He drove into Strathcroy as the church clock was striking seven. He thought, in pleasant anticipation, of getting home. The dogs would be there, rescued from the kennels by Virginia; and Henry, in his bath or eating his tea in the kitchen. He would sit with Henry while he consumed his fish fingers or beefburgers or whatever horror he had chosen to eat, listening to all that Henry had been up to during the week, and drinking, meanwhile, a very long and strong gin and tonic.
Which reminded him that they were out of tonic. The drink cupboard had been allowed to run dry of this precious commodity, and Edmund had meant to stop off and buy a crate before he left Edinburgh, but had forgotten to do this. And so he passed the bridge that led to Balnaid and drove on into the village, drawing up outside the Pakistani supermarket.
All the other shops had long since shut their doors and closed their shutters, but the Pakistanis never seemed to close. Long after nine o'clock in the evening they were still selling cartons of milk and bread and pizzas and frozen curries to anybody who wanted to buy them.
He got out of the car and went into the shop. There were other customers but they were filling their own wire baskets from the shelves or being assisted by Mr. Ishak, and it was Mrs. Ishak who dimpled at Edmund from behind the counter. She was a comely lady, with huge dark eyes ringed in kohl, and this evening dressed in butter-yellow silk, with a paler yellow silk scarf draped around her head and shoulders.
'Good evening, Mr. Aird.'
'Good evening, Mrs. Ishak. How are you?'
'I am very well, thank you for asking.'
'How's Kedejah?'
'She is watching television.'
'I hear she had an afternoon at Pennyburn with Henry.'
'That is true, and my God, she came home soaking wet.'
Edmund laughed. 'They were building dams. I hope you weren't annoyed.'
'Not at all. She has had a most lovely time.'
'I want some tonic water, Mrs. Ishak. Have you got some?'
'But of course. How many bottles do you need?'
'Two dozen?'
'If you wait, I will fetch them for you from the store.'
'Thank you.'
She went. Edmund, unimpatient, stood waiting for her to return. A voice spoke from behind him.
'Mr. Aird.'
It was so close, just behind his shoulder, that he was much startled. He swung around and found himself faced by Edie's cousin, Lottie Carstairs. Since she had come to stay with Edie, he had glimpsed her once or twice, pottering about the village, but had taken some pains and avoiding action, not wishing to be confronted by her. Now it seemed she had him cornered and there was no escape.
'Good evening.'
'Remember me?' She spoke almost coyly. Edmund did not relish finding himself so close to her with her pallid, bloodless skin and the strong suggestion of a moustache upon her upper lip. Her hair was the colour-and roughly the texture-of steel wool, and under wildly arched eyebrows her eyes were brown as currants, and round and quite unwinking. Apart from all this, her appearance was reasonably normal. She wore a blouse and skirt, a long green cardigan perkily embellished with a sparkling brooch, and shoes with high heels upon which she tottered slightly as she engaged Edmund in conversation. 'I used to be with Lady Balmerino, staying with Edie Findhorn right now I am. Seen you around the village, never had the chance of an old chin-wag…'
Lottie Carstairs. She must be nearly sixty now, and yet she had not changed so much since those days when she had worked at Croy and caused every person in the house untold annoyance and aggravation, with her stealthy tread and her habit of always appearing just when least wanted or expected. Archie always swore that she listened at keyholes, and he had been perpetually throwing doors open in the expectation of catching Lottie there, crouched and eavesdropping. In the afternoons, Edmund remembered, she had always worn a brown woollen dress with a muslin apron tied over it. The muslin apron was not Lady Balmerino's idea but Lottie's. Archie said it was because she wanted to appear servile. The brown dress had stains under the armpits, and one of the worst things about Lottie was her smell.
The family complained vociferously and Archie demanded that his mother take some step to rectify the situation. Either sack the bloody woman or do something to ensure a little personal daintiness. But poor Lady Balmerino, with Archie's wedding on her mind, every bed filled with guests and a party planned at Croy on the evening of the great day, did not feel strong enough to sack her housemaid. And she was far too kind-hearted actually to send for Lottie, face her fair and square, and tell her that she smelt.
Under attack, she fell back on feeble excuses.
'I must have someone to clean the rooms and make the beds.'
'We'll make our own beds.'
'Poor thing, she's only got one dress.'
'Well, buy her another.'
'Perhaps she's nervous.'
'Not too nervous to wash. Give her a bar of Lifebuoy.'
'I'm not certain that that would make much difference. Perhaps… for Christmas… I could give her some talcum powder…?'
But even this timid notion came to nothing, for, soon after the wedding, Lottie dropped the tray and broke the Rockingham china, and Lady Balmerino was finally driven to firing her. By Christmas Lottie was gone from Croy. Now, trapped in Mr. Ishak's shop, Edmund wondered if she still smelt. He was not about to risk finding out. Trying not to make it too obvious, he moved a pace or two away from her.
'Yes,' he said, sounding as pleasant and friendly as he could. 'Of course, I remember you…'
'Those days at Croy! The year Archie was wed to Isobel. Oh my, what times those were. I remember you coming up from London for the wedding and around the place all that week, helping Lady Balmerino with one thing and another.'
'It seems a long time ago.'
'Yes.'
'And all of you so young. And old Lord and Lady Balmerino so good and kind. Croy's changed now, I hear, and not for the better. But then, hard times come to everybody. It was a sad day when Lady Balmerino died. She was always so good to me. She was good to my parents too. My mother and my father died. You knew that, didn't you? I've been wanting to talk to you, but somehow I missed you in the village. And all of you so young. And Archie with his two good legs… fancy getting his leg shot off! Never heard of anything so ridiculous…'
'… hear all your news from Edie, of course; very worried about Edie, she's grown so fat, can't be good for her heart. And all of you so young. And that Pandora! Flying around the place like a spinning top. Dreadful way she went, wasn't it? Funny she never came home. Always thought she might come back for Christmas, but no. And not to be there for Lady Balmerino's funeral, well, I'm sorry and I don't like to say such things, but in my view, it was downright un-Christian. But then, she always was a wee fly-by-night… in more ways than one… you and I know that, don't we?'
At this point she burst into a peal of manic laughter and actually struck Edmund a playful, but quite painful, blow on his arm. His immediate and instinctive reaction was to hit her right back, a good punch, bang, square on the end of her long, inquisitive nose. He imagined it crumpling, concertinaed, into her face. He imagined the headlines in the local newspapers: 'Relkirkshire Landowner Assaults Strathcroy Lady In Village Supermarket.' He thrust his hands, the fists balled, into his trouser pockets.
'… and your wife's been in London? Nice. And the wee boy with his gran. Seen him sometimes around the place. He is peaky, isn't he?' Edmund could feel the blood rising to his cheeks. He wondered how long he could continue to control himself. He could not remember when any person had cast him into such a confusion of impotent rage. '… small for his age, I'd say… not strong…'
'I am sorry, Mr. Aird, to keep you so long.' It was Mrs. Ishak's soft voice that finally stilled the flood of Lottie's
