Hamish Macbeth 04; Death of a Perfect Wife

“You’ve changed beyond recognition,” said Hamish. “Are you back here again?”

“No, I’ve got a good job as a bricklayer in Inverness.”

“You’ll be taking the wife down there to live with you, then?”

“No, Hamish. The fact is, she wants a divorce.”

Hamish stared at him in amazement. Phyllis Drummond’s devotion to her drunken husband had been the talk of the village. She stood by him through thick and thin, taking on cleaning jobs to keep food on the table, suffering the occasional beating with never a word of complaint.

“But why?” asked Hamish. “Is the whole of Lochdubh going in for divorce? Man, she should be delighted with you the way you are now, and you with a good job and all.”

“No, she ups and says she cannae stand me, that I was better when I was on the drink. Women! I’ve been up here trying to get her to change her mind but she willnae listen.”

They both turned as Dr Brodie came running up. “She’s gone,” he panted. “Angela’s gone.”

“Mrs Brodie’s probably up at the church hall at one of her meetings,” said Hamish soothingly.

“No, I’m telling you, she’s gone. She’s smashed up the kitchen and she’s gone.”

“I’ll phone for reinforcements and then I’ll look for her,” said Hamish. “Harry, go round and get all the men in the village.”

He ran back to the police station and phoned Strathbane. Then he got in his Land Rover with Towser beside him and drove off. Clouds had covered the moon and the night was pitch black. Where on earth should he begin to look for her? In the loch? On the moors? In the sea?

He searched all night, unwilling to give up although reinforcements had arrived from Strath-bane and policemen were combing the lochside and policemen and villagers were fanned out over the moors and a police helicopter hummed overhead. The next morning was sunny although the air was still heavy and damp and the sunlight had that threatening, glaring look which heralded bad weather to come.

He finally stopped the Land Rover and stared bleakly through the windscreen. If Angela Brodie were suicidal, then where would she go? Or if she were merely badly distressed, where would she go to put a distance between herself and her husband? He looked up at the twisting, soaring peaks of the Two Sisters, the giant mountains above Lochdubh. He left Towser fast asleep in the car and began to climb.

Bees droned in the heather and heather flies danced in the sleepy air. Up he went through the heather and bracken. He took off his jersey and laid it down on a rock and put his cap on top of it. He rolled up the sleeves of his blue shirt and set off again. Once, when he had been very upset by Priscilla – how long ago and far away that seemed now! – he had climbed high above the village to a ledge of rock to sit and be alone with his misery. It was a chance, a slim chance, that Angela Brodie might have chosen the same route. The ground rose steeply and he sweated in the warm air. Midges stung his face as his sweat washed the repellent from it. For an hour he toiled upwards towards where he remembered the ledge to be. His disappointment was sharp when he at last reached it and found no-one there. He sat down, unshaven and exhausted. Below him he could see the small figures of the searching police on the moors and then, as he watched, a van drove up to the harbour and frogmen got out. He was so very tired. His head swam and he longed to lie down and sleep. But somewhere in all the miles of mountain and moor and loch was Angela Brodie.

And then his eyes sharpened. A tiny figure was struggling down far below the ledge. He leapt to his feet and tumbled down from the ledge and began to run. His feet went from under him and he slithered down, grabbing at heather roots to break his fall. At last he stopped and stood up, panting, and looked wildly around. There was the figure still below him and staggering on from side to side like a drunk.

His long legs bore him towards that fleeing figure until with a feeling of pure gladness he saw that it was Angela Brodie. A final burst of speed brought him up to her and he flung himself on her and brought her down onto the heather.

He sat up and turned her over. Her face was swollen with crying.

“Come along,” he said gently. “You’re in a bad way.”

“Can’t go back,” she said drearily.

“We all have to go back to it sometime,” he said. “Come along. I’ve got a flask of brandy in the Rover.”

He helped her to her feet. She made an effort to pull herself away and then collapsed in a heap at his feet. He picked her up in his arms and carried her down towards where the Land Rover was parked. He laid her down in the shade of it and got the flask of brandy from the glove compartment and forced it between her lips. She spluttered and her eyes opened.

“That’s better,” said Hamish. “Now, you’ll soon be home.”

“I don’t w-want to go home,” she said. Tears spilled down her cheeks. He took out a handkerchief and wiped them away.

He gathered her in his arms and stroked her hair. “There, there,” he said. “Tell Hamish all about it.”

“John wants a divorce.”

“That’s what he says, but men often say things in a temper they don’t mean.”

“He meant it. John never says anything he doesn’t mean.”

“Maybe not before. But you gave the man every reason to lose his temper. He wasnae divorcing you, but Trixie. He wasnae living with you, but Trixie. You even tried to look like the woman.”

She shivered despite the heat. “I feel so lost and empty,” she wailed.

“That’s maybe a good sign. You feel a bit empty when an obsession’s left ye,” said Hamish, thinking of Priscilla.

“You see, Trixie seemed to have all the answers,” said Angela mournfully. “I’ve felt so useless for years. I go down to Glasgow or Edinburgh or even Inverness and people say, what do you do, and I say, I’m a housewife, and they say, is that all? Trixie said that housewifery was a noble art and if it were done properly then it could be very satisfying. I got a high from all the work and all the committees. It was like being drunk. She praised me and no-one had done that in ages. She told me John was killing himself with his cigarettes and cheap wine and greasy meals. I Move John.”

“He seemed awfy happy with you the way you were,” said Hamish, still gently stroking her hair. “Come on back wi’ me.”

She twisted away from him. “I can’t.”

He looked at her thoughtfully. There was more up with Angela Brodie than the sudden loss of her adopted personality.

“You think your husband killed Trixie,” he said flatly.

She went very still.

“Look, I felt like killing her myself,” said Hamish. “But I didn’t do it.”

“Yet each man kills the thing he loves”, quoted Angela drearily.

He looked at her oddly. “You’re really in a bad way. Home and bed for you.”

“But there’s a meeting of the bird society tonight. Lord Glenbader, the Duke of Anstey’s son, is bringing over some specimens from the castle collection!”

“I’ll see to it myself.”

Hamish rose and snapped his fingers and Towser leapt into the back. He helped Angela into the Land Rover. He ran back up the hillside and collected his jersey and cap. Clouds were covering the sky and the wind had a chill edge to it now. He took a flare gun out of the back of the Land Rover and fired it into the sky and watched for a moment while one green star hung against the tumbling black clouds to tell the searchers below that Angela Brodie had been found.

Mrs Wellington and two of the village women arrived at Dr Brodie’s and silently began to clean up the shattered mess of the kitchen, sweeping up shards of crockery and glass, wiping up the mess of flour and coffee grounds and broken jars of jam from the floor.

Hamish helped them, putting the broken glass and china into cartons, taping it up and driving it off to the council tip. When he returned, Mrs Wellington was taking mugs out of a box and hanging them up on the hooks. “Poor Mrs Brodie didn’t leave anything to drink out of,” she said, “and I had these put by for the church sale. Put on the kettle, Mr Macbeth, and we’ll have a cup of tea.”

“Is it just the kitchen she wrecked?” asked Hamish. He opened a cupboard and took out a can of cat food and two cans of dog food to feed the family pets.

“No, come and look in the living room.”