hall and made his way outside. A fine heavy rain was soaking the waterfront.
Jock put up his collar and hurried back to his boarding house. He was still determined to paint Priscilla and see if he could find out what really lay behind that calm mask.
¦
To Hamish’s delight, the rain cleared on the following morning. He phoned Angela and asked her to keep an eye on his animals, showered, and got ready to drive up to the hotel and meet Priscilla. They would be taking her car because he didn’t want his day spoiled by someone reporting that he was driving a civilian around in the police Land Rover. Not that anyone in Lochdubh would do such a thing, but his beat now covered Cnothan, a sour town, where several of the inhabitants would be delighted if they thought they could put in a complaint about him.
He was about to leave when the phone rang. He hesitated on the doorstep. What if it was something important? But what if it were some minor complaint that might still ruin his day off?
The answering machine picked it up, and he heard Priscilla’s voice. He rushed and picked up the receiver. “It’s me, Hamish.”
“Hamish, I’ll need to cancel our picnic.”
“Why?”
“Mrs. Tullet, who runs the gift shop on Sundays, has a bad stomach complaint. I’ll need to take over.”
“Can’t someone else do it? I mean, if you weren’t there, someone would have to.”
“Mother would probably do it, but she has asked me to fill in.”
“What about this evening? We could drive down to that French restaurant you were talking about.”
“Not this evening, Hamish. Some other time. Got to go.”
Hamish slowly replaced the receiver. The day now stretched out before him, bleak and empty. At the best of times, there was a sad, closed air about a highland Sabbath as if the ghosts of Calvin and John Knox still haunted the place, determined to make sure no one was enjoying themselves.
He phoned Angela and told her his outing had been cancelled, and then he set out to walk along the waterfront with the dog and the cat at his heels.
He saw a stranger approaching, a tall woman wearing a tailored trouser suit. She had thick brown hair with gold highlights and a strong, handsome face.
“Good morning,” said Hamish politely. “Grand day.”
“Yes, I’ve been lucky with the weather.”
“Are you staying up at the hotel?”
“Yes, I’m Betty Barnard, Jock Fleming’s agent. I’ve found a gallery for Jock in Glasgow, so I’ve just been to see him. I’m sending him off for a couple of weeks.”
“I’m Hamish Macbeth. Are you going with him?”
“No need. I’ve done the groundwork. I’m really in need of a holiday, but if there’s anything urgent, I can cope with it by e·mail. Those are two very odd…”
“Animals,” said Hamish grumpily. “I know. I’m tired of talking about them.”
She had very large green eyes. Hamish reflected that it wasn’t often one saw eyes as green as hers. Might be contact lenses.
She leaned against the waterfront wall, and Hamish joined her. “Is this your day off?”
“Yes. I was going to go on a picnic with a friend, but she cancelled.”
“Pity. Tell you what. I’ll go back to the hotel and get them to fix up two packed lunches, and then we could go on a picnic and you can introduce me to the area.”
She exuded an easy-going friendliness. She was somewhere in her early forties, Hamish guessed, with an attractive husky voice. Her mouth was generous, and she had a determined chin.
“That’s very kind of you,” said Hamish. “But we’ll need to take your car. I can’t drive civilians in the police car.”
“Fine. I’ll see you in half an hour.” As she walked away to where her car was parked, she turned around. “You can bring your dog and cat.”
Well, thought Hamish with a rush of gladness, it’s going to be a good day, after all.
¦
Effie marched determinedly towards Sea View, where Jock had a room. In her fantasies, she had decided the artist was shy under his bluff, easy-going manner. He needed a bit of encouragement.
But as she approached, she saw to her dismay that Jock was lifting a suitcase into the boot of his car.
“Are you leaving?” she asked, running up to him.
“Just for a couple of weeks. There’s a gallery I’ve got to see.” He slammed down the boot and went to get into the driving seat.
“Jock,” said Effie boldly, putting one small hand on his arm, “do you ever think of getting married?”
He looked down at her intense face and felt a sudden rush of sympathy for her. Poor wee woman, he thought. Life must be lonely for her up here.
“I’m not the marrying kind, Effie. But if I did get married, it would be to someone like you.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek, got into his car, slammed the door, and roared off.
Effie stood, watching him go, her hand to her cheek and her spirits soaring. Her brain deleted the ‘not the marrying kind’ bit. Surely that had been a proposal. And he’d kissed her!
¦
Priscilla looked out of the gift shop window just at the moment when Hamish was getting into Betty Barnard’s car. Hamish even had his dog and his cat with him. Betty drove off. She was laughing at something Hamish was saying.
Mr. Johnson, the hotel manager, came into the shop. “I’ve just seen Hamish driving off with that Barnard woman,” said Priscilla.
“Yes, Miss Barnard ordered a couple of packed lunches.”
Priscilla fiddled nervously with a strand of her hair. “He was supposed to go with me for a picnic.”
“And why didn’t he?”
“I was needed here.”
“You should have told me. I could have got one of the women from the village to fill in. They’d have been glad of the money.”
“Well, it’s too late now. I wonder how they met.”
“She probably picked Hamish up. He’s an attractive man.”
“Is there anything in particular you wanted to talk to me about?” asked Priscilla sharply.
“No, just checking you were all right.”
After he had left, Priscilla went to serve a customer. She had been glad of an excuse not to go out with Hamish. She did not want any of her old feelings for him coming back. But trust Hamish to immediately get a date with the only attractive woman around!
¦
Effie was sitting wrapped in dreams when there was a knock at the door. She found the Currie sisters standing there.
“What?” she asked rudely.
“We came to ask if you would like to give some pottery classes to the Mothers’ Union,” said Nessie.
“Union,” echoed Jessie, who always repeated the end of her sister’s sentences.
“I’m afraid I am too busy.”
“We’ve walked all the way here,” said Nessie. “Aren’t you going to invite us in?”
“Invite us in?” said Jessie. “Us in?”
Effie suddenly saw a way of establishing Jock as her property in the village minds. “I’m afraid I’ve got a gentleman with me. It’s Jock. I’m afraid you’re interrupting.”
“Such carryings-on and this the Sabbath, too,” said Nessie.
“Sabbath, too!” exclaimed her sister.
They both turned and scurried off.
When they reached the waterfront, the first person they saw was Mrs. Dunne, the proprietor of Sea View. Mrs. Dunne listened patiently to their shocked exclamations and then said patiently, “Herself must have just wanted rid of you. Jock Fleming left earlier today. And, no, he couldnae have done a detour because Henry, the
