Death Of A Snob Part 5

She leaned forward and looked into Hamish's eyes. "Well, Hamish Macbeth," she crooned, "and what haff you to say tome?"

Harriet started thinking the woman really had psychic powers, but Hamish glanced at the phone in the corner of the room. His conversation with Sandy would have been overheard. Sandy had a loud voice. Sandy had probably dived into the bar after they left and the barman had phoned Mrs. Bannerman with the details.

"I am here on holiday," said Hamish, "but I would still like to know why you told Mrs. Wetherby that someone was trying to kill her or going to kill her."

"I saw death," moaned Mrs. Bannerman, "right there at the bottom of the cup. I felt a great blackness come ower me."

"I think you were put up to it, that's what I think," said Hamish, becoming tired of all this mumbo-jumbo, particularly as he sensed that Mrs. Bannerman was enjoying herself hugely. "And where is Mr. Bannerman?"

"Dead and gone," she wailed.

"Dead of what?"

"Died innis bed," she snapped, her voice momentarily coa.r.s.ening and losing its Highland accent.

"Where?"

"Ah'm I bein' accused o' anything?" demanded Mrs. Bannerman angrily.

"Only that I think you're a fraud."

"Whit?" She rose to her feet in a rage. "Get oot o' ma hoose and go and bile yer heid!"

"That didn't get you very far," said Harriet once they were outside.

The Fiat truck rattled along the main street and came to a stop in front of them. "If you're going back, I'll gie ye a lift," called Geordie.

"May as well," said Hamish. They climbed into the cabin.

"Going all right now?" asked Hamish.

"Aye," said Geordie. "I gave him a wee bit o' oil, not that he needs it, but he aye likes a treat."

Hamish stifled a groan. "Tell me about Mrs. Bannerman," he said. "She's not an islander, is she?"

"Naw, herself's frae Glasgow. Come up here, must hae been about five years ago."

"So why all the hostility to Mrs. Wetherby and none to her?"

"She doesnae go around dressed in them short skirts," said Geordie. "Besides, she knows her tea-leaves and ye go careful wi' someone like that."

"Did that silly woman tell you that your truck was trying to kill you?" asked Hamish.

"Don't be daft," said Geordie. "The truck telt me."

Hamish gave him an uneasy look, wondering just how deranged Geordie was.

"And what of Mrs. Bannerman's husband?"

"Doing a stretch for GBH in Barlinnie Prison."

"What's g.b.h.?" asked Harriet.

"Grievous bodily harm," said Hamish but with his eyes still fixed curiously on the driver. "How did you find that out?"

"Her mither arrived frae Glasgow last year on a visit. Rare gossip that woman wa.s.s."

"And who did Bannerman attack?" pursued Hamish.

"I don't know," said Geordie. "Will ye leave me tae drive himself in peace?"

They travelled the rest of the way in silence, thanked Geordie when they got off at The Happy Wanderer, and went inside to find the others quite resentful that they had decided to go off on their own.

Hamish asked Jane if he might use her phone and then went into the office and phoned his mother. "Priscilla gone?" he asked.

"No," said his mother. "She can't really travel. The roads are still bad. She started fretting about her father and the guests, so I told her to get on to Mr. Johnson at the Lochdubh Hotel. They're closed down for the winter. I told her to ask him to go up and offer his services for the Christmas period and ask a high price. The colonel will want his money's worth out o' Johnson, but he'll respect someone he's paying a lot for."

"Good idea. But I'll bet she won't do it."

"She already has," said his mother triumphantly.

"My! Can. I speak to her?"

"No, son, she's out sledging with the children."

They talked for a little and then Hamish rang off, trying to imagine Priscilla sledging with his brothers and sisters. Hamish had been an only child for many years, and then, when his mother was in her forties, she had begun to produce brothers and sisters for him, three boys and three girls. This largely explained Hamish's unmarried state, for it was a Highland tradition that the eldest should stay unmarried and help to support the family. He sent everything he could home and had learned to be thrifty, as well as expert at cadging free meals.

