“Is this a proposal, Hamish?”
“Aye.”
“Well, take your hand out of my brassiere and listen to me for a moment.”
Hamish gave her a wounded look. “You’re not going to be
“Yes, I am. I don’t think I trust you, Hamish. I love you but I don’t trust you. I think you’ve got too much of an eye for the ladies.”
“But I’m proposing to you, Priscilla.”
“Okay, but just an engagement, a long engagement.”
“Anything you say.”
“Do you love me?”
“I’ve been trying not to for years.”
“Now kiss me again.”
¦
Willie arrived back at the police station. It was as quiet as the grave. He walked into the living room and scowled at the mess of dirty glasses and empty champagne bottles. Then he saw a note addressed to himself pinned on Hamish’s bedroom door. He took it down and opened it. It said, “Tell everyone I have gone out. Must get some sleep. Hamish.”
But Willie wanted to tell Hamish that he was leaving, so he gently opened Hamish’s bedroom door. Hamish and Priscilla were lying together on Hamish’s narrow bed. They were both fast asleep. They were lying on top of the bedclothes, fully dressed with all their clothes, and with Towser at their feet, but Willie blushed furiously and quickly shut the door again.
Then he brightened as he turned and looked around the messy room. He would give the police station one last good clean-up.
¦
Mr Wellington returned home that evening after a round of visits to the old and sick in the parish. He expected his wife to be asleep. He had complained to Dr Brodie about the number of sleeping pills she was taking, but Dr Brodie said that she must be getting them from another doctor, possibly in Strathbane. To his surprise, he smelled cooking, delicious cooking. It seemed he had been having squalid cold meals for ages.
“Ah, there you are,” said his wife briskly as he entered the large manse kitchen. “Sit down. Dinner’s nearly ready. Steak-and-kidney pie, mashed potatoes and Brussels sprouts, and make sure you eat all your greens, dear. You’ve been looking peaky of late.”
“Yes, my love,” said the minister happily.
“Oh, by the way, that money that was missing from the Mothers’ Union turned up again. It was left in the church hall on the kitchen counter…no note, no anything. We’re all quite sure it was a passing tramp or someone like that who had a fit of conscience and put it back.”
Mrs Wellington briskly and efficiently took a golden-crusted steak-and-kidney pie out of the oven.
Mr Wellington clasped his hands and bowed his head. “Thank you, God,” he said.
“Why, you’re praying,” cried Mrs Wellington.
“Why, so I am,” said the minister.
¦
Dr Brodie could not quite put his finger on it but he knew that things had changed the minute he opened the door and walked into his house. He went into the kitchen. His wife was sitting behind a pile of textbooks as usual, but there seemed to be a lightness in the very air.
“I feel a bit daft,” he said, sitting down. “I was checking the drugs cabinet and I found those missing packets of morphine. They’d got stuck inside a packet of something else. I should call Hamish.”
Angela smiled at him. “Leave it till tomorrow. I thought we would eat out tonight. I’ve booked a table at the Napoli.”
“Great idea. Why don’t you wear one of your new dresses?”
“I haven’t got them.”
“What!”
“I sold them down in Inverness. That’s where I’ve been today,” lied Angela. “I got most of the money back.”
“Well, good for you. I didn’t know you could get any money at all for secondhand clothes.”
“These were models.”
“I don’t know anything about women’s clothes, but if it means dinner at the Napoli, then that’s grand.”
¦
Hamish woke early in the evening and stretched out and felt around for Priscilla. But she had gone. He groaned and sat up and went through to the police office. There was a long string of messages and demands to call back. He began to work his way through them, starting with his mother, and so down to Jimmy Anderson.
“Thought you’d like to know,” said Anderson, “that we got that pop band to crack and they admitted covering up for Cheryl.”
“That’s grand.”
“The bad news is that I visited Blair in hospital. He’s made a complete recovery, but he’s been told to stay off the booze and go to Alcoholics Anonymous.”
“God grant them the serenity when Blair turns up, cursing and blinding, at one o’ their meetings,” said Hamish with feeling.
“Can you imagine what he’ll be like sober?” demanded Anderson peevishly. “The only time that man’s human is when he’s drunk. Talking about getting drunk, are you celebrating your engagement?”
“I plan to. I’ve lost her for the moment.”
“Good luck tae ye. Her father’s probably taking a horsewhip to her right now. What d’ye think o’ Willie leaving the force?”
“I didn’t know. He didn’t tell me.”
“He’s going into the restaurant business. The trouble is we cannae find a copper at the moment to replace him, so you’re on your own again.”
Bliss, thought Hamish, after he had rung off. Sheer bliss.
He picked up the phone again and rang the castle and with bad luck got Priscilla’s father on the other end. In a mild voice, he asked to speak to Priscilla.
“Before I get my daughter,” said the colonel in a low, quiet voice, quite unlike his usual blustering tones, “if you think you are going to marry her, you’ve got another think coming. She will never marry you, Hamish Macbeth, and I will do my best to stop you. I am warning you.”
“So I’m warned,” snapped Hamish. “Just get her.”
When Priscilla answered, she said hurriedly, “Meet me at the Napoli in about ten minutes. I’ve got to get out of here.”
“That bad?”
“Worse. He’s gone all quiet and sinister and Mummy keeps crying and saying I’m ruining my life.”
“They’ll get used to it,” said Hamish heartlessly.
¦
The Napoli was crowded. Willie and Lucia were seated at the best table with Mr Ferrari, all toasting each other with Asti Spumanti. Before Hamish could join Priscilla, Mr Ferrari waved him over. “So what do you think about Willie managing this business for me?”
“Grand,” said Hamish, shaking Willie’s hand. “Just grand. All the best.”
Mr Ferrari gave him a baffled look. “You are pleased to be losing such a good officer?”
“I’m pleased because he’s happy,” said Hamish.
Mr Ferrari gave a sudden amused shrug. “You are a man of many surprises, Hamish.”
Hamish threaded his way through the tables towards Priscilla, accepting the congratulations of the locals.
She was wearing a slim low-cut silk dress with a delicate necklace of small emeralds set in gold. Her face was calm and beautiful.
He felt a momentary pang of unease. This was the beauty he was going to share his policestation life with! It
