fluffed the pillow. He wasn’t completely immune to Elspeth’s mysterious charms. “In 1901 James was nine. And he fell down the stairs two months ago.”
“Aye, the family seems to have had a right problem wi’ gravity.” He would have been completely deadpan, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Michael,” Rebecca began reprovingly, and then, “Dr. Campbell… . “Despite herself, she, too, smiled.
“Well then, Miss Reid,” he said, “it’s awful cold up here. We should be gettin’… ” A pickup truck was coming up the driveway, the roar of its engine and the crunch of its tires on the gravel muted by distance. “The Pruitts,” said Michael. “I’ll let them in, shall I?”
Rebecca watched him until he disappeared down the stairs. For a moment they’d almost been comrades, sifting the ashes of old scandals. He knew his history. He’d accepted that she knew hers.
She stepped closer to the window and considered the relentless ground far below. She imagined Elspeth falling, skirts fluttering madly, hair flying from its pins. It had taken courage to step out into the empty air. Not as much courage, though, as it would have taken to stay flat-footedly anchored to the stone and wood of Dun Iain.
Crimson maple leaves whirled across the window. The wind was rising. Maybe there would be a storm.
Chapter Four
The sunlight on the floor thinned and faded as clouds raced across the sky, damping its blue to gray. From her sixth-floor eyrie Rebecca looked down at the foreshortened shapes of the Pruitts. The middle-aged man wearing a checked shirt, sleeveless quilted vest, and a baseball cap must be Phil. Therefore the younger one was his son, Steve. He was dressed in black, half his head only stubble and the other sporting a long lock of greasy hair almost covering one eye. The earphones of a Walkman were affixed like the antennae of a sci-fi monster to his ears.
A huge labrador bounded out of the back of the truck and sprinted across the lawn in pursuit of a fleeing wisp of butterscotch and white fur.
Rebecca’s breath fogged the glass. “Darnley! Run!” But the cat was already up a tree, perched on a branch, no doubt wishing himself a leopard as the dog capered beneath. Frenzied barking echoed like gunshots.
“Aw shaddup!” shouted Phil. He plodded toward the front door, lopsided from the weight of the toolbox he carried. Steve ambled toward the shed, his limbs jerking in response to the thankfully inaudible music.
And here came another car up the driveway, a gray Volvo gleaming like mother of pearl in a brief ray of sun. Rebecca glanced at her watch. Noon already. That must be the lawyer.
The window gave abruptly and she jumped back.
Oh, it hadn’t been latched. The top sash had slipped a couple of inches. Shaking her head at herself, Rebecca shut the window, latched it, and rubbed the steamy patch of her breath from it with her sleeve. No screens, she noted, true to British prototype.
Her jaw dropped at the gorgeous figure stepping from the Volvo. He wore a dark blue suit and a maroon tie, and his black hair was trimmed just so, conservatively close to the head. His sunglasses turned this way and that, looking from castle to dog to the ludicrous figure of Steve Pruitt. Not that she was familiar with designer clothing, but Rebecca swore the man was plastered with labels like a steamer trunk after an around the world voyage.
Eric took a briefcase from the car and turned toward the front door. Steve stood clutching hoe and pruning shears, staring after him. Envious, Rebecca thought. Or perhaps scornful of the classy business suit and tie.
The dog was gone. No, there he was, sniffing among the trees like the Hound of the Baskervilles. Darnley was scampering for the house.
A vague fluttering came from the ceiling, blackbirds probably roosting in the chimneys. The wind whined around the turrets and cupolas of the roof. Rebecca seemed to be watching an old movie with the volume turned down,
“Aye, the family seems to have had a right problem wi’ gravity.” He would have been completely deadpan, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Michael,” Rebecca began reprovingly, and then, “Dr. Campbell… . “Despite herself, she, too, smiled.
“Well then, Miss Reid,” he said, “it’s awful cold up here. We should be gettin’… ” A pickup truck was coming up the driveway, the roar of its engine and the crunch of its tires on the gravel muted by distance. “The Pruitts,” said Michael. “I’ll let them in, shall I?”
Rebecca watched him until he disappeared down the stairs. For a moment they’d almost been comrades, sifting the ashes of old scandals. He knew his history. He’d accepted that she knew hers.
She stepped closer to the window and considered the relentless ground far below. She imagined Elspeth falling, skirts fluttering madly, hair flying from its pins. It had taken courage to step out into the empty air. Not as much courage, though, as it would have taken to stay flat-footedly anchored to the stone and wood of Dun Iain.
Crimson maple leaves whirled across the window. The wind was rising. Maybe there would be a storm.
Chapter Four
The sunlight on the floor thinned and faded as clouds raced across the sky, damping its blue to gray. From her sixth-floor eyrie Rebecca looked down at the foreshortened shapes of the Pruitts. The middle-aged man wearing a checked shirt, sleeveless quilted vest, and a baseball cap must be Phil. Therefore the younger one was his son, Steve. He was dressed in black, half his head only stubble and the other sporting a long lock of greasy hair almost covering one eye. The earphones of a Walkman were affixed like the antennae of a sci-fi monster to his ears.
A huge labrador bounded out of the back of the truck and sprinted across the lawn in pursuit of a fleeing wisp of butterscotch and white fur.
Rebecca’s breath fogged the glass. “Darnley! Run!” But the cat was already up a tree, perched on a branch, no doubt wishing himself a leopard as the dog capered beneath. Frenzied barking echoed like gunshots.
“Aw shaddup!” shouted Phil. He plodded toward the front door, lopsided from the weight of the toolbox he carried. Steve ambled toward the shed, his limbs jerking in response to the thankfully inaudible music.
And here came another car up the driveway, a gray Volvo gleaming like mother of pearl in a brief ray of sun. Rebecca glanced at her watch. Noon already. That must be the lawyer.
The window gave abruptly and she jumped back.
Oh, it hadn’t been latched. The top sash had slipped a couple of inches. Shaking her head at herself, Rebecca shut the window, latched it, and rubbed the steamy patch of her breath from it with her sleeve. No screens, she noted, true to British prototype.
Her jaw dropped at the gorgeous figure stepping from the Volvo. He wore a dark blue suit and a maroon tie, and his black hair was trimmed just so, conservatively close to the head. His sunglasses turned this way and that, looking from castle to dog to the ludicrous figure of Steve Pruitt. Not that she was familiar with designer clothing, but Rebecca swore the man was plastered with labels like a steamer trunk after an around the world voyage.
Eric took a briefcase from the car and turned toward the front door. Steve stood clutching hoe and pruning shears, staring after him. Envious, Rebecca thought. Or perhaps scornful of the classy business suit and tie.
The dog was gone. No, there he was, sniffing among the trees like the Hound of the Baskervilles. Darnley was scampering for the house.
A vague fluttering came from the ceiling, blackbirds probably roosting in the chimneys. The wind whined around the turrets and cupolas of the roof. Rebecca seemed to be watching an old movie with the volume turned down,
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