you up there until you get on your feet.”
“Thank you,” said Alison weakly. But inside her head another prison door seemed to slam. She only half realised that she would probably accept Mrs. Todd’s invitation and therefore say goodbye to any hope of independence. “I’d better get back to work,” said Alison, picking up the cup of coffee Mrs. Todd had poured for her.
The bungalow had gone suddenly quiet. In her misery, she vaguely wondered where everyone was.
She sat down at the desk and forced herself to begin typing, trying to divorce her mind from the words. She heard a noisy chattering and clattering as they all met for lunch but could not bring herself to join them. She typed steadily on.
And then in the afternoon, Maggie came in. She sat down in a chair beside the desk.
“Look here, Alison,” she said in her new husky voice. “You mustn’t take me too seriously these days. Fact is, my nerves are screaming and I take it out on you.”
Alison sat very still, her fingers resting on the keys.
“I don’t know what’s up with me,” Maggie went on. “Half the time I seem to hate the world and I think if I see another bowl of salad, I’ll puke.”
“You weren’t very nice to me when you were fat either,” said Alison in a low voice.
“It’s your own fault. There’s something kickable about that cringing air of yours, sweetie. You can stay. I wish I’d never invited this lot. But I want to get married again and all men are much the same.”
“But why these four?” asked Alison, curious despite her distrust of Maggie’s sudden friendliness.
“They are the ones who were actually in love with me once,” said Maggie. “I got a private detective onto them and found out they all need money. I don’t rate my charms that high. Stuff Women’s Lib. It’s still rotten trying to get the maitre d’ in a restaurant if you’re a single woman. And when it comes to business, men only want to deal with men. Other women pity you if you’re on your own. I like a man about the place, God knows why. Anyway, it’s no use looking for romance. In a marriage it all comes down to the same thing in the end: “Why do you keep losing my socks?” But I’ve never settled down long enough with any man to find out what it’s all about. The minute one of them got difficult, I’d give him his marching orders. Cheer up, sweetie, you’re still in my will.”
“I’m not interested in your money,” said Alison untruthfully.
Maggie studied her for a moment and her face softened. “I think you mean that. God! I’m a bitch. Try not to take any of my moods personally. So you’ll stay?”
Alison looked up into Maggie’s blue eyes and received the full force of that lady’s considerable personality.
“Yes,” she said weakly.
“Good girl.” Maggie gave her a hug, the Maggie of old, the Maggie who had swept into the hospital, the warm, maternal Maggie.
For the rest of the day, Alison felt happier than she had since Maggie’s return. Maggie’s change of mood permeated the house. Tomorrow, thought Alison, I’ll ask her about the car.
Peter Jenkins went out of his way to be particularly nice to Alison, and Maggie did not seem to mind.
Alison slept late and awoke to the sound of the garage doors being opened.
The car!
Maggie must be about to drive it.
All at once Alison felt she just had to ask her about that car.
She threw on a dressing gown and ran downstairs and out onto the drive. The engine was coughing and choking. Maggie did not seem to be able to start it. She walked forward and stood in front of the car just as Maggie wrenched the key once more in the ignition.
One minute Alison saw Maggie’s beautiful face quite clearly through the windscreen. The next, it had vanished behind a sheet of flame.
? Death of a Hussy ?
5
O Death, where is thy sting-a-ling-a-ling
O Grave, thy victoree?
The bells of Hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling,
For you but not for me.
—BRITISH ARMY SONG
Alison had often had that very common nightmare where one opens one’s mouth to scream and no sound comes out. But the scream that was wrenched from her filled the air with dreadful sound, rushing away to the high hills, sending a taunting far-off mockery of a scream echoing back.
Peter Jenkins came running out in his dressing gown and slippers to where Alison stood with scream after scream pouring from her contorted face. He ran to the blazing car, flapping his hands ineffectually.
Steel Ironside erupted onto the scene with the kitchen fire extinguisher which he directed at the blazing car. “Help me, you faggot!” he shouted at Peter Jenkins. He ran to the car door and wrenched it open, cursing as he did so.
He grabbed Maggie and dragged her out onto the garage floor, beating at the flames on her clothes, panting and sobbing.
Mrs. Todd drove up. Her face was as white as paper as she ran for the house. She seized the phone in the kitchen and dialled 999 and demanded the fire brigade, the ambulance, and the police,
Then she went out and struck the still-screaming Alison across the face. Alison hiccupped and then ran to Peter Jenkins who gathered her into his arms.
Mrs. Todd then crouched down by Maggie. “She’s dead,” said Steel in a flat voice. “Her clothes had just started to catch fire when I pulled her out. She must have had a heart attack. She killed herself. I’ve never known anyone to mangle a car the way she did.”
Crispin and James arrived on the scene, both in pyjamas.
While Peter Jenkins, still holding Alison, explained in a hushed voice what had happened, Steel said, half to himself, “It’ll take hours for anything to reach us in this wilderness.” The wind of Sutherland howled across the sudden hush but far away came the sound of a siren.
It came nearer, ever nearer, until the Lochdubh Volunteer Fire Brigade rolled into the drive. Close behind came Hamish Macbeth.
“Nothing for us to do now,” said the fire chief, taking off his helmet and revealing himself to be Mr. Johnson, the hotel manager. He looked at the car. Smoke was still rising from the bonnet. The front of the car was burnt black.
“Don’t touch anything,” said Hamish Macbeth sharply. “A forensic team will have to look at that car.”
“No need for that,” said Crispin, marching up in all the glory of primrose-yellow silk pyjamas. “We all know Maggie wrecked that car. Something’s gone in the engine and it burst into flames and gave her a heart attack. She could have got clear if she hadn’t had an attack. The doors weren’t locked. You policemen always complicate matters.”
“Indeed? Then I’m going to complicate them further,” said Hamish quietly. “The minute the ambulance has been and gone, I’ll start taking statements.”
Hostile eyes looked at him. Even Alison, despite her distress, thought he was being overofficious.
Hamish went back to the Land Rover. He did not believe the car had just burst into flames through some fault. Dr. Brodie had arrived and was examining the body. Hamish called Strathbane and reported a suspected murder.
When the ambulance rolled up, Hamish said in a flat voice, “Leave the body where it is.” Everyone looked at him: Alison, Mrs. Todd, the four guests, the fire brigade, the doctor, and the ambulance men.
“What’s up with you, Hamish?” snapped Dr. Brodie. “It’s a clear case of a heart attack. I know you’ve solved murders in the past, but don’t let it go to your head, laddie.”
“I’ve reported a suspected murder attempt,” said Hamish. The silence that followed that statement almost hummed in the ears. Then Hamish said sharply, “Who raised the bonnet of the car?”
