Goodnight, Sweet Prince

by Emma Blair

Genres: Sagas

Synopsis

Emma Blair once again richly evokes the setting and characters of Scotland during the 30s. Continuing the story she began in Flower of Scotland, Emma invites the reader back into the lives of the Drummond family, who are still dealing with the aftermath of the First World War but now must also face up to the horrors of the Second. Andrew and Rose are running the distillery and have given a job to Jack's son, Tommy. Tommy hates the work and longs to be a pilot but Jack, horribly disfigured after the first war, forbids it. The onset of the new war sweeps aside any such decision . . . Andrew and Rose must cope with the loss of their baby; Andrew tries to manage as Rose's behaviour becomes increasingly bizarre but finds he must also face up to his own failing health . . . An enormously touching story and life, love and death. Praise for Emma Blair: 'An engaging novel and the characters are endearing - a good holiday read' Historical Novels Review 'All the tragedy and passion you could hope for . . . Brilliant' The Bookseller 'Romantic fiction pure and simple and the best sort - direct, warm and hugely readable. Women's fiction at an excellent level' Publishing News 'Emma Blair explores the complex and difficult nature of human emotions in this passionately written novel' Edinburgh Evening News 'Entertaining romantic fiction' Historical Novels Review '[Emma Blair] is well worth recommending' The Bookseller

Release date: November 17, 2016

Publisher: Piatkus

Print pages: 512

Sample

‘What!’

Tommy Riach dropped his gaze to stare at the floor, writhing inside. ‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ he mumbled.

‘That’s not bloody good enough. Expelled from school! What on earth possessed you, boy?’

How could he explain? He couldn’t, simply not having the words. The streak of rebelliousness that ran through him was deep as any canyon and, to him anyway, defied description.

Jack Riach sighed, removed the dark glasses he wore and ran a hand over the sockets where once his eyes had been. He loved his son with all his heart and yet there were times when he could have knocked the bugger senseless. ‘Smoking and drinking, you say.’

‘That’s right,’ came the whispered reply.

‘Wait till your mother finds out. She’ll be beside herself. Cry herself silly no doubt. What do you make of that?’

Tommy was lost for an answer, hating the thought of hurting his mother in any way. Or his father come to that.

‘Do you have cigarettes on you now?’

‘Yes, Dad.’

‘Then you’d better light up. Why the hell not. If that’s what you want to do.’

‘Thanks, Dad.’

Tommy quickly fumbled for the packet of ten he had in his jacket pocket and moments later smoke was curling towards the ceiling.

‘And, according to you, it’s happened before. This was the second occasion you were caught.’

‘Yes.’ That again was said in a whisper.

Jack came to his feet and crossed to the window where the cold November light played across his face. For some reason he found himself remembering the war and what it had been like before he’d lost his sight. There had been so many young men only a few years older than Tommy, most of them now dead. Buried over there in France and Belgium. Somehow that put things into perspective. Smoking and drinking weren’t so bad after all. Insignificant really. Nor was being expelled from school.

Jack recalled . . . and shuddered inwardly. ‘So what are we to do with you now?’ he queried softly.

‘I’ve no idea, Dad.’

‘Another school?’

‘That’s up to you.’

Jack smiled wryly. ‘Is it indeed. I would have thought it was up to you. What’s the point of sending you off to another school if you’re only going to be expelled again. Don’t forget this isn’t the first time we’ve had trouble. You seem to have a real talent when it comes to that.’

Tommy looked round for an ashtray already knowing there wasn’t one. He flicked ash into the fireplace instead. ‘Are you asking or telling?’

‘Don’t be impertinent, boy,’ Jack growled threateningly.

‘I didn’t mean to be.’

‘Then I’m asking.’

Tommy considered school which he loathed. It seemed so . . . senseless. All right, it was necessary to learn the fundamentals, reading, writing etc. But beyond those a total waste of time as far as he was concerned.

Jack suddenly laughed.

‘Dad?’

‘Wee Linda Millar.’

Tommy flushed, knowing exactly what Jack was referring to. ‘She’s moved away.’

