Angela’s writing classes had been a great success, and budding authors tapped away at computers. There was the usual weekly ceilidh at the village hall. Lochdubh had returned to normal for everyone but Hamish Macbeth. Priscilla had left to take up a new contract but occasionally phoned Hamish to make sure he was well.
Elspeth phoned as well and said she might come up on a week’s holiday.
Hamish diligently checked the background of any visitor to Lochdubh. He was still convinced that Prosser was plotting his revenge. The man might not come in person, he reasoned, but send someone else after him.
Sandra, by dint of remembering the name of the man her husband was going to see about fake passports, had finally run him to earth in the back streets of Rio. Before that, she had gone to a beauty salon and had her hair cut and dyed black. The forger demanded a lot of money and to his delight, Sandra did not even bother to haggle. She even said she would pay more for a rush job. So she sat and waited while he worked, hoping that her husband had not told any of the others the man’s name in case they found her. She did not want to be encumbered by anyone.
At last, the passport was ready. She got the forger to give her a lift into the centre of town, where she bought some clothes and a suitcase before catching a cab to the airport.
Despite the air-conditioning in the airport, she was sweating profusely with nerves as she approached passport control. When her passport was finally stamped after what seemed a terrifying age, she felt limp with relief. She had bought a ticket to Sao Paulo. She studied the destination boards at the airport and then bought a ticket to Santiago in Chile. When she arrived at Santiago airport, she went to a tourist desk and booked a hotel in the city, then picked up a cab.
The hotel was old-fashioned and somehow very dark. The furnishings were old-fashioned Spanish, and in her room the windows were covered with lace under heavy velvet curtains. She stripped off and laid the notes on the bed. She decided she had to find some other way of carrying them because if she sweated any more, the notes might be damaged. Several packets had actually become detached from the Sellotape and fallen inside her blouse.
She went out for a walk on O’Higgins Boulevard, feeling lonely and threatened by the crowds. She planned to keep moving from place to place until she felt safe. She bought a small travel bag in a shop and then realised she was hungry.
Sandra went into a restaurant on the boulevard. There was a list of dishes all in Spanish. A waiter approached her table but did not speak English. Sandra’s stomach rumbled. She had been too nervous to eat anything since she began her flight. A handsome young man at the next table stood up and said in perfect English, “May I help you?”
Sandra smiled at him. “I can’t read the menu.”
“They serve very good roast pork here.”
“I’ll have that, and some wine.” Loneliness bit at Sandra again. “Why don’t you join me?”
He sat down, and soon they were laughing and talking. He said he was a student, studying medicine. His name was Jaime. He had curly black hair, large brown eyes fringed with black lashes, and a slim figure.
Sandra said grandly that she was travelling the world. He suggested afterwards that they go on to a bar but Sandra wanted to change into something attractive and repair her make-up. She loved the way he smiled into her eyes, banishing her fears of the police, making her feel young again. He escorted her back to her hotel, a supportive hand under her arm, and said he would wait for her in reception.
In her room, Sandra washed her face and carefully applied make-up. She studied herself critically in the bathroom mirror. Her figure was still good, and her siliconed breasts were holding up. She thought the dark hair suited her. Out of her meagre supply of clothes, she picked out a blue cotton shift dress and slipped on a pair of high-heeled sandals. She had hidden the money under the mattress. She took it out and stuffed it into the travel bag. It was then Sandra hesitated. She really should put it in the hotel safe, but she did not trust the staff.
She put it on top of the huge old-fashioned wardrobe and went down to meet her date.
She spent a drunken riotous evening and ended up in bed with Jaime.
Jaime lay awake while Sandra snored beside him. He planned to ask her for money. He wasn’t a student but worked as a waiter in the evenings and as a deliveryman for a clothing factory during the day. On his odd evenings off, he searched for rich tourists, sometimes being successful enough to get money for his services in bed.
They had left the lights on. Sandra’s suitcase was lying open. He slid quietly out of bed. It contained very little. He wondered whether to take money from her handbag and then decided it might be more profitable to work on her. If she fell in love with him, she might fund him to go to medical school, which had always been his dream.
He got back into bed and was about to fall asleep when he noticed the travel bag perched on top of the wardrobe. She had obviously just bought it when he met her in the restaurant. He got up again, stood on a chair, lifted down the bag from the wardrobe, climbed down holding the bag, and placed it on the floor.
Jaime opened it and suppressed a gasp as he saw all that money. He thought of his ambitions to be a doctor; he thought of his family out in the squalid barrio. He quietly closed the bag, and with his heart thudding so loudly that he was afraid Sandra would wake up, he quickly dressed, let himself out of the room, and then made his escape through a fire door at the end of the corridor.
Tam Tamworth haunted Drim but there was no sign of Milly. He longed for her to come back so that he could tell her he really loved her.
The summer was gone and a cold wind was blowing down from the mountains. The restless seagulls wheeled overhead as he trudged away from the house. He knew he should return to Strathbane. He was supposed to be out following up a tip about a drug raid. He had found out quickly that it was a fiction from some unreliable informant but had not informed the news desk, using the time instead to search for Milly.
He decided to go for a walk up on the moors, wondering, always wondering, where she had gone and if she ever thought of him.
Tam had gone a good way away from Drim. He stood on an outcrop of rock, looking down at the village, thinking it would be marvellous if he could see her car drive up.
And then he saw a figure, made small by the distance, leaving the back of the house.
“Hey!” he called, but his voice was whipped away with the wind. He started to run back down to the village, stumbling and cursing. When he reached the house, he checked round it but could not see anyone; nor was there any sign of a break-in.
He took out his phone and called Hamish.
“I’ll be right over,” said Hamish.
“I can’t wait for you,” said Tam. “I’m supposed to be at the office. Phone me if you catch him.”
Hamish drove quickly to Drim. Like Tam, he searched around the house and checked the locks. Then he took out a pair of powerful binoculars and scanned the moors. No one.
He was suddenly sure it was Prosser at last.
Sandra awoke in the morning and stretched luxuriously. She turned and felt for Jaime and found the bed empty. She looked up at the wardrobe and saw immediately that the bag was missing.
Sheer panic gripped her, followed by white-hot rage. She rose and dressed hurriedly. She was relieved to find there was still a wad of notes in her handbag. Sandra felt murderous. She went down to reception and asked at the desk if someone could translate for her for a small fee. A girl was summoned. Her English was not very good but Sandra felt sure it would be good enough for her purpose.