Death Of A Hussy Part 3

And then she thought of Hamish Macbeth.

THREE.

Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes. Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes. - -OSCAR WILDE The bell at the front door of the police station rang. Hamish sighed and put down the book he was reading. No one in the village ever rang the front doorbell. They always came to the kitchen door. The ring at the front usually meant some sort of official visit.

He was not in uniform, but it was ten o'clock at night and he had every reason to be off duty. He paused for a moment, wondering whether to answer it. Memories of Strathbane were still sharp in his mind. What if that dreadful policewoman had decided to press charges for a.s.sault?

The bell went again. He had a superst.i.tious feeling he should not answer it. The wind howled outside. Giving himself a shake, he went slowly to the front of the police station and opened the door.

Alison Kerr stood there, blinking up at him owlishly in the blue light from the police lamp over the door.

"Come in," said Hamish. "It's a dreadful night. What's happened?"

"Nothing," said Alison as he closed the door behind her. "I just wanted to ask you a favour."

"Then come through to the kitchen and I'll make us a cup' of tea. My! You're soaked through. Give me your coat."

He helped Alison out of her wet raincoat and then ushered her into the long narrow kitchen at the back of the house.

Alison sat down at the table and took off her gla.s.ses and wiped the raindrops from them with the edge of her skirt. The kitchen was warm and cheerful and Hamish, in a checked s.h.i.+rt and corduroys, rea.s.suringly nonofficial.

"Now," said Hamish, "what's all this about?"

Alison clutched the mug of tea in both hands. "Maggie's gone," she said. "She says she will be away a few months and..."-Alison braced herself for the lie to come-"she says she doesn't mind if I leam to drive and my test is in three weeks' time and there isn't an instructor in Lochdubh and I don't know anyone and I wondered if you would...could...possibly...and..."

She fell silent and a large tear rolled down her nose and plopped on the table.

"You want me to teach you how to drive," said Hamish amiably. "Och, I see no reason why not. You do have a provisional license, do you not?"

"Yes," said Alison shakily. "I've had it quite a long time. You see, Mr. Macbeth, I've always wanted to drive and...and...Maggie said she wouldn't let me touch the car but she relented just before she left."

"Where has she gone?" asked Hamish while all the time he was thinking, Mrs. Baird never gave this wee la.s.sie permission to use the car. She's lying. But then I am not supposed to know that.

"She's gone to have herself done up," said Alison, and then blushed furiously. "I mean, she's going to become beautiful again, she says."

"There must be a gentleman in the picture."

"No...no...I don't think so. I think she just decided to take herself in hand. But about the driving. When can we start? I've only got three weeks."

"Well, things here are awry quiet unless someone starts inventing crimes again. What about coming around here at six tomorrow evening?"

"But it's such a long way and I can't drive," bleated Alison.

"Oh, I forgot. I'll drive out then-at six."

"Thank you," said Alison. "I'm sorry I'm so emotional about it all. But you see, it's my first step towards independence. I mean, I used to be awfully confident and brave before I got cancer."

And in that heady moment, Alison believed what she had just said, forgetting the years of rabbitlike scurrying to work as secretary to the boss of a small firm which manufactured electrical components. She had been bored out of her skull but had never had the courage to hand in her notice. The factory had been on a failing industrial estate on the outskirts of Bristol, a wasteland of crumbling buildings and old beds, tyres, armchairs, and cookers, as the townspeople used it as a dump.

Hamish watched her sympathetically, reflecting that Maggie was probably the present villain in Alison's life. Timid people always had to have a villain around to maintain some shreds of self-respect. They always thought, If he or she, the husband or mother, or whoever, weren't around, then we would become successful and bold and glamorous, and when the bullies were removed from the scene by divorce or death, the rabbits immediately set out on their quests to find replacements.

"It's so beautiful up here," Alison was saying. "I feel in my bones that I am really a Highlander."

"It's quiet for a lady like yourself used to town life," commented Hamish, pouring more tea.

"Oh, things always happen to me," said Alison airily. "Adventure seems to follow me around."

The wind tore at the house and Hamish repressed a shudder. He was already regretting his generous impulse to give Alison driving lessons. He as uneasy about the whole thing, and it was not because he knew Alison was lying.

"What's the driving test like?" asked Alison.

"Well, it's not so bad here as in the towns," said Hamish. "There are no roundabouts or traffic lights. But they're very strict for all that. I don't want to depress you, but the failure rate in the British driving test is fifty-three percent. You have to train your mind to pa.s.s as well as concentrating on your driving ability. Stop worrying too much about the test and work instead at becoming a skilled driver. At the test, before you even get in the car, before you can even slide behind the wheel, you must be able to read a car number plate at a distance of sixty-seven feet. So make sure your gla.s.ses are up to the mark. Then after your test, you will be given an oral exam on the Highway Code. Have you got a copy?"

