Death of a Gentle Lady - M. C. Beaton [29]
Priscilla left and shut the door behind her. For the first time she thought that she did not really know Hamish.
She saw that bright little picture in her mind again – Hamish in his best suit talking intently to a woman as if she were the only thing that mattered in his world.
Chapter Six
‘Reeling and Writhing, of course, to begin
with,’ the Mock Turtle replied, ‘and the
different branches of Arithmetic – Ambition,
Distraction, Uglification and Derision.’
– Lewis Carroll
Hamish received a phone call from Jimmy early next morning, asking him to bring Anna to the castle.
‘Daviot was worried when she didn’t turn up at her hotel in Strathbane last night, but then she phoned and said she was staying with you. Our boss hopes you’re not carrying any détente further than it should go.’
‘I’ve been sleeping in the cell,’ grumbled Hamish. ‘I’ve got to get her to the Tommel Castle Hotel this morning, somehow, and then I’ll bring her over.’
He heard a loud scream from the bedroom and a shout of ‘Get off!’
‘What are you up to?’ asked Jimmy.
‘Nothing. She’s probably found the cat in her bed.’
This turned out to be the case. Anna had awakened with the feel of a warm body stretched out next to her own.
When she was up and dressed and in her uniform, Hamish told her, ‘I’ve taken the liberty of booking a room at the Tommel Castle Hotel. There are three people there who might interest you – Harold Jury, an author; Patrick Fitzpatrick, an Irishman; and a Mrs Fanshawe, who borrowed one of the bikes. I’ve yet to speak to her.’
Anna agreed. Hamish’s pets had made the novelty of a stay in a highland police station quickly wear off.
‘There might be some press still here,’ said Hamish as he walked into the hotel with Anna, carrying her two large suitcases, ‘but you’ll need to face them sooner or later. While you get settled in, I’ll see if I can find this Mrs Fanshawe.’
Mrs Fanshawe was having breakfast. She was a small, round, middle-aged woman with rosy cheeks and grey hair. She certainly could not have been the woman at the phone box.
In answer to his questions, she said she had borrowed a mountain bike. ‘I wanted to get some of the weight off,’ she said with a jolly laugh. ‘One trip out was enough for me so I said to myself, Sadie, the Good Lord obviously meant you to be fat.’
She had not seen any mysterious woman. Anna walked into the dining room; at the sight of her uniform, several reporters and cameramen sprang to their feet, and soon she was surrounded. Hamish was about to interfere until he saw she was handling all questions coolly and efficiently.
When she finally said ‘That’s enough!’ and joined Hamish, he said, ‘You’ve only had toast for breakfast. Would you like something here?’
‘No, I would like to get started.’
They met Priscilla as they were leaving the hotel. Priscilla had seen Anna only very briefly. ‘Were you in the restaurant last night?’ she asked Hamish when the introductions were over.
‘Yes, we were going through the case.’
Priscilla smiled. Anna, with her Putin-like features, was hardly the beauty she had imagined the night before.
‘Inspector Krokovsky is staying here,’ said Hamish.
‘Then we will do everything we can to make your stay pleasant,’ said Priscilla.
When they were both in the Land Rover, before driving off, Hamish phoned his friend Angela Brodie, the doctor’s wife. ‘Angela, I’m going to be out most of the day. Do you think you could look after Sonsie and Lugs?’
‘Hamish, you’ll need to find someone to regularly take care of your pets. You’re always asking me.’
‘Just this once,’ pleaded Hamish.
‘You always say that. Oh, all right, but I’ve got to rehearse my part.’
‘What part?’
‘I rather got bullied into playing Lady Macbeth.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘That author held a meeting in the village hall last night. I rather got coerced into