When Andrew Douglas arrived at Ardfinnan Castle, he caught everyone by surprise, because he was not due until six, but arrived at four. The American simply hadn't been conscious of the time, just enjoying the day as he drove along. As it happened, Scott seemed to be prepared and on stand-by; and Caroline had had a bath and was already dressed, immaculately. When she saw him step out of the car, she just gave her face some last-minute attention and then came outside, trying to compose herself.

Scott was helping lift out cases, golf-clubs, baggage. The deerhounds loped out to greet him too. Looking at Caroline, their eyes met and he smiled : those first seconds spinning round, with thoughts of the past flashing by, a sense of a long-awaited moment actually happening, under-the-surface feelings probably tugging from below.

'Andrew! It's good...to...'

'To see you, yeah!' He stood his distance. 'Ho! Well...'

'You had... a good journey?'

'Oh? Just fine, fine... Why,' he laughed, 'you're looking well!' Though she didn't : her light frame, underweight, fragile.

'I can't believe it...'

'After all these years! Caroline! You haven't changed!'

He's covering up, she thought. Pretending I haven't changed, because he's noticed already... Douglas put out both arms, and held her by the shoulders, looking at her.

'You... you must be tired,' she said. 'Why don't you come in?'

'Me? No! I'm on vacation. I feel fine!'

'I'll get Scott to bring in your luggage.'

'What? Oh, I can manage that!'

Fraser's dogs edged in and Andrew knelt to fuss them, affectionately. 'Say, you're friendly, aren't you? Hello, my fella! Hello!'

'Fraser will be back from London tomorrow. He's dying to meet you.'

'That'll be just great!'

He looked up from stroking the dogs.

He seemed unchanged. 'What must he think?' she thought. 'He must think I've aged, look different...'

Andrew Douglas, in fact, had weathered in the Montana seasons himself, the sun and wind lending a tan to his face; the furrows on his brow cut a little deeper; his curling ginger hair a little coarser, more unkempt, greying at the sides. And yet, somehow, he still seemed young.

He pulled himself up, and smiled. His clothes seemed very casual, almost untidy : but physically he still looked strong, powerful, well-kept.

Seeing, when she had forgotten it after all these years, the gentleness in the strength of his body and his eyes, she felt taken aback and unnerved by a return of tenderness which she had not anticipated. It made her feel strangely emotional and uncertain. Behind her, the Castle rose, severe and hard.

'So this is Ardfinnan!' he smiled. 'It looks swell! And so do you, Caroline, after all these years.' His words felt soft and reassuring.

A horn sounded down the drive, disturbing the moment, intruding. It was Gordon returning from the beach with the children. They pulled up jauntily and piled out, happy, chattering. Caroline felt interrupted, resentful. Gordon ineffectually tried to steer them away, but Roberta and Alasdair ran up to meet the visitor, Harry watching from a distance.

'This is Mr Douglas, children' she said.

'Now you call me Andrew,' the American insisted, warmly. 'None of that Mr Douglas business.'

'Have they got names?' he asked, and Caroline smiled tensely, and did the formal introductions.

'I'll show you to the cloakroom, if you'd like to wash your hands.' Douglas was fine, though. He was enjoying meeting the children - including Harry, who slowly drifted in from the periphery - and breathing in the air, the feel of the place.

Caroline went to order some tea, and the children were soon talking with the friendly guest about Wiggy, and the Treasure, and everything else.

'This is Mr Gordon, our teacher,' said Roberta. He had closed up the car and come up to introduce himself.

'Philip Gordon,' he said. 'I'm pleased to meet you.'

'Good to meet you, Philip' the American returned, his great strong hand almost enfolding the younger man's slender fingers. They smiled and in the openness of their meeting they found an immediate rapport.

'So tell me about this treasure,' he laughed, intrigued.

'I'm afraid Alasdair's got a vivid imagination,' he replied, roughing the boy's fine hair.

'You have too!' Alasdair protested. 'You reckon you know where it's hidden.'

'We are going to look for the treasure,' Roberta explained. 'Leaving in the morning. We're packed already.'

