The only thing Faith had inherited from her father was the ability to sleep whatever the situation or surroundings might be. It had driven her mother insane, the way her father had gone to sleep after hours of fighting. Faith is like that, too. In the morning after the burial, she feels fresh and well rested. She stretches under the covers, blinking into the sunlight.

  Then the events of the day before come back to her.

  The mourning service and the burial had been bad enough, but the will had managed to beat even that. Her grandfather had left to her, to her alone, this house and Claymore Racing. Out of his substantial wealth, her mother got her share, but the rest was hers as well. All of a sudden, she is a very rich woman, and she has a lot of responsibility.

  Her mother had looked at her as if she was the enemy. This had startled Faith and made her realise what her grandfather had decreed. She had never given a thought to any of this. She had assumed that her grandfather would want the best for her and his team. Somehow, she had never considered that, in his view, the two could be connected.

  She had spent the week after her grandfather’s death in a state of stupor. Burns’ butler Ben had taken it upon himself to organise everything. Her only contribution had been to ask for the Bach aria for the service, Burns’ favourite, her farewell. Her mother had arrived only two days ago, and she had given no consideration to anything or anybody. Faith does not hate her, but she is disgusted by her. When the will had been read to them, everything had imploded.

  Her father had been the one to talk some sense, asking Faith if she wanted what her grandfather had intended. She had thought about it, thought of the old man who had been more of a parent than her mother and father had ever been, and she had said that she did. If he thought she could do it, then she at least had to try. Her father and the lawyers had talked to her mother while she had been staring out the window, suddenly ready to cry, aware of the emptiness the old man’s death had left her with, and frightened by the responsibility he had put upon her. Her mother had consented at last, the papers had been signed, and her parents had left. She had kept it together until she had been in the car, when she had asked the driver to drop her off in Craigan. She had been unable to go into the pub and face the guests. She had preferred the graveyard.

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  She curls up under the blanket. Tom Healey had found her and taken her home. He had been able to console her, and she would have liked for him to stay. She had felt safe in his arms. A long time ago he had almost told her that he wanted her, and yesterday she had wanted him. Apart from making her feel safe, he could have helped her with what she had to do now. But he had made it very clear that he did not want to be with her. She shudders when she thinks of it.

  He had changed a lot, Tom had. After the accident, he had worked for a motorbike company for a while, but then he had withdrawn completely. He was only in his early thirties, far too young to retire and do nothing. His face had acquired a harder look. The confident boy is no more. Her grandfather had not liked to see him like this, but he had been too ill to help his former protegee.

  She does not hold it against him that he had rebuked her. The embarrassment is hers, but that is fair enough. She is not in love with him. Things might have become unnecessarily complicated. She does not hurt. No, she does not hurt.

  There is a knock on the door. She calls, “Come.”

  Ben enters. “Good morning, ma’am. It is nine thirty. You have an appointment with Mr Logan, Mr Cochran and Mr Simms at eleven.”

  “I know, Ben. Thank you.”

  Ben had been waiting up for her last night. He had signed her grandfather’s will as a witness. There had been no surprise for him. Up until yesterday, he had called her ‘miss’. Today she is ‘ma’am’.

  “Breakfast is ready, ma’am. Shall I bring it up?”

  “No, Ben, thank you. I’ll be downstairs in twenty minutes.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  The butler leaves. Faith sighs. He had been her ally, her only ally, in taking care of her grandfather. He had cared about him as much as she had. When he treats her with restrained politeness now, she ought to let that help her find her new role. She is ‘ma’am’.

  She pushes away the blanket and goes to the window. The sun is up and bright. The grounds look fresh and clean. It has to start somewhere. Claymore has a female boss now. She is going to show them.