“Just arrived?” pursued Hamish.
“Yes. Mr Ferrari send for me last month.”
“But you knew English already?”
“My mother, she is from Edinburgh. She go back to the village to get married. The village is outside Naples.”
She held out a small work-reddened hand. “I am Sergeant Hamish Macbeth and this is PC Willie Lamont,” said Hamish, “and you are…?”
“Lucia Livia.”
“And what do you think of Lochdubh, Miss Livia?”
“It is…very quiet,” she said, her eyes looking beyond them to the still loch.
A group of fishermen and forestry workers came along and stopped short, all of them staring at Lucia in silent admiration.
“I feel it is the duty o’ the police tae look after newcomers to the village,” said Willie suddenly. “Perhaps you waud allow me to show you around the place, Miss Livia?”
“I am not sure,” she said cautiously. “I would have to ask Mr Ferrari. I work every evening.”
“Aye, well, just you ask him,” said Willie. “You’ve left the corners o’ the steps dirty. That’ll no’ do. Wait and I’ll show ye.”
“For heffen’s sake,” muttered Hamish, his Highland accent becoming more sibilant. But Willie was already down on his knees, scrubbing busily at the step.
“I’ll say good day to you, Miss Livia,” said Hamish stiffly. “Some of us haff the police work to do.”
Willie scrubbed on, unheeding.
Hamish walked gloomily back to the police station. In the small kitchen, everything gleamed and shone and the air smelled strongly of bleach and disinfectant. He made a cup of coffee and carried it through to the police station and sat down at the desk. He phoned Strathbane and spoke to Detective Jimmy Anderson, giving him the names of Cheryl and Sean. The address on Sean’s driving licence had been a Glasgow one and Hamish remembered it clearly, Flat B, 189, Lombard Crescent. Anderson said he would check up on it and get back to him as soon as possible.
Hamish then went out again and along to the manse. The minister was alone in his study. “Oh, Hamish,” he said, pushing away the sermon he had been working on, “what brings you here?”
“It’s those layabouts and their bus.”
“They are doing no harm, Hamish. The field is not used for anything. It’s a small patch of weedy grass and nettles. Why shouldn’t these young people have the use of it?”
“There’s something about them I don’t like. Besides, I’m surprised at you, Mr Wellington, for encouraging that kind of layabout.”
“Now, Hamish,” said the minister mildly, “you know jobs are few and far between.”
“So why don’t they go somewhere where there are jobs?” demanded Hamish, exasperated.
The minister chewed the end of his pencil in an abstracted way and then put it down. “There is something appealing about their way of life,” he said. “I sometimes think it would be wonderful to just take off and travel around without any responsibilities whatsoever.”
“And then who would pay the taxes?”
“They’re both young,” said Mr Wellington comfortably. “Time enough yet for them to grow up and become responsible.”
“Sean Gourlay is, I should guess, in his late twenties,” pointed out Hamish, “and the girl has a gutter mouth.”
“Come now, she was charming to me.”
“Well, I feel you are being conned,” said Hamish. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
♦
Hamish and Willie drove up to Tommel Castle Hotel that evening. Hamish climbed down from the Land Rover and sniffed the soft air with pleasure. The light evenings were back. Gone was the long dark tunnel of winter. A faint breeze blew in from the moors, scented with wild thyme. And then one of the castle cars, driven by a young woman, drove up and began to reverse to park next to the police Land Rover.
“Wait a minute,” shouted Willie, moving purposefully forward. “You’re no’ doing it right. Hard left. Now straighten up! Straighten up. Dear God, lassie, how did you ever pass your test? Don’t you know how to straighten up?”
Face scarlet with a mixture of fury and mortification, the woman parked at an angle and then climbed out and slammed the car door.
Willie shook his head. “Women drivers,” he said. “You’ll need to do better than that.”
She gave him an angry look and walked off into the hotel without a word.
“Stop being Mr Know-All,” said Hamish. “She’d probably haff done chust fine if you had left her alone. Now forget you’re a cop, and try to be charming.”
Suddenly nervous, Willie tugged at his tie. “Do I look all right, sir?”
“Yes, yes, just watch that mouth of yours.”
Priscilla met them in the entrance hall. “Doris is waiting for us in the bar,” she said. “I told her to get herself a drink and settle down. Some fool of a man was trying to tell her how to park.”
Hamish groaned inwardly. Doris Ward was a plain young woman with thick glasses and a rather rabbity mouth. She was wearing a blouse and skirt and a tartan waistcoat. She shook hands with Willie and Hamish and then said to Willie, “I should have known you were a bobby.”
“Sorry about that,” said Willie awkwardly after a nudge in the ribs from Hamish’s elbow. “Forgot I was off duty.”
“I am sure you have more to do when you are on duty,” said Doris, “than hector women drivers.”
“You’re English, aren’t you?” said Hamish, desperate to change the conversation. “Thanks, Priscilla, I’ll have any sort of soft drink, but Willie here will have a whisky.”
“Yes, I’m English,” said Doris. “It’s all very remote up here, isn’t it?”
Everyone agreed that, yes, it was remote and then there was a heavy silence.
“Willie here is from the city, Strathbane,” said Hamish at last. “He’s finding it difficult to get used to village ways.”
“Do you have many friends in the village?” Doris asked Willie politely.
“No, not in Lochdubh,” said Willie, “but I have a cliché of friends in Strathbane.”
“Clique,” moaned Hamish under his breath.
“Mind you,” said Willie, becoming expansive, “I have always wanted to travel. I have an aunt in America I could go and see.”
“Which part of America?” asked Doris.
“She lives in a condom in San Francisco.”
Doris sniggered. “Well, in these AIDS-ridden days, that’s a very safe place to live.”
Willie looked at her, puzzled, and then his face cleared. “Oh, aye, them condoms have secured cameras and guards and things like that.”
“Do you want to travel yourself, Doris?” asked Hamish.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Behind her thick glasses, her eyes sent him a flirtatious look. “I might settle for marriage.”
“Quite right too,” said Willie heartily. “I must say, it is refreshing to meet the woman these days who disnae go in for all this fenimist rubbish.”
“You mean feminist,” corrected Doris. “If you are going to criticize anything, at least pronounce it properly. Do you mean all women should settle for marriage and babies?”
“Why not?” demanded Willie, giving her a tolerant smile. “That’s what they’re built for.”
“You’re out of the Dark Ages,” said Priscilla smoothly. “Dinner should be ready now. Carry your drinks through.”
“Get her to talk about herself,” hissed Hamish in Willie’s ear as they walked towards the dining room.
But no sooner were they seated and waiting for the first course to be served than Doris selected a cigarette from a packet and lit up.
“Do you know you are ruining your lungs?” demanded Willie. “That stuff’s a killer and bad for the skin, too. I can already see it has – ”
“What are we haffing for dinner?” said Hamish, his voice suddenly very loud and strained.