And sadly reflecting,
That a lover forsaken.
A new love may get,
But a neck when once broken
Can never be set.
—WILLIAM WALSH
Hamish stood in the doorway, his eyes averted. “I’ll chust wait here, Jane, while you go and put something on.”
“Oh, come on, Hamish,” she said breathily, and moved towards him.
“I’ll wait for you in the lounge,” said Hamish crossly. “Don’t you dare come near me until you make yourself decent.” And he stalked off, as stiffly as a cat.
Jane appeared in the lounge five minutes later. She had put on a housecoat that covered her from throat to heel. “Better?” she queried, tossing her hair.
“Much better,” said Hamish. “Now, lassie, chust you sit yerself down and tell me what on earth you were playing at.”
“Hamish Macbeth, I shouldn’t need to spell it out for you. A bit of fun.”
He shook his head in amazement. “That’s hardly the way to go about it. What would you have felt like in the morning?”
“Much better,” said Jane earnestly. “Sexual intercourse is a very healthy exercise and good for the skin.”
“So’s jogging. Jane, Jane, have you no feelings at all? Do you never feel rejection when a pass is turned down, shame when it isn’t?”
Jane looked at him in a puzzled way, one finger to her brow. Then her fece cleared. “Calvinism. That’s it!” she cried. “You have been brought up to have your mind warped by repressive religion.”
“And you haff been brought up to have your mind warped by women’s magazines. I thought all this free love was out of fashion anyway,” said Hamish wearily. “We’re not getting anywhere. I must tell you flat that when John told me about your affairs, I felt sick.”
“Which one in particular?” asked Jane curiously.
“Some truck-driver.”
“Oh, that. The fellow was as queer as a coot. I only brought him around to annoy John.”
“Why?”
“He kept accusing me of having loose morals and he hurt me by his constant criticism of what he called my dizzy mind, so I decided to get my revenge. The laugh is that I was faithful to him right up till the divorce.”
“Then why try to get me into bed?”
“Oh, well, I thought if I did that, there would be a certain something between us and John would notice…”
Her voice trailed away.
“I’m not going to discuss this any further,” said Hamish. “I am here to do a job and I didn’t do it very well by letting you wander off on your own. I’ll go into the village tomorrow and report it to the local policeman. I couldn’t phone tonight. The man would be drunk as usual. Have you any idea if it was a man or a woman who pushed you?”
Jane shook her head.
“The pillbox is quite near the hotel. Haven’t you seen anyone coming and going – using it?”
“Oh, yes,” said Jane, “some little man.”
“Description?”
Jane shrugged. “They all look the same to me, small and bitter and prematurely old.”
“So you do know there’s a lot of hostility against you on this island? Why on earth do you stay amidst such hatred?”
“Hamish, I barely see them, and they’re cheerful enough when the health farm opens up to visitors because it means cleaning and serving jobs for the local women. They never did like me. There’s been a sort of intense hatred started up just recently.”
“The Bannerman woman?”
“I can’t see how she can have anything to do with it. She’s always been one of the women who’ve actually talked to me when I’ve gone into the village. Look, Hamish, I’ve made a success of this place. People who wouldn’t dream of going to a health farm in the home counties come up here. It has a romantic interest and I attract walkers and outdoor types as well as those who want to lose weight. I showed that ex-husband of mine I could do it and made him eat his words.”
“I’ll let you know how I get on with my investigations tomorrow,” said Hamish. “Goodnight.”
She threw him a look, half-mocking and half-appealing. One hand toyed with the long zip at the top of her housecoat and Hamish was frightened she meant to pull it down and fairly scampered from the room.
???
The next day, he made his way towards the village. He had hoped Harriet might have wanted to accompany him, but that lady had gone out walking with Heather, of all people.
Once again, he came across Geordie and his truck stuck on the road, Geordie, Hamish had decided, staged these breakdowns for some mad reason of his own, and so he ignored Geordie’s meanings and waitings and offered to drive him: He had been unable to borrow Jane’s jeep because it was insured to cover only her driving.
The truck started amiably enough. “He likes you,” said Geordie, shaking his head. “An odd beast.”
“Forget about the truck,” said Hamish. “Who uses that pillbox on the beach?”
“Angus Macleod. Him and his son have a fishing boat. It wass the wan that brought yourselfs over.”
“Well, last night, someone pushed Mrs. Wetherby into that pillbox and bolted the door. She could have died of exposure.”
“Och, it’s all right,” said Geordie. “Angus wass in the bar last night and he wass saying he would let herself out at midnight when he had given her a rare fright.”
“I’ll be seeing Angus, then,” said Hamish grimly.
“Ye won’t be able to dae that. Himself took the boat out this morn.”
Hamish stopped the truck. Geordie screeched, “He dis-nae like tae be stopped for no reason at all.”
“Forget the truck. Listen. Do you hate Mrs. Wetherby?”
“Naw, I hivnae the time to hate anybody what with bringing the lobsters over frae the west and collecting the goods for people to deliver when the ferry comes in.”
“Well, she’s hated nonetheless. When did it start?”
“Och, nobody likes incomers, and the wimmen are fair scandalized with the leg show she puts on, but it must hae been recently they all started cursing and blinding. Don’t know what started it.”
“Well, I’ll find out.” Hamish turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened, not even a choke. “I telt you he didnae liked to be stopped for no reason,” said Geordie patiently.
“I’m fed up wi’ your nonsense.” Hamish opened the door. “I’m walking.”
He slammed the door behind him and strode off down the road. “Comeback!” screeched Geordie’s voice. “He’s following you!”
Hamish turned around, and with a feeling of superstitious dread, he saw the truck rolling silently towards him. He stopped and the truck stopped beside him. He climbed in, checked the brakes, turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life.
He drove silently into Skulag, vowing that once he had a bit of time, he would find a mechanic to check Geordie’s truck.
The police station was locked. Hamish leaned on the bell for a considerable time until at last the blear-eyed constable, still in his pyjamas, answered the door.
“And they call me lazy!” marvelled Hamish.
“What d’ye want?” growled Sandy.
“I want you to put on your uniform and go and charge Angus Macleod with assault.”
“He’s awa’.”
“Well, when he comes back.”
Sandy looked at him with contempt. “You mean, for pushing thon Wetherby woman into the pillbox? That’s
