The Tender Glory by Jean S. Macleod Page A

his way to Calders or, passing it, was making for the Lodge. And she would be forced to pass the Lodge on her way home.
    Cutting across the moor was out of the question after the rain of the day before, but she almost took the risk. She felt that she had to get back to Craigie Hill as quickly as possible, even though she knew that her mother was perfectly safe with Kirsty.
    Coming up towards the Lodge she heard a great commotion. A figure in rough tweeds was beating about in the undergrowth just inside the gates, while a pig squealed alarmingly in headlong flight. The jeep was nowhere to be seen.
    “For goodness’ sake, Daddy, leave the wretched animal alone!” Tessa Searle stood on the steps looking exasperated. “It’ll find its own way home. If it came up from the clachan it’ll go back there.”
    “With half my winter greens inside it!” The major continued to flail about with his stick. “Not likely! I’ll have it out of here if it’s the last thing I do. It’s a young ’un, by the looks of it,' and underfed into the bargain. Why can’t these people keep their livestock under proper control?”
    Crashing off in pursuit of his quarry, he failed to notice Alison. “He’ll chase it for miles,” Tessa smiled, “and come back completely exhausted. But maybe it’s a change from fishing.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. “Were you coming in?”
    “Not really.” Alison was forced to stop and speak. “I’m on my way back from the telephone kiosk. We’re completely cut off.” “I know. Daddy tried to get through to London this morning, but it was hopeless. Why didn’t you try from here? It’s nearer than the bridge.”
    “I didn’t want to trouble you,” Alison admitted.
    “It wouldn’t have been much use, anyway. The lines are down for miles, Huntley says.” Tessa paused to consider her. “He’s terribly busy. They’ve started to fell timber down by the bridge.”
    Which would account for the jeep and the stranger in the tweed deerstalker and the voices on the far side of the boundary wall as she crossed the road, Alison thought.
    “I wondered if you were coming to have a look at our piano.” Tessa limped back into the hall. “You may as well, now that you’re here.”
    Alison hesitated.
    “If you’re not expecting anyone—”
    “Nobody,” Tessa assured her. “Huntley’s been. He checks up on us once a day.” Her laugh was brittle. “He won’t come back, especially if he hears you playing.” Because of Leone?
    “What about your father?” Alison asked.
    “He should be nearly at the clachan by now!” Tessa decided. “He’ll chase that wretched pig till they lose contact, then he’ll yam to the postman or somebody for an hour or so. It’s routine, more or less. He won’t be back till it’s time for his ‘sundowner’, as he calls it. That’s what comes of serving in the Far East! Do come in.”
    There was an odd sort of eagerness about the invitation, a rather pitiful appeal for companionship which Alison couldn’t refuse. The Lodge was possibly a very lonely place when Huntley Daviot wasn’t there.
    “Let’s get the door shut,” Tessa urged. “It’s growing cold.”
    “I can’t stay very long,” Allison protested. “I must get back home. I’m still not very sure about tomorrow, whether I’ve done the right thing or not.”
    Tessa ushered her into the sitting-room. It was warm and comfortable, with long windows at its farthest end overlooking the garden, and a wide, open hearth taking up almost the whole of one wall. The focal-point for Alison, however, was a lovely boudoir grand piano in an alcove. Her breath held and her fingers itching, she stood gazing at it with every pulse in her body quickening with the desire to touch it.
    “Go on,” Tessa said. “Try it, if you like. I’ll make the tea.”
    “Please don’t,” Alison begged. “I can’t stay.”
    “Of course you can!” Tessa pushed her towards the piano. “Why did you say you hoped you