‘So what in the hell has that got to do with it? Can you imagine what it was like for me to have to face her father.’

‘She agreed, Dad. It wasn’t as if I forced myself on her. She was as keen for me to look at her drawers as I was to see them.’

‘At that age!’

Tommy shrugged. ‘Curiosity, part of growing up I suppose. I don’t know.’

‘You were only ten at the time, Linda eight. And you weren’t peering at her drawers but what was underneath. What I could never understand was why you didn’t lock the toilet door.’

It hadn’t only been the toilet with Linda, Tommy reflected with amusement. No indeed.

It struck him then that was another thing he hated about school, all chaps together. Not a female in sight, discounting matron that was. It simply didn’t seem right to him. Unnatural.

‘How’s the book coming along?’ he inquired casually.

‘Fine, as far as I know. Your mum says it’s going well.’

‘She’s always a good judge.’

‘So far anyway.’ Jack paused, then said, ‘Are you trying to change the subject?’

Which was precisely what Tommy had been hoping to do. ‘I just wondered, that’s all.’

Liar, Jack thought. Though full marks for trying. He turned and returned to his chair which he eased himself into. He might be blind but there wasn’t an inch of the house he didn’t know like the back of his hand or could find his way round. He’d be meeting his great friend Andrew that evening, this was something to discuss with him.

Tommy flicked the remains of his cigarette into the fireplace. ‘Can I go now?’

‘If you wish.’

Tommy hesitated in the doorway. ‘Dad, I’m really sorry. Truly I am.’

‘I know that, son,’ Jack replied softly. ‘Now go and make your peace with your mum. If you can that is.’

Tommy left Jack to his thoughts.

 

‘Well,’ Andrew Drummond mused. ‘That must have been a bit of a shock for you and Hettie.’

Jack groped for his pint and lifted it to his lips. It was a Friday night when he and Andrew always met up, when possible that is, in the local pub. They’d been doing so for years.

‘You can say that again.’

‘How’s Hettie taking it?’

‘As you’d expect. Feeling ashamed, which is hardly surprising considering her background.’

Andrew recalled the Hettie of old, a farm worker and Jack’s paid mistress before the war. Now his wife, and the best wife Jack could have had. He’d always thought highly of Hettie. More than that.

Jack slowly shook his head. ‘What’s to become of that boy? I wish I knew. There’s a wild streak in the lad which most certainly doesn’t come from me.’

Andrew couldn’t help but laugh. ‘That’s rich, Jack Riach! Who are you trying to kid? Talk about self-delusion. You were as wild as they come when young, as many a lassie could have testified to.’

Jack had the grace to look shamefaced. ‘You’re exaggerating.’

‘In a pig’s ear. As you well know, if you’re honest that is.’

‘I’m always honest,’ Jack protested halfheartedly.

Both men laughed.

‘Besides which, you were hardly an innocent yourself. Particularly where the lassies were concerned.’

‘True,’ Andrew mused. And wonderful days they’d been too. He had many fond memories of his youth.

‘Do you remember . . .’

The pair of them fell to reminiscing.

 

‘I suppose I could always buy another farm,’ Jack declared later at the kitchen table where he, Hettie and Tommy were having a late-night supper. He’d originally been a large landowner but had sold up on returning from the war because of his disability.

Hettie frowned. ‘Whatever for?’

‘Not for me of course, but Tommy. We could hire a manager to teach him the ropes. And I’d naturally be on hand to advise.’

A thoroughly appalled Tommy stared aghast at his father. ‘Are you serious, Dad?’

‘Quite. We’ve got to do something with you and since you’ve decided you’ve finished with school then that would seem the obvious thing.’

Tommy’s knife clattered on to his plate, all thought of food forgotten. ‘It’s a terrible idea. Completely ridiculous.’

Hettie gazed coldly at him, still furious over what had happened. The shame of having a boy expelled! She was quite mortified and hated to think what the good people of Dalneil would say when the news got round. ‘And why is it ridiculous?’ she snapped.

