Death of a Gentle Lady - M. C. Beaton [5]
Outside, Hamish phoned Ayesha, who had given him her mobile phone number. He told her he might have something for her in a week’s time but cautioned her not to breathe a word to anyone. ‘Hasn’t your father been trying to track you down?’ he asked.
‘I phoned him two years ago and told him wasn’t coming back. He said I was no daughter of his and he did not want to see me ever again.’
‘That’s sad, but it makes things less complicated.’
Hamish felt like Santa Claus a week later when he handed Ayesha her altered passport. ‘This is wonderful,’ she said. ‘At least I have three more years.’
Then Hamish had a really mad idea. ‘There is something else we could do,’ he said.
‘What is that, my dear friend?’
‘We could get married.’
‘What?’
‘That way you would become a British citizen, have a British passport, and get work in a school or a university. Then we get a divorce.’
A cynical, wary look entered her blue eyes. ‘And what would you get?’
‘The fact that I was a married man would make them at headquarters leave me alone for a bit. I happen to know that there are no quarters for married men in Strathbane. I get my police station and you get your passport.’
‘What about sex?’
‘You know, I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Hamish with almost childish candour. ‘You are gorgeous and yet I don’t fancy you. No vibes.’
‘You will be shocked.’
‘I’m a policeman. I’m past being shocked.’
‘I am a lesbian.’
‘What a waste! I mean, everyone to their own bag. But since we’d be getting married just for appearances, it doesn’t matter.’
A week later, Elspeth Grant was sitting at the reporters’ desk at the Daily Bugle newspaper office in Glasgow dreaming of the Highlands. She thought it was high time she went back for a holiday. She wondered how Hamish was getting on and if he ever thought of her.
A colleague came up to her and said, ‘I’ve got the job of trawling through the local Scottish papers for stories to follow up. Didn’t you know that policeman in Lochdubh, Hamish Macbeth?’
‘What’s happened to him?’ asked Elspeth anxiously.
‘He’s getting married, that’s what, and to some girl with a foreign name.’
‘Let me see.’
There it was in black and white in the Highland Times, an announcement that the marriage of Hamish Macbeth to Ayesha Tahir would take place in the registry office in Inverness on Wednesday, in two weeks’ time.
Elspeth felt miserable. Hamish hadn’t married her, but the consolation was always that he hadn’t married anyone else.
Colonel Halburton-Smythe phoned his daughter Priscilla, who was working in London. ‘Hamish Macbeth is getting married in a couple of weeks, and to some foreigner.’
Priscilla held the receiver so tightly that her knuckles stood out white. ‘Who is this female?’
‘Some Turk who was working as a maid for one of the locals. Stunning-looking girl.’
He went on to talk about the running of the hotel while Priscilla barely listened. Hamish! To be married!
Chapter Two
Marriage is a desperate thing.
– John Selden
Hamish Macbeth was thoroughly miserable. After all the red tape had been gone through and he had permission to marry Ayesha and had returned triumphantly to tell her the news, it was to find that Mrs Gentle had taken over.
He raged at Ayesha, who had just informed him that Mrs Gentle had not only promised Ayesha a generous gift of money and said the reception should be held in her home, but even paid up for the church roof. She was restored in the eyes of the highlanders to local saint.
Hamish, hearing all this horrible news from Ayesha at the police station, said grimly, ‘Then the wedding is off.’
Ayesha looked at him with cold eyes. ‘If you cancel this wedding, I will tell everyone you got my visa forged.’
‘Then you’d be deported.’
‘If you don’t marry me, I’ll be deported anyway.’
Hamish, normally easy-going, could feel himself in the grip of a blind rage. The news of his forthcoming marriage had made his bosses relent and promise that he could keep his police