'Don't laugh,' I told him, 'it's been known to happen. I have a terrible sense of direction.
'You can't be a patch on my mother,' he said. 'She takes a tour of the highlands every time she heads out to visit the market, I think.'
I laughed at the image. 'Are your parents farmers, as well?'
'Christ, no.' He took a swig of coffee to wash down a mouthful of toast. 'Neither of them could tell the work end of a hoe from the handle. No, my dad's an accountant, in Balloch. My mother was a lawyer, before she retired.'
Which explained, in part, why their son had gone to Cambridge, I thought. I looked around the large room with a more discerning eye, and saw the scattered evidence of a comfortable lifestyle—a piece of really good-quality furniture, a lovely pair of prints hanging on the wall, a glass-fronted bookcase crammed full of leather-bound volumes ...
Tm not a burglar, in my spare time,' he said, reading my thoughts with uncanny ease. 'Some of it comes from my family, and the rest I bought when I was working for Geoff’s dad, in Paris.'
'You worked for Morland, then?'
'Aye, for a few years. It all but drove me mad,' he confessed. 'I'd rather have my hands in the dirt, thanks all the same. So I chucked Morland and bought this place just after my thirtieth birthday, five years ago. Close to Geoff, it was, and it suits my pace of life.' I tried to imagine him sitting behind a desk in some modern office, and failed. 'You met Geoff at Cambridge, Vivien tells me.'
'Aye, and a wicked day that was.' He grinned into his cup. 'My grades went straight downhill after that. I'm surprised we weren't both sent down.'
'You studied English?'
He nodded. 'More for interest than anything else. You can't make a living writing poems.'
Somehow, F couldn't picture Iain Sumner writing poetry, either. He was, come to think of it, rather difficult to define. Not handsome, exactly—his jaw was too stubborn and his eyes too shrewd—but, still, there was something ... He was solid, I thought. Solid and warm and dependable, and I felt an odd, seductive comfort in his company. He leaned back in his chair and pushed his empty plate to one side.
'Do you mind if I smoke?'
I set my fork down and shook my head. 'Not at all.'
He lit a cigarette and shook the match out, setting it neatly on the side of his plate. 'You were up to the manor for tea yesterday, I hear.'
'It was more like a five-course meal,' I corrected him. 'Vivien's aunt is a wonderful cook.'
'She is that,' he agreed. 'I've been doing some work in the rose garden the past week, so Freda's been cooking my dinners. I'll not fit my trousers if my work lasts much longer.'
'She says you ought to be able to work it all off
'Does she, now?' He puffed at the cigarette, smiling. 'Well, I expect she knows best. She usually does. That's what the name Alfreda means, you know—"supernaturally wise," or something to that effect. Vivien looked it up in a name book, once.'
'It doesn't surprise me.' I picked the plates up from the table and carried them over to the sink. 'Names are funny things, aren't they?' 'I suppose.' His voice was absent. 'I got stuck with a boring one, though.'
'What, Iain? I think that's a nice name.'
'Boring,' he maintained. 'Just a Scottish form of John, for all that. No imagination involved. Iain, Evan, Sean, Hans— they're all variations on a theme.'
The plates went clattering into the sink with an ugly splintering sound, and Iain turned in his chair to look at me.
'Sorry,' I said, 'I think I've broken one.' I looked down at the wreckage, my heart pounding. Evan ...
'You didn't hurt yourself?'
I surfaced from my daydreaming, and shook my head. No. Just the plate, I'm afraid.'
'No harm down,' he assured me. 'That's one less I have to wash. D'ye want some more coffee?'
'I wouldn't mind.'
He rose from his seat and filled both our cups. 'Fancy a tour of the estate?' he offered grandly. 'It's not as impressive as the Hall, I'll admit, but there is a lot of it.'
I pushed myself away from the counter. I’d like that.'
'You'd best nor go barefoot,' he advised, sweeping me with a glance, 'or you'll be stepping in something you'll wish you hadn't. There's a spare pair of wellies behind the kitchen door, I think.'
I found the boots and slipped my feet into them, feeling more like a dressed-up clown than ever. Iain looked at me and grinned.
'A bit large, aren't they?' was his comment. 'Don't worry, I'll walk slowly.'
I grinned back at him. 'Never mind that. Just don't let anyone else see me looking like this.'
'Only the sheep,' he promised, 'and I'll warrant they've seen odder sights.'
I shifted to let him move past me, and one of my ludicrous boots knocked a ceramic dish sliding.
'I didn't know you had a dog,' I said, looking down.
'I don't.' His smile was self-conscious. 'She died a few months back. I just haven't had the heart to move her things, yet.'
'You ought to get another one.'
'I'll have to, eventually. It's no small task herding sheep without a dog. I've a neighbor that gives me the loan of his collie, when I need it, for the time being.'