Charlie brightened and then his face fell. “I’m supposed to live in police accommodation.”
“Nobody would know, apart from me and Hamish. Oh, maybe the villagers, but they won’t talk. Let’s go now and have a look.”
Hamish, as he followed Gloria into the dark hall of the hunting lodge, remembered again that Mr. Harrison was a nasty old man who had sneered at him when Hamish had visited. He carried the shopping basket into a cavernous kitchen. “Just put the basket on the table,” said Gloria, “and come through to the drawing room and say hullo.”
“Isn’t there a housekeeper to do the shopping?” asked Hamish.
“Yes, but this stuff is for me. Mr. Harrison has a Latvian couple to look after him, Juris and Inga Janson. I prefer to cