In the morning, Ellie went to the café in town where she had arranged to meet her friend Caroline. After a coffee they could embark on a spree, run up on Fraser's account, and serve him right. The sunlight outside swathed the hectic street with its white brilliance, and cut in through the glass frontage across the clean and ordered tables. It was already warm and delightful.

As she waited, full of hope, her thoughts drifted like haze on a mountain lochan : dreamy, detached from earth, dispersing softly into the wide-eyed light of day. Her heart, once more, surprised by love.

Unconscious of strangers' stares, she swung one of her legs in time with the background music and quietly sang out aloud to that sixties chorus : 'We are stardust, we are golden, And we've got to get ourselves back to the garden.' Just hippy, just happy, like an oblivious child of god if ever there was one.

People around her were coming and going, anxious, perturbed, in their own worlds. Yet Ellie took in only the brightness, the pretty cloths, the sunlight pooled around dried flowers upon her table. Just wait until Caroline heard who she was taking to the Highland Ball tonight; yes, who she was going out with.

But where was Caroline? She worried about that woman.

'...stardust...golden...back to the garden...' Fraser tried to pick up the lines of Woodstock along an elusive frequency, but finally gave up the effort. He drove on faster.

'I can't seem to get it in tune,' he complained. 'The bloody mountains in the way, as usual.'

Caroline smiled faintly.

'Admit it, Fraser! You never were good with mechanical things!'

'What do you mean?' he protested mildly. 'I made that garden bench for you...'

'It was alright after Scott dismantled it and put it back together again.'

'Fuck Scott! That was a little cracker, that bench. You don't appreciate the craftsmanship it took. Bloody Scott! All he did was tighten a few screws.'

He made her laugh sometimes, with his bullish pride and immunity to criticism. She could almost forgive him, sometimes, if he weren't so brutish and coarse.

They were running late, because she hadn't slept properly, turning in the deep of the night, unsettled by Andrew's desertion.

But she felt numbed, tired, sinking back into a kind of acceptance. Close to a stage where you just want a bit of happiness, will settle for a semblance of happiness, any, to relieve the pain and the hurt.

It was a beautiful day, the sunlight striking through the car window, along the coastal road. Yet neither really noticed. Outside, the natural beauty passed them, scarcely touching their thoughts or feelings, flashing by, in a haste, in their disquiet.

Caroline fumbled with some papers wearily; checking lists, preparing for the evening and the great social event... resorting once more to nervous control, hardening herself to ward off the unthinkable dread of a shambles or awful fiasco. Fraser kept looking at his watch. Ellie would be waiting for her now. She felt tense, out of tune with the day.

Fraser sounded his horn impatiently. 'Come on, come on...'

They were stuck behind a fish lorry, which responded by driving doggedly slower, wide of the verge, and trailing exhaust fumes and dust and stinking fish.

'Bloody choochter,' he complained. 'I seem to be surrounded by Jocks and choochters, drop-outs and poachers. Wherever I look...'

'There, there!' Caroline soothed her petulant boy. 'That's what makes Scotland Scotland I suppose?'

'Scotland can't live off sentimental crap. It's just no good. You have to be practical, or else you go to the wall.'

She had some respect for his realism : and it seemed to serve that morning as a repudiation of her foolish dreams. He was probably right - their children, lifestyle, standing - you had to be practical.

'Never mind, dear,' she laughed wryly. 'This evening we can just enjoy being with our own type of people...'

'Too right,' he said irascibly, 'instead of this crawling morass of plebs and scroungers.'

But he didn't mean it. Poachers and scroungers were one kind of thing, but he'd gladly stand shoulder to shoulder with other people from all walks of life. Whatever his stance, he lived on the surface and took each person as he found them, in the last resort. Only below the surface, he was tossed about by moody compulsion.

He sounded his horn again, and passed on a bend just avoiding an oncoming Volkswagen.

'Why don't people look where they're going?' he growled.

They reached the outskirts of the run-down Highland town, passing a drab industrial estate; depressing buildings that were out of keeping; out of any balance or harmony at all. It was as if a part of Reading had been uprooted and dropped from a great height on the Highland shore. It bore no real relationship to the character of the community where it had landed. It jarred and offended sensitivity. But it was, there again, practical while the jobs lasted.

As Fraser drove down the main street, he spoke quite freely with his wife, pulling her leg warmly (but not touching it). He still had a residue of affection for her, as a friend at least, he told himself. She was a good woman : if only she'd loosen up a bit and allow him some freedom to live his life.

'Well have a good day's fishing,' she said, as they pulled up outside the café. Perhaps it would do him good, she thought. He worked too hard, always coming home so late. Maybe he deserved a break, she conceded, in the face of her better judgment. She took him at his word, because she wanted to think the best of Fraser, wanted to believe in him still. Whatever her private investigator had told her otherwise.

They parted with a formal kiss, a snatched moment of closeness after weeks of distance. Then Caroline walked uncertainly, assailed by the sun in her face, to seek out Ellie.

And Fraser drove off at high speed to meet with Rona.

Her sports car was waiting at the turn-off in the Garva woods. She was leaning against it, arms a-kimbo, in a pair of culottes and a thin white vest : the day already steamy, her body caught in a splash of sunlight among the shady trees.

'What the fuck kept you?' she complained, her sharp eyes looking at him, at his sleek body. 'My wife, the bloody woman : she never gets ready on time.'

'You know I've only an hour or two, with the Ball this evening.' She swung on her hips and looked straight at Fraser.

'Well we better get on then,' he said darkly, giving no ground or apology.

Though the day was gorgeous and bright, the tension between them was volatile, dangerous; both driven and pushed to the edge by desire. And she welcomed desire. His mood, his darkness was part of his beauty to her : with his swept black hair and urgent compulsion. It aroused her.

Around them, no sound escaped from the woods. They were very still.

Fraser too, in the stillness of meeting, felt that awakening of latent desire : the slight touch of her skin, as they crossed and rubbed arms, like a shock sent crackling along the surface of his senses. The curves of her body accosted him, reaching, and luring, and subtly retiring. Dark desire welled up within him and he longed to handle her roughly, joyfully.

And yet, too, in their meeting there was an instant relief; unburdening of pretence, and an open encounter of eye to eye in the gentle stillness. They met and knew, without speaking, a mutual aggression and acceptance that pleased them both : a shared relief and awareness; release from normal constraint.

They got in her open-topped car and she drove them, fast and instinctive, licking danger round the curves and blind corners of the narrow road. Fraser sat there unperturbed. He was glad to be driven, to be with her, free and relaxed. And she loved the rush of the wind in her hair, and the brightness and glare. It felt wild to her and appealing.

He asked her about the arrangements for the evening : the marquee, the extra staff, the music and food. But she cast those worries behind her like the wind. It was all in hand. Rona was confident and intelligent, thoroughly organised.

'I've delegated the final hours... Ali and Dino have it in hand. Organised chaos when I left!' He admired her composure : felt excited by her rushing youth, her auburn hair in the wind, her attractive body, lovely, fit. And she felt the pleasure as well, welling up in her body. The heat, his strong presence and potency : it made her hot and feminine.

'You're going to dance with me tonight,' she decided.

'Am I fuck!'

She laughed.

'You are...' Her hand passed across the gears and clutched his leg because... she wanted to. She felt shaky, breathless with desire for this man. Yes, she wanted to dance with him, for him to acknowledge her publicly. She wanted him : she would have him. She would lead him to a point of no going back.

But Fraser, though he did not realise it, was unsettled below the surface; by his own moody, compulsive drive... towards what? Who cared? But where would it lead? Let it all slip away behind, and forget, just forget it. He shook himself free.

Here in the present, he sensed her pleasure and carefree delight. And she seemed to be softer now, and somehow closer, by his side.

'Where are we heading?' he asked her, smiling.

'A little haunt of mine,' she said fondly. 'A place where I come when I feel like a swim... it's called the Still Loch.'

'Sounds inebriating.'

'Well it's not quite Campbeltown Loch, I'm afraid.' She looked at him freshly. 'But I think that you'll like it alright.'

They arrived and they turned down a track through the woods. She was eager to catch a glimpse of the lochan, to see if anyone else was there. At an opening she braked and gazed south over trees to the Still Loch. It looked lonely and free.

'We've got the place to ourselves I think...' clicking her tongue. She was pleased. Then they carried on down to the water.

She switched off the engine, and they both got out. What struck them at once was the sudden quietness. A quiet, like an empty echo dropped in a hollow. The loch was very still and lovely, cupped in secluded folds of the hill. And all around them, wilderness : savage, untamed, and undisturbed.

The sun was ascendant, and the light and heat were unremitting by the still waters. The loch, all sparkles, bejewelled like a radiant queen; the sun reflecting on the glinting surface, like brilliant colours in fractured glass... and on the water, over the grass, across the sky : life-bestowing light, gleaming and almost tangible.

She pressed her hand over his buttocks, as they walked towards the shingle, knowing that it pleased him. He felt firm, muscular, in her grasp. Rona was at ease in this wildness : like a wild one herself, untamed, at liberty. Fraser, borne along almost as if in a dream, was glad to be free from constraint. He felt the casual roll of her hips, and her closeness there, her offering... he wanted to forget all other thoughts.

She pushed him gently backwards, down to the ground on a grassy slope, and she knew that she had to have him now; her desire was raw and urgent. She came down on top of his taut body and met him in direct, sharp-still eyes : panting in the quietness, discovering the interchange of anger and desire, between them both, in a still accord.