'No!' exclaimed Douglas, fascinated. 'You're kidding! You know where to look?'

'I'll show you,' said Alasdair, pulling a map from his pocket. 'At least, this is what I think.' The man leant over - so did they all - and peered over the scrumpled details. He seemed involved, curious, as Alasdair told him of the route from the boats to Loch Arkaig, and where the treasure could have been left.

'Now see where it says Loch Beoraid,' the boy directed urgently. 'Just at the end, can you see it : Prince Charlie's Cave!'

'I'll be danged.'

They raced off to check their provisions and pen-knives, the two men following slowly after them.

'A treasure, you say?' Andrew Douglas exclaimed.

'There is some reasonable evidence to suggest it exists,' the teacher replied, 'which is not the same thing as saying we will find it, of course.'

'The hunt for treasure once begun,' said the visitor, 'can get a strange hold on you! You mark my words. Hunting treasure can lead you down unexpected pathways, whether you find it or not.'

'I'll take a map and compass,' laughed Gordon.

'A missing treasure!' he repeated to himself, cheerfully.

Caroline met them at the door, and showed them into the Castle. In each room, flower arrangements had been carefully prepared in delicate porcelain vases, beautiful to behold... her collection of porcelain and her love of roses complementing each other - both delicate, lovely, perfect. Overlooking, the gaunt portraits of Fraser's ancestors stared down, wild and bloodthirsty. Andrew Douglas enjoyed it all.

A little later, out in the bright sunshine, by the pretty summerhouse, Andrew and Caroline sat down and settled into one another's company : he, relaxed and watchful; she, anxious and eager to please. The song-birds in the aviary were warbling intermittently, the stream trickling along behind them and, beyond, the inner recesses of the garden.

He looked at her and wondered if she'd changed. Fifteen years! So much forgotten, and then recalled again in the renewed encounter.

'Ha! Your eyes still do that when you smile!' he said, looking at the way they seemed to dance on the surface, while lines crept out on her skin from the sides.

'Do what?' she complained, fondly.

'You remember? We used to joke about it.' He breathed in the scented air, and looked round at the garden, and the wooded lands rolling coastward beyond the little low fence.

'What do you call those?' he asked, pointing at the crowd of roses that mounted the archway into the garden.

'Masquerade' she said. 'They are a climbing floribunda. You get a mass of blooms.'

'Dang!'

Through the archway he saw two windows shining up at the Castle, the sun reflecting on the thin glass and sending signals as it stooped westwards.

'Do you still buy paintings?' Caroline asked.

'Do I?' he answered. 'My house is full of them.'

'I still paint a bit,' she volunteered. Andrew showed great interest in this, in his kindly way, though he was really attracted to abstract art himself; his home full of provocative, almost garish, challenges to the senses.

'Your life is good, then?' Andrew checked. 'You're happy?'

'Oh yes! I mean, it's not lonely here, or anything. We're in easy reach of Edinburgh and Glasgow. You must meet my friend Ellie. She's coming up tomorrow. She and I do a lot together.'

'Do you and Fraser go out much socially?'

'Oh God, yes,' she replied, nervously. 'In our position, we have to entertain quite a bit. We've got our annual Highland Ball coming up, if you'd like to come?'

'Ha! Ha! Thanks Caroline,' he laughed, 'but I can't dance. You ought to remember that.'

'I do recall your style wanted a little refinement,' she conceded. 'It didn't seem to matter when you were in love, did it?'

'Does the Castle have a ghost?' he asked, continuing.

'Oh - just Fraser' she said. 'If he's got a hangover in the morning.'

'Must take a bit of spring cleaning.' He looked about him at the wonderful setting : the gardens, the castle, the rolling countryside; Caroline was surrounded by nice people and nice things. He was glad. It had always been so.

And yet, to Andrew, something was different. To his surprise he found his eyes pricking : she seemed, somehow, diminished. For her part, she felt more relaxed, more herself. He had that capacity to release her. He always had done.

'When you were in love...' Why had she said that? Why dig up the feelings and hurt of years ago? God! They had been in love then!

