“You’ll sleep all right, especially after another Brandy Alexander. And if you’re really lucky, maybe you’ll dream about her. Don’t fret, Lindsay. You’ve got all weekend to make an impression! Now, just relax, listen to the music, and don’t try too hard.”

With those words of wisdom, Lindsay had to be content until Cordelia returned, pink and glowing from her shower. She apologized for her lack of manners in dashing off. “If I hadn’t taken drastic action, I’d have been sound asleep inside five minutes. Which would have been remarkably rude. Besides, I did want to talk,” she added with a disarming grin, as Paddy announced that, since it was ten o’clock, she was going on her evening rounds of the House to check that all was well and everyone was where they should be. Left alone with Cordelia, Lindsay found herself at a complete loss. But Cordelia was too generous and perceptive to let the younger woman flounder, and before long they were talking avidly about the theatre, a shared passion. By the time Paddy returned half an hour later, Lindsay’s nervousness had been subdued and the two were arguing with all the affectionate combativeness of old friends. Paddy was quickly absorbed into the conversation.

In the small hours of the morning, she eventually saw her two friends to their respective rooms and made a last circuit of the house before she headed back to bed. Cocktails and conversation had driven away her earlier fears about Lorna. But as she prowled the dark corridors on her own, her thoughts returned to the cellist. Somehow Paddy would have to make sure that Lorna’s presence could not leave a trail of wreckage in its wake.

4

Lindsay was drifting in that pleasant limbo between sleep and wakefulness. A distant bell had aroused her from deep and dreamless slumber, but she was luxuriating in her dozy state and reluctant to let the dimly heard noises around her bring her up to full consciousness. Her drifting was abruptly brought to an end by a sharp knock on the door. Her nerves twitched with the hope that it might be Cordelia and she called softly, “Come in.”

But the door opened to reveal a tall young woman carrying a tea-tray. She was wearing a well-cut tweed skirt and a fisherman’s sweater which engulfed the top half of her body. “Good morning, Miss Gordon,” she said brightly. “Miss Callaghan asked me to bring your tea up. I’m Caroline Barrington, by the way, second-year sixth. This is my room. I hope you’ve been comfortable in it. It’s not bad really, except that the window rattles when the wind’s in the east.” She dumped the tray on the bedside table and Lindsay struggled into a sitting position. Caroline poured out a cup of tea. “Milk? Sugar?” Lindsay shook her head as vigorously as an evening of Paddy’s cocktails would permit.