Much later, they are all four of them, Cal, Daisy, Fiona and Hector, at Carraig. The humans have eaten cheese and biscuits and are still drinking an inadvisable amount of wine, while Hector has been salivating over the occasional piece of cheese that has come his way like manna from heaven. The weather seems to have settled for the time being. The house is warm, bathed in late evening sunlight that is slanting in through the bedroom window at the back of the house. The sunset is colouring the western sky from deep crimson to palest pink but the living room is falling into shadow. Fiona has shed her cardigan and sandals and has her feet up on the sofa, with Hector leaning against her to have his ears scratched. Daisy is in the big armchair and Cal is sitting at her feet, leaning back against her. The temptation to stroke his hair is becoming too much for her but she is slightly distracted by Fiona’s presence. She is also worried about going back to Auchenblae. They have all drunk so much. Given that Fiona will either be taking Cal’s bed or the sofa bed, she wonders where on earth she will sleep. Then she realises that Cal is stroking her feet. Surreptitiously, she reaches down and runs her hand across the back of his neck, where the hair grows softly over his collar.
‘Right,’ says Fiona briskly. ‘Sleeping arrangements. I don’t mind the sofa bed. It’s very comfortable. I take it Daisy’s staying. And there’s more room through there, Cal.’
Daisy finds herself blushing. But she sees that Cal has gone rather pink as well. The back of his neck has, anyway.
‘Oh for goodness sake,’ says Fiona. ‘Anyone with an ounce of awareness could see that you two are an item, so why pretend otherwise?’
‘It’s kind of new for us,’ confesses Daisy.
‘Is it? You look as though you’ve known each other for years.’
This is true, and also disturbing.
They set up the sofa bed for Fiona while she commandeers the shower room. She comes through wearing scarlet tartan pyjamas and clambers into bed. She seems to fall asleep almost instantly, snoring gently, with Hector lying contentedly at her feet, but then, as Cal says, it has been a very long day for her. And for the dog too.
They go to bed in the next room, the door jammed shut, and conduct a conversation in whispers, so as not to wake her.
‘What do you think of it all?’ he says.
‘Aren’t you happy about Carraig?’
‘I’m delighted. And she’s presented me with a fait accompli. But I worry about her all the same.’
‘Your father?’
‘Aye. It sometimes feels as though the sky will fall if she crosses him. As though all hell will break out but I don’t know why. I sometimes feel that way too, although I’ve fought against it, and him, all my life. Catty was the bravest of all of us and she’s supported me through thick and thin. But we can’t make Mum’s choices for her. And in some strange way, I think she still loves him. Always has done, always will.’
‘He won’t be happy about it, will he?’
‘No. He won’t.’
‘What will he do?’
‘I don’t know. Nothing right away. That’s not the way he works. He’s a great believer in the revenge served cold theory. So he’ll bide his time and get his own back. He never forgets an injury. Never forgets and never forgives.’
‘You make him sound like a monster.’
‘He’s a narcissist, that’s for sure. Why does the world excuse men with talent for behaving badly?’
‘Because they’re men? With talent? It’s outrageous, but they seem to get away with it. Can’t you persuade your mum to stay on? Even for a little while?’
‘I’ve tried. She’s set on going back. She’ll take the dresser, so that’s one less trip for me to make. I have other projects I want to work on.’
‘There are things in my house you could work on too. The bed. But I’d quite like to keep that. I was wondering if the carved oak bed would fit in Viola’s bedroom.’
‘The oak bed? Really? Something else you don’t want to sell?’
‘I know. But it would be fun, wouldn’t it? To sleep in that bed. Not in the tower, though.’
‘Lots of room to move,’ he says, sliding his arm around her. ‘Talking of which.’
They make love silently, which is something of a feat and also surprisingly stimulating and intense.
In the morning, they have breakfast together, and then Cal and Daisy haul the heavy dresser out of the workshop and manage, with a great deal of huffing and puffing and a good deal of hindrance from Hector, to install it in Fiona’s hatchback.
Fiona hugs Daisy and kisses her on both cheeks before getting into the car. ‘Look after him!’ she says. ‘I worry about him, you know.’
‘He worries about you too.’
‘I’ll survive. Good luck with the house.’
‘You’ll have to come back and see it properly. You haven’t seen the half of it yet.’
‘I will,’ she says.
‘Promise?’
‘I promise.’
Hector sits sadly watching her go. The car – laden with the dresser – labours up towards the lane where she gives a cheery double hoot, and then drives off towards the ferry terminal. The cottage seems emptier without her. She’s such a large, vibrant presence that it’s hard to imagine her being cowed by anyone, let alone her own husband.
Cal and Daisy sit outside in the sunshine, watching Hector, who is eyeing the birds squabbling over the feeder, his ears semaphoring his intense interest.
‘Do you think she’ll be all right?’
He shrugs. ‘Oh, sweetheart, your guess is as good as mine. I worry about her a lot. I have to keep reminding myself that she’s a grown woman and she can probably cope. But she’s my mum and I love her.’
‘She’s a very lovable person.’
‘She’s not the only one.’ He turns to her and kisses her very tenderly. ‘Vous et nul autre,’ he says.
‘Un temps viendra.’
‘My flower girl. From Flowerfield. What do you want to do today?’
‘We should be working.’
‘I know we should. But there’s always tomorrow. It isn’t every day you meet the love of your life, is it?’
She takes a deep breath. ‘Let’s walk from here to Auchenblae. Is the tide out?’
‘I think so.’
‘Then let’s walk along the sand. Let’s walk home along the shore and see what the sea has brought in for us today.’