Then she pressed her face against his, and resorted to instinct, becoming aware only of touch : basic, aroused and unrestrained. He held the back of a thigh, and pressed his other hand against her breast. She bit his shoulder, kissed him hard. Then, urgently, stripped off his shirt, tore aside clothes, removed them roughly.

She fingered the dark hairs of his body, and pushed on his broad shoulders, powerful, strong... found the smell of his sweat, sweet and arousing... rose on her arms, fell in the press of desire. The insistent demands of her sexuality were encroaching now beneath her clothes. Her body responded with an open assent.

Fraser, too, wanted to respond : wanted to hold her, contend with her wildness and lust. He was swept by the touch of her body, the perfume and sweat of her youth, her moistness against his own skin. And yet, he found no complete release or freedom from thought.

'What's the big deal about nudity?' he wondered aloud. 'It's simply undressing and being yourself.' But deeper doubts kept on intruding, obstructing. Holding his penis, she found it still flaccid and somehow irresolute, despite all her ardour.

'What's this?' she teased, though she already sensed his disquiet. Then becoming all tender towards him, she petted him, stroked him.

'What's wrong, beautiful man?' she asked softly.

'Everything and nothing,' he muttered gloomily, staring up at the empty sky. 'I mean, nothing should be wrong about this, but I feel, as if we - we must bring it all down - all I inherited, all that was built up before, just for this - this desire...'

'Your ancestors, do you mean?' She stroked his head. 'Are you answerable to them?'

'Not just to them... no...'

'The past - it's dead and gone, Fraser. Dead and fucking gone. Leave it behind.' She sat up, sad. 'There is no past. No future either. There's not even God. There's only now... it's all we've got.'

Her hair was tangled with sweat and she suddenly seemed quiet and brooding. She played with some grass and looked aside.

Fraser tensed, and felt the tightening of constraints, sapping his vigour.

'There's more to life than that, you know.'

'There's nothing more.'

'I don't believe that' he insisted stubbornly.

'Is it her?' she asked him.

'No,' he swore, unsure. She swept his hair.

'Darling, she's just not right for you. You beautiful man, why can't she let you go?' She spoke sweetly, full of fondness. 'I want to set you free, my love.'

His body seemed to groan for freedom.

'Trust me' she whispered, and started to assail him with kisses. 'God, I love you.'

He felt her gentleness and vulnerable need and wanted to respond.

'There's only now' she was saying. 'There's only now.'

He found her, opening herself to him, in simple loving, giving herself. She touched and felt him fondly, freely; stroked his body.

'So this is Charlie,' she crooned, and kissed him, licked him. He felt himself respond. She grew more urgent.

'I need you now' she said. 'I need you now.' She went down on him, fingering his firm body.

'God, a man of your age...' she groaned... 'shouldn't have a body like this. Oh Christ!'

She was aroused, insistent, free - and loved the intimate smell of him... she breathed it in... then pushed up roughly across his chest. He gripped her back but she rose up wildly and struck his face.

'Now' she repeated 'Need you now.'

'Now' she complained, moist and given, as he tore her vest. His body, everything was saying now.

She struck him again with the back of her hand.

'Now' she protested and grabbed him hard, but he was turning. 'Now!' Her voice, alarmed and rising. He turned aside. 'Now!' A savage cry.

Abruptly interrupted, he had pushed her off, and struggled up.

'What makes you so shit-certain you may have me?' he said proudly.

Then he turned away and ran into the cold water : shocking, sensual, wrapping his pulsing body in its languid cool.

'Come in!' he shouted hoarsely to her. 'It'll cool you down!' And he laughed roughly.

But she recoiled.

He stood there, in the water : his strong and beautiful body detached from hers, a vile affront.

He had slapped her back and she reeled.

Then, spontaneously, her eyes flashed vicious daggers.

'Wanker!' she shouted, hurling stones at him. 'Fuck you then, bastard!' He swam far out of range. Hurt but unbroken, she grabbed his clothes, and a frenzied smile cut through her anger.

'I'll show you nudity, you stupid sucker!' She held up his pants between pinched fingers and yelped. 'Ha ha! Sod you, bootlicker!' Her eyes aflame, her laughter casting derision on him.

And, impulsively, she tossed his shoes, his clothes, into the car and began to climb inside. Fraser looked on, as the engine started.

'Oh you fool!' he yelled. 'Come back!'

She squealed.

'Piss off' she shouted.

The rear wheels spun on the grit, and she sped away.

It was the stillness, again, and the quiet, that he noticed first as he waded ashore : the stillness, like a yawning emptiness, and everything else just dropping, dropping away to the dull depths of the loch. He wished darkly he could just go down himself, down to the deeps, away from it all. He felt adrift, in the middle of nowhere, unable to find himself anymore.

And then, when she had gone, quite gone, he felt it again... his desire for her and a sense of loss.

