“I have been sick,” she said. “Very sick and frightened, too.”
“Chust let Sean come and apologize to you. A great lady like yourself can surely accept an apology,” said Hamish humbly.
“Very well,” said Peta. She glanced in the mirror again. “Goodness, I look a fright.”
As Hamish left, she was reaching for her bag of cosmetics.
“So far so good,” said Hamish to Priscilla. “She’s prepared to let the matter drop if Sean apologizes. Quick, go into the office and get me his file.”
Once he had the file in his possession, he flicked through it. “Check any of this?” he asked.
“Mr Johnson’s supposed to do that,” said Priscilla, “but you know how it is up here. You get so desperate for good staff, you don’t care too much about checking up on them.”
Hamish left her and drove quickly down to Lochdubh. Why should such an excellent chef as Sean come all the way to the north of Scotland? He was a townee. He was always making disparaging remarks about Highlanders. So, with any luck, he had a criminal record. No time to check. The longer Peta was left alone, the more she would realize that the tale he had spun her was absolutely ridiculous.
He went straight to the bar and took away the glass that Sean was about to raise to his lips. He faced the others. “If any word of what this fool has been telling you gets out, I will sue the lot of you for slander. Come with me, Sean. You’re in bad trouble.”
“I suppose ah’m fired,” said Sean sulkily as Hamish led him outside.
“Not yet. Now listen, you daft gowk. I know you have a criminal record.”
Sean stared at the ground. “You have even done a prison term for assault.”
“A man’s got a right to knock his wife about,” muttered Sean.
Thank God for Highland intuition, thought Hamish. “Look, Sean, I can get you off the hook; otherwise you’ll be down in prison in Strathbane tomorrow morning.”
Sean looked at him pleadingly. “Ah’m an artist,” he said. “That wumman is mair than flesh and blood can stand.”
“Well, you’re going to have to stand it. You’ve got to come back with me and apologize to her and tell her it was a venison casserole, and what’s more, you’ve got to let her think you fancy her.”
“That great scunner. Aw, go and bile yer heid, Hamish!”
“The only alternative is prison, and I’ll make sure you get a long stretch.”
Sean stared wildly around. It was still light, for there are only a few hours of semi-darkness in a Highland summer. A pale-green sky stretched across the glassy loch. The air smelled sweetly of peat smoke, for fires were lit even in the hot weather to heat water for washing. A man was rowing out into the bay, phosphorescence from the water dripping like jewels from his oars. A gull was picking its way gingerly along the shore over the oily rocks and glistening seaweed.
Unbalanced as he was, Sean had come to love Lochdubh, although not for one minute would he admit it to anyone. He gave a broken little sigh. “All right, ah’ll do it, Hamish. But if there was one way of removing that fat wumman frae this planet and not get caught fur it, I would do it, and gladly, too.”
They drove in silence to the castle. “There’s the others,” said Hamish, seeing the minibus in front of them on the narrow road. He leaned on the horn. Ian stopped in a lay-by and Hamish shot past and disappeared up the drive to the castle in a cloud of dust.
“Don’t leave me,” pleaded Sean when they were outside Peta’s door.
“No, I’m staying with you,” said Hamish. “In you go.”
Peta was reclining in bed. Her face was heavily made up and she was wearing a pink negligee which clashed with her red hair.
Sean sank to his knees on the carpet and babbled out a stammering apology with all the histrionic overacting of the Glasgow drunk which Hamish began to feel might go on forever and Sean hadn’t got to the bit about fancying her. He kicked him with his boot.
“And tae say all them awful things to a lady as fine and beautiful as yerself,” mourned Sean. “Ah’ll never raise my head again.”
Peta smiled slowly and her recently emptied stomach rumbled. “Well, I’m still a teensy bit peckish, so if you’ll just whip me up an omelette or something, I’ll forgive you.”
Hamish jerked Sean to his feet. “Good idea,” he said heartily.
Half an hour later, Peta had consumed a twelve-egg ham omelette with a mound of chipped potatoes and was feeling quite elated.
Priscilla had presented her with a bottle of champagne. Priscilla had told Mr Johnson that Peta wrote a column on hotels and restaurants for a glossy magazine and that the staff were to be instructed to be extra attentive to her. She also awarded a thousand-pound prize annually, said Priscilla, to the best hotel servant.
Priscilla then felt uneasily that Hamish Macbeth’s facility for lying was rubbing off on her. She walked out with him to the Land Rover.
“I can’t begin to tell you how very grateful I am to you,” said Priscilla. “Do you think it’s safe to have Sean around now?”
“I think he’ll behave himself,” said Hamish. “The man’s a marvellous cook. It’s because he’s a wee runt from Glasgow that his eccentricities seem so sinister. If he worked in a famous French restaurant, he would be regarded as a great character.”
Priscilla held out her hand. “Anyway, thanks a lot, Hamish.”
His hazel eyes glinted down at her in the twilight. “What about a kiss?”
“Oh, Hamish.” She smiled and raised her head to kiss him on the cheek but he twisted his head and his lips came down on hers, gentle and warm.
The kiss was very brief but Priscilla felt oddly shaken. Hamish stared at her angrily for a moment and then said abruptly, “Call me if there’s any trouble.”
Priscilla stood and watched him go. He drove off very quickly and did not acknowledge her wave.
“Damn,” muttered Hamish, staring bleakly through the windscreen. “Why the hell did I do that? I don’t want to have to live through all that nonsense again.”
♦
Maria noticed that they were being served breakfast the next morning in a dining room separate from the other guests. All Peta’s fault. And yet the hotel staff were treating Peta like a queen and the chef had come into the dining room twice to ask her humbly if there was anything special he could cook for her. Peta was smiling and beaming with all this attention. She ate surprisingly moderately for her and it soon dawned on Maria that men were now the focus of Peta’s desires. She flirted with Sir Bernard and John Taylor. Her flirtation took the line of rather old-fashioned bawdy jokes about what the bishop had said to the actress. Only Crystal laughed. Crystal, too, was being very attentive to her aunt. Her new hair-style made her look as if she had been caught in a high gale, but her somewhat characterless face was as fashionably beautiful as ever. She was wearing very brief shorts with high-heeled sandals.
Maria, regretting that the pre-arranged programme meant that the party could not get off early and escape Peta, rose to her feet. “You will see from your programmes,” she said, “that we are planning a visit to the theatre in Strathbane this afternoon, although we will leave late in the morning and have a packed lunch on the bus. It is a Scottish comedy show and I hope you will all enjoy it.”
“Will the theatre be air-conditioned?” asked Sir Bernard, who was already sweating in the close heat.
“I doubt it. I don’t even know a London theatre that’s air-conditioned.”
Mr Johnson came in with a fax and handed it to Peta. She read it. “It’s from my accountant,” she said, beaming all round. “Do you know, Maria, I am now worth three million.”