“So when’s the wedding?” asked Freda, who was visiting the sale of work on her lunch break.
“As soon as we can,” said Effie. “Jock is so impetuous.”
“I never would ha’ thought it,” murmured one woman.
Effie heard her and scowled. “It was a whirlwind romance,” she said loudly.
Angela looked at the little defiant figure of Effie with her clown’s make-up and felt a pang of unease.
Maybe Hamish Macbeth knew more about it than she did.
¦
Hamish had just finished sending over his report about the attempted bank robbery when Angela knocked at the kitchen door. He had not sent a report about the shoplifting because the culprits turned out to be two small terrified schoolchildren who had stolen a chocolate bar each. Hamish had spent a weary afternoon persuading the angry shopkeeper not to press charges, then delivered the sobbing children to their respective parents.
“Come in, Angela,” he said.
“Have you heard the news about Effie?”
“What news?”
“She’s flashing around a diamond ring saying she’s engaged to Jock. Hamish, she looked quite mad, and her make-up is worse than ever. Do you think it’s true?”
“I don’t know. I’d have thought it highly unlikely. I’ll go and call on her.”
¦
Effie answered her cottage door to Hamish. She had scrubbed off the dreadful make-up and looked perfectly sane to Hamish.
“I called to congratulate you,” said Hamish.
“How kind. Come in.”
Hamish removed his cap and followed her into her living-room-cum-kitchen-cum-studio.
“When did all this happen?”
“Just as Jock was leaving. He said he couldn’t live without me.”
Hamish conjured up a picture of easy-going Jock in his mind. “Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand him?” he asked cautiously.
Her face flamed with anger. “He gave me this ring! Now, go!”
Hamish eased towards the door. He looked down at the work table. There was a jug full of paintbrushes, but they looked hard and dry, and he could swear the pottery wheel had a film of dust on it.
“I see you haven’t been working,” he said.
“Of course I have, and I’d like to get on with some more. Go away!”
And Hamish left, a very worried man. Newcomers had meant trouble in the past, and somewhere inside him, he could feel bad times coming.
As he drove back to the police station, thin wisps of black clouds were sweeping in from the Atlantic, as if in keeping with his mood.
He gave a mental shrug. He was worrying too much. If Jock had asked Effie to marry him, then his agent would know about it. He swung the steering wheel and headed for the Tommel Castle Hotel.
¦
Priscilla was crossing the reception area when Hamish entered the hotel. “Why, Hamish, what brings you here?”
“I want to see Betty Barnard.”
“She was out for a walk, and now I think she’s in the bar.”
“Thanks.”
Hamish strode off in the direction of the bar, leaving Priscilla staring after him.
Betty was ensconced in a corner by the window with a book and a glass of whisky.
She looked up as he approached. “Hamish, what a nice surprise.”
“Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all. I was thinking of phoning you.”
“My treat next time. What I was wondering was whether you knew anything about this business about Jock going to marry Effie.”
“Who the hell…?”
“Effie Garrard. An artist who lives here. She’s flashing around an engagement ring and says Jock is going to marry her.”
“Jock is divorced and swore blind he’d never marry again. Is this Effie beautiful?”
“No. She was at the ceilidh. Wait a bit. You weren’t there.”
“Nobody asked me.”
“I should have done,” said Hamish ruefully. “She seemed to be chasing Jock, and he looked as if he didn’t like it one bit.”
“I’ll look into it. Where does she live?”
“Not going to have a row or anything?”
“Why should I? Jock’s a valued client, but that’s all. But I am protective of my clients.”
Hamish gave her directions and then said, “There’s another odd thing. Although she’s been supplying art works for sale, the pottery wheel has dust on it and her paintbrushes are dry and stiff.”
“Aha! Meaning you think she’s been getting the stuff from somewhere else and passing it off as her own?”
“Just a thought.”
“Leave her to me.”
¦
Betty drove up to Effie’s cottage. Effie answered the door. “Who are you?”
“I’m Jock’s agent, Betty Barnard. May I come in?”
“Just for a moment.”
Betty walked in and looked around, her sharp eyes taking in the details Hamish had noticed.
She turned and faced Effie. “What’s this rubbish about you and Jock getting married?”
“It’s not rubbish. It’s the truth. Look!” Effie waved the diamond ring under Betty’s nose.
“When did he propose?”
“Just before he left.”
“I don’t believe it. Jock swore he would never get married again.”
“Well, believe it and get out of here.”
Betty turned in the doorway and said, “I don’t believe you’re an artist, either. No artist would leave paintbrushes like that, and the pottery wheel looks as if it hasn’t been used.”
“You bitch!” screamed Effie. “I’m an artist, and I’ll get Jock to fire you as soon as he gets back!”
Betty gave a contemptuous shrug and walked out. Effie followed her, beside herself with rage.
“He’ll need to marry me anyway,” she shouted as Betty was getting into her car.
Betty swung round. “Why? What d’you mean?”
“I’m pregnant.”
And with that bombshell, Effie went back in and slammed the door.
¦
Betty phoned Hamish and asked him to meet her at the Italian restaurant for dinner.
He found her nervous and agitated. “Effie says Jock’s got to marry her because she’s pregnant,” she burst out as soon as Hamish sat down.
“It might be possible,” said Hamish. “Does he drink a lot?”
“He goes on binges from time to time.”
“He could’ve got plastered and taken her to bed.”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you phoned him?”
“I’ve tried. The gallery said he was staying with friends, and I don’t have their number. I left a message for him to phone back, but he often doesn’t reply for a couple of days, particularly if he’s out partying with other artists.”