The sun was rising in a clear blue sky all round and the morning was peaceful and lovely. Soft coastal hills rolled down to the loch in greens and the early purples of heather.

But Fraser was quite out of touch with it all. Inside he felt hollow and empty, bereft. All he knew was the moody desire for her eyes, her laughter, her body, and her reckless belligerence. Taunting him, driving him on toward madness : as if dark and compulsive monsters were clawing and reaching about in the pit of his being.

The midges had started fussing around him and, wiping the blood from the side of his mouth, he cursed at her darkly, wanted her even more.

Six hours later, as Grouse settled down for the start of his weekend bevvy, and the perennial accordion music started up on MacUaig's crackling cassette, MacNichol the shepherd came in with unusual purpose.

'A half, Robert' he said 'an' one for yersels.'

'Aye, aye' said Grouse, raising his glass. 'A hell of a day!'

It was just after five o'clock, and the sweat of the heatwave was fresh on the shepherd's brow and his sun-tanned face.

'Some day,' he exclaimed, 'an' ye'll no believe hwat ah met on the braes o' Balmuir... up yonder, three miles frae the Still Loch...' He whispered to Grouse, who leaned over against him, then choked on his dram in a purple-faced flux of warm laughter.

'By Christ!' he gasped, wiping his mouth. 'Has he joined the fuckin' Moonies?' Then pursed his lips and grimaced. 'Ooooh!'

He fell aside in suppressed tremors of humour.

'Nah, nah! Ah tellt him tae rest by a rock and ah lent him ma shirt. Then ah raced tae the croft tae fetch him ma spare pair o' breeks, though they didnae fit him that well.'

The Grouse rocked with laughter.

'They wouldnae. Hwat helluva business is this?' Then he placed a large hand on MacNichol's sleeve. 'But mind, the laird's no a bad sort o' man. Ye'd be wise tae keep yer counsel, ye ken?'

'Och aye' the shepherd agreed, and they looked down the empty bar to MacUaig, who was talking to Rona about the evening arrangements.

At this moment, the door of the public bar swung open and Fraser Maclean stood dark and silhouetted in the background light.

'You...' he pointed at the woman... 'I want words with you!'

'Good evening, Mr Maclean,' she began sweetly. 'It's a fine day. What can we be getting ye?'

He advanced across the room.

She simpered.

'Sure, but ye're not looking all yersel'...'

His large hand cracked across her face. She blinked and her eyes watered but she scarcely flinched.

Then she struck him back with a savage blow.

'You bastard!' she snarled. His face set grimly. They looked in each other's blazing eyes.

'You're coming with me, for a little swim,' he murmured quietly. Then laughing darkly, he pulled her away down the corridor to the main hotel.

Grouse, whose face had been buried behind his hand, peered through his stubby fingers and looked at MacNichol.

Their faces convulsed.

The barman just grinned in a stupor and filled up the glasses. And the whisky succoured them all.

'The plot thickens,' said Grouse. 'The plot bloody thickens.'

Across the foyer, past cooks, musicians, and wealthy ladies arranging flowers, Fraser lurched and Rona tugged.

'Get off, you pillock' she squealed and kicked, but he took no notice. He was hot, incensed and darkly driven. A man with a tray approached the woman for advice, but Fraser knocked him aside with the palm of his hand. They had passed the marquee and were approaching the Hotel pool.

He was lifting her up, and she was struggling, fighting, in a close embrace.

Next moment, she was going under, in a daze of water, and a gasp of breathless astonishment.

She surfaced to see him standing there, arms on his hips, in the watery light. She struggled for air, and felt her wet blouse pressed close on her breasts in the sunlit pool.

Elderly guests at tables peered in blank bewilderment and confusion. Fraser looked on thunderous, scowling and glaring, in the open sunlight and sparkling spray.

He laughed to see her helpless there.

'At least I left you your bloody clothes, you whore!'

She reached for breath, and wiped her drenched and stinging face, and yet she recognised what harsh and private pleasure he'd delivered : the release of how she felt and who she was. The pure unfettered anger and desire surged thrillingly and joyfully within her.

'Fuck you, Bastard! Fuck you, Maclean!' she cried aloud, ejaculated, hurling curses and oaths on the evening air. And then she pointed, stabbing with her finger, overtaken by her basic instinct.

'Fuck!' she shouted. 'I'm going to fuck you, Fraser. I'm going to fuck you, bastard. I'm going to fuck you! Fuck!' Echoing out.

He looked down at the woman, soft and gentle, given in water; her hair in straggled disarray and face abused and dripping. She seemed all life, all nature, and he knew her. Knew himself.

He laughed grimly, and turned away. A number of well-dressed women approached the pool, staring in disbelief and disapproval. And Rona Malcolm peered through misty eyes after that man, who had inflicted such great pleasure, but he was gone.

* * *