Chapter Six

As they walked up behind the house, through a small gate and out on to the open hillside, Louisa and Marnie chatted easily enough about the other participants on the course and the fascination of everyone’s revealing pieces of writing. They agreed about the horrendousness of Stanley and the cleverness of Catherine in uncovering and encouraging the talents of Win. They agreed in liking the Colonel and Morwenna and Joyce.

‘And Christopher Piper?’ asked Louisa as they followed the burn uphill. ‘What do you make of him? Bit of a dark horse? Answer to a maiden’s prayer? Arrogant shit?’

‘I don’t really know what I think about him yet,’ said Marnie cautiously, aware that she must sound stiff and dull to Louisa – and probably untruthful too, she thought ruefully.

‘Didn’t you enjoy having a drink with him?’ asked Louisa.

Marnie shrugged, miserably conscious of how awkward and unforthcoming she had been with Christopher the evening before, when she had secretly longed to be as outgoing and amusing as Louisa seemed, quite effortlessly, to be with everyone.

‘It was sort of okay,’ she said. ‘He was perfectly friendly but I didn’t find him that easy. Probably my fault.’

‘At least you have to admit he’s attractive?’

‘I suppose he’s very good-looking – if you go for those sorts of looks,’ Marnie said dismissively.

Louisa laughed. ‘Oh, but I do go for them, don’t you?’ she said. ‘Anyway, I certainly think he’ll add to the fun of our week! I’m dying to know more about him because I think something must have happened to him since I met him a few years ago. I really, really like him.’

Marnie thought it extraordinary that Louisa was prepared to disclose her liking so openly on such short acquaintance. She could not in a million years envisage herself making such a statement about her hopes and desires to anyone. Louisa might or might not be a gambler, she thought – but she certainly wasn’t a poker player.

They had reached a small stone bridge across the burn. ‘If we go over to the other side,’ said Louisa, ‘we could sit against that rock – out of the wind but in the sun. You can see for miles up here, can’t you? Keep your eyes open for an eagle.’

‘Oh, I would so love to see one,’ said Marnie. ‘The old lady in the West Indies used to tell me about golden eagles – and otters and deer and seals – in her Scottish childhood. So . . . talking about birds, tell me more about your owl.’

‘Okay. God, but I’m really hot after steaming up the hill like that! Must be out of training.’ Louisa pulled her jersey off and they both flopped on to the mossy grass, which was surprisingly dry, and watched the clouds drifting across the brilliant blue sky. There was no sign of an eagle, but a buzzard wheeled and mewed overhead and curlews bubbled their spring calls like the noise of the peaty water purling over the rocks. Louisa told Marnie about her beloved owl, Mr Brown: how tame he was; what a character; how funny; how beautiful.