‘It just is, that’s all.’

‘I should have thought it would have appealed,’ Jack said mildly.

‘Appealed! Grubbing around in the dirt for a living. No thank you.’

‘Don’t speak to your father in that tone of voice,’ Hettie admonished, fighting back the urge to slap Tommy. Damn it, but she was close to tears again.

‘You’ll have to get a job of some sort, you certainly can’t sit around here for the rest of your life,’ Jack went on.

‘We had hoped you’d go to university one day. Which is hardly likely now,’ Hettie glared.

‘I’d never have got into university, Mum. My marks must have told you that. I’m just not clever enough.’

‘You’re clever enough all right,’ Jack stated. ‘What you mean is that your marks, and I admit they have always been poor, merely reflected the fact you wouldn’t apply yourself. That’s a different matter entirely.’

Tommy’s lips thinned. He could hardly deny the accusation because it was true. Lack of application and a certain amount of laziness on his part. ‘I’m still not going to be a farmer,’ he muttered stubbornly.

‘What then?’

‘I don’t know yet. I’ll think of something.’

‘Hmmh,’ Jack mused. ‘The old McPherson place is up for sale, and at a reasonable price too, I understand. It doesn’t have a lot of acreage but would do to get you started.’

Tommy came abruptly to his feet. ‘Farming’s out, Dad. It may have suited you once upon a time but it would never suit me. I mean that.’

‘Sit down and finish your supper,’ Hettie gestured. She was beginning to realise for the first time just how spoilt Tommy had become, and wilful with it.

‘No thank you, I’ve had enough. Now if you’ll excuse me.’

Jack sighed, thinking along the same lines as his wife. His expression had become strained when the kitchen door clicked shut.

‘There were a few moments there when I could easily have clouted him. Little sod,’ Hettie hissed.

Jack silently agreed with her.

 

Tommy, not yet bothering with the candle, threw himself on to his bed and stared up into the darkness. There was an awfully big adventure out there somewhere waiting for him, he’d known that for years. But what? That was the question to which he didn’t have an answer.

An African explorer maybe. That would be jolly interesting. But how did you become one of those? He could just imagine himself cutting a swathe through the jungle, fighting man-eating lions and the like.

A grin crept over his face. A big-game hunter, that was another possibility. Or big-game hunter and explorer. There was no reason why you couldn’t combine the two.

These fantasies were something he’d never confided to a single soul, certainly not the chaps at school who’d have ragged him rotten.

School, he wasn’t going to miss it one little bit. Thank God his father had agreed those days were over. For the most part they’d been boring in the extreme. Tedious beyond belief.

Just as being a farmer would be. That was the very last thing he wanted, the very notion made him squirm.

When younger he’d dreamt about being a pirate, hoisting the jolly roger and all that. But in the end he’d had to concede that was too fanciful, not to mention impractical. As far as he knew there just weren’t any pirates nowadays. All sadly gone.

‘Ho ho ho and a bottle of rum,’ he murmured, and laughed quietly.

Tom Riach, the feared and dreaded pirate. Chests of gold, silver and jewels captured on the Spanish Main. And women, oh yes there would be lots of those. Lots and lots. All sorts and types. All swooning at his feet. Fabulous women and oodles of booty, what a life, he reflected. How glorious that would have been.

The awfully big adventure was definitely out there waiting for him. No doubt about it.

And one day it would happen.

 

The next morning Andrew was in the process of getting dressed when a sudden pain lanced through his stomach causing him to gasp and bend over.

‘What’s wrong, Andrew?’ a concerned Rose, his wife, demanded.

The pain lanced again, though this time not so severely as before.

Rose hurried to his side, her brow furrowed. ‘Darling?’

He managed a weak smile. ‘Indigestion I think. It just caught me unawares, that’s all.’

She laid a hand on his arm. ‘Come over here and sit down for a bit.’ It was unusual for Andrew to suffer from indigestion, almost unheard of actually. Normally he could eat the richest of foods without suffering any ill effects. The legacy of years of army cooking, he sometimes joked. A regular officer until resigning his commission to take over the family distillery, he’d been stationed in Ireland for the duration of the war.

