I can drive up and be there before midnight, thought Priscilla.
♦
Hamish and Elspeth finished their meal with two large brandies. When they left the restaurant, with a pasta-filled dog rolling along behind them like a drunken sailor, they found themselves walking together in the direction of the police station. Elspeth stumbled on her high heels and Hamish put an arm about her shoulders. All Hamish had drunk sang in his brain and he hugged Elspeth closer.
He opened the kitchen door and switched on the light. They stood close together, looking at each other while Lugs yawned and slumped down onto the floor by the stove.
Then Elspeth held out her arms. One sharp little alarm bell went off in Hamish’s brain, but he ignored it. He took her in his arms and kissed her rain-wet lips and then somehow they were staggering towards the bedroom, shedding clothes as they went.
At one point, Hamish dimly heard the phone ringing from the office, but he ignored it.
♦
Priscilla tucked away her mobile phone. She had called the police station from the Tommel Castle Hotel. Why didn’t Hamish answer? Then she grinned, as she remembered all the times the lazy constable had ignored its ringing. He always said if it was anything urgent, he could hear it on his answering machine. She thought of leaving a message and then suddenly, tired though she was, decided to surprise him.
She carefully washed and made up her face again. She went out and got into her car and drove down into Lochdubh. It was a filthy night. Funny, she thought, how easily she had forgotten how vile the winter could be in the northern Highlands. Horizontal rain slashed against the windscreen and the car rocked in buffets of wind.
Priscilla was just driving along the waterfront when the stout figure of Mrs. Wellington, the minister’s wife, leapt in front of the car, waving her arms. Priscilla braked and rolled down the window. “Mrs. Wellington!” she shouted. “What on earth are you doing? I could have killed you.”
“I recognised the car,” gabbled Mrs. Wellington, rain cascading off a golf umbrella which she held over her head, “and I was so pleased to see you, dear. Come up to the manse and we’ll have a chat.”
“It’s too late,” said Priscilla. “I’ll call on you tomorrow. I’m just going to drop in on Hamish.”
“Oh, you won’t find him. He was called out to Drim. A burglary over there.”
Priscilla looked down the waterfront. Through the driving rain, she could see that the police Land Rover was parked outside the police station and the kitchen light was on.
She let in the clutch. “I can see that he’s back now. See you tomorrow.”
Priscilla moved off but only got a few yards before she had to slam on the brakes again. The Currie sisters were standing in the middle of the road.
Priscilla hooted angrily.
The twin sisters came round to the driver’s side of the car and rapped on the window.
“What is it?” asked Priscilla, rolling down the window again. Rain was dripping from the plastic covering on their heads and onto their thick glasses.
“We were so delighted to hear you were back,” said Jessie. “I said to Nessie, we must ask her in for tea, for tea.”
“I’m on my way to see Hamish.”
“Oh, I wouldnae be disturbing him this time of night.”
“The kitchen light is still on,” said Priscilla patiently, “which means he’s awake.”
“I wouldn’t be going by that, by that,” said Jessie. “He aye forgets to put it out, put it out.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, ladies,” said Priscilla firmly.
She drove to the police station and parked her car and got out. She was just about to walk up to the kitchen door when a voice hailed her. “Miss Halburton-Smythe!”
Priscilla turned round. Archie Macleod, the fisherman, was standing there. “I haff had a fine catch o’ the fish. If you would be stepping over to my cottage, I’ll let you have some.”
“What is up with everyone this evening?” asked Priscilla, bewildered. “I’m just going to say hullo to Hamish and then I’m going to bed.”
“I wouldnae be doing that.”
“Why?”
“I chust wouldnae,” muttered Archie, backing away.
Priscilla shrugged and went up to the kitchen door. It was unlocked. She pushed it open and went in. Lugs waddled towards her, his ridiculous plume of a tail waving a welcome.
She bent down to pat him and that’s when she saw a shirt lying on the floor, and next to it a blouse and jacket.
Priscilla straightened up slowly and stared. A line of discarded clothing was leading to the bedroom.
She suddenly felt sad and silly. The phone in the police office was ringing and then the answering machine clicked on. “Hamish Macbeth,” boomed Mrs. Wellington’s voice, “if you’re up to what I think you’re up to, you’d best lock your doors. Miss Halburton-Smythe is on your doorstep.” The phone rang again. Priscilla waited, frozen. The answering machine clicked on again. “Och, Hamish,” came Archie’s voice. “I’m probably too late but your Priscilla’s at the police station.”
Priscilla turned on her heel and left the police station, closing the door quietly behind her.
Feeling stiff, almost as if she had rheumatism, she got into her car. She drove slowly back along the waterfront while the hidden eyes of the villagers sadly watched her from behind their curtains.