transporter. When Bannerman and Shona went outside to meet it they could see why. The car’s tyres had been slashed and the bodywork had been defaced by copious amounts of red and black spray paint. There was a message to be extracted from the mess which Bannerman, by leaning his head this way and that, managed to read out a word at a time. Tuck off… bastard … leave … our jobs … alone …’
Two policemen from an accompanying Panda car came to join Bannerman. ‘Sorry about this Doctor,’ said one of them. ‘If it’s any comfort we’ve got the pair who did it.’
‘You have?’
‘It’s a small place. It didn’t take us long to find out who’s been buying spray paint recently. They still had it on their hands.’
‘Who are they?’ asked Bannerman.
‘Couple of local lads, Turner and Ferguson. They work at the power station. The story’s been going around that you are trying to close it down.’
‘I wonder who started that,’ said Bannerman, thinking of C. J. Mitchell.
‘These two cretins thought they would take matters into their own hands, make their own protest so to speak. I take it you’ll be pressing charges?’
‘It’s not my car,’ said Bannerman. ‘Ask Hertz.’
‘I see, sir, then presumably you won’t want it left here.’
Bannerman shook his head, looking at the sorry state of the Sierra. He was wondering how far disgruntled workers would go to see off a threat to their jobs. Was that what was behind the shooting up on the shore yesterday? he wondered. ‘I’ll call the car company, Officer, and ask them to deal with it.’
‘Very good, sir. It’ll be in the police station yard at Stobmor.’
Bannerman called the rental company and was pleased to hear that they weren’t at all put out by his tale. Would he like them to deliver another car to him from Inverness? Bannerman consulted Shona and they decided that they would travel down to Inverness by bus and pick up the new car there after Shona had completed her business. ‘I’ll have it waiting,’ said the clerk.
‘The bus will be here at ten-thirty,’ volunteered the landlord. ‘If you miss that you’ll be here another day.’
This was a threat that Bannerman took notice of. He was packed and waiting at the stop with Shona shortly before twenty-five past the hour. Three other people boarded the bus at Achnagelloch bringing the total aboard to eight. Two more were picked up from outlying farms on the twisting roundabout route the bus followed to reach the A838 before heading south.
Bannerman collected his new car from the rental company while Shona visited the offices of the people responsible for promoting the craft fair she wanted to participate in. He gave her an hour before driving to the pick up point, where he waited a further fifteen minutes before she appeared.
‘How did it go?’ he asked.
‘Very well I think,’ said Shona. They’ll let me know by the end of the week.’
‘Does that mean you won’t be coming to Edinburgh?’ Bannerman asked.
‘Of course I will,’ insisted Shona.
‘Good,’ smiled Bannerman, and he meant it.
They had missed lunch by being on the bus and they had made do with a snack when they finally got to Inverness. Bannerman asked if Shona was hungry or should they make a start and eat on the way south to Edinburgh.
‘Let’s get started,’ said Shona. ‘Move over.’ Bannerman relinquished the driving seat to her and settled down to enjoy the journey. He had always preferred being a passenger in a car to driving it. That way he never lost his temper. Thinking about that reminded him that he had forgotten to collect his tape of Gregorian chant from the damaged Sierra in Achnagelloch.
TEN
They stopped at Aviemore to eat and chose a restaurant which appeared inviting by virtue of its orange lighting which suggested warmth. Inside, people in ski-wear were bemoaning the fact that there had been no snow. They were complaining about how much money it was costing them to find alternative things to do.
‘Last bloody time,’ said one man with a pronounced north of England accent. ‘I could have gone to bloody Zermatt for half of what it cost me to visit bonnie bloody Scotland.’
‘Maybe it’ll snow tomorrow, love,’ suggested his wife.
‘Piss wi’ bloody rain more like,’ said her husband.
The general consensus agreed with the husband.
‘I’ve not had a single chance to try out my new skis,’ complained another woman clad in what appeared to be a purple-coloured second skin. It clashed violently with her pink lipstick. Sunglasses, perched high up in her hair, seemed as incongruous as sandals in Siberia.
The northern man leaned towards her and said, ‘I tell you what, love, if that silly bloody tour guide comes round once more with his silly bloody talk about going for a nice walk in the hills, I’ll try out your new skis for you on him … sideways.’
The skiers laughed and Bannerman noted that the Dunkirk spirit, so beloved by politicians, was still alive and well.
‘Do you ski?’ Shona asked.
Bannerman said not. ‘You?’
Shona shook her head.
Despite the fact that it had rained for most of the way and the wind was forcing high-sided vehicles to double-up on the Forth Road Bridge, Bannerman was sorry that the journey was coming to an end. He and Shona had spoken practically non-stop and he had enjoyed every minute of it. There was something about Shona’s philosophy of life which he found intriguing and appealing. On the surface it appeared to be straightforward and uncomplicated — people should do what they want to do. It was only when you considered the difficulties of putting this into practice that the degree of achievement in actually doing it became apparent. As Angus MacLeod had pointed out, people liked to pretend that they were doing things their way, but it was seldom true.
‘What are you thinking about?’ asked Shona.
‘Life,’ smiled Bannerman.
‘Life is what happens to you while you’re thinking about it,’ said Shona.
Bannerman turned his head to look at her. She was concentrating on the road ahead but there was no sign of stress or strain on her face, despite the appalling driving conditions. She seemed vibrantly alive and enjoying every minute of it. What was more, she looked beautiful.
‘What are you thinking now?’
1 was thinking I would have to phone the Medical Research Council in the morning,’ lied Bannerman.
As they cleared the brow of a hill the darkness ahead was suddenly speckled by a carpet of amber lights in the distance, denoting the outskirts of the city. Shona asked, ‘Where are you staying?’
‘In the Royal Mile but drive to where you want to go and I can drive from there, really. How long are you staying?’
‘I’ll have a wander round tomorrow and look up some old friends. I’ll probably head back the day after tomorrow,’ said Shona.
‘You’re not staying with friends then?’ asked Bannerman.
‘No.’
Bannerman felt awkward. He said, ‘I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, but the apartment they’ve given me has two bedrooms and if you would care to stay there while you’re here, you’d be most welcome.’
Shona smiled at Bannerman’s awkwardness, thinking it belonged to another generation. Remembering what Bannerman had said to her on North Uist about the neighbours, she said, ‘Wouldn’t the good people of the university be outraged?’
‘Probably,’ said Bannerman.