'Now show me the rest of this beautiful garden,' he said.

'There is an admission fee.'

'Not for old friends, surely. They get in free.' He rose and made for the bridge. She skipped round and blocked his way.

'No money, no admission!' she laughed, eyes sparkling.

'Well as my wallet is at the Castle, I shall have to take desperate measures,' he sighed, and picked her up bodily, carrying her over the bridge. She squealed in astonishment and delight, hardly believing her own abandon.

He set her down and grinned kindly. She brushed her skirt smooth, and felt to see if her hair was in place. The housekeeper appeared in the archway with the tea, and her control immediately returned. Appearances mattered when you had a position in society. People looked to you to set an example. Yet under the surface her heart was racing. She was glad to retreat to the calm and stillness of the inner garden.

As they sat and had tea - she remembered, though, that he always drank coffee - he seemed the same to her; unchanged, unscathed over fifteen years. But she was wrong.

The ancient pines beyond the garden confines creaked and sighed in the afternoon air. He told her about his life : the ranch, the winters, the large estate he owned - a hundred thousand acres. And he said enough for her to realise that he had money to live comfortably, to be happy.

But he had lost his children, his two daughters.

When the marriage had fallen apart, his wife had returned to the city - she was a city-dweller really - and re-married. The children grew away from him. He had rights of access, but as they got older that meant nothing : his only children, and they didn't want to know him.

He spoke to Caroline in loving detail about both girls, and seemed so proud of them.

'They've got their own lives, though,' he said. 'Grew up in the city, made their own friends. You just want the best for them. I send them money which I expect they appreciate. But they don't need me and my quaint old-fashioned ways...' he struggled...

'I mean, what can be worse than not seeing your own children?'

'God, yah!'

'You follow your feelings and try to be true to yourself - but everything has a cost.'

He smiled. He had bitter regrets about losing the wife of his youth and their family. But over the years he had learnt to let go and follow life where it led. As a young man he had been quite intense - Caroline could remember some of the long discussions they'd had on art, politics, sex - but he found more pleasure now in little things. He took an interest in things for their own sake. He enjoyed just - being, after a fashion.

'Say, have you ever tried flying remote-controlled airplanes?'

Caroline couldn't say that she had. It was one of his new enthusiasms. He always had several on the go at the same time.

'It started when I was watching kids with them. I thought - why not?' His eyes seemed excited, child-like for a moment. 'Now I build them myself.'

'And repair them when they crash?'

He laughed. 'That's true!'

He breathed in the garden, all of it, and looked at her. He was still haunted by a sense of beauty in her.

'Why! I wanted to have you so much!... and when you didn't come...'

It was alright. This was the point they had left off at, but it was alright.

'Caroline,' he said, leaning forward. 'I did feel it finished suddenly.'

She looked to the ground, ashamed.

'No, no - you asked me to respect your decision, not fight it. Life, as you see, carries on.'

'I just wasn't ready...'

'Well, I just wanted to understand - you know, how you try to make sense of your life? - and check that you're alright, and close a book.'

It took her aback : 'close a book.' It seemed final.

'Then,' he continued, 'reckon I might go up into the hills, and bring back memories of my climbing days. Say,' he said, taking her arm unassumingly, 'do you remember old Gribbon from St Andrews, and how he got stuck on the Crypt route in Glencoe?'

'No, no,' she said forgetfully. 'I never came climbing with you. But I remember Peddie and you put my bike up on the landlady's roof - tied it to the chimney!'

Her eyes sparkled and they laughed fondly. The springs of life were keeping him young : he still seemed wholesome, fresh, hopeful.

'Tell me about your children,' he said, wanting to know more about her life, her happiness.

'Ah, my children...' she described their progress, their achievements at school... 'But what about me?' she thought. What about the me that lay in your arms? Where is she?

'I bought you a book,' he said, later. It was in his pocket. 'The Poetry of Shelley. Do you remember? We used to read it together.'

He gave it to her.

'For the memory of something unattainably beautiful.'

She went to pluck a rose for him, but he said, 'No. Please. Leave it.'

* * *