Death of a Gentle Lady - M. C. Beaton [75]
‘He’ll kill me!’
‘He can’t. He wouldn’t dare. You’ll never have to walk the streets again.’
Epilogue
A man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies.
– Oscar Wilde
Christmas was over, the New Year’s celebrations were over, and a fine drizzle of snow was falling: tiny little flakes that spiralled upwards in the freezing air.
Hamish was coming back down to the station from the field at the back after giving his sheep their winter feed when he saw Jimmy standing on the doorstep.
‘Let me in out o’ this cold, Hamish,’ said Jimmy. ‘You’ll never believe what I have to tell you!’
They walked into the kitchen. Hamish took down the bottle of whisky and warned, ‘One dram only, Jimmy. The roads are bad. You could’ve phoned.’
‘Not wi’ news like this. Brace yourself, Bridget, as the Irishman said to his missus by way of foreplay.’
They sat down at the table. Jimmy took a sip of whisky and said, ‘Blair’s getting married!’
‘Michty me!’ exclaimed Hamish, affecting surprise. ‘Who to?’
‘Decent enough body called Mary Ashford. Bit of an eccentric, mind you. I knew she was going to be at the Rotary Club dinner so I wangled an invitation from my pal and took Aileen Drummond along – you know, the PC you promised to take to dinner and never did? Anyway, there’s the happy couple on either side of Daviot. Well, the first course was artichoke and Mary begins to eat the whole thing. Then she cries, “Bugger this stuff. It’s like trying to eat holly!” Mrs Daviot on the other side of Blair looks shocked. She says, “You’re not supposed to eat the whole thing, Mary. Just the bottoms of the leaves.” Blair rounds on her and hisses, “Stop showing me up.” Mrs Daviot springs to Mary’s defence. “Really,” she says, “Mary’s not the only one who doesn’t know how to eat it.” And sure enough, some of Strathbane’s finest are trying to chomp down the whole thing as well.
‘“There you are, darlin’,” says Mary, blowing Blair a kiss, and he looks as if he could murder her.’
‘Where did he meet her?’ asked Hamish, relishing every moment of the account.
‘She was working in one of the supermarkets and even doing voluntary work in one of the charity shops at the weekend. Mrs Daviot was most impressed. She’s organizing the wedding for them.’
‘And when is it to be?’
‘February the second at St Andrew’s kirk in Strathbane. Blair wanted a registry office wedding but Mrs Daviot wouldn’t hear of it.’
‘Any chance of an invite?’
‘I’ll see if I can wangle one for you. Now I’m off before the snow gets worse.’
Hamish received an invitation to the wedding. Along with the invitation came details of the wedding present list and the website details of a shop in Strathbane. He got on to the site and ordered a soup tureen out of a dinner service list, putting in his credit card details and instructions for it to be sent off with the message, ‘Oh, Happy Day, from your friend and colleague, Hamish Macbeth.’
At last the great day arrived. Hamish put on his only suit and travelled to Strathbane.
It was a day full of blustery wind and yellow glaring sunlight. The church was full. Hamish chatted to people he knew and then found himself accosted by Aileen Drummond. ‘What about dinner?’ she asked.
‘All right. Come over to the station tomorrow evening at seven o’clock. Do you want me to pick you up?’
‘No, I’ll drive over.’ She gave him a saucy look. ‘If I drink too much I can stay the night.’
And why not? thought Hamish as he settled into a pew. The hell with romanticism. What I need is some healthy sex.
The organ in the loft struck up, and Hamish twisted his head to get a look at the bride. Mary – he must forget that she was once Ruby – came sailing up the aisle in all the splendour of a white wedding dress and veil.