How could he have said those things? She had thought she could trust him. She had thought they could be friends at least, but the truth was that from the moment she’d arrived, he’d been a stranger, distant and cold. And now he’d been cruel; he’d retracted it in the face of her alarm, but for how long? He was with Lady Sibyl now and he didn’t want her, a wildling, here, reminding him of his indiscretion on St Kilda.

They walked through the station doors and out onto the street, where Sholto was placing a brown paper parcel into the trunk.

‘Welcome to Dumfries, Mr Gillies,’ he said, hurrying over and taking the bag from her, not meeting her eye. Not that she was looking either. They moved around each other like marble statues.

She helped her father into the car but he hadn’t the flexibility to shuffle sideways along the bench and she shut the door beside him.

‘You’d better come in through my side, Miss Gillies,’ Sholto said, holding open the driver’s door.

Effie slipped past him wordlessly and slid along the seat beside her father. He was already looking around with bafflement. ‘Shouldn’t it have a roof?’ he asked her.

‘I don’t think this one does,’ she replied. ‘It’s the style. Hold onto your cap.’

‘What’s your father saying?’ Sholto enquired as he switched on the engine again.

‘He’s admiring the car,’ she muttered.

He glanced at her, as if something of her new feeling sounded in her tone and she saw him squint as he took in the reddened eyes and wet lashes that she couldn’t hide. She didn’t need to. It no longer mattered what he thought. She stared ahead, aware that their legs were pressed side by side; she could even feel his thigh muscles flex as his feet pressed on the pedals. She moved her leg away as much as possible, not caring if he noticed.

For all the fresh air around them in the open-top car, a heavy atmosphere descended.

‘. . . Right, well, Mr Gillies,’ Sholto said with studied politeness. ‘Let’s get you home.’

Chapter Twenty-Six