Death of a Sweep - M. C. Beaton [33]
Hamish walked into the living-room-cum-kitchen. It was strange, he thought, that Caro could produce her miracles in such a cramped environment, and then realized there wasn’t a potter’s wheel, easel, paints, or brushes. As if reading his thoughts, Caro said, ‘I’ve got a big shed out the back now where I work. Coffee?’
‘Yes, that would be grand.’
‘It’s ready. I was just about to take a cup myself.’
Hamish took off his cap and settled himself at a table by the window. Outside, he could see Lugs and Sonsie playing in the heather.
Caro put down a mug of coffee in front of him and looked out of the window as well. ‘Aren’t you frightened that one day that cat is going to revert to the wild and savage your dog?’
‘No. It’s odd, I know, but they’re great friends.’
She sat down opposite him. ‘So what brings you?’
‘Captain Henry Davenport.’
‘Oh, him.’
‘Yes, him. Did he con any money out of you?’
There was a long silence.
Then she said with a weary note in her voice. ‘I may as well tell you. Knowing you of old, I’ve a nasty feeling if I don’t, you’ll dig and dig until you get at the truth.’
‘What happened?’
‘I arrived back here shortly before he was murdered. It was one of those rare warm days with a breeze blowing all the way in from the Gulf Stream. I like walking. I love the clean air up here. I also wanted to work off my fury. A gallery in Mayfair had promised to hold an exhibition of my paintings. They cancelled at the last minute. They wanted instead to use my space for an exhibition by a sort of Turner Prize artist – you know the type of thing, painting made from elephant dung and an unmade bed. It was like a slap in the face. They said my little paintings were too “pretty-pretty” for their clients. I was up in the hills where you can look down on Drim and that sinister sea loch when I saw this tweedy sort of military man approaching.
‘He stopped and said, “You’ve been crying. What’s the matter?” And he had an English accent.’
‘Did that make a difference? We don’t go in for English-bashing up here.’
‘I know. But you highlanders run on a different wavelength. It’s my own fault. I’m a solitary person. I like my own company. But I suddenly desperately needed someone to talk to. He had a soothing voice. He said he had recently moved to Drim and wondered if he had made a mistake. He said the locals were a bit weird and he always felt he was somehow on the outside looking in. I began to tell him about the gallery rejecting my work. He was so sympathetic that a lot of the pain began to ease. Then to my amazement, he said he knew the owner of the Collin Gallery in Mayfair and he could get me an exhibition but it would take a bit of bribery. He winked at me and I began to laugh. I was feeling so relieved at being able to unburden myself.
‘“How much?” I asked.
‘“If I could slip him a couple of thousand cash, the deed’s done,” he said. He introduced himself and handed me his card. It said, CAPTAIN HENRY DAVENPORT, FINANCIAL ADVISOR, and an address in Guildford. He said he still had a house down there and Drim was really just a holiday home. Now, I keep a few thousand here, or rather I did, for expenses. Everyone wants to be paid off the books these days. Also I earn an awful lot of money from my pottery so two thousand doesn’t mean much to me. I took him back to the house.’
‘Oh, dearie, dearie me,’ said Hamish. ‘Where did you keep it?’
She pointed to a row of white and blue enamel tins on the dresser. ‘In the one marked FLOUR. So I got out the money and paid him. He took a note of my phone number and said he’d be in touch but to give him a week.
‘Now, when I was out of his orbit, so to speak, I couldn’t believe I had been so silly as to trust a complete stranger like that but I decided to give it a chance. About five days later, I decided to take out some money and go shopping down in Inverness for some more art supplies. I found all the money in the flour tin was gone.’
‘How much?’
‘About five thousand.