The weather was still sunny, but there was a brassiness about it and the air had become close and humid. Sean, the cook, was fuming about Peta and planned to go down to the village after breakfast was served, and Priscilla did so hope he did not plan to get drunk.
Maria was telling the startled driver, Ian Chisholm, that the large fee he was getting from her meant he had to act as a guide as well. Like most of the natives, he knew very little of the history of Sutherland, but being a true Highlander, he planned to make it up as he went along.
When they were all on board the bus, Maria fairly yelled at Ian to get moving fast and heaved a sigh of relief as the bus rolled out on to the road without any sign of Peta in pursuit.
They had travelled quite a way south when Maria realized Ian was not doing his job. That is, he had not uttered a word. She saw the romantic ruin of a castle coming up on the right and called to Ian to stop and then, with a steely glint in her eye, said, “Tell us about it.”
“Oh, Barren Castle,” said Ian, who had not the faintest idea what the building was or what it had been. “That was the home of the Grummet family. They wass supporters of Bonnie Prince Charlie and the redcoats were sure they had been sheltering the prince and tried to drive them off. But the laird said he would never leave, so them bastard redcoats burnt the castle ower his head. The family all perished, yea, and their oxen and cattle, too,” added Ian, who was a regular church attender. “It’s said his daughter, Fiona, still haunts the ruins.”
“Gosh!” said Deborah, struggling to the door of the bus with her camera at the ready. “Must get a picture.”
The rest of them followed her but soon quickly retreated to the shelter of the bus, for the midges, those Scottish mosquitoes, had descended in droves. “I forgot to bring repellent,” mourned Maria.
“I haff it here,” said Ian triumphantly. “Three pounds a stick,” It had cost him one pound and fifty pence a stick in Patel’s store in Lochdubh, but he felt his foresight deserved a profit. The bus then rumbled on, with Ian occasionally making up a story about some feature of the passing landscape.
Maria began to relax. It was all very sad and annoying about Peta. She had been such a jolly and likeable woman in the past. She had enjoyed her food, but in reasonable quantities. But gradually she had begun to stuff herself, and the more she stuffed, the more her personality had undergone a change, becoming a mixture of vanity, arrogance, and bad temper. It was as if, thought Maria, food was some sort of mind-altering drug. Maybe it was. She had read somewhere something about Overeaters Anonymous. But it was the fashion to psychoanalyse people these days and it was all so tiresome and irritating, as if one could no longer be allowed the luxury of disliking someone. If Peta had a problem about food, then it was Peta’s job to do something about it.
There was no doubt, thought Maria with feeling, that Peta’s perpetual interference in the business was beginning to affect her, Maria’s, judgment. Take this lot, she thought, twisting her neck round to look at them. Who would have thought of such unlikely combinations? No – she gave herself a mental shake – she was not losing her grip, Peta or no Peta. It was something to do with this weird place and landscape. Introduce the same bunch of people to each other at a London cocktail party and they would not have paired off in the same way.
♦
Sean, the cook, shouldered his way into the bar in Lochdubh, which opened early to cater for the fishermen. He was not in the best of moods, to say the least, and the ribbing he got from the customers about ‘thon great fat wumman up at the castle’ made his temper worse.
“All ma art gone bust,” he said in a strong Glasgow accent. “I could put shite down in front o’ that bitch and she would shovel it down. I could get her to eat anything.”
Archie Maclean’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Could ye get her to eat this? Dougie brought it in. He didnae shoot it. Found it dead. Died o’ auld age if you ask me.” He opened a sack and dragged out a dead wild cat, a great beast with mangy-looking fur. From the rank smell of it, it had been dead several days.
“Course,” sneered Sean. “Told you I could get her tae eat anything.”
Archie winked at the others. “Put your money where your mouth is, Sean.”
“Whit?”
“Serve this cat up tae her the night and if she eats the lot, I’ll pay ye ten pound.”
The others began to press their bets.
“I’ll dae it,” said Sean. He shoved the cat back in the sack and then heaved the sack over his shoulder.
“Hey, wait a bit,” said one of the fishermen. “And how is we tae know whether the fat wumman ate it or no’?”
“Archie here can come up and sit in the dining room,” said Sean. “She’s frightened the other guests awa’, so nobody’ll notice.”
♦
The clients of Checkmate strolled along the waterfront at Ullapool, scrubbing their faces with sticks of repellent. Ullapool is the home of a particularly savage tribe of midges. But it is a beautiful little town with a pretty harbour and some good shops. Despite the heat and the midges, everyone was in a good mood, and even John Taylor walked with a jaunty step.
Lunch in a waterfront restaurant was not particularly good, being of the chips-with-everything variety, but Peta was not there and the sun was still shining and there seemed a determination on everyone’s part to enjoy the day. They talked incessantly of Peta and how horrible she was, still drawn together by that communal resentment, until Maria began to realize what Priscilla had already guessed: Peta, in her repulsive way, was an asset.
They made their way after lunch to Inverewe Gardens which, despite the fact that they are in the far north of Britain, are near the Gulf Stream and so boast palm trees and many exotic plants.
Maria deliberately let them think they were all returning to the castle for dinner, because when the gaiety of the group began to flag, she announced they were stopping for dinner somewhere on the road home and so the spirits of everyone soared again at this further reprieve from Peta.
The dinner at an unpretentious hotel recommended by Priscilla was simple but good. The company enlivened the evening by picturing Peta wolfing down her solitary dinner.
♦
And it was a solitary dinner, too. Peta had trailed around all day, feeling cross that the others had escaped her. A large breakfast and larger lunch did nothing to restore her mood. Crystal, who should have been some sort of a companion, had passed the day in her room, reading magazines and doing things to her hair and nails. Peta called on her to ask her to come downstairs for dinner but met with a rebuff. Crystal’s hair was in rollers and she said she was trying out a new style and wasn’t going to take them out. She said she was going to have a flask of coffee and some sandwiches in her room. Peta began to protest loudly, saying as she was paying for Crystal’s holiday in this expensive hotel, then the least Crystal could do was to keep her company. But Crystal had a genius for turning suddenly deaf. All the while her aunt was railing at her, she lazily flipped over the pages of a film magazine and did not appear to hear a word.