Snare by Gwen Moffat Page B

the Mediterranean or back to Arizona? She couldn’t return to her house in Cornwall because that was let – much to the chagrin of her housekeeper, who was looking after the tenants as well as the property.
    She realised with astonishment that she had given no thought to the outside world for days on end. She had been absorbed by Sgoradale and its inhabitants. Now the outer world impinged and she felt as if she’d been away for months, not days.
    The road dipped and sank over the long brown swells. A mile or so ahead there was something on the tarmac, and as the gap closed it was revealed as a hitch-hiker. At first she thought she was overtaking a tramp, his belongings in a bedding roll on a string, then she saw that he was carrying one of the large strap bags now favoured by trendy travellers. He turned and thumbed the car; it was no man, but Flora MacKenzie.
    She was wearing the baggy pants, the chic sweater that she had worn at the dinner party, but a navy watch cap was pulled low on her forehead. Miss Pink stopped and the girl opened the passenger door.
    â€˜Good morning! Lovely to see you. Can you give me a lift?’
    â€˜How far are you going?’
    â€˜Edinburgh?’
    â€˜I can take you to Inverness.’
    â€˜Right. I can catch a train from there.’
    â€˜You don’t drive?’ Miss Pink said as they started off again.
    Flora stared at her. ‘I’m only sixteen.’
    â€˜Of course. Why didn’t someone run you to Inverness?’
    â€˜My mother, you mean? Why should she? I wouldn’t expect it.’
    â€˜She does know you’re going to Edinburgh?’ Flora giggled. ‘Do I look like a runaway? Mum knows. I’m staying with a friend – very respectable people; her father’s a barrister.’
    â€˜But hitching! Don’t you have the bus fare?’
    â€˜Hitching’s more fun; you never know who you’re going to meet.’
    â€˜That’s the point.’
    â€˜You mean rape. Miss Pink, you’ve seen Sgoradale. D’you really think it’s swarming with rapists?’
    â€˜You only need one, and everyone has to start somewhere, even rapists. And rape can lead to murder.’ Flora looked bored. Miss Pink changed the subject. ‘So what’s the next step? University?’
    â€˜You need A-levels for that. In any case, I see no point in my going up to university. What’s it for?’
    â€˜Further education, perhaps. What’s your interest?’
    â€˜If there’s nothing else to do, you write, don’t you?’
    â€˜Is that a deliberate insult, or thoughtlessness?’
    â€˜I’m so sorry! ’ She did look devastated. ‘I meant the trash Mum churns out. You’re a professional.’ She stared anxiously at Miss Pink’s profile.
    â€˜Forget about creative writing. Journalism might be the answer if you’re interested in people –’
    â€˜Oh, I am!’
    â€˜So is there a plan in the short term, or am I probing?’
    â€˜I suppose I am one of the beautiful people – isn’t that what you used to call us?’ Flora smiled engagingly, ‘I’m teasing you, but I’m used to being slapped down at home so I’m taking advantage. The fact is, I shan’t be independent until I’m eighteen. Then I come into Grandmama MacKenzie’s money – along with a castle in Angus. I’m an heiress.’ Her lips twitched. ‘So I’m hanging around, waiting. But I am considering training for something. It’s just ... there was no one to ask.’
    â€˜Training?’
    Flora shot her a glance. ‘How’s this for a scenario? I train as a journalist, and when I’m eighteen I buy a newspaper?’
    â€˜What do your parents say?’
    â€˜My mother, you mean. She expects me to marry. The MacKenzies are old-fashioned and won’t hear of me going into television or advertising, or catering for an