Andrew straightened. ‘There’s no need for that. I’m fine now.’

‘Are you sure?’

He took a deep breath. ‘Whatever, it’s gone.’

‘Can I get you anything. A tablet perhaps?’

‘No, Rose. But thank you anyway.’

He stared into her eyes, thinking how beautiful she was, and how much he loved her. It had always worried him that the twenty-year age gap would one day affect their marriage, but it never had. Although . . . well childbearing had proved a different matter. Rose had never been the same after Drew had been born. Where previously she’d revelled in their lovemaking that had all changed with the arrival of their son.

‘I suppose I’d better get on,’ Andrew smiled. ‘Mustn’t be late for work. What would the staff say.’

‘Indeed,’ Rose agreed, also smiling. Andrew was a stickler for timekeeping and made it a point of honour to always be at his desk on the dot. Mr Kelly, his book-keeper, was forever declaring you could set your watch by Andrew.

‘I’d only have a light breakfast if I was you,’ Rose suggested. ‘You don’t want to bring on that indigestion again.’

He nodded. ‘A slice of toast and cup of tea will do me.’

Rose started to turn away to continue with her dressing which she was only halfway through.

‘Rose.’

He drew her to him and once in his embrace tenderly smoothed her long, as yet uncombed, hair. ‘Do you ever have any regrets? About us I mean.’

She frowned. ‘What a silly question. No, of course I haven’t. Now why suddenly ask that, for goodness sake?’

He continued smoothing her hair. Then, on impulse, he brushed his lips over hers. ‘I’d hate to take you for granted.’

‘You hardly do that. At least, I don’t think you do.’

‘Nor do I, Rose. You’re probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’ll never forget that.’

How sweet he could be at times, she thought. Sweet and romantic. She’d been extremely lucky to meet Andrew Drummond. ‘I’ve never regretted a single day of our marriage, so there. And that’s the God’s honest truth.’

‘Me neither,’ he confessed.

‘Good, that’s that out of the way. Now you’d better hurry up or you will be late.’

‘Heaven forbid,’ he laughed.

He was troubled, she thought, not knowing why. There had only ever been one bone of contention between them and that hadn’t been mentioned in years. Was that it? Was that what had prompted his question?

She was acutely aware of his eyes riveted on her back as she walked away from him.

 

*   *   *

Nancy Thompson ran a hand over her weatherbeaten face, wishing there could be just one day in her life when she didn’t feel totally and utterly exhausted. No wonder so many of her kind died relatively young, worn out by the unremitting toil and harshness of their situation.

Nancy was a bondager and had been for two years since the age of twelve when her mother had taken her along to the Hiring Fair to find her a labourer, or hind as they were called, who’d take her on.

That day she’d caught Bill McCabe’s eye and the deal had been struck. Shortly afterwards she’d gone to live with him in the cottage he’d been allocated by the master.

There were many outside the Border valleys who knew nothing of the bondagers’ life and would have been scandalised to think such a thing still existed. But exist it did, although it was not quite as prevalent as it had once been. Slavery some called it, serfdom by others.

Bill, a short squat man of twenty-three who could never have been called good-looking by any stretch of the imagination, pushed his plate away. ‘Any more tea in the pot?’

‘There should be some left.’

Bill grunted, Nancy’s cue to fetch the pot and refill his cup. When that was done she went to the sink where she emptied the remains into a draining dish.

Bill scraped back his chair, picked up his cup and crossed to the fire which he sat in front of. There he lapsed into a brooding silence which was common for him at that time of night.

‘Annie McGillvary’s baby’s due any day now,’ Nancy declared. Annie was another bondager who lived in the next cottage along with her hind.

Bill didn’t reply.

‘She’s scared about it as it’s her first one. Some of the older women tell terrible stories, you understand. Enough to put the fear of God into anyone. You’d think they’d know better.’

Nancy got on with the clearing up, then started on the dishes. As she washed she thought of her ma whom she’d never seen from the day she’d joined up with Bill, nor was ever likely to again. She’d been the oldest of three children whom her mother, another bondager, had been only too pleased to be rid of.

Bill glanced at the battered clock on top of the mantelpiece. Almost time to go to bed. The best part of the day as far as he was concerned. He enjoyed his bed, with Nancy in it.

Prior to Nancy his bondager had been a lassie called Pat. Pleasant enough, to begin with anyway. But then she’d started to show a tendency to nag which hadn’t pleased him one little bit. He couldn’t bide a nagger. And so she’d had to go to be replaced by Nancy. If he missed Pat at all it was because she’d been an excellent cook, far better than Nancy whose meals were nothing out of the ordinary. Still, he reflected philosophically, you couldn’t have everything.

‘Right,’ he announced a little later, noting that Nancy had finished at the sink. ‘We’ll go through.’

Nancy didn’t dislike what was coming next, nor did she particularly like it either. It was simply one of the many things expected of her.

How long before she fell pregnant? she wondered. And what then? Would Bill renew her yearly contract or find someone else to take her place?

Bill wasn’t a great one for children. He’d said so on a number of occasions.

Nor would he ever do what she’d asked many a time which would have greatly lessened the chances of her getting in the family way. He was far too selfish about his own needs and gratification for that.

Thankfully that night, which wasn’t always the case, he was quick and soon snoring his head off.

The next thing Nancy knew he was shaking her and telling her it was time to get up.

Another hard slog stretched wearingly ahead.

 

‘That’s enough for today,’ Jack Riach declared, and yawned.

Hettie glanced up at him in surprise, having been taking his dictation which she’d later type out and place with the rest of his manuscript. A manuscript which was growing steadily towards completion.

‘What’s up? You’ve given me a lot less than usual. Isn’t it coming for you?’

Jack shook his head. ‘It’s Tommy, I’m worried about him and it keeps intruding on my mind.’

Hettie closed the large notebook in which she’d been writing and laid it aside. ‘Would you like some coffee?’

He considered that. ‘No, what I’d really like is a dram.’

‘At this time of day! It’s far too early.’

He grinned sheepishly at her. ‘Rules are made to be broken, Hettie. I’ve always said that.’

‘Even though.’

‘And we could really break them by you joining me for a couple.’

‘A couple now, it was only one a moment ago.’

He shrugged. ‘Will you fetch the bottle or will I have to do it myself?’

‘I’ll get it.’

‘Still happy with how the book’s coming along?’ he asked as she poured the drinks.

‘If I wasn’t I’d say. You know that.’

‘Then it’s fine?’

‘Believe me, Jack, it’s fine. I’m just dying to know how it’s going to end, that’s all.’

He laughed softly and tapped his nose. ‘That’s for me to know and you to wonder about. Besides, I’d spoil it for you if I told you the ending in advance.’

‘I don’t believe you know what it is,’ she teased.

‘Oh, but I do.’

‘Maybe you’re fibbing.’

‘Now why should I do that?’

‘You just would, being you.’

‘I never tell you the ending, so why change now?’

‘Rules are made to be broken, Jack, you just said so.’

He laughed. ‘Point taken. But I’m still not giving you the ending. That remains my little secret.’

Truth was he didn’t have an ending yet which was unusual for him. Normally he knew it early on, if not before he actually started to dictate.

‘Where’s Tommy?’ he queried.

‘Gone out for a walk, I believe. He mentioned something to that effect after breakfast.’

‘Well that certainly won’t do him any harm.’

‘No,’ Hettie agreed.

Jack sighed.

‘You are worried about him, aren’t you?’

‘Very.’

‘So am I. It’s only natural.’ Hettie paused, then said tentatively, ‘Jack?’

‘What?’

‘There’s always the army. It would be a good career for him. Or one of the other services.’

Jack’s expression clouded over and then darkened even further. ‘No,’ he replied harshly. He finished what was left in his glass and immediately held it out for a refill.

‘It was only a suggestion.’

‘You weren’t there, Hettie,’ he said so softly she almost couldn’t hear. ‘Oh I know you’ve heard people, including myself, occasionally speak of it. And you’ve read about it. But the reality . . .’ He trailed off, mind filled with awful, terrible memories.

‘That was in the war, Jack. It’s peacetime now.’

A grim smile slashed his face. ‘Peacetime yes, but for how long with that fellow Herr Hitler in power. He’s already gone into Czechoslovakia and once he’s conquered that, what next?’

Jack shook his head. ‘There could well be another war, Heaven forbid, and before too long either. It doesn’t bear thinking about. Certainly not for us who were in the last one.’

‘Do you think . . . it really could happen, Jack?’ Fear was clutching her insides as she asked that.

‘You wouldn’t believe people could be so stupid, and yet they can. It’s possible, Hettie, very very possible.’

He took a deep breath, then said bitterly, ‘I loathe and hate the Germans, you’ve no idea how much. Because of them millions died, not to mention the untold misery they caused. If they drag us into another carnage then I hope their entire race roasts in perdition for all eternity.’

Hettie didn’t know what to answer to that so said nothing. She could well understand Jack’s feelings though she didn’t entirely agree with them. It seemed to her there had to be many decent Germans, that stood to reason after all. You could hardly condemn an entire nation, no matter what that nation had done.

‘So the army and other services are definitely out,’ Jack stated. ‘Understand?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘Not another word on the subject.’

Hettie was sorry she’d brought it up in the first place. She should have known better.

 

‘Push,’ Nancy urged.

Annie McGillvary’s lips were drawn back in a wolfish snarl. ‘I’m trying,’ she gasped. ‘I’m bloody trying.’

The onset of pains had been sudden and violent. Nancy had tried to get her friend home to have the baby there but that hadn’t been possible. Which was why Annie was now lying on her back in a field, legs drawn up and splayed, while Nancy was doing the best she could. It wouldn’t be the first time a bondager had birthed in a field, it was quite a common event.

Annie screamed, eyes bulging. Her whole body convulsed.

If only it hadn’t been such a raw day, Nancy thought, but what did you expect at this time of year. The wind was whistling all around them causing a nearby hedge to rustle and sway.

It was going to be quick, even the inexperienced Nancy knew that, which was something of a relief. ‘The head’s coming,’ she exclaimed excitedly. ‘I can see it now.’

Annie couldn’t believe such agony was possible. It was as if she was being ripped in two. Literally torn apart.

‘Push,’ Nancy urged again.

‘I fucking well am!’

Nancy wished one of the older women had been with them but Annie had insisted she go with her. One in accompaniment was all that was allowed.

Now the head was born and the shoulders were straining to be free. Blood and goo were dribbling down the inside of Annie’s icy-cold thighs.

This time the scream was the most horrendous yet, a scream whipped off by the wind to be lost in the distance.

A mercifully short while later it was all over, Annie having collapsed in on herself after the final titanic push. ‘A boy or girl?’ she croaked.

Nancy held the child to her breast, partially covering its blue-tinged body with her smock. ‘A boy.’

Nancy glanced at her friend through eyes filled with tears.

‘And the wee mite’s dead.’

‘It’s Andrew and Rose,’ Hettie exclaimed, ushering them into the room where Jack and Tommy were.

‘This is a pleasant surprise,’ Jack smiled.

‘We were on our way to my sister Charlotte’s and thought we’d drop by,’ Andrew explained. Charlotte was married to the Dalneil minister, John McLean, and lived in the village manse.

‘Take a seat,’ Jack declared, coming to his feet. ‘I don’t suppose you’ll refuse a dram.’

‘Only if it isn’t Drummond,’ Andrew joked, knowing full well Jack kept nothing else.

‘And you, Rose?’

‘A small one with water would be nice.’

Tommy felt the foursome should be alone and decided to take himself upstairs. ‘I’ll leave you lot to it,’ he stated affably.

‘No, you stay, Tommy. Our visit here concerns you,’ Andrew replied.

‘You’ve grown since I saw you last,’ Rose observed. ‘Quite the young man now.’ Then, teasingly, ‘Is that the hint of a moustache I can make out?’

Tommy blushed. He’d always fancied Rose Drummond rotten, though of course she was far too old for him, not to mention married.

Hettie laughed. ‘Shame on you, Rose, you’ll embarrass the lad. That’s cruel.’

Andrew’s statement had intrigued Tommy. Concerned him? In what way? he wondered.

‘Would you like a hand there?’ Andrew queried, moving to Jack’s side.

‘If you’d pass them out.’

‘Aye, no trouble at all.’

‘Any excuse for a dram,’ Hettie said, though not entirely unapprovingly. Whisky and Scots went together. Some men just needed a wee bit of restraint, that’s all.

Jack shook the bottle he was holding. ‘The damn thing’s empty, Hettie. Is there another in the larder?’

‘Isn’t there always. I’ll go and fetch it.’

Rose eyed Tommy kindly, having known for years that he had a soft spot for her. ‘You’ve left school I understand.’

‘Expelled,’ Jack qualified. ‘Let’s not be mealy-mouthed about it. The bugger was expelled, kicked out for smoking and drinking.’ He paused, then added, ‘Who knows what else he was up to either.’

‘You mean lassies?’ Rose further teased.

This time Tommy went scarlet.

‘The thought had crossed my mind.’

‘Well, Tommy?’ Rose queried, still with a teasing tone.

He was tongue-tied, being asked such a thing by Rose.

‘Well?’

‘Fat chance of that at an all boys school,’ he finally managed to stammer in reply.

‘I contrived to meet a few when I was at school,’ Andrew commented drily. ‘No doubt it was the same with you.’

Hettie breezed back in with the new bottle. ‘It’s lovely having some company. We were listening to the wireless earlier but there wasn’t much on.’

Jack listened a lot to the wireless for obvious reasons. It was a great solace to his blindness.

‘We’re not intruding then?’ Rose queried.

‘Och no, you and Andrew could never do that. The pair of you are always welcome in this house as you well know.’

‘What’s the occasion at Charlotte’s?’ Jack inquired of Andrew.

‘Nothing special. A natter and some supper, that’s all.’

Andrew noted that Tommy was looking uncomfortable, and apprehensive. He smiled inwardly.

‘Smoking and drinking,’ he said to Tommy. ‘A touch of the cratur I hope. Do you like whisky?’

Tommy nodded.

‘And yet I see your dad hasn’t given you a glass.’

Jack hesitated for the briefest of moments. ‘I suppose it’s all right. You are sixteen after all. Straight or with water?’

‘Straight please, Dad.’

Andrew grunted his approval. ‘I’m delighted to hear you like whisky, lad, for that’s what I’ve come to talk to you about.’

Tommy couldn’t imagine why. He was quite bewildered.

‘Slainthe!’ Jack toasted, raising his own glass.

‘How’s the book coming along, Jack?’ Rose asked after she’d had a sip. ‘Andrew never mentions anything about what’s said at those get togethers of yours on a Friday night.’ Which wasn’t true, though Andrew was selective. He had told her about Tommy and discussed the matter with her.

‘He won’t let on the ending and I’m dying to know,’ Hettie chipped in, eyes twinkling.

‘Nor will I.’

‘You horrible thing,’ Rose said, now teasing Jack.

‘What I have taken down so far is extremely good,’ Hettie declared, immensely proud of Jack and his writing. ‘Nor would I say that if it wasn’t so, as you all know.’

‘I look forward to reading it then.’

‘And as always you’ll have one of my free copies,’ Jack retorted.

‘Thank you.’

‘Getting back to whisky,’ Andrew said, sitting beside Rose on the settee. ‘Would you be interested in making a career in it, Tommy?’

That startled the youngster. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You heard me. Would you be interested in making a career in it? With Drummond Whisky to be more precise. As a traveller for the firm.’

Jack was dumbfounded. ‘Are you serious, Andrew?’

‘Never more so.’

?