Page 39 of Walk on the Wildsyde

“This gentleman is Harold Barker, our bank manager in Wick.”

Harold was a broad-shouldered man of medium height and ruddy good looks. He did not look like a man who spent all his days in an office and gave Clara the impression of an outdoorsy, virile fellow who disliked sitting still. At Mary’s introduction, he pulled a face.

“Ach, Mary, love. Don’t be giving a poor fellow such a dull introduction, the poor lassie will run a mile.”

Mary laughed and patted his arm. “Not if she has any sense, she won’t. Clara, don’t let this naughty man tease you and don’t go thinking he’s dull and stuffy, for you’ll be sadly mistaken.”

Mr Barker grinned at this sally, making Clara smile too as Mary carried on around the room.

“Of course, Miss Fleming needs no introduction,” Mary added, as Miss Fleming gave a coquettish curtsey, which made Clara smile.

“How lovely you look, Miss Fleming,” she said truthfully, thinking that the young woman’s rather dashing and fashionable gown of bright green trimmed with black lace quite outshone her own sedate outfit. “You make me feel perfectly dowdy in comparison.”

“Oh, I think not.”

Clara turned to see a beautiful woman of perhaps thirty years of age, with rich guinea-gold hair arranged in a stylish coiffure and wearing a magnificent gown of deep burgundy red. She regarded Clara with obvious interest. Her voice was warm and melodious and her manner friendly as Mary introduced them.

“Moyra, my dear, this is Miss Clara Halliday, whom I’ve told you so much about. Now tell me, isn’t she every bit as beautiful as I said she was?”

“You hardly did her justice, Mary,” the woman replied, with apparent sincerity.

“Clara, please meet my dear friend, Mrs Moyra Scott,” Mary said with obvious pride as she made the introductions. “Moyra knows everybody and everything and is just the person to guide you, for she is far too sophisticated for our little town, so we all look to her.”

“Stuff,” Moyra said frankly, making Clara smile. “You are a deal too generous with your praise, love, though I appreciate the sentiment. Miss Halliday, I should be delighted if you wish to call on me so I might make some appropriate introductions. Society in Wick is rather limited, I’m afraid, but there are one or two families who will be excellent connections for you.”

“You’re very kind, Mrs Scott. I should be pleased—”

“Sorry I’m late.” The deep voice cut through the murmur of voices and made all the tiny hairs on the back of Clara’s neck stand on end. She turned, watching in mute dismay as Hamilton Anderson strode into the room. Lud. If her father found out he was here, there would be the most terrible scene. What had Mary been thinking of inviting him when she was here, too? Oh, if she had only known he was coming, she would never have accepted the invitation, she thought crossly, becoming increasingly vexed as she realised that was a blatant lie. Of course she would have come.

His arrival seemed in some subtle way to galvanise everyone. Angus and Mr Fraser beamed, clearly delighted to see him. Mr Barker regarded him with something that looked like amused resignation, and Malcolm Stewart did little to hide his obvious animosity. The effect on the women was no less marked. Miss Fleming exclaimed with delight, going at once to greet him with a proprietary air which made Clara want to blush for the girl. Mary’s greeting was warm and full of genuine affection, and Mrs Scott… Clara studied her with interest, noting the way she did not look at Mr Anderson at all. That seemed a little odd. Clara envied her the ability to ignore him, however, for she could not do so. Her eyes drank in the sight of him, her heart lifting, because her heart was an idiot who didn’t know what was good for it.

Mr Anderson looked around the room and their eyes met. Clara felt the connection like a jolt of electricity, a shock that made her skin prickle with awareness. It lasted barely a moment, for he looked away again, and Clara gathered herself, smiling warmly at Mr Barker as he came to stand beside her. He was older than her, perhaps forty years of age, but with such an air of vitality about him that he seemed younger.

“You have not been here long, I think, Miss Halliday. How are you finding our little town?”

“Not very long, no. Since the beginning of May, so not quite two months, I suppose, and I like it very well indeed.”

“You surprise me. Most English ladies find the weather a trial and the lack of amusements tedious, I fear.”

“Then they were poor-spirited creatures to be sure, for it is most invigorating to live so close to the sea. When the sun shines upon Wick, it seems brighter than I have ever seen it before, especially the way it glitters on the sea, like diamonds.”

“Why, Miss Halliday, that is most poetic, though I confess it pleases me to discover such an elegant young woman so enchanted by the landscape, which one must allow is dramatic rather than pretty.”

“Certainly it is,” Clara said, happy to agree with this description. “Quite breathtaking, in fact.”

“And you are not repining for the amusements of a grand town like London?” he pressed with a smile.

Clara shook her head, accepting a glass of lemonade from the maid who brought it to her. “I have never been to London, sir, so it would be foolish to languish over something I have never known.”

“Never been to London?” Mrs Scott cut in, having overheard their conversation, a glass of champagne held delicately in her gloved hand. “My dear girl, but you must go. A beauty of your quality would be a tremendous success. Do you not think so, Mr Anderson?”

Clara felt a betraying rush of heat to her cheeks as Mr Anderson joined their circle and she studied the patterned Turkey carpet beneath her feet with apparent fascination.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs Scott, what was the question?” he asked politely.

“I said that Miss Halliday ought to go to London. It is a crime, surely, for such a beautiful creature not to be given a season.”

Mr Barker cut in before Mr Anderson could give his opinion. “How cruel you are, Mrs Scott, when I hear rumours that both you and Miss Fleming intend to leave us again in a few weeks. Would you deprive us of all our feminine companionship? Poor Mary will be besieged.”