White Nights - Ann Cleeves [68]
‘What are you doing?’ His voice was easy, slightly amused.
‘I’m working.’
‘So I won’t be able to persuade you to meet me for lunch then?’
The invitation reminded her of the spontaneous arrangements that had been part of her city life. A call from a friend. A meeting in a wine bar or over coffee. There’d be gossip and laughter then she’d run back to the office to finish the day’s work. Things weren’t quite so easy here. Perhaps in Lerwick it might be possible, though the choices of venue were limited. Here in Ravenswick, miles from anywhere, it was all much more complicated. Socializing took place in friends’ houses. There was nothing new.
‘I’ve got a hire car,’ he said. ‘I can pick you up. Half an hour.’
‘I’ll have to be back at three to collect my little girl from school.’ As soon as the words were spoken she realized they’d be taken as acceptance of the invitation.
‘No problem. See you soon.’ And the line was dead. It was as easy as that. She felt a pleasurable guilt, as if she’d already been unfaithful.
She went back to work, but couldn’t concentrate. Where would he take her? Of course they would bump into someone she knew. A friend of Perez’s. Or a friend of Duncan’s. She started forming the excuses and explanations in her mind. He wants to commission a piece of art. Of course I had to talk to him. It was just a business lunch. Should she phone Perez now and tell him what was happening? But then that would give the meeting more importance than it warranted. And how should she dress?
He arrived before she was quite ready and she felt flustered. She had to invite him into the house to wait and was aware how small it was, saw the dead houseplant on the windowsill, Cassie’s toys all over the floor, through his eyes. He remained standing while she ran into the bedroom to get her bag. She’d compromised on clothes – jeans with a silk top she’d bought on her last trip south. She’d meant to put on make-up but he’d arrived before it was done and she couldn’t cope with the thought of him watching her.
Down in the valley it was lunchtime in Ravenswick School. She could just make out the figures of the children running in the yard.
She wanted to mention Cassie. My daughter will be one of those. Maybe you can pick her out. She’s wearing a red cardigan. But before she could form the words he’d handed her into the car and they were on their way. She was glad she had no near neighbours to watch.
Away from Ravenswick she began to let go of the guilt. Why shouldn’t she have some time just for herself? In the run-up to the exhibition she’d done nothing but work.
He’d taken the road south after leaving Ravenswick, away from Lerwick and any of the restaurants he might have chosen.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Wait and see.’ He turned towards her. ‘You’re looking lovely,’ he said. ‘Really.’
In her old life she’d have been able to bat away a compliment like that with a flippant, witty one-liner. Now she felt herself blushing.
He signalled west off the Sumburgh road and they were driving on a narrow track which she didn’t think she’d ever been down. There was a cattle grid, then a damp patch with flag irises and a long, narrow loch with a square stone house perched at the end. A grand house for Shetland. Two storeys. Then the land seemed to drop away, so the house almost formed a bridge between the loch and the sea. Fran felt a moment of apprehension. Where was he taking her? What had she been thinking of, getting into a stranger’s car?
‘Where are we going?’ she asked again, keeping her voice even. ‘I didn’t know there was anywhere to eat down here.’
‘Just be patient,