Bitter End Part 12

'b.a.s.t.a.r.d.' Fizz was boiling with rage but felt, since Buchanan was feeling just as bad, that she should try to say something positive. The best she could manage was, 'Well, as my dear old granny used to say, the secret of success is the way you handle failure.'

'Yeah?' said Buchanan, not noticeably revitalised. 'Was that your original granny or Auntie Duff?'

'Auntie Duff. Before she married Grampa she held the Chair of Practical Philosophy at Am Bealach University.'

Buchanan allowed his eyes to crinkle just enough to convey polite acknowledgement of a pleasantry without slighting the intelligence of Auntie Duff who, he knew perfectly well, would have been risking a mental hernia if she'd tried to quote any such t.i.tle, never mind earn it.

'Well, I'll be seeing Niall Menzies later today, in any case, to get his slant on Vanessa Gra.s.sick. No doubt the subject of the estate sale will crop up.'

'Oh, really?' Fizz said, letting him see that she was irritated. 'This evening?'

He had to be aware that she had made an arrangement with Giles to visit the hospital in the early evening, but he might also have considered the possibility that she would have liked to see what kind of a swine Niall Menzies was.

'Something wrong with that?' he said, twisting his brows. 'You can come if you want to.'

'I told Giles I'd go to the hospital with him to see what we could find out about where Poppy Ford might have gone. He's picking me up at the office. Didn't you hear us arranging it last night?' 78. 'Uh . . . Oh, yes. . . Well I don't want to cancel. Does it matter so much?'

Fizz looked him in the eye. 'You did that deliberately so I wouldn't be able to come,' she seethed. 'You thought I might go for that b.a.s.t.a.r.d's jugular and lose you the sale.

That's right, isn't it, Buchanan? Don't think I'm taken in by your conniving, 'cause I'm way ahead of you.'

'Not at all,' Buchanan said, obviously not giving a hoot whether she believed him or not. The trouble was, if he came right out and denied it like that he was unquestionably innocent. It was only when he didn't give you a direct answer to a question that you had to watch him.

s.h.i.te. She had been really looking forward to spending the evening with Giles but she might never get another opportunity to slide a verbal stiletto between the psychological ribs of a sub-human life form like Niall Menzies.

Which to choose: personal gratification or the chance to strike a blow for democracy? Two considerations jostled their way to the fore: (a) Buchanan would buy her a meal, and (b) they still could meet up with Giles later to swap results.

'Right,' she told the barely interested Buchanan. 'I'll come with you. I can call Giles on his mobile and tell him to go ahead without me. What time are you seeing Menzies?'

'Seven. We'll do the same as yesterday: leave straight from the office and grab a bar meal in Lammerburn.'

A bar meal. Fizz debated with herself whether it was worthwhile trying to up the offer, which would mean suffering a ten minute lecture on the bankruptcy laws, but decided against it. A bar meal would be quicker and the sooner they got finished, the sooner they'd meet up with Giles. It was only after his black mood had miraculously disappeared

that Buchanan admitted to himself that it might

have been induced, in part, by an emotion very similar to

possessiveness. There was no denying it: he found Giles's 79. entree into the Fizz/Buchanan partnership something of an intrusion.

The atmosphere had changed subtly, last night, when Giles had joined them. The mellow, shoes-off, uncomplicated tenor of his relationship with Fizz had become a whole new board game, one where he knew neither the rules nor the part he was supposed to be playing. Fizz had metamorphosed from the familiar pal he saw every day into something verging on the exotic, something that attracted the eye and held the attention. She had certainly held Giles's attention and Buchanan had felt excluded.

Excluded. Yes, that was the crux of the matter and he wasn't proud of it.

It was quite pathetic, really, to be acting like a schoolboy at the age of thirty-two, especially over Fizz with whom he had never been (and, pray G.o.d, never would be) romantically involved. Attractive she might be, when she chose, but she was also the sort of loose cannon an ambitious young solicitor could do without. One simply had to keep reminding oneself of that fact every time another Giles came on the scene.

He was determined that Fizz would have no chance to do her loose cannon act tonight. Neither she nor he himself had any right to browbeat Niall Menzies, no matter what course he chose to take with his financial affairs. He told Fizz so in no uncertain terms, not once but several times, on the way to Lammerburn and he felt, as they pa.s.sed through the arched stone gateway to the estate, that she was for once resolved to keep her dogmatic opinions to herself.

Lammerburn House turned out to be one of those ersatz Scottish baronial halls built of dark stone and embellished with turrets, crow-stepped gables, and a porte cochere.

It reminded Buchanan of Stronach Lodge in Am Bealach, although lacking the Lodge's magnificent backdrop of old Scots pines and the peaks of the Ardoch Ridge. This house was a Monarch-of-the-Glen parody of the real thing but, in Buchanan's view, not an offensive 80. one. Two deerhounds, a spaniel, a black labrador, and a golden retriever were milling around on the turning circle at the end of the drive, completing the picture of a country gentleman's retreat.

