Hamish Macbeth 02 (1987) - Death of a Cad (22 page)

He stood for a moment watching Priscilla, and then he walked forward.

“I didn’t think you were going to speak to me again,” he said.

Priscilla smiled. “I’ve been upset and shocked, Hamish. But I’ve got over it now. I’m thinking of leaving for London next week.”

“Aye, going back to the same job?”

“No, I’ve lost that. It was a silly little job anyway with a miserable pay. I think I might train for something—computers or something.”

“Come into the kitchen and I’ll make us some tea.”

Priscilla followed Hamish into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Towser put his head in her lap and gazed up at her soulfully.

“I thought you would have been promoted,” said Priscilla, stroking Towser’s head and watching Hamish as he got the tea-things out of the cupboard.

“Didn’t you hear?” said Hamish. “Poor Mr Chalmers. He died of a heart attack. Blair took the credit for everything. Didn’t you read about it in the reports of the trial?”

“I wasn’t called as a witness,” said Priscilla, “and Mummy and Daddy told the servants to stop delivery of the newspapers.”

“I thought Jeremy Pomfret might have told you,” said Hamish, giving her a sidelong look.

“Jessie’s been gossiping,” said Priscilla.

“Sounded to me like you were going to be Mrs Pomfret.”

“Let’s not talk about Jeremy. Didn’t either of those two detectives tell anyone it was you who was responsible for solving the murder?”

“No, they have to work with Blair.”

“But Rory Grant wrote a dramatic exclusive about how you solved the murder.”

“It
was
an exclusive. The other papers, and some of them with much bigger circulations, carried Blair’s version. Nobody could write anything until after the trial.
Sub judice
. By that time Chalmers was dead. I’m glad in a way. I like it here.”

“Yes,” said Priscilla, wondering not for the first time why Hamish’s homely, cluttered police station always seemed a safer, cosier, and more welcome place than Tommel Castle.

He put a cup of tea in front of her. “Bring it through to the living room,” he said. “I’ve been making some improvements.”

Priscilla obediently walked through to the living room and then stood and looked around. There was a new carpet on the floor, a warm red shaggy carpet. The walls had been newly papered and two pretty chintz-covered armchairs were placed in front of the fire.

“This is lovely, Hamish,” said Priscilla. “How on earth could you afford all this? I know you send every penny home.”

Hamish grinned. “I kept a wee bit o’ the grouse money back for myself.”

“The grouse money?”

“Aye, it was the morning of the murder. I found Angus, the poacher, dead-drunk down at the harbour with a brace o’ grouse in his back pocket. I was going to return them to your father. Well, there was the murder and all. That helicopter was standing by, and after I had taken down the pilot’s statement, I remembered Captain Bartlett telling me the pilot had instructions to hand over two thousand pounds for the first brace. So I went to my car where I’d left Angus’s birds and took them and handed them over.”

He beamed at her proudly.

Priscilla carefully put down her cup and got to her feet. “A man had been shot, his chest blown away,” she said in a thin voice, “and all you could think of, you great moocher, was how to turn it to your advantage!”

She turned and ran from the house.

Hamish stood for a moment, staring at the spot where she had been.

Then he sprinted out of the room, out of the house and into the garden.

Priscilla was standing by her car, leaning her head on the roof. Her shoulders were shaking.

He came cautiously up behind her. “Dinnae take it so hard,” he pleaded. “It iss not me who’s the murderer.”

She turned round and buried her face on his shoulder.

“Priscilla,” said Hamish suspiciously, “I have a feeling you’re laughing.” He tilted up her head.

“Oh, Hamish,” giggled Priscilla, “you are the most shocking man I know.”

Hamish rolled his eyes. “Do you hear?” he cried to a passing sea-gull. “Here’s her that gets engaged tae criminals telling the force of law and order on Lochdubh that he’s shocking. Come along ben, Priscilla, and I’ll get us something to eat.”

“What? Grouse?” demanded Priscilla, still giggling.

“Aye, I just might hae a wee bit.”

With a companionable arm about her shoulders, he led her towards the police station, pushed her gently inside, followed her in, and closed the door firmly behind them on the cold outside world.

♦