"Lady Rose? I wonder if I could come and see you on behalf of a client of mine?" and she went on to explain.
"Certainly, my dear, I'll send my gardener, Angus, to pick you up. I look forward to seeing you. By the way, just call me Lady Katherine. It's customary here."
Hannah put down the receiver and pulled on her coat. The door opened and Dillon entered. He looked dreadful and her heart sank.
"Why, Dillon, it's good to see you."
"I doubt that, girl dear. On the other hand, I must say you look good enough to eat. Is the great man in?"
"He's expecting you. Listen, I'll have to dash, the Lear's waiting for me at Gatwick and I've a fast trip to make to Scotland."
"Then I won't detain you. Happy landings," and he knocked on Ferguson's door and went in.
"God save all here," Dillon said.
Ferguson glanced up. "You look bloody awful."
" 'God save you kindly' was the reply to that one," Dillon told him. "And as I see the brandy over there I'll help myself."
He did, taking it down in one swallow, then lit a cigarette. Ferguson said, "Remarkably bad habits for a sick man."
"Don't let's waste time. Are you putting me out to grass?"
"I'm afraid so. Your appointment was never exactly official, you see. That makes things awkward."
"Ah, well, all good things come to an end."
He helped himself to more brandy and Ferguson said, "Normally there would have been a pension, but in your circumstances I'm afraid not."
Dillon smiled. "Remember Michael Aroun, the bastard I did away with in Brittany in ninety-one after the Downing Street affair? He was supposed to put two million into my bank account and screwed me."
"I remember," Ferguson said.
"I cleaned out his safe before I left. Assorted currencies, but it came to around six hundred thousand pounds. I'll be all right." He finished the brandy. "Well, working with you has been a sincere sensation, I'll say that, but I'd better be on my way."
As he put his hand to the door, Ferguson said formally, "One more thing, Dillon, I presume you're carrying the usual Walther. I'd be obliged if you'd leave it on my desk."
"Screw you, Brigadier," Sean Dillon said and went out.
The flight to Moidart was spectacular, straight over the English Lake District at thirty thousand feet, then Scotland and the Firth of Forth, the Grampian Mountains on the right, and soon the islands, Eigg and Rhum, and the Isle of Skye to the north. The Lear turned east toward the great shining expanse of Loch Shiel, but before it was the deer forest, Loch Dhu Castle and the loch itself, black and forbidding. The co-pilot was navigating and he pointed as they descended and there was the airfield, decaying Nissan huts, two hangars, and an old control tower.
"Ardmurchan field. Air-sea rescue during the big war."
It was on the far side of the loch from the Castle, and as they turned to land Hannah saw an old station wagon approaching. The Lear rolled to a halt. Both the pilots, who were RAF on secondment, got out with her to stretch their legs. The skipper, a Flight Lieutenant Lacey, said, "Back of beyond this, Chief Inspector, and no mistake."
"Better get used to it, Flight Lieutenant. I suspect we'll be up here again," she said and walked toward the station wagon.
The driver was a man in tweed cap and jacket with a red face, blotched from too much whiskey drinking. "Angus, Miss, her ladyship sent me to find you."
"My name's Bernstein," she said and got into the passenger seat. As they drove away she said, "You've no idea how excited I am to be here."
"Why would that be, Miss?" he inquired.
"Oh, my grandfather knew the old Laird during the war, Major Campbell. They served in the Far East together with Lord Mountbatten."
"Ah, well I wouldn't know about that, Miss. I'm only sixty-four, so all I did was National Service and that was in nineteen forty-eight."
"I see. I remember my grandfather saying the Laird had a batman from the estate, a Corporal Tanner. Did you know him?"
"Indeed I did, Miss, he was estate manager here for years. Went on a visit to his daughter in New York and died there. Only the other day that happened."
"What a shame."
"Death comes to us all," he intoned.
It was like a line from a bad play, especially when delivered in that Highland Scots accent, and she lapsed into silence as he turned the station wagon into huge, old-fashioned iron gates and stopped beside the lodge.
Lady Katherine Rose was old and tired and it showed on her wizened face as she sat there in the wing-backed chair, a rug over her knees. The drawing room in which she greeted Hannah was pleasantly furnished, most of the stuff obviously antique. There was a fire in the hearth, but she had a French window open.
"I hope you don't mind, my dear," she said to Hannah, "I need the air, you see. My chest isn't what it used to be."
A pleasant, rather overweight woman in her fifties bustled in with tea and scones on a tray, which she placed on a mahogany table. "Shall I pour?" she said, and like Angus her accent was Highland.
"Don't fuss, Jean, I'm sure Miss Bernstein is quite capable. Off you go."
Jean smiled, picked up a shawl which had slipped to the floor, and put it around the old woman's shoulders. Hannah went and poured the tea.
"So," Lady Katherine said, "your employer is Brigadier Charles Ferguson, is that what you said?"
"Yes. He was wondering whether there might be a chance of renting Ardmurchan Lodge for the shooting. I did contact your agents in London but was given to understand that the big house was leased."
"Indeed it is, an Arab Prince no less, a dear man with several children who keep descending on me. Far too generous. He sends me food I can't eat and bottles of Dom Perignon I can't drink."
Hannah put her cup of tea on a side table. "Yes. I heard he was in residence for another month and after that an American gentleman."
"Yes, a Mr. Morgan. Scandalously wealthy. I've seen his picture in the Tatler magazine playing polo with Prince Charles. His lawyer flew up to see me just like you in a jet plane. He's taken the place for three months." She didn't bother with the tea. "There are some cigarettes in the silver box. Get one for me, there's a dear, and help yourself, if you indulge." She held it in a hand that shook slightly. "That's better," she said as she inhaled. "Clears my chest. Anyway, to business. Ardmurchan Lodge is free and has full sporting rights. Deer, grouse next month, then fishing. There are two bathrooms, five bedrooms. I could arrange servants."
"No need for that. The Brigadier has a manservant who also cooks."
"How very convenient. And you'd come too?"
"Some of the time at least."
"The Brigadier must be as wealthy as this American, what with private airplanes and so forth. What does he do?"
"Various things on the international scene." Hannah hurried on. "I was telling your gardener what a thrill it was for me to be here. I first heard of Loch Dhu when I was a young girl from my mother's father. He was an army officer during the Second World War and served on Lord Louis Mountbatten's staff in the Far East." She was making it up as she went along. "Gort was his name, Colonel Edward Gort. Perhaps your brother spoke of him?"
"I'm afraid not, my dear. You see, Ian was involved in a dreadful air crash in India in forty-four. He was only saved by the courage of his batman, Jack Tanner, a man who'd grown up with him on the estate here. My brother was hospitalized on and off for years. Brain damage, you see. He was never the same. He never talked about the war. To be frank, the poor dear never talked much about anything. He wasn't capable."
"How tragic," Hannah said. "My grandfather never mentioned that. I believe the last time he saw him was in China."
"That must have been before the crash."
Hannah got up and poured more tea into her cup. "Can I get you anything?"
"Another cigarette, my dear, my only vice and at my age, what does it matter?"