Northern Sunset. Penny Jordan

had made any attempt to get in touch with him since his accident; no one from United Oil had taken the trouble to come out to Falla and see him, and although Catriona would never have admitted it to her brother she was desperately afraid that when he claimed that his old companions would despise and denigrate him now, he was speaking the truth. Oilmen were hard men, without emotion or compassion, and now they were going to invade their sanctuary and spread God alone knew what havoc among them.

      A FORTNIGHT WENT BY without any response to Magnus’s letter, and then a severe storm prevented the mail boat from calling, and Catriona had almost begun to think that the whole thing had blown over.

      With gales blowing Mac had been unable to call, although he had spoken to them by telephone. Since her return to the island Catriona had never ceased to be grateful to her parents for installing this luxury.

      “Any news about the terminal?” he enquired when he had assured himself that they were both well.

      “Don’t remind me of it,” Catriona begged. “I keep hoping it will all go away.”

      Mac laughed. Catriona was covered in cobwebs. She had been cleaning out the bedrooms, unearthing linen sheets from cupboards mercifully free of damp and moth. The house had been furnished long before the days of such things as central heating, when women knew how to store and cherish good linen.

      Although there had been no further word from the oil company about the terminal, Catriona did not intend to be caught off guard if they did decide to go ahead.