“I came back from the shopping one day and he was lying at the foot o’ the stairs leading up to our flat wi’ his throat cut. I didnae call the polis. I was that frightened. I thought they’d think it was me what done it and find out about the hooking.
“I packed up my stuff and came up here. I don’t know if Shuggie and his pals killed Sandy but I never wanted him to find me again. Somehow I just drifted back into the life again.”
Hamish sat staring at her. Here was his perfect opportunity to get his revenge on Blair. Blair as well as Ruby would go to prison. But Daviot, he knew, would blame him for bringing the force into disgrace. Somehow, Hamish would share that disgrace, and a vengeful Daviot might move him to Strathbane.
Ruby eyed him nervously, finished her drink, and mutely held out her glass for more. Hamish went to the sideboard and refilled it, his brain racing.
He handed her the glass and sat down and looked at her.
“How would you like to be a respectable married woman?” he asked.
“Stop making fun o’ me.”
“I’m serious.”
“That was always a dream I had when I was out in the streets, particularly in the winter.”
“Does Blair know your real name?”
“No. Why?”
“Were you ever charged under your real name?”
“No. When I was hooking in Glesca I was that young, somehow the polis never picked me up.”
“Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to write and sign a confession. Then I want you to go out tomorrow and get yourself some lady-like clothes and dye your hair a respectable brown. Then I want you to phone Blair and tell him he’s got to marry you or you’ll tell all. Don’t mention my name. I’ll keep your confession as security. You’ll tell him that you’ve written a confession and you’ve lodged it with a lawyer with instructions it’s to go straight to the police if anything should happen to you. Tell him about your real name and that no one will associate you with Ruby McFee.”
“He’ll kill me!”
“He can’t. He wouldn’t dare. You’ll never have to walk the streets again.”
∨ Death of a Gentle Lady ∧
Epilogue
A man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies.
—Oscar Wilde
Christmas was over, the New Year’s celebrations were over, and a fine drizzle of snow was falling: tiny little flakes that spiralled upwards in the freezing air.
Hamish was coming back down to the station from the field at the back after giving his sheep their winter feed when he saw Jimmy standing on the doorstep.
“Let me in out o’ this cold, Hamish,” said Jimmy. “You’ll never believe what I have to tell you!”
They walked into the kitchen. Hamish took down the bottle of whisky and warned, “One dram only, Jimmy. The roads are bad. You could’ve phoned.”
“Not wi’ news like this. Brace yourself, Bridget, as the Irishman said to his missus by way of foreplay.”
They sat down at the table. Jimmy took a sip of whisky and said, “Blair’s getting married!”
“Michty me!” exclaimed Hamish, affecting surprise. “Who to?”
“Decent enough body called Mary Ashford. Bit of an eccentric, mind you. I knew she was going to be at the Rotary Club dinner so I wangled an invitation from my pal and took Aileen Drummond along – you know, the PC you promised to take to dinner and never did? Anyway, there’s the happy couple on either side of Daviot. Well, the first course was artichoke and Mary begins to eat the whole thing. Then she cries, “Bugger this stuff. It’s like trying to eat holly!” Mrs. Daviot on the other side of Blair looks shocked. She says, “You’re not supposed to eat the whole thing, Mary. Just the bottoms of the leaves.” Blair rounds on her and hisses, “Stop showing me up.” Mrs. Daviot springs to Mary’s defence. “Really,” she says, “Mary’s not the only one who doesn’t know how to eat it.” And sure enough, some of Strathbane’s finest are trying to chomp down the whole thing as well.
“There you are, darlin’,” says Mary, blowing Blair a kiss, and he looks as if he could murder her.”
“Where did he meet her?” asked Hamish, relishing every moment of the account.
“She was working in one of the supermarkets and even doing volunteer work in one of the charity shops at the weekend. Mrs. Daviot was most impressed. She’s organising the wedding for them.”
“And when is it to be?”
“February the second at St. Andrew’s kirk in Strathbane. Blair wanted a registry office wedding but Mrs. Daviot wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Any chance of an invite?”
“I’ll see if I can wangle one for you. Now I’m off before the snow gets worse.”
♦
Hamish received an invitation to the wedding. Along with the invitation came details of the wedding present list and the Web site details of a shop in Strathbane. He got onto the site and ordered a soup tureen out of a dinner service list, putting in his credit card details and instructions for it to be sent off with the message, “Oh, Happy Day, from your friend and colleague, Hamish Macbeth.”
♦
At last the great day arrived. Hamish put on his only suit and travelled to Strathbane.
It was a day full of blustery wind and yellow glaring sunlight. The church was full. Hamish chatted to people he knew and then found himself accosted by Aileen Drummond. “What about dinner?” she asked.
“All right. Come over to the station tomorrow evening at seven o’ clock. Do you want me to pick you up?”
“No, I’ll drive over.” She gave him a saucy look. “If I drink too much I can stay the night.”
And why not? thought Hamish as he settled into a pew. The hell with romanticism. What I need is some healthy sex.
The organ in the loft struck up, and Hamish twisted his head to get a look at the bride. Mary – he must forget that she was once Ruby – came sailing up the aisle in all the splendour of a white wedding dress and veil. Daviot was to give her away. Mrs. Daviot was maid of honour, and Jimmy was best man.
Blair, as he turned to watch his bride approach, looked white and strained.
The service was long. The address to the couple by the minister seemed to go on forever. The hymns were of the dirge variety.
Then it was over. The couple went into the vestry to sign the register.
The organ struck up Mendelssohn’s ‘Wedding March’ and down the aisle came a triumphant Mary. She had lost weight, and her face shone with happiness.
I’ve done a good thing for once in my life, thought Hamish. And after her experience on the streets, she should be able to handle Blair.
As Blair walked past Hamish, he looked at him, his eyes glittering with suspicion.
♦
The reception at a hotel in Strathbane was a merry affair. The cake was cut, speeches were made, dinner was served, and then the dancing began, Blair and Mary taking the floor. Blair felt he had been sober for a hundred years. The Blair-God up in the sky who had sustained his sobriety was fading fast.
He had asked Mary time after time if Hamish Macbeth ever knew who was behind his kidnapping, but each time she had vehemently replied that he knew nothing.
He returned to his table after the dance. A large fresh bottle of mineral water was sitting beside his plate. He rose and went over to the bar. A bottle of malt whisky glittered in the lights. What was it the Highlanders called it? Usquebaugh – the water of life. That was it.