“But…but…I mean, the village
“Aye, and a waste o’ tune and money.” Mrs. Todd was a formidable figure even in her early seventies; her hair was still brown and her back ramrod straight. Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “Are you sure Mrs. Baird gave ye permission to take that car of hers out?”
“Yes,” said Alison in a shrill voice. “And now I had better get back to typing out Mrs. Baird’s autobiography.”
“I’d like to read that,” said Mrs. Todd, momentarily diverted. “She’s a fine lady and has travelled a lot.”
“You can ask her for a look at it when she gets back,” said Alison, wondering what on earth Mrs. Todd would think of Maggie’s explicitly described sexual adventures.
But Alison did not type that day; she read and reread the Highway Code, occasionally looking up at the clock to check the time and to will it to pass more quickly.
Promptly at six o’clock, Hamish drew up in the police Land Rover. To Alison’s relief, Mrs. Todd had left for the day.
Alison had already opened the garage doors. Hamish stood looking at the Renault. “It’s a grand wee car,” he said. “But I think before the test, we’d better let Ian down at the garage have a look at it. If there’s anything at all up with your car, they won’t even let you start the test. Are you ready? Get in the driving seat. You’ll be starting right away.”
Alison climbed in and Hamish doubled his lanky length into the passenger seat beside her.
“Now,” he said, “check that your seat is the right distance from the pedals and that you don’t have to stretch. And then check your driving mirrors.”
Alison shuffled about, jerking the car seat up too far forward and then sending it flying too far back in her excitement. Hamish got out again and took two Learner plates out of the Land Rover and fixed them to the front and back windows of the Renault.
He climbed in again and then began to instruct Alison how to move off. “Mirror, signal, then manoeuvre,” he said. “You turn your head and take a quick look back before you move off. Just imagine you’re out on a busy road. Turn on the engine, put the gear into first, release the clutch slowly to the biting point, that is until you feel the car surge forward a bit, and then release the handbrake.”
Alison stalled several times. How could she ever get the coordination right? Driving was an unnatural act.
“I think we’ll change places for a bit,” said Hamish, “and I’ll take ye out on the road. Hardly anyone about at this time of night.”
He patiently explained everything all over again once they were out on the road while Alison, once more in the driver’s seat, prayed to the God in whom she did not believe to send her wisdom.
And then suddenly she was moving slowly along the cliff road while Hamish’s patient voice told her when to change gear – and then she was driving, the headlamps cutting a magic path through the night. Hamish decided to let her drive straight along for as long as possible to give her confidence. It was too early to teach her how to reverse or park. Alison, maintaining a nervous 30 mph, felt she was flying as free as the wind.
At last Hamish suggested gently that he turn the car and take her home.
To Alison, Hamish Macbeth had become a godlike figure. She was so grateful to him and so shy of him at the same time, she could hardly stammer out an offer of coffee. But Hamish Macbeth was cautious and old–fashioned and knew enough about village gossip to realise that even in this isolated spot, someone would somehow find out he had gone into the house with Miss Alison Kerr and so he refused.
He was surprised the following night to find a much more confident Alison, but Alison explained she had been driving up and down the short driveway all day. And then just as she was cruising along the cliff road, the engine began to cough and then died completely. “It’s Maggie, that old bitch,” shouted Alison. “She’s been mistreating this car for years.”
“Now, now,” said Hamish soothingly. “I’ll just hae a look under the bonnet.”
Alison waited in an agony of suspense while he raised the bonnet and examined the engine under the light of a powerful torch.
He came back shaking his head. “Ian’ll need to hae a look at it,” he said. “Wait here and I’ll walk back and get the Land Rover and we’ll tow it down to Lochdubh. Have you any money?”
“I’ve been collecting my dole money,” said Alison, “and I’ve quite a bit.”
“Fine. Repairs are expensive, although I’ll have a word wi’ Ian. He owes me a few favours.”
Ian Chisholm, the garage owner-cum-repairman, was not pleased at having to work after hours, and grumbled at the filthy state of the engine. “I’ll dae ma best,” he said at last. “But it’ll cost ye. The points need cleaning and while ye’re at it, it needs a new clutch plate.”
“A wee word with you, Ian,” said Hamish, leading him away from Alison.
Alison waited anxiously while the two men put their heads together.
Then they shook hands and Ian came back with a false sort of smile on his monkey face. “Aye, weel, Miss Kerr, it seems it won’t cost that much. Hamish’ll pick up yer car the morrow.”
Later that night, Hamish got out his fishing tackle and set off in the driving rain to poach a salmon, praying that the water bailiffs wouldn’t catch him. The salmon was in part payment for the car repairs. He did not get home until three in the morning. He put an eighteen-pound salmon on the kitchen table and went thankfully to bed after giving Towser a good rubdown, for the dog had accompanied him on his poaching expedition.
Damn Alison Kerr, was his last waking thought, that lassie fair gives me the creeps.
¦
Colonel Halburton-Smythe rustled his morning paper and looked over it at his daughter’s calm face. She was reading letters that had arrived for her in that morning’s post.
“Looks as if we’re about to have a marriage in Loch-dubh,” said the colonel.
“Mmm?” said Priscilla absently.
“Yes,
“Oh, yes,” said Priscilla absently. “Nice for him,” and she continued to read her letters.
The colonel gave her bent head a pleased smile. He had been wrong. His daughter quite obviously had no romantic interest in that lazy village copper.
What on earth is Hamish playing at? thought Priscilla furiously, he can surely do better than get tied up with that little drip. He’s probably sorry for her. Typical Hamish! He’ll probably end up tied down for life to some dowdy female just because he’s sorry for her. She picked up her letters and walked slowly from the room. She had called at the police station several evenings in a row but Hamish had always been out.
She looked at the clock. Ten in the morning. She was due to leave for London at the weekend. She’d better find out what Hamish was thinking about, fooling around with Alison Kerr.
She drove down to the police station, but although the Land Rover was parked outside, there was no sign of Hamish. She peered in the living room window. Towser was stretched out on the sofa, his eyes closed.
Now, if I were Hamish, thought Priscilla, where would I be at this time in the morning without dog or car? She stood for a moment. Small flakes of snow were beginning to fall. Her face cleared. He was probably at the Lochdubh Hotel, mooching coffee.
And that is exactly where she did run Hamish to earth. He was sitting in the manager’s office, a mug of steaming coffee in his hands.
He rose in pleased surprise as Priscilla walked in. “I thought you would be back in London,” said Hamish.
“Not till the weekend,” said Priscilla. “Morning, Mr. Johnson. I just wanted a quick word with Hamish.”
“I’ve got to get back to work,” said the hotel manager.
“Be my guest, Miss Halburton-Smythe. Help yourself to coffee.”
“No, not here,” said Priscilla.
“Is it police business?” asked Hamish anxiously.
“Something like that.”
They walked together to the police station, Priscilla refusing to discuss what was bothering her until they were both indoors.
“It’s like this,” she said, not looking at him. “I’ve been hearing tales that you are courting Alison Kerr.”
