At last she could not bear it any longer. She went out to the garage and looked in the window of the Renault. There were the keys. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs. She felt the crumpled piece of paper that was the notification for her driving test. But even if she learned to drive, the insurance might not cover her. Perhaps the insurance covered only Maggie’s driving.
She ran back into the house and began to search through the jumble of papers in the desk drawer. There it was. She opened the form up and scanned it. The insurance would cover her.
But who would teach her to drive?
And then she thought of Hamish Macbeth.
? Death of a Hussy ?
3
Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes.
—OSCAR WILDE
The bell at the front door of the police station rang. Hamish sighed and put down the book he was reading. No one in the village ever rang the front doorbell. They always came to the kitchen door. The ring at the front usually meant some sort of official visit.
He was not in uniform, but it was ten o’clock at night and he had every reason to be off duty. He paused for a moment, wondering whether to answer it. Memories of Strathbane were still sharp in his mind. What if that dreadful policewoman had decided to press charges for assault?
The bell went again. He had a superstitious feeling he should not answer it. The wind howled outside. Giving himself a shake, he went slowly to the front of the police station and opened the door.
Alison Kerr stood there, blinking up at him owlishly in the blue light from the police lamp over the door.
“Come in,” said Hamish. “It’s a dreadful night. What’s happened?”
“Nothing,” said Alison as he closed the door behind her. “I just wanted to ask you a favour.”
“Then come through to the kitchen and I’ll make us a cup’ of tea. My! You’re soaked through. Give me your coat.”
He helped Alison out of her wet raincoat and then ushered her into the long narrow kitchen at the back of the house.
Alison sat down at the table and took off her glasses and wiped the raindrops from them with the edge of her skirt. The kitchen was warm and cheerful and Hamish, in a checked shirt and corduroys, reassuringly nonofficial.
“Now,” said Hamish, “what’s all this about?”
Alison clutched the mug of tea in both hands. “Maggie’s gone,” she said. “She says she will be away a few months and…” – Alison braced herself for the lie to come – “she says she doesn’t mind if I leam to drive and my test is in three weeks’ time and there isn’t an instructor in Lochdubh and I don’t know anyone and I wondered if you would…could…possibly…and…”
She fell silent and a large tear rolled down her nose and plopped on the table.
“You want me to teach you how to drive,” said Hamish amiably. “Och, I see no reason why not. You do have a provisional license, do you not?”
“Yes,” said Alison shakily. “I’ve had it quite a long time. You see, Mr. Macbeth, I’ve always wanted to drive and…and…Maggie said she wouldn’t let me touch the car but she relented just before she left.”
“Where has she gone?” asked Hamish while all the time he was thinking, Mrs. Baird never gave this wee lassie permission to use the car. She’s lying. But then I am not supposed to know that.
“She’s gone to have herself done up,” said Alison, and then blushed furiously. “I mean, she’s going to become beautiful again, she says.”
“There must be a gentleman in the picture.”
“No…no…I don’t think so. I think she just decided to take herself in hand. But about the driving. When can we start? I’ve only got three weeks.”
“Well, things here are awry quiet unless someone starts inventing crimes again. What about coming around here at six tomorrow evening?”
“But it’s such a long way and I can’t drive,” bleated Alison.
“Oh, I forgot. I’ll drive out then – at six.”
“Thank you,” said Alison. “I’m sorry I’m so emotional about it all. But you see, it’s my first step towards independence. I mean, I used to be awfully confident and brave before I got cancer.”
And in that heady moment, Alison believed what she had just said, forgetting the years of rabbitlike scurrying to work as secretary to the boss of a small firm which manufactured electrical components. She had been bored out of her skull but had never had the courage to hand in her notice. The factory had been on a failing industrial estate on the outskirts of Bristol, a wasteland of crumbling buildings and old beds, tyres, armchairs, and cookers, as the townspeople used it as a dump.
Hamish watched her sympathetically, reflecting that Maggie was probably the present villain in Alison’s life. Timid people always had to have a villain around to maintain some shreds of self-respect. They always thought, If he or she, the husband or mother, or whoever, weren’t around, then we would become successful and bold and glamorous, and when the bullies were removed from the scene by divorce or death, the rabbits immediately set out on their quests to find replacements.
“It’s so beautiful up here,” Alison was saying. “I feel in my bones that I am really a Highlander.”
“It’s quiet for a lady like yourself used to town life,” commented Hamish, pouring more tea.
“Oh, things always happen to me,” said Alison airily. “Adventure seems to follow me around.”
The wind tore at the house and Hamish repressed a shudder. He was already regretting his generous impulse to give Alison driving lessons. He as uneasy about the whole thing, and it was not because he knew Alison was lying.
“What’s the driving test like?” asked Alison.
“Well, it’s not so bad here as in the towns,” said Hamish. “There are no roundabouts or traffic lights. But they’re very strict for all that. I don’t want to depress you, but the failure rate in the British driving test is fifty-three percent. You have to train your mind to pass as well as concentrating on your driving ability. Stop worrying too much about the test and work instead at becoming a skilled driver. At the test, before you even get in the car, before you can even slide behind the wheel, you must be able to read a car number plate at a distance of sixty- seven feet. So make sure your glasses are up to the mark. Then after your test, you will be given an oral exam on the Highway Code. Have you got a copy?”
“Oh, yes,” said Alison. She sighed. “I wish I were more experienced.” She cast a sudden flirtatious look at Hamish and blushed and blew her nose on a rather grubby handkerchief to cover her confusion.
“I’d better be running you back,” said Hamish.
“That’s very kind of you.” Alison got to her feet and gazed up adoringly into Hamish’s hazel eyes, but the policeman’s eyes were a polite blank and he seemed to have retreated to somewhere inside of himself. Alison felt exactly as if she had made a bold pass and been ruthlessly snubbed.
It’s all the fault of that Priscilla, thought Alison, she doesn’t want him for herself and yet she won’t let him go. By the time Hamish drove up to the bungalow – his police Land Rover having been returned to him by Strathbane headquarters – Alison had turned Priscilla in her mind into a scheming harpy.
“Won’t you come in for a cup of coffee?” she asked.
“No, I’d best be getting home,” replied Hamish. “See you tomorrow.”
He smiled and Alison suddenly felt elated and light-hearted.
“You asked
“I asked Hamish Macbeth and he agreed. I mean the local bobby is surely the best – ”
“Him!” Mrs. Todd put down bowl and spoon. “Let me tell you that man is a womaniser. The things I’ve heard! He’s lazy and incompetent and useless. Why, when my man died, he came around, poking his nose into everything.”
