Chapter 11: The Staff Party

"Finlay."

I shook his shoulder.

"Somebody's going down the glen track."

The torch was a yellow dot now, nearly at the trees.

He squinted out at the silver valley.

"Ghillie," he said, yawning. "He checks the shack pipes when it freezes hard."

"At three in the morning?"

"He's a strange man." He put his arms round me from behind. "Come back to bed. You're freezing."

I went back to bed.

The dot went into the trees and I stopped thinking about it.

On the twenty-eighth Glenmorran had its party for the tenants and the staff.

Every family that farmed or worked on the estate came up to the house in their good jumpers.

The great hall had trestle tables, a fire you could have roasted a cow in, and my painting already hung over the fireplace where the stag used to be.

Alasdair stood under it all afternoon telling everyone his stepdaughter had done it.

A shepherd from the far end of the glen explained bracken to me for ten minutes.

At four she came through from the kitchen carrying a tray of hot drinks for the old ones by the fire.

Euan stepped back from the drinks table into her path without looking.

The tray went over.

Tea went down her apron and across the flagstones.

"Christ," said Euan, and looked down at his gilet. "Watch where you're going, woman."

The room got quieter.

The housekeeper went red to her hairline.

"I'm sorry, Mr MacPherson."

"You've splashed me. This cost more than you make in a month."

She was on her knees picking up cups before anyone could move.

I got there first.

I knelt on the wet floor beside her and started picking up cups too.

"Leave it, Ailsa," said Euan. "It's her job."

"It's her party," I said. "It's the staff party. She's staff."

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