He studied her averted face and a flash of malice appeared in his eyes. “I had tae get interested in someone sometime,” he said softly.
“Just so long as you’re really interested in her and not just sorry for her,” said Priscilla.
“Well, that iss verra kind of you, Miss Halburton-Smythe. I am glad I haff your blessing. Alison is all for a white wedding and I suppose I’ll just half to go along with it.”
Priscilla sat down at the table. Towser put his heavy head on her lap and she absent-mindedly stroked his ears.
Her face was quite expressionless. Hamish looked at her thoughtfully and remembered the days when he would have given his back teeth for some sign of jealousy from Priscilla. He was glad he was not in love with her anymore, but he valued her friendship, he told himself, and even dressed as she was that morning in tweed skirt and blouse with an old oilskin coat thrown over them, she looked very beautiful. Her bright hair almost hid her face as she bent over the dog.
He sighed and sat down at the table next to her. “I am pulling your leg, Priscilla,” he said. “Alison has been getting driving lessons from me. That lassie’s obsessed with driving. She eats, sleeps, and drinks driving. I’m pretty sure that aunt of hers never gave her permission to use the car, but that’s her problem.”
“I suppose she’s an interesting girl?” remarked Priscilla slowly.
“Meaning that someone as plain as that must have something going for her? Shame on you, Priscilla.”
“I didn’t mean that at all,” said Priscilla, raising her head at last.
“She must be in her thirties but away from the driving wheel, she’s scared o’ her own shadow,” said Hamish. “I wish I’d never agreed to teach her. She clings to me, like a limpet, emotionally, I mean. I can feel her sticky presence even when she isn’t here. She’s got a crush on me…for the moment. She’s a walking parasite on the perpetual lookout for a host.”
“Hamish!” exclaimed Priscilla, torn between relief that he was still heart free and amazement at his unexpected cruelty.
“I sound awful, don’t I? But there’s something unhealthy about her. I feel like swatting her with a fly swatter. It’s not that she physically clings to me – she
“Really, Hamish Macbeth, are you not getting a little bit carried away? Your vanity might be prompting you into thinking she fancies you.”
“Perhaps,” said Hamish with a disarming smile. “Now when I’m interested, really interested in a lassie, I wouldnae know if she had a fancy for me or not unless she threw herself into my arms.”
But you are no longer interested in me, thought Priscilla, rather bleakly. Aloud, she said, 'Where's Maggie Baird gone?'
“I think she’s gone to get herself beautified. Think it possible?”
“Hard to imagine,” said Priscilla. “Is there some fellow about? Is that what caused the attack at the party? Did she see some old lover in the crowd? There were a few guests from England at the Lochdubh Hotel who joined in the festivities.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Hamish, stretching out his long legs. “I think she saw nobody but herself.”
“Oh, Hamish, no one finds their own appearance such a shock.”
“Not people like you. But just imagine if she had let herself go to seed but carried around in her head the image of what she used to be like. And then suddenly she saw herself in all her glory.”
“Could be. I remember a fashion buyer at a store in London saying that because most of their customers were middle-aged and plump, they decided to use plump middle-aged models. It was a disaster. The buyer said she found out that when a woman buys a gown she’s seen on a young and pretty model, she sees herself a little bit as that model. Interesting psychology. I’d better be going.”
“Are you driving down to London?”
“No, only to Inverness. There’s too much fog on the motorways at this time of year. I get the train at eight in the morning. When is Alison’s driving test?”
“Time’s passed quickly. It’s this Friday morning.”
“Well, good luck with your pupil. Bye, Hamish. See you in the summer.”
“Bye.” He kissed her cheek and for a moment she felt his face, unexpectedly smooth, against her own. She gave a little ducking motion of her head and turned and left the police station.
The day of Alison’s driving test dawned sunny and fair, with a white frost rapidly melting from the roads and heath-land. The sea loch sparkled and shimmered with light and the little eighteenth-century cottages strung out along the waterfront looked neat and picturesque. The distorted giant shapes of the Two Sisters, the mountains which dominated the village, were covered with snow. The air was redolent with the smells of a West Highland village – wood smoke, fish, tar, and strong tea.
As Hamish drove Alison into the village, he saw the examiner standing outside the hotel and muttered, “Oh, dear.”
“What did you say?” demanded Alison sharply.
“Nothing,” lied Hamish. But he had recognised the examiner, nicknamed The Beast of Strathbane, Frank Smeedon. But better not tell Alison that. Smeedon had been off work for some months and his replacement had been a kindly, cheery man. Poor Alison, thought Hamish bleakly.
“Now just keep calm and do your best,” he told Alison.
He could not bear to watch the start of the test but strolled off along the waterfront. Alison would be away for half an hour. He went into the Lochdubh Hotel and into the manager’s office.
“You’ve got a face like a fiddle,” said Mr. Johnson.
“I’ve just dropped Alison off for her driving test and the examiner is Smeedon.”
“Oh, my, my, she hasnae a hope in hell,” said Mr. Johnson. “That man hates wee lassies.”
“It’s her own fault for looking like a waif,” muttered Hamish. “She’s in her thirties. Why is he such a woman hater? He’s married, isn’t he?”
“Aye, he’s not only married, he’s got a bint on the side.”
“Neffer!” exclaimed Hamish. “Who?”
“D’ye ken that driving school in Strathbane, Harrison’s? Well, there’s a secretary there, a little blond tart. He’s old enough tae be her father.”
“What’s her name?”
“Maisie MacCallum.”
“And does Mrs. Smeedon know about this?”
“No, she’s an auld battleaxe, and she’d kill him if she ever found out. Coffee, Hamish?”
“No, it’s a grand day. Think I’ll chust stretch my legs. In fact, I haff neffer seen a better day.”
Mr. Johnson, like Priscilla, had known Hamish long enough to recognise the danger signals in the sudden sibi- lancy of Hamish’s Highland accent.
“Hey!” said Mr. Johnson in alarm. “What I told you about Smeedon is in confidence!”
But Hamish had gone.
Alison was meanwhile feeling calm and confident. She had driven correctly along one-track roads, she had reversed competently and performed a three-point turn with exact precision. She sat in the car and correctly answered all Mr. Smeedon’s questions on the Highway Code. When he snapped his notebook shut and picked up his clipboard, she smiled at him, waiting for the tremendous news that she had passed.
“Well, ye’ve failed,” said the examiner.
Alison’s world came tumbling about her ears. Failure again. “What did I do wrong?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“Not allowed to tell ye,” he said smugly.
“But that’s not true! All that’s been changed. I read in the paper that examiners – ” began Alison desperately. There was a rap at the window on the driving instructor’s side. Smeedon looked up and saw Hamish Macbeth.
“Good day to ye, Miss Kerr,” said Smeedon, opening the door and getting out. Alison laid her head on the steering wheel and wept.
“Good morning, Mr. Smeedon,” said Hamish lazily. “Spring won’t be far off and the thoughts of men will rum to love. But of course in your case, they’ve already turned.”
