    I drank coffee, wishing I had a morning paper, so that I could pretend I hadn't noticed Nicholas who, apart from Hubert Hay, was the only other occupant of the dining room.
    But it was after all the latter who in a short while rose and came over to my table.
    He walked with an odd, tittuping little step that made me think again of Marcia's bouncy rubber balls, or of a self-confident robin. This latter impression was heightened by the rounded expanse of scarlet pullover which enlivened his already gay green tweeds. His face was round, too, with a