“If we ever get there,” said Hamish.
Morag crept down the bus and clutched her father’s arm. “Daddy, can we go, too?”
He looked down into her wide pleading eyes and bit back the angry refusal. “Well, just this once.”
And it will be just this once, thought Maisie angrily. She thought of the boyfriend down in Inverness that she had jilted. She had been cruel. She would phone him up and make amends.
Hamish was often to wonder afterwards how he had ever managed to drive that bus to Lochdubh or how the old vehicle had managed to plough up and down the hills as the storm increased in force. He let out a slow sigh of relief as they lurched over the humpbacked bridge that led into the village and saw the Christmas lights dancing crazily in the wind.
¦
It was only after Angela and Dr. Brodie had collected their contributions to the meal that Maisie began to brighten up. As the women helped her in the kitchen and the men laid the table and then went out into the storm to make forays to collect more chairs, she was surrounded by so many people thanking her that she began to get a warm glow. Her spirits sank a little as Mr. McPhee grabbed her under the mistletoe and gave her a smacking kiss, but lightened again as soon as everyone was seated round the table in front of large plates of turkey and stuffing, chipolatta sausages, steaming gravy and roast potatoes. Bowls of vegetables were passed from hand to hand. Wine was poured, although the Andersons and Morag stuck to cranberry juice.
Hamish rose to his feet. “A toast to Maisie for the best Christmas ever!”
Everyone raised their glasses. “To Maisie!”
When the turkey was finished and the plates cleared, Angela said brightly, “The dumpling’s heating in the oven. I’ll get it if some of you ladies will help me with the plates.”
Hamish watched nervously as the large brown dumpling was carried in and placed reverently in the middle of the table. Angela’s lousy cooking was legendary.
“Would you do the honours, Hamish?” said Angela brightly.
Hamish reluctantly picked up a knife and sank it into the pudding. He cut the first slice and spooned it onto a plate and then filled the other plates. It looked good, but with Angela’s cooking, you never could tell until you’d tasted it.
Custard was poured over the slices. Here goes, thought Hamish. He cautiously took a mouthful. It was delicious! What an odd Christmas, he thought. For once in her life, Angela’s got it right.
Mrs. Gallagher and Mr. McPhee had discovered a mutual interest in birdwatching and were chatting busily. The Currie sisters who had strict Christian beliefs were talking happily about the iniquities of the world to the Andersons. Morag was telling Angela about her Christmas and Maisie was flushed and happy at the success of her dinner party.
? A Highland Christmas ?
6
“Who can that be?” demanded Mrs. Wellington, the minister’s wife.
“Why don’t you answer the phone and find out?” suggested her husband patiently.
Mrs. Wellington picked up the receiver.
“Hullo, Mrs. Wellington, this is Priscilla.”
“Merry Christmas. Where are you?”
“In New York.”
“Would you believe it? The line’s so clear you could be next door. Everything all right?”
“Yes, fine. Look, I’ve been phoning the police station. I’ve been trying to get hold of Hamish to wish him a happy Christmas. Do you know where he is?”
“You could try the schoolteacher’s place. He might be there.”
There was a long silence.
Then Priscilla said, “Have you her number?”
“Wait a minute. I’ll look in my book.”
“Who’s that?” asked the minister.
“It’s Priscilla. She wants to talk to Hamish. I’m getting her the schoolteacher’s number.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have suggested he might be there.”
“Oh, why?”
The minister sighed. “You wouldn’t understand.”
His wife gave him a baffled look and then located the number in her book and picked up the receiver again. “Are you still there? It’s Lochdubh six-o-seven-one.”
¦
At the schoolhouse the table had been cleared away and a ceilidh had started in the living room, that is, everyone performing something or other. The Currie sisters had taken up positions in front of the fire and were singing in high, shrill voices.
“I’ll get some coffee,” said Maisie.
“I’ll come and help you.”
One last try, thought Maisie. She stopped right under the sprig of mistletoe and smiled up at Hamish invitingly. He put his arms about her and smiled back. Maisie tilted back her head and closed her eyes. At that moment, the phone rang loudly and shrilly.
Hamish released her. “You’d better answer that. I’ll get the coffee.”
Cursing, Maisie picked up the phone.
“Priscilla Halburton-Smythe here,” said a voice as cold as the snow outside. “I wish to speak to Hamish Macbeth.”
“I’ll see if he’s here,” said Maisie haughtily.
“Who is it?” asked Hamish.
“It’s for you.” Maisie went back to join the others.
The phone was in the little cottage hall. Hamish picked it up. “Lochdubh Police,” he said automatically.
“It’s me, Priscilla.”
Hamish sank down on the floor, holding the phone.
“It’s yourself. How’s New York?”
“Oh, you know, very bustling, very energetic as usual. I’m just about to go out to have dinner with friends.”
“Bit late, isn’t it?”
“I’m five hours behind you, remember?”
“So you are. Merry Christmas. How did you know where to find me?”
“Merry Christmas, Hamish. Mr. Johnston told me you were romancing the schoolteacher and so I assumed you’d be there.”
“Why on earth would he say a thing like that? We’re just friends.”
“Just a cosy evening for the two of you?”
“No, there’s a lot of people here. I’m just one of the guests. I’ll tell you what happened.” Hamish told her about the cat and the lights and the visit to the old folks home.
“Sounds like fun,” said Priscilla.
“Will you be back for the New Year?”
“No, I’ll be here for another six months.”
“Now what’ll I do if I get the murder case and havenae my Watson?” teased Hamish.
“I’ll give you my number. You can always phone me. Write it down, and the address.”
“Wait a bit.” Hamish found a notepad on a table in the hall with a pen. “Fire away,” he said.
She gave him the number and address and then said, “There are a lot of cheap fares to the States nowadays, Hamish. You could always hop on a plane.”
“I could always do that,” said Hamish happily, forgetting in that moment all about the state of his bank balance.
