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 village and parked outside the shop, where Mrs Ross and a Jean Macpherson were standing gossiping. ‘Well, 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?’
‘Well, 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 all right. But I don’t imagine she’ll 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 all, is she dead or alive?’
‘Alive,’ Riona confirmed, able to see Jean Macpherson just a few yards away, still 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 tell 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 unhelpfully, but her eyes betrayed her, wandering to the two women still 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 called 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 village.’
‘Fine.’ He nodded and, putting the vehicle in gear, followed 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 scheme was the final seal on his popularity.
It was Riona who ended up trying to preach a little caution, and, though Cameron Adams tolerated her efforts, the women didn’t want to know.
‘The world’s changing, Riona, lass, and we have to move with the times,’ she was told by Aggie Stewart, the oldest of the knitters at seventy-four.
After that, she gave up, and limited herself to informing him how to get to each croft and providing an introduction to its inhabitant.
By the late afternoon, they’d seen about six ladies in all. It was just a fraction of the number of women capable of professional knitting in the area, but Riona felt it was enough. They were bound to relay his ideas to the rest and she told him so as they arrived back at her crofthouse.
‘Possibly,’ he conceded, ‘but, having visited a few, I reckon I’m obliged to visit them all. Otherwise I’m going to have some offended ladies on my hands.’
Riona saw his point but said, ‘Well, I can’t help. I have too much to do round the croft.’
‘No problem. I’ll let you have Rob again,’ he responded. ‘You can give him a list of what’s to be done, and, if he has any time over, he can do some repairs round the place.’
‘No, thanks,’ she refused ungraciously. ‘I can do my own repairs.’
‘Can you?’ he challenged mildly and glanced round her back yard. The sheds were dilapidated, a door hanging from one hinge. The hen-run, now unoccupied, was more holes than fencing, and the dry stone wall was almost rubble in places.
When his eyes returned to her, Riona muttered tightly, ‘I’m doing my best,’ and made to climb out of the Land Rover.
He caught her arm. ‘Hey, I wasn’t saying otherwise. It’s just too much for you, a girl on her own.’
If his manner was sympathetic, Riona was too strung up to notice. ‘I can manage,’ she snapped back, ‘so if you’re thinking of reclaiming the croft that way, you can think again.’
‘What?’ He was clearly taken aback by this outburst. In fact, the finest of actors couldn’t have feigned his surprise.
Riona knew then she was being unfair and unreasonable, but she couldn’t stop herself. She wasn’t able to behave rationally when he was around. She sent him a look that was a mixture of appeal and accusation, before wresting her arm free and jumping down from the Land Rover. Jo, the collie dog, jumped down too, but headed for the hills for his evening prowl.
Cameron caught Riona up at the house and dragged her round to face him. ‘What is it with you? Do you really believe I’m out to evict you?’ he demanded, angry now.
‘I...’ Riona’s eyes went to his and any protest died on her lips. Whatever he wanted from her, it wasn’t this mean little crofthouse on the hill.
They stared at each other for an endless moment, and she wanted to take back all the bad things she’d said. But no words came and finally he gave up on her,