“Aye, that’s why I’m calling. Cheer up. He really did commit suicide. The pathologist confirmed it and he hates Blair and would have given anything to make it out to be murder if there had been the slightest doubt.”
Hamish let out a long sigh of relief. “Thanks. Thanks a lot.”
Anderson chuckled. “I know how much you love Blair and guessed what ye might be thinking. Ta-ta.”
Hamish Macbeth went straight back to bed and slept until noon.
Towser awoke him by tugging at his sleeve. “Want a walk, boy?” mumbled Hamish. He had gone to bed the second time fully dressed. He got up and peered out of the window and found himself staring straight into a wall of snow.
Hamish groaned. “I’d better dig a tunnel if I’m to get you out.”
The snow had stopped and by the time he had shovelled a path down to the gate, the sun was shining. He waited patiently while Towser cavorted among the snow-drifts. The snow-plough chugged past as it had done before and threw a wall of snow up by the gate. “Let it stay,” muttered Hamish. “I don’t feel like visitors the day.”
“Hallo! Hamish Macbeth! Are you there?” called a voice from the other side of the snow wall. Jamie Ross.
“What is it?” called Hamish.
“Just want a wee word,” called Jamie. “I’ll shovel my end and you shovel yours and we might meet in the middle.”
Hamish sighed and picked up the shovel and dug until he had made a gap. He found Jamie and Helen Ross on the other side. “Come in,” said Hamish reluctantly.
He led the way up the path and into the kitchen. Helen Ross looked more beautiful than ever in a white parka over a scarlet wool jump suit and white high boots.
“No more trouble, I hope?” asked Hamish.
“We felt we’d better give you an explanation,” said Jamie awkwardly. “I told Helen to flirt with Mainwaring and find out if he knew about the plans for the railway.”
“So you knew about the plans?” asked Hamish.
“Yes. But not that they’d been cancelled.”
“It wasn’t a very secret meeting,” said Hamish. “I’m beginning to wonder if the whole of Sutherland knew about it.”
“Well, it turned out Mainwaring didn’t have a clue about the railway, but he wasn’t going to sell either.”
“Oh, well,” sighed Hamish. “It’s all over now. Why are you telling me this?”
“Helen didn’t want you to think badly of her. That’s why she spun you that tale about being bored and all.”
“I wish you had told me about the railway first thing,” said Hamish sharply. “It would have saved a lot of time.”
He looked curiously at Helen as he spoke. She smiled at him and lit a cigarette. Hamish had a feeling that she had been telling the truth to a certain extent, that she had found Mainwaring’s company a pleasure and had been disappointed with him in Inverness.
“And didn’t you think you were doing anything wrong by risking your wife’s reputation?” asked Hamish.
“Well, no,” said Jamie awkwardly. The fact that the whole thing had been Helen’s idea hung in the air. “But I tell you this, Hamish: I’ll never do it again. I’ve been pushing and pushing to get money and more money, but I think greed and ambition are beginning to make me do things against my conscience. I’ll need to start another business now, for when it comes out at the trial about those cannibalistic lobsters of mine, I’ll be ruined.”
“It won’t come out,” said Hamish. “Mackay hanged himself last night.”
“Clever man,” said Helen Ross, and blew a smoke ring.
Jamie ignored her. “Here!” he said. “I hope it was suicide.”
“Yes, no doubt about it.”
Jamie looked dazed. “I’ve been up all night, plotting and planning what to do. Now I don’t need to bother. But, you know, I can’t help feeling heart-sorry for Mackay. I would have liked to murder Mainwaring myself. Well, we’d better be on our way.”
Hamish watched them as they picked their way down the path, Jamie holding his wife’s arm so that she would not slip.
“It’s a miracle he didn’t murder Mainwaring,” said Hamish to Towser, “for that man is married to a Lady Macbeth and disnae know it.”
¦
Despite all his good intentions, Hamish found himself that evening in Jenny’s cosy kitchen. She was flushed and excited and strangely guilty about something. He asked her what was wrong, but she blushed and said, “Nothing.”
They had a pleasant dinner together and then went to bed for a more energetic night than they had had before.
Hamish awoke at dawn and propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at Jenny’s flushed and sleeping face and at her black curls. He decided to ask her to marry him. The sick, unnatural yearning for Priscilla would soon go away. He lay back on the pillows and clasped his hands behind his head and wondered what Priscilla would think when she learned of his marriage. She would do the right thing, of course; she always did. She would congratulate him warmly and send him a suitable present. But when she came calling at his kitchen door in Lochdubh, she would be an intruder, no longer a friend. Perhaps he and Jenny would have children and he could buy them train sets and teach them how to fish. He drifted off to sleep again, and in his dream it was the day of his wedding to Jenny, and Priscilla was telling him she had always loved him.
He awoke with a groan. Jenny stirred and put an arm across his naked chest.
“Are you awake, Hamish?” she whispered.
“Yes,” said Hamish gloomily. He had to propose – now or never.
“There’s something I’ve got to tell you.”
Both twisted round and stared at each other, for they had said the same thing at the same time.
“You first,” said Hamish.
“This is going to be difficult,” said Jenny. “I love you, Hamish, but I’m going back to my husband.”
“I thought you were divorced?”
“I am. But this awful murder and Mainwaring insulting my painting suddenly made me realize I’ve never stopped loving Andrew. He phoned from Canada yesterday evening. He still loves me, Hamish, and wants me back.”
Hamish at first felt a burst of sheer masculine fury, followed immediately by an odd floating feeling of relief.
“We’re very good in bed together,” said Jenny in a small voice. “But it’s not enough, is it, Hamish?”
“No, I suppose not. When are you leaving?”
“Not for a few months. I’ve got to sell up here and start shipping my paintings and belongings to Canada. Hamish, are you mad at me? I shouldn’t have gone to bed with you. But it just sort of happened.”
Jenny got out of bed and went to the window and drew the curtains. She scrubbed at the steamed-up glass with her fist and peered out. She shivered and crossed her arms over her naked breasts. “It’s snowing again, Hamish. What do you want to do?”
“Come back to bed and I’ll show you,” said Hamish Macbeth.
¦
The rest of Hamish’s stay at Cnothan was quiet and dull. The snow changed to weeks of driving rain. He no longer made love to Jenny as lust on both sides disappeared, to be replaced by a comfortable friendship.
The first sunny morning in ages heralded his last day in Cnothan. He wanted to be out of the police station before MacGregor’s return. He whistled as he cleaned the rooms and then he cleared all the groceries out of the kitchen cupboards and took them over to Jenny.
“MacGregor left me nothing,” said Hamish, “so he can find things exactly the same on his return. There’s three funny bottles of liqueur missing from his nasty bar, so I’ve left him a note, telling him to bill Blair.”
“I’ve made you some sandwiches and a Thermos of coffee for the bus,” said Jenny.
Hamish drew her into his arms and kissed her gently. “I’ll miss you, Jenny.”
