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 literally, ‘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.
‘Well, 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.
‘Well, 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 hand-made 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—wholly 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 finally 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?’
‘Well, 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, especially...’
‘Especially 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.’
‘Really?’ The American was obviously surprised, but he ran on, ‘In that case, all 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 sell 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’ll get one of the estate workers to cover for you, perhaps do some repairs while he’s at it.’
‘Yes, well...’ 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 gratefully 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 all the more reason to come round with me.’
‘You would?’ Riona felt herself back on treacherous ground.
‘Well, 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 really 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’ll 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 illusions 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 fell 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 till 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 tell Rob the jobs needing attention before Cameron Adams hustled her towards the estate Land Rover and away. He installed her into the passenger seat, then lowered the back tail-gate for Jo to jump in.
When she finally 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