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Hamish had given the Thomases a wide berth, but one day he saw Paul working in the garden. There was no sign of Trixie so he ambled over.

The big man leaned on his spade when he saw Hamish and said, “I’m trying to make a vegetable garden. It’s hard work. This ground hasn’t been turned over for years.”

“Where’s Mrs Thomas?” asked Hamish.

“Oh, off somewhere. Inverness, I think.”

“That’s verra hard work,” said Hamish sympathetically. “Archie Maclean’s got a rotary cultivator, you know, one of those things that just churn up the earth. If he’s not out fishing, I suppose he would lend it to you. Would you like to walk along to his house and we’ll ask him?”

“That would be great.” Paul threw down the spade and wiped his hands on his trousers and came out of the garden to join Hamish.

“You must find Lochdubh a bit of a change from London,” said Hamish, taking out a stick of midge repellent and wiping his face with it.

“I think I can make something of it here,” said Paul. “New start. Never been able to do much with my life. Trixie’s a marvel. I don’t know what I would do without her.”

“What was your job in London?”

“I couldn’t move, and the fatter I got, the more I felt I had to eat. Trixie came into my life like a whirlwind and took me over and put me on a diet. I owned the house I lived in. It had been my mother’s. Trixie suggested we put it up for sale and buy something up here with the money. I hope I can make something of the garden. It would mean a lot to me to be able to grow things, know what I mean?”

Hamish nodded, and then said, “But don’t you miss the theatres and cinemas and all the fun of the city?”

“No, I didn’t have much fun. It’s quiet here and the people are friendly. We’ve had such a lot of help. But that’s Trixie for you. Everyone loves her. She’s going to do a lot for the village. She’s forming the Lochdubh Bird Watching and Bird Protection Society. The first meeting’s at the church tonight.”

“It’ll be an interest for the children,” said Hamish cautiously. “It doesn’t do to go too far with this bird thing. Some of these societies can be downright threatening, telling people they can’t dig the peats because that’s the nesting place of the greater crested twit, or something. But I suppose Mrs Thomas is just interested in finding out about the different types of birds.”

“I suppose,” echoed Paul. “But she likes to do things thoroughly. She’s even starting a Clean Up Lochdubh campaign.”

“Morals?”

“No, litter.”

Hamish looked along the street which bordered the waterfront. There was not a scrap of paper in sight.

“And she’s going to see Dr Brodie about starting an Anti-Smoking League.”

“My, my, she’ll be on dangerous ground there,” said Hamish. “The doctor smokes like a chimney.”

“I know. Trixie says it’s a disgrace. She says he’s giving all his patients cancer. And she’s had to talk to Angela about the doctor’s diet. You should see what she’s been feeding that man. Chips with everything. Too much cholesterol.”

Hamish felt uncomfortable. “It doesn’t do to interfere with people,” he said. “Brodie’s fifty-seven and looks about forty and he’s never had a day’s illness that I can remember.”

“Oh, Trixie knows what’s best for him,” said Paul easily.

They walked on in silence. Hamish remembered David Currie, a thin weedy man who used to live in Lochdubh. He had a tyrant of a mother whom he adored. “Mother knows best,” was his favourite expression. Then one night he had got drunk and had chased his mother down the street with an axe and Hamish had had to rescue the terrified woman. After that, the Curries had moved to Edinburgh. Hamish had heard that David was a leading light in the Jehovah’s Witnesses.

Archie Maclean was at home. He gave Hamish a welcoming smile and then the smile faded as he saw Paul behind Hamish. He agreed to lend them his cultivator but he was decidedly chilly towards Paul and Hamish wondered why.

Hamish and Paul worked amiably together throughout the afternoon. Hamish then asked him back to the police station for tea. He put the teapot, two mugs, and a plate of chocolate biscuits on the kitchen table and then the phone in the office rang.

He left Paul and went to answer it. It was Detective Chief Inspector Blair from Strathbane. “How’s the local yokel?” asked Blair.

“Chust fine,” said Hamish.

“Anything going on there?”

“No, nothing.”

“You lucky sod,” grumbled Blair. “Look, the new super, Peter Daviot, is coming over to the Lochdubh Hotel for the fishing. I want you to keep oot o’ his way.”

“Why?”

“For yir own good, you pillock. If he finds you’re daein’ nothing, he’ll close down your polis station.”

“Anything else?” asked Hamish.

“No,” growled Blair. “Keep away from Daviot. Ah’m warning ye.”

He slammed down the phone.

Hamish waited a moment and then phoned Mr Johnson, the manager of the Lochdubh Hotel.

“How would you like a supply of free-range eggs for a month for nothing?” asked Hamish.

“I like it fine,” said the manager. “With this salmonella scare, everyone keeps asking for free-range eggs. Of course, I’ve been telling them they’re free-range. I get cook to dip them in coffee to turn them brown and stick a wee hen’s feather on some of the shells to make it look like the real thing but it would be just my luck if one of them got the food poisoning. What d’you want in return?”

“Is a Mr Daviot in the hotel?”

“Yes, just arrived.”

“Then I want dinner for two this evening,” said Hamish.

“All right. You’re on. But don’t order champagne.”

Hamish then phoned Tommel Castle. The butler answered the phone and Hamish asked to speak to Priscilla. “Who is calling?” asked the butler suspiciously. “James Fotherington,” said Hamish in impeccable upper-class accents.

“Certainly, sir,” oiled the butler.

Priscilla came to the phone. “Hullo, Hamish,” she said. “It is you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, will you have dinner at the Lochdubh with me tonight?”

There was a long silence and Hamish gripped the phone hard.

“Yes,” said Priscilla at last. “But we’ll go Dutch. Johnson’s prices get higher and higher.”

“I haff the money,” said Hamish in offended tones.

“Very well. What time?”

“Eight. And…er…Priscilla, could you wear something grand?”

“Any point in asking why?”

“No.”

“All right. See you.”

Hamish went back into the kitchen. Paul had gone. So had all the biscuits. Not only that, but there were smears of jam on the plate. Eating chocolate biscuits with jam, marvelled Hamish. It’s a wonder that man has any teeth left.

That evening, Dr Brodie sat down to a plate of pink wild rice. His wife poured him a glass of Perrier. “What’s this?” he asked, pushing the mess with his fork. “Tuna fish rice,” said Angela proudly. “You put a can of tuna in the blender and just mix the paste with the wild rice. Try the whole wheat bread. I baked it myself.”

Dr Brodie carefully put down his fork. He looked at his wife. Her hair was all curly, like a wig, and highlighted with silver streaks. She was wearing a white smock with strawberries embroidered on it, a pair of new blue jeans, and very white sneakers. He had not complained once about all the changes, pleased that his wife had all these new interests but hoping she would tire of it all and revert to her normal self. But it had been a long and tiresome day. He was hungry and he was weary. His home sparkled like a new pin but felt sterile and uncomfortable.