He concentrated on his pipe until a new Pope was elected, then removed it from his mouth and said, ‘I might do that for you myself. An extra few quid is always handy, and to tell the truth a change of company always does me good.’ So, I’d hired a Sherpa. I held out my hand to shake his. He asked, ‘Don’t you want to know my price?’
‘I’m not paying, am I? I’m Charlie, by the way.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Charlie. Ean Galbraith. I was just going to take a dram before I went fishing. Would you care to join me?’ Whisky at ten in the morning, I reflected, wasn’t necessarily a good sign. I’d met officers like him before.
Upstairs, Doris was lying face down on her bed reading a Louis L’Amour Western story. I flipped up her skirt to expose the best bum in the West. She must have felt the sun from the window on her legs. She moved them a little apart, but didn’t turn away from her book as she spoke.
‘Help yourself if you like, hon – but you won’t mind if I carry on reading, will ya?’
Probably a good book. She must have reached an exciting part of the narrative.
‘I think I’ll go out for a walk instead.’
She didn’t even nod.
I recovered my temper on a walk around the loch. A nosy seal paced me for a mile, poking his whiskered head out of the water to track my progress. A crazy splashing as I approached a small burn slowed, and then stilled me. I didn’t see my first otter: I saw my first two. They were playing about like kids. I sat on a rock and lit a pipe. They didn’t seem to mind me.
Doris had finished her Western by the time I got back, and let me watch her demolish another eighteen-course lunch. Where did these bloody Yanks get their appetites from? As she pushed the empty fish plate away she asked me, ‘Good walk?’
I replied something like ‘Mmm.’ I was trying to dig a trout bone from between my teeth.
‘What are you thinking?’
‘I was thinking that it would be nice to come and live up here one day.’
‘Far too quiet for you.’
‘You’d be surprised.’
She shrugged. I watched her shrugging. Her breasts made a Mexican wave. It would be nice to spend your time watching Doris shrug. We sat in a comfortable sitting room, and played backgammon and cards until it was time to start drinking and eating again.
She put away another huge meal in the evening. And then it was night.
I woke early. The light was cutting through the gap between the curtains. I stood naked at the window, and looked out at the sun dancing on the loch in a million tiny pieces. There was the ghost of a soldier from the Great War doing the same. He was down on the small pebble bay, smoking a big curved briar as if he enjoyed it. He had a big moustache, and still wore his soft peaked trench cap, but his jacket was off and draped over one shoulder – I could see his broad trouser braces over his washed-out khaki shirt. Even though I don’t believe in ghosts I’ve seen something a lot like them ever since I started flying . . . so he didn’t worry me too much. I slipped back into bed, and half-asleep Doris rolled over to face me.
When George turned up later it occurred to me that he no longer looked like George. He was dressed in a crisp olive-coloured fatigue suit secured with a wide webbing belt, wore US combat boots and had had a haircut. He looked like a soldier. And he was in a soldier’s wagon – dark green Land Rover with civvy plates. The man who got out of the passenger seat was dressed identically. He did the handshake thing and said, ‘Christopher. Chris.’
‘Charlie. And this is—’
‘Doris. I know . . . George has told me about you both.’
I turned to George and said, ‘You suddenly look a mite military, George. Have you been holding out on me?’ The amazing thing was that he seemed to have drawn on another personality with the clothes: he was relaxed – good-humoured even.
‘No, Charlie. I was in the military once, but now I’m an owner driver. I have my own little company, and I freelance.’
‘So if I’m working for you, who’re you working for?’
‘That’s a commercial secret. It’s legal, if that’s what’s worrying you.’
‘What about Doris?’
‘Doris is with me. Her brother was flying the aircraft. We told you . . .’
I was going to ask several telling questions one after the other; then I thought better of it.
‘But there are interests here other than just the family’s?’
‘Bravo, Charlie.’ People have been saying Bravo, Charlie to me all of my life: I think the words must sort of go together. ‘Can you rustle us up some coffee? I’d kill for some.’
Yes, master. You never know, maybe he would – he certainly had that look about him now.
That night George and Doris retired early. I guess he must have missed her. I know I did. Chris drank with me down in the small bar until about ten, then he, too, made for the Land of Nod. He said he’d had a long day. He was a nice laid-back Somerset type who drank his whisky straight; like an Englishman. He was my age, although he’d worn better, and had been in the Engineers in the war.
I asked him, ‘Building bridges and roads? That sort of thing?’
‘Yeah, I did some of that.’
‘What else did you do?’
‘I played a lot of golf, I remember that.’ It was the sort of thing I’d say to avoid the issue. ‘But most of the time I just carried a frying pan.’
What the fuck George was taking a cook up a mountain
