Faith - Lesley Pearse [159]
‘That will be fine,’ she said. ‘Do you play golf?’
‘Not very well,’ he admitted. ‘Do you?’
She grimaced. ‘Certainly not. I think it’s the most tedious game in creation, and those outfits women golfers wear! But I’ll warn you now, my husband is a golf fiend, and he’s inclined to try to browbeat our guests into a game with him.’
David smiled. ‘He wouldn’t want to play with me. I’m actually useless at it, and I agree with you, it is tedious.’
‘So what sports do you like?’ she asked as she led him up the stairs to show him his room.
‘Sailing and climbing,’ he replied. ‘I also like talking to beautiful women.’
David wasn’t in the habit of saying such things, but he sensed that Belle was the type who was more likely to open up with flattery.
‘You won’t find many of those in Crail, Mr Stoyle,’ she said, turning, and her smile was a flirtatious one.
‘But I’ve found one right here in a guest house,’ he said, feeling himself blush. ‘And do call me David.’
‘I’m Belle,’ she said, as she opened a door at the front of the house. ‘And this is your room.’
‘A very pretty name, and it suits you,’ he said as he glanced around the room. He thought Julia would wince at the flower-strewn flouncy curtains, the quilt and the frill round the dressing table which all matched. ‘What a lovely room,’ he added because he was sure she expected it to be praised.
‘I pride myself on giving my guests the same comfort they have at home,’ she said rather pompously. ‘You’ll find tea- and coffee-making facilities inside the wardrobe. If there’s anything else you need, just ask.’
After Belle had gone back downstairs, David looked out of the window on to Crail’s leafy Marketgate. It was a grey, rather cold day, not the best weather to explore somewhere new, but he had already roamed through the narrow winding lanes down to the harbour and thought it was the prettiest little town he’d seen so far in Scotland. Its great age – the very oldest part down by the harbour was built in the twelfth century and even the relatively modern Marketgate was laid out in 1600 – gave it enormous character and a diverse variety of buildings. He could understand exactly why Jackie, Belle and Charles had been attracted to it, for it had none of the dour, grey Calvinistic quality he’d noted in other villages. Many of the cottages were painted in soft pastel colours and there were tubs of flowers beside almost every front door. The bigger houses with front gardens looked as if they were competing for a best-kept garden competition, and a glimpse inside open front doors revealed antique grandfather clocks and Persian rugs, proving that it had remained a prosperous town. He hadn’t spotted a single dilapidated house, but then he supposed developers jumped in quickly when any such place came on the market.
Yet however lovely Crail was, Belle didn’t look as if she belonged here. Maybe his opinion of her had been coloured by what Stuart had told him about her, but he couldn’t imagine her having anything in common with the tweedy kind of Scotswomen he’d seen as he explored. Or the coachloads of pensioners who stopped here for afternoon tea before continuing their whistle-stop tour of Scotland.
Around Putney, where he lived, glamorous women like Belle were commonplace. They lunched with friends in the chic restaurants, frequented the many beauty parlours, hairdressers and expensive dress shops. He supposed she had hoped to attract similarly-minded guests by making Kirkmay House so elegant, but in David’s opinion, beautiful though it was, it had a chilly and soulless atmosphere.
Three hours later, at half past six, David returned to Kirkmay House. Belle came bustling out into the hall to greet him. ‘Have you had a good walk?’ she asked, and he could smell alcohol on her breath.
‘Lovely, thank you,’ David said, amused that she’d noted he hadn’t taken his car, even though he’d parked it out on Marketgate, not in the drive. ‘I’d already been down by the harbour, so I explored that road that goes inland, away from the sea.’
‘There’s nothing out there but fields,