made up. “Hamish!” she cried. “God, it’s been ages. Come in, darling! Charlie, it’s Hamish!”
A dapper little man came out to meet them. “What brings you, Hamish?”
“It should be a friendly call,” said Hamish when they were all seated over a fat teapot in the Underwoods’ kitchen. “But I’m afraid it’s because I’ve got a business proposition for you.”
“Business?” asked Bella. “We’ve been out of the business for a while.”
Hamish explained about the old folks home. “You see,” he said, “you know all the old sing-along songs. Can you still perform?”
“Course we can,” said Bella. “You’re a gem, Hamish.”
“I’ll be paying you for this myself, but if that Mr. Wilson likes you, you could get more work.”
“Keep your money, Hamish,” said Charlie. “We’ll do it for nothing.”
¦
Pleased with his outing, Hamish returned to Lochdubh. He would tackle Mrs. Gallagher in the morning. In the meantime, there was his dinner with Maisie to look forward to. He washed and dressed carefully in his one good suit, brushed his flaming red hair until it shone, and then strolled along the waterfront towards the Italian restaurant. Great stars burned in the Sutherland sky overhead and their reflections twinkled in the black sea loch like the missing Christmas decorations.
He pushed open the door of the restaurant and went in. He was greeted by the waiter, Willie Lamont. Willie, in the heady days when Hamish had been elevated to police sergeant before being demoted again, had been Hamish’s sidekick, but he had married the beautiful daughter of the restaurant owner and left the police force.
Willie conducted him to a table at the window. “I’m waiting for a lady,” said Hamish. “I’ll order when she arrives.”
Willie whipped out a bottle of cleaner and began scrubbing at the table. “The table was clean already,” protested Hamish, remembering how Willie, a fanatical cleaner, had scrubbed out the police station instead of paying attention to his duties.
“It’s a real grand cleaner,” said Willie. “It’s called ”SCCRUBB.“ I sent away for it.”
“Willie, Willie, it’s taking the polish off the table.”
“Oh, michty-me, so it iss. I’ll just get some polish.”
“No,” said Hamish firmly. “Leave it until we’ve eaten.”
Willie’s face twisted in anguish. “Just a wee scoosh o‘ wax,” he pleaded.
“Not even one.” Hamish rose to his feet. “Here’s my lady.”
Maisie Pease joined him. “This is very nice,” she said, looking around.
She sat down in a chair and then shrank back as Willie darted up to the table and shot a spray of liquid wax from a canister and then began polishing fiercely.
“Go away, Willie!” shouted Hamish. “And bring the menus.” Muttering, Willie went off.
“What a strange waiter,” said Maisie.
“Oh, he’s all right. Just a bit keen on cleaning.”
They were the only customers in the restaurant. They ordered food and wine, but the hovering presence of Willie unnerved Maisie. She knocked over a glass of wine, she dropped spaghetti on the table and dropped her bread roll on the floor, and there was Willie each time, mopping and polishing and complaining. Hamish at last stood up and marched Willie into the kitchen and threatened to punch his head if he came near the table again unless they called for him.
“I’m sorry about that,” said Hamish. “He’ll leave us alone now.”
“Tell me all about Lochdubh,” said Maisie. “I’m just getting to know it and the people.”
So Hamish told her about the people in the village, and she watched his thin attractive face and wondered if he was the philanderer that Mrs. Wellington had said he was.
Then Hamish said, “I had a feeling when I was giving that talk that someone was frightened. Just a feeling. Any bullying going on?”
“Not that I know of. But it’s early days for me. It could just be that maybe some of the children were lying.”
“What about?”
“I don’t know if it’s true, but some of them come from very strict religious homes. So when you asked them what Santa Claus was bringing them, they all replied, but in some of the homes, there won’t be any Christmas presents.”
“That’s sad. I know some of them are against Christmas but I didnae think they would take it out on their children.”
“I’ll ask about.”
They talked of other things and then Hamish walked her back to her cottage, which was attached to the schoolhouse. She smiled and thanked him for dinner. He smiled back and then turned and walked away.
Maisie went slowly indoors. He hadn’t even tried to kiss her. He hadn’t suggested a second date. Philanderer indeed!
? A Highland Christmas ?
3
Hamish did not want to visit Mrs. Gallagher. But the idea that someone had been living in solitude and fear on his beat nagged at him. The wind had come back and as he drove off, a ragged cloud of crows rose up from the field behind the police station and scattered out over the loch. Low clouds scurried over the mountaintops. Hamish wondered if the Romans had held their Saturnalia at just this time as a sort of drunken wake to the death of the year. On such a day it seemed as if the grass would never grow again or the sun shine.
Mrs. Gallagher was out in the fields. As he approached, he could see her striding back towards the house. She had seen his arrival and waited at the door for him.
“Well?” she demanded.
“No news.”
“Then I have no time for you.”
“I would like to speak to you for a little bit.”
“Why?”
“I want to talk to you about your husband.”
She ducked her head suddenly to hide her face. She stood like that for a long moment and then took a ring of keys out of the pocket of her old tweed coat and began to unlock the door.
“Come in,” she said curtly.
Hamish removed his cap and followed her in.
She turned to face him. “What about my husband?”
“Can we sit down?”
She nodded. She took off her coat and hung it on a peg by the door.
“It’s like this,” said Hamish when he was seated. “I have reason to believe that you are still afraid of your husband.”
“What’s that got to do with my missing cat?”
Hamish studied her and then with a sudden flash of Highland intuition, he said, “For some reason, you live in fear of him, and when Smoky disappeared, you were frightened he had come back to take your cat away. That’s the sort of thing he would do – destroy something you loved.”
Her face was now a muddy color. “You know him,” she whispered. “You’ve met him.”
“No. But did you never think of appealing to me for help? You could have taken out an injunction against him. Was he ever in prison?”
There was a long silence. The wind howled around the low croft house like a banshee.
Then she said, “He was arrested for armed robbery. We were living in Glasgow at the time. I saw my chance to get free and took it. My mother had died and left me money. I managed to keep that fact from him. I drew out all the money and came up here.”
“Look, what’s his full name?”