"Oh, yes," said Alison. She sighed. "I wish I were more experienced." She cast a sudden flirtatious look at Hamish and blushed and blew her nose on a rather grubby handkerchief to cover her confusion.

"I'd better be running you back," said Hamish.

"That's very kind of you." Alison got to her feet and gazed up adoringly into Hamish's hazel eyes, but the policeman's eyes were a polite blank and he seemed to have retreated to somewhere inside of himself. Alison felt exactly as if she had made a bold pa.s.s and been ruthlessly snubbed.

It's all the fault of that Priscilla, thought Alison, she doesn't want him for herself and yet she won't let him go. By the time Hamish drove up to the bungalow-his police Land Rover having been returned to him by Strathbane headquarters-Alison had turned Priscilla in her mind into a scheming harpy.

"Won't you come in for a cup of coffee?" she asked.

"No, I'd best be getting home," replied Hamish. "See you tomorrow."

He smiled and Alison suddenly felt elated and light-hearted.

"You asked who who to teach ye to drive?" Mrs. Todd had been in the act of whipping up a bowl of batter when Alison told her on the following day about the proposed driving lessons. She stood with her mouth slightly open, the wire whisk posed over the bowl. No modern electrical methods for Mrs. Todd. to teach ye to drive?" Mrs. Todd had been in the act of whipping up a bowl of batter when Alison told her on the following day about the proposed driving lessons. She stood with her mouth slightly open, the wire whisk posed over the bowl. No modern electrical methods for Mrs. Todd.

"I asked Hamish Macbeth and he agreed. I mean the local bobby is surely the best-"

"Him!" Mrs. Todd put down bowl and spoon. "Let me tell you that man is a womaniser. The things I've heard! He's lazy and incompetent and useless. Why, when my man died, he came around, poking his nose into everything."

"But...but...I mean, the village loves loves him," wailed Alison. "You saw the reception." him," wailed Alison. "You saw the reception."

"Aye, and a waste o' tune and money." Mrs. Todd was a formidable figure even in her early seventies; her hair was still brown and her back ramrod straight. Her eyes narrowed suddenly. "Are you sure Mrs. Baird gave ye permission to take that car of hers out?"

"Yes," said Alison in a shrill voice. "And now I had better get back to typing out Mrs. Baird's autobiography."

"I'd like to read that," said Mrs. Todd, momentarily diverted. "She's a fine lady and has travelled a lot."

"You can ask her for a look at it when she gets back," said Alison, wondering what on earth Mrs. Todd would think of Maggie's explicitly described s.e.xual adventures.

But Alison did not type that day; she read and reread the Highway Code, occasionally looking up at the clock to check the time and to will it to pa.s.s more quickly.

Promptly at six o'clock, Hamish drew up in the police Land Rover. To Alison's relief, Mrs. Todd had left for the day.

Alison had already opened the garage doors. Hamish stood looking at the Renault. "It's a grand wee car," he said. "But I think before the test, we'd better let Ian down at the garage have a look at it. If there's anything at all up with your car, they won't even let you start the test. Are you ready? Get in the driving seat. You'll be starting right away."

Alison climbed in and Hamish doubled his lanky length into the pa.s.senger seat beside her.

"Now," he said, "check that your seat is the right distance from the pedals and that you don't have to stretch. And then check your driving mirrors."

Alison shuffled about, jerking the car seat up too far forward and then sending it flying too far back in her excitement. Hamish got out again and took two Learner plates out of the Land Rover and fixed them to the front and back windows of the Renault.

He climbed in again and then began to instruct Alison how to move off. "Mirror, signal, then manoeuvre," he said. "You turn your head and take a quick look back before you move off. Just imagine you're out on a busy road. Turn on the engine, put the gear into first, release the clutch slowly to the biting point, that is until you feel the car surge forward a bit, and then release the handbrake."

Alison stalled several times. How could she ever get the coordination right? Driving was an unnatural act.

"I think we'll change places for a bit," said Hamish, "and I'll take ye out on the road. Hardly anyone about at this time of night."

He patiently explained everything all over again once they were out on the road while Alison, once more in the driver's seat, prayed to the G.o.d in whom she did not believe to send her wisdom.

And then suddenly she was moving slowly along the cliff road while Hamish's patient voice told her when to change gear-and then she was driving, the headlamps cutting a magic path through the night. Hamish decided to let her drive straight along for as long as possible to give her confidence. It was too early to teach her how to reverse or park. Alison, maintaining a nervous 30 mph mph, felt she was flying as free as the wind.

At last Hamish suggested gently that he turn the car and take her home.

To Alison, Hamish Macbeth had become a G.o.dlike figure. She was so grateful to him and so shy of him at the same time, she could hardly stammer out an offer of coffee. But Hamish Macbeth was cautious and old-fas.h.i.+oned and knew enough about village gossip to realise that even in this isolated spot, someone would somehow find out he had gone into the house with Miss Alison Kerr and so he refused.

He was surprised the following night to find a much more confident Alison, but Alison explained she had been driving up and down the short driveway all day. And then just as she was cruising along the cliff road, the engine began to cough and then died completely. "It's Maggie, that old b.i.t.c.h," shouted Alison. "She's been mistreating this car for years."

"Now, now," said Hamish soothingly. "I'll just hae a look under the bonnet."

Alison waited in an agony of suspense while he raised the bonnet and examined the engine under the light of a powerful torch.

He came back shaking his head. "lan'll need to hae a look at it," he said. "Wait here and I'll walk back and get the Land Rover and we'll tow it down to Lochdubh. Have you any money?"

"I've been collecting my dole money," said Alison, "and I've quite a bit."

"Fine. Repairs are expensive, although I'll have a word wi' Ian. He owes me a few favours."

Ian Chisholm, the garage owner-c.u.m-repairman, was not pleased at having to work after hours, and grumbled at the filthy state of the engine. "I'll dae ma best," he said at last. "But it'll cost ye. The points need cleaning and while ye're at it, it needs a new clutch plate."

"A wee word with you, Ian," said Hamish, leading him away from Alison.

Alison waited anxiously while the two men put their heads together.

Then they shook hands and Ian came back with a false sort of smile on his monkey face. "Aye, weel, Miss Kerr, it seems it won't cost that much. Hamish'll pick up yer car the morrow."

Later that night, Hamish got out his fis.h.i.+ng tackle and set off in the driving rain to poach a salmon, praying that the water bailiffs wouldn't catch him. The salmon was in part payment for the car repairs. He did not get home until three in the morning. He put an eighteen-pound salmon on the kitchen table and went thankfully to bed after giving Towser a good rubdown, for the dog had accompanied him on his poaching expedition.

d.a.m.n Alison Kerr, was his last waking thought, that la.s.sie fair gives me the creeps.

Colonel Halburton-Smythe rustled his morning paper and looked over it at his daughter's calm face. She was reading letters that had arrived for her in that morning's post.

"Looks as if we're about to have a marriage in Loch-dubh," said the colonel.

"Mmm?" said Priscilla absently.

"Yes, that friend that friend of yours, that Hamish Macbeth, has been courting Mrs. Baird's niece, or we all hope that's what he's been doing. He's been up at the bungalow every night." of yours, that Hamish Macbeth, has been courting Mrs. Baird's niece, or we all hope that's what he's been doing. He's been up at the bungalow every night."

"Oh, yes," said Priscilla absently. "Nice for him," and she continued to read her letters.

The colonel gave her bent head a pleased smile. He had been wrong. His daughter quite obviously had no romantic interest in that lazy village copper.

What on earth is Hamish playing at? thought Priscilla furiously, he can surely do better than get tied up with that little drip. He's probably sorry for her. Typical Hamis.h.!.+ He'll probably end up tied down for life to some dowdy female just because he's sorry for her. She picked up her letters and walked slowly from the room. She had called at the police station several evenings in a row but Hamish had always been out.

She looked at the clock. Ten in the morning. She was due to leave for London at the weekend. She'd better find out what Hamish was thinking about, fooling around with Alison Kerr.

She drove down to the police station, but although the Land Rover was parked outside, there was no sign of Hamish. She peered in the living room window. Towser was stretched out on the sofa, his eyes closed.

Now, if I were Hamish, thought Priscilla, where would I be at this time in the morning without dog or car? She stood for a moment. Small flakes of snow were beginning to fall. Her face cleared. He was probably at the Lochdubh Hotel, mooching coffee.

And that is exactly where she did run Hamish to earth. He was sitting in the manager's office, a mug of steaming coffee in his hands.

He rose in pleased surprise as Priscilla walked in. "I thought you would be back in London," said Hamish.

"Not till the weekend," said Priscilla. "Morning, Mr. Johnson. I just wanted a quick word with Hamish."

"I've got to get back to work," said the hotel manager.

"Be my guest, Miss Halburton-Smythe. Help yourself to coffee."

"No, not here," said Priscilla.

"Is it police business?" asked Hamish anxiously.

"Something like that."

They walked together to the police station, Priscilla refusing to discuss what was bothering her until they were both indoors.

"It's like this," she said, not looking at him. "I've been hearing tales that you are courting Alison Kerr."

He studied her averted face and a flash of malice appeared in his eyes. "I had tae get interested in someone sometime," he said softly.

"Just so long as you're really interested in her and not just sorry for her," said Priscilla.

"Well, that iss verra kind of you, Miss Halburton-Smythe. I am glad I haff your blessing. Alison is all for a white wedding and I suppose I'll just half to go along with it."

Priscilla sat down at the table. Towser put his heavy head on her lap and she absent-mindedly stroked his ears.