Lunch was an edgy affair. He wondered what on earth was up when he entered the dining-room and felt the weight of the silence. Harriet told him afterwards, as they all set out for the afternoon walk with Jane, that Sheila had decided to carry her lunch into the television room in order to watch the midday showing of the Australian soaps. Heather had lectured her on the stupidity of this pastime and had even gone in and switched off the television. Shelia had burst into tears and thrown her first course of vegetable soup at Heather's head.

They marched inland, Jane striding out in front, the rest trailing behind. The sky was darkening above and the sun was sinking low on the horizon and then, just before darkness fell, Jane stopped and pointed to the west. It was an awesome sight. They were almost at the centre of the island. It was below sea-level. Out to the west, it looked as if the whole of the Atlantic were about to come charging down on them. "How terrifying to look up at the sea," said Harriet. She moved closer to Hamish and he put an arm around her shoulders and she leaned against him briefly, then straightened up and disengaged herself, her cheeks pink.

The exercise had revived everyone's spirits and there was a sort of silent agreement not to quarrel. John Wetherby caught up with Jane and they headed back to the hotel. Hamish noticed that John and Jane were talking like old friends.

Dinner was pleasant. Then television destroyed everything. Heather wanted to watch a production of King Lear in modern dress; the rest wanted to watch 'Cheers' and 'The Golden Girls." Heather lectured them bitterly on the folly of watching rubbish produced by American imperialists. Jane put it to a vote and the American imperialists won. Heather stalked off to bed.

Immediately the atmosphere lightened. Diarmuid stayed to watch the comedies and laughed as hard as the rest. But when it was over, John Wetherby suddenly glared at his ex-wife, who was sharing a sofa with Diarmuid. Jane had changed into a short miniskirt and blouse. "Pull your skirt down, for G.o.d's sake," he snapped. "You're showing everything."

Jane blushed furiously. It was the first time Hamish had seen her really put out. Then she gave that merry laugh and suggested they all move through to the lounge for drinks.

Hamish retired to bed early. Once, more he felt gloomy. Once more he wished he had never come.

The next day was a h.e.l.l of low cloud and driving rain. House-bound, the guests idled about. Hamish began to read some of Jane's magazines to pa.s.s the time. He found a serial in Women's Home Journal Women's Home Journal that was extremely good and rifled through the back numbers until he had got the whole book and settled down comfortably to read. that was extremely good and rifled through the back numbers until he had got the whole book and settled down comfortably to read.

"I'm going out for a walk," called Jane. "Anyone coming?"

Diarmuid half-started to his feet but bis wife pulled him back down. No one else moved.

"Then I'll go myself," said Jane. She was wearing a bright-yellow oilskin. She hesitated at the door and looked at John Wetherby. He grunted and picked up his newspaper and hid behind it.

Jane walked out.

The day dragged past. But at four in the afternoon, Hamish realised it was pitch-black outside and Jane had not returned.

"Where's Jane?" he asked suddenly.

"Probably in the kitchen," said John. He was now playing chess with Diarmuid.

"I'll look," said Harriet quickly.

She came back after about ten minutes. "She's not in her room, and not in the kitchen, not anywhere. Her oilskin's missing."

Hamish got his own coat and made for the door. "Wait a bit," called Harriet. "I'm coming with you."

They collected torches from a ledge beside the door and made their way out into the howling gale. "Where would she go?" shouted Hamish.

"The beach," said Harriet. "She usually walks on the beach when she's on her own."

They walked rapidly along the beach. The tide was coming in and great waves fanned out at their feet. Hamish was cursing himself. He had taken his duties too lightly. He should never have let her go off on her own. "You'd better take my hand," he shouted at Harriet. "I don't want you getting lost as well."

Harriet had a warm, dry hand. Despite his anxiety, Hamish enjoyed the feel of it.

And then the wind dropped, just like that, as it sometimes does on the islands, with dramatic suddenness. There was no sound but the crashing of the waves.

They stopped and listened hard.

Harriet squeezed his hand urgently. "Listen! I heard something. A faint cry."

"Probably a sheep."

"Shhh!"

In the pause between one wave and the next, Hamish heard a faint call. It was coming from someplace in front of them. It could be a nocturnal seabird, but it had to be investigated. They walked slowly on, stopping and listening.

And then they heard it, a cry for help. Hamish swung the torch around and its powerful beam picked out a pillbox on a bluff above the beach, one of those pillboxes built out of concrete during the Second World War. Dragging Harriet after him, he ran towards it. "Jane!" he called.

"Here!" came the faint reply.

A door had been put on the pillbox, quite a modern door with a shining new bolt. Hamish jerked back the bolt and Jane Wetherby tumbled out. As Harriet comforted her, he shone the torch inside. It was full of old barrels and fishing nets and bits of machinery. Someone was using it as a storehouse.

He went back to Jane. "What happened?" he asked.

"I was walking along the beach and I saw the pillbox door open. It was the first time I had seen it open. It was a bit nosy of me, but I went to have a look inside. Nothing but nets and things. And then someone pushed me and I went flying inside and the door was slammed and bolted behind me. Those village children, no doubt."

"Are you all right?" asked Harriet anxiously.

"Yes, fine. I wasn't scared. I just didn't want to spend the night in there. It was getting so cold."

The night was bitter cold. Hamish walked back, worried. A less healthy and robust woman than Jane, locked up there and left for, say, twenty-four hours before she was found, might have died of exposure. "Who owns that pillbox, or rather, who uses it?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Jane.

Back at the health farm, and after Jane had answered all the guests' questions, Hamish took her aside and said it was time he had a quiet talk with her, perhaps when the others had retired for the night...

"Come to my room," said Jane.

Hamish eyed her nervously and scratched his red hair. "What about the kitchen?" he suggested, and Jane agreed. Twelve o'clock was decided on.

The guests retired early. Hamish lay reading more magazines until midnight. Then he left his room and went through to the kitchen. He pushed open the door.

Jane was standing by the table in the centre of the room. She was wearing a black, transparent nightie over a suspender belt and black stockings and very high-heeled black shoes. "Good evening, copper," she said.

FOUR.

And sadly reflecting, And sadly reflecting, That a lover forsaken. That a lover forsaken. A new love may get, A new love may get, But a neck when once broken But a neck when once broken Can never be set. Can never be set. -WILLIAM WALSH -WILLIAM WALSH Hamish stood in the doorway, his eyes averted. "I'll chust wait here, Jane, while you go and put something on."

"Oh, come on, Hamish," she said breathily, and moved towards him.

"I'll wait for you in the lounge," said Hamish crossly. "Don't you dare come near me until you make yourself decent." And he stalked off, as stiffly as a cat.

Jane appeared in the lounge five minutes later. She had put on a housecoat that covered her from throat to heel. "Better?" she queried, tossing her hair.

"Much better," said Hamish. "Now, la.s.sie, chust you sit yerself down and tell me what on earth you were playing at."

"Hamish Macbeth, I shouldn't need to spell it out for you. A bit of fun."

He shook his head in amazement. "That's hardly the way to go about it. What would you have felt like in the morning?"

"Much better," said Jane earnestly. "s.e.xual intercourse is a very healthy exercise and good for the skin."

"So's jogging. Jane, Jane, have you no feelings at all? Do you never feel rejection when a pa.s.s is turned down, shame when it isn't?"

Jane looked at him in a puzzled way, one finger to her brow. Then her fece cleared. "Calvinism. That's it!" she cried. "You have been brought up to have your mind warped by repressive religion."

"And you haff been brought up to have your mind warped by women's magazines. I thought all this free love was out of fashion anyway," said Hamish wearily. "We're not getting anywhere. I must tell you flat that when John told me about your affairs, I felt sick."

"Which one in particular?" asked Jane curiously.

"Some truck-driver."

"Oh, that. The fellow was as queer as a coot. I only brought him around to annoy John."