“Well, I’m blessed. Aren’t you surprised?”
“Not really. Charlie is so kind. All sorts of people gravitate to him.”
Hamish’s hazel eyes narrowed with jealousy. Did Priscilla fancy him? Then he relaxed. If she was interested in Charlie, she would not be leaving for London.
When they had been engaged, she had been so passionless. Had that been his fault?
“You’ve gone off into a dream, Hamish,” said Priscilla.
“Sorry. I was just thinking how nice and quiet it is now.”
“Are Dick and Anka an item?”
“No. Business partners. No romance there.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure.”
“C’mon, Priscilla. Don’t be daft. Tubby wee grey-haired Dick and the glorious Anka!”
That evening in the bakery, Anka went upstairs to the living room and found Dick dressed in his best suit. “Are you going out somewhere?” she asked. “That’s the suit you wear when we’ve a meeting with the bank manager. And roses and champagne! What’s the occasion? Dick, you’ve gone quite white.”
Dick sank to one knee and held up a small jeweller’s box. “Will you do me the very great honour of marrying me?” he said.
Anka threw back her head and laughed. Red in the face, Dick got to his feet. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have known there wasnae any hope.”
“Give me the ring, open the champagne, my love. I thought you would never ask.”
Charlie went about his duties during the day, visiting the outlying croft houses to make sure everything was all right. In the evenings, he was now expected to take his dinner with the colonel and his wife and then they all retreated to his little flat for a nightcap. Mrs. Halburton-Smythe was delighted with her husband’s new friendship. She had never before known him to be so relaxed and so amiable. She would have liked to invite Hamish to join them, but the colonel stubbornly refused to have anything to do with that “lazy, mooching copper.” He had snobbery enough to hope that his beautiful daughter might make a good match and he always feared she might have the folly to become engaged to Hamish again.
On Sunday, Hamish brushed his red hair until it shone, put on his best suit, and made his way to the restaurant. He had reserved a table by the window. The evening was still and the first frost had arrived. The waiter, Willie Lamont, who was once his constable before he married the restaurant owner’s daughter, approached with the menu.
“Two menus,” said Hamish. “I’m expecting company.”
“And who would that be?”
“Mind your own business.”
Willie went off and came back with another menu. “What’s special tonight?” asked Hamish.
“Something sounds like awfy bokey.”
“Probably osso buco,” said Hamish, who was used to Willie’s malapropisms.
Hamish waited and waited. At last, he found Mr. Harrison’s number and phoned. An Eastern European voice answered—the Latvian, Hamish guessed.
“May I speak to Miss Dainty?” he asked. “This is Hamish Macbeth. She was supposed to meet me for dinner this evening.”
“Mr. Harrison said she went for a walk. Hasn’t come back.”
Probably forgot, thought Hamish dismally, after he had rung off. He ordered the osso buco but picked at it, finally gave up, paid the bill, and went back to the station.
“For the first time in my life,” he said to his animals, “I could do wi’ a nice wee crime to take my mind off things.”
Two days went by while Hamish stubbornly stopped himself from phoning the hunting lodge to find out why Gloria had stood him up. It was a fine autumn day. The rowan trees planted at some of the cottage gates to keep the fairies away were bowed down with scarlet berries. The lower slopes of the two tall mountains behind the village were purple with heather.
He took a stroll along the waterfront. He saw the Currie sisters, Nessie and Jessie, approaching and looked wildly round for some means of escape, but they had seen him, so he waited reluctantly until they came up to him. They were unmarried twins and looked remarkably alike with tightly permed grey hair, thick glasses, and identical camel-hair coats.
“I’m glad to see Mr. Harrison’s got himself a proper nurse,” said Nessie, “and not some wee flibbertigibbet.”
“Flibbertigibbet,” echoed the Greek chorus that was her sister.
“You mean Gloria Dainty has left?” exclaimed Hamish.
“Went off wi’ her suitcase,” said Nessie. “Never even left a note.”
“When was this?”
“Sunday evening.”
Hamish felt a sharp pang of unease. He touched his cap to them and moved on. Suddenly he decided to go out to the hunting lodge.
Juris, the Latvian, answered the door. He was a tall, powerful man. Hamish asked to see Mr. Harrison but was told the old man was lying down and did not want to be disturbed.