'Cor!' Fizz commented as she got out of the car. 'I didn't know there was a Disney World in these parts. All it needs is a couple of stuffed stags and a few -Gerroff!' The pack of dogs reached her, overflowing with affability, excitement and saliva, but at her imperious command they transferred their attentions to Buchanan, who hadn't the heart to rebuff them. The deerhounds were the worst: they smelled the worst, they dribbled the worst and when they rose on their hind legs to lick his face it felt like they were d.a.m.n near as tall as he was. Fortunately, Fizz being too amused to be of any a.s.sistance, he was soon rescued by a piercing whistle and the arrival of a small, portly man in a cardigan and cord trousers.

'Ben! Caesar! Here, you scallywags! Here!'

The dogs dashed up to him, then back to the visitors, then back to their master again, ricocheting in ever shorter trips till the distance between host and guests dwindled to a couple of yards.

'Sorry about that. . . they don't see a lot of strangers these days. Down, Goldie, there's a good girl.' He held out a plump, slightly damp hand. 'Niall Menzies.'

Tam Buchanan, and this is my colleague Miss Fitzpatrick.'

'Delighted, delighted, delighted.' He had a round rosy face with a complexion like a girl's and no trace of facial hair, and his eyes were honest and open behind rimless gla.s.ses. 'Do come inside and have a sherry with Mummy, she's looking forward tremendously to meeting you.'

'Your mother?' Buchanan was surprised into saying. He had been given to understand that the family were no longer in residence and that Niall was only there for a few days to decide which furniture was to be kept and which sent to auction. 81. 'Yes, I brought Mummy down with me, just till the weekend.' He led the way to the porte-cochere, the golden retriever trotting on ahead, flying her plumed tail like a banner, while the rest of the pack pranced along behind.

'My father is more or less housebound now -he has a nurse and other people to look after him, of course, but Mummy likes to keep an eye on things so she doesn't get out much. She needed a break, poor darling, and she wanted to be here to supervise the disposal of the furnishings.

She's eighty-one now but still a wonderfully dynamic woman. Dear me, yes! Just wait till you meet her!'

Buchanan couldn't have said precisely what he expected to see -a cross between the Queen Mother and Margaret Thatcher, possibly -but he was certainly taken aback by the tiny creature they found ensconced in the drawing room. She was wedged into a wing chair with a selection of cushions that left so little of her showing that, had Buchanan not known what he was looking for, he could easily have missed seeing her altogether. Her face was the same shade of ecru as the lace antimaca.s.sar behind her head but her bold brown eyes and eagle's beak of a nose defined her at a glance.

'Those d.a.m.n dogs of yours, Niall!' she bawled in a voice like a Brillo pad. 'If you can't teach them manners they should be put down. Get rid of them, for G.o.d's sake, before we start having buyers looking round the place.'

'I will, Mummy. Good idea.' Niall ushered his guests forward. 'This is Mr Buchanan and Miss Fitzpatrick.'

A hand like a hen's foot emerged from between the cushions and gripped Buchanan's like a vice. 'Has a look of his father, this one, but he'll never be the charmer his father was. And what's he bringing this wee girl with him for?'

Buchanan was nonplussed by these muttered remarks and was about to stammer some reply when she continued, in a clearer tone, 'How d'you do? You must be Thomas, the younger son.' 82. 'I am indeed,' Buchanan said, recovering himself. 'I wasn't aware you knew our family so well. You've met my father?'

'Yes, of course I met him, silly boy. He took care of all our legal matters for years and I met him several times when my husband was doing business with him. A most urbane and delightful man. I used to think he was the double of Gregory Peck. How is he?'

Buchanan told her his father was fine and enjoying his retirement but, as he spoke, her deep set eyes swung back to Fizz and she started mumbling, 'Pretty little thing. Why doesn't she cut that mop of hair? Can't be more than sixteen though, so she's not his girlfriend. The clothes they wear these days

'Sherry anyone?' Niall cried, interrupting her thoughts, but with no sign that he saw anything abnormal in her propensity for speaking them aloud. 'Miss Fitzpatrick?

Dry or medium?'

'Medium, please.' Fizz's face was alive with amus.e.m.e.nt and she avoided catching Buchanan's eye as though she didn't dare.

'Tam?'

'Not for me, thanks. I'm driving.'

'Driving, indeed. That wouldn't have stopped his father from taking a drink,' thought Mrs Menzies, and then barked, 'You had an older brother -Stephen.

You see?

There's nothing wrong with my memory! He was the good-looking one but he didn't have his daddy's eyes. Not like you, you lucky young rascal. My G.o.d, they broke a few hearts, those eyes did, back in the old days! I'll bet he never told you about that, did he? Eyelashes like a camel, my sister used to say, and the shapeliest little--'

'Stephen's living in England now,' Buchanan inserted, seeing the way things were going. 'He has twin boys.'

'Ha. I knew he wouldn't go into the family business.

Told your father so twenty years ago, d.a.m.n near.' She smiled at some pleasant memory and then snapped, 'Niall 83. tells me you also act for that Gra.s.sick woman who was blown up. Bungling idiot! Couldn't even commit suicide without taking half the neighbourhood with her!'

'Now, Mummy, you know that's naughty. Never speak ill of the dead.'

'Oh, shut up, Niall. I don't need you to tell me what I can say and what I can't say. I speak as I find.'