They had reached their destination. He opened one half of a set of double doors and motioned for them to enter an enormous room. Almost the entire far wall had been glassed in.
“Come and look at the view,” he bade them.
They crossed the endless floor, covered with Oriental rugs, to the glass wall, which extended all the way to the edge of the cliff. The view over the meadows and fields up toward the Pentland Hills was striking.
“It is very beautiful,” Irene said, sincerely.
With a satisfied expression, he asked them to sit on the soft leather sofas which were turned to face the view. Irene realized that all the sofas and armchairs were placed so the occupant could enjoy the view.
“Food will be served in a few minutes in the Hunting Room. I think it’s more pleasant to eat there. The dining room is too large for three people.”
Irene didn’t have any trouble imagining what the dining room must be like. A gloomy room with armor along the walls and even more ancestral portraits staring down from the walls. And, of course, the table must be colossally long, with fifty chairs around it. And there Andrew and his future wife were supposed to sit and yell to each other from their respective ends of the table and. .
She suddenly became aware that both men were looking at her. One of them must have asked her a question. She smiled uncertainly. “Excuse me. I didn’t quite understand. .,” she said.
“I asked if you had been in Scotland before,” Andrew said, looking at her curiously.
“No. I’ve never been to Scotland before,” Irene replied.
She was rescued by a door being opened at the far end of the room. Andrew stood and said, “I see lunch is served. Please.”
They waded away over the sea of floor and stepped into what was called the Hunting Room.
Irene stopped abruptly on the threshold. Unprepared, Glen bumped right into her back.
“Oops,” he said. At the same time, he took the opportunity to give Irene a nudge in the right direction. She stepped into the room.
Here, too, the outer wall had been removed and replaced by an enormous bay window. A table and eight chairs had been placed inside the alcove, which had glass walls on three sides. The table was set for three people. No one had to tell Irene that the furniture was antique. The beautiful wood carvings on the chair legs and backs spoke for themselves. But it wasn’t the furniture that had surprised her when she stepped over the threshold.
Even though the room had been referred to as the Hunting Room, she hadn’t expected it to be filled with weapons. Naturally, there were stuffed animal heads and birds that glared at them with glass beads for eyes, but the room was dominated by weapons. Swords and daggers, along with old pistols and rifles with decorated butts, lined the walls. More weapons could be glimpsed inside the glass doors of high cabinets. Three of the cabinets were fitted with metal doors and heavy locks.
“I thought my weapon collection might appeal to you as police officers.” Andrew smiled.
He started guiding them to the exhibits on display, but was interrupted by a door opening and a serving cart being rolled in. An older woman in a black dress waited with the cart until they were seated. She served them cold poached salmon with a caper sauce and steamed vegetables, and cold beer, dark or light as they preferred. Irene chose a light English ale, while Glen and Andrew asked for a darker Scottish beer.
“I thought it just as well to have you here to lunch since you wanted to speak with me. I’m busy with important clients, but I’ve put them on a plane heading up to the oil rigs. Then they’ll take a helicopter out to the platform itself. My right-hand man is taking care of them, and they won’t return for several hours. But at three o’clock I must be in Edinburgh. Can we finish here by two thirty at the latest?”
It was a polite question, but he left no room for negotiation.
Thankfully, Glen was also a good talker, and he cleverly managed to maneuver the conversation away from unpleasant but unavoidable questions. The men established rapport quickly. Both were loquacious and interested in history. And Scots. Andrew only lifted one eyebrow when Glen told him that he was half Scottish. Between mouthfuls, he and Andrew were soon involved in a discussion about Scotland’s bloody history. They were both in agreement that it was a pity their forefathers had been forced to capitulate in 1707. The union with England and Wales had never been good for Scotland.
Glen and St. Clair had to wash down their rebellious patriotic feelings with large gulps of dark beer. Irene, listening, was amazed at how engaged the two were in Scotland’s history. She realized that these national sentiments hadn’t cooled over the years, but were still alive. It wasn’t farfetched to dwell on old wrongs, committed in 1295, here.
They had chocolate cake with whipped cream and coffee for dessert. Afterward they headed back to the living room. Their host walked over to a beautiful glass cabinet and took out a bottle.
“The family’s whisky, from our own distillery. Among the finest there is. Very exclusive. It can only be purchased in certain shops. Aged twenty years, of which three are in sherry casks,” he said proudly.
A black label with St. Clair in silver gothic type adorned the rounded bottle.
“I’m driving,” Glen mumbled.
“Just a wee taste,” Andrew declared.
He took out three beautifully polished shot glasses and poured in some of the golden liquid. With an expression of pride, he handed a glass to Irene and one to Glen. Sensually, he sniffed the aroma from his own glass, and the police officers followed his lead. He raised his glass.
“Slainte!”
“Slainte!” Glen replied and raised his glass.
“Skål!” Irene said in Swedish.
In the company of these two men, she had to assert her own ethnic identity and highlight her temporary exoticism. Even if neither of the two looked like a Scotsman, their hearts and souls were Scottish.
The whisky was distinctive, without the slightest hint of sharpness. It rolled nicely on the tongue and left a long finish with a hint of sweetness from the sherry. It was really a very fine drink. Irene realized there wasn’t any point in her asking if she could buy a bottle to take home with her for her husband, because she would never be able to afford it.
They sat again. Andrew leaned back in a leather armchair. “I know that you didn’t come here all the way from London just to have a pleasant chat. I also know that you want to talk about my cousin and the terrible murders in Sweden. It affects poor Rebecka the most, but he’s certainly affected as well since they work so closely together.”
Glen decided to take the opportunity to proceed.
“New information has surfaced in our investigation. May I ask how well you know Rebecka?”
“We’ve met a few times in London and at Christmas she was here for two. . no, three days.”
“Hasn’t she been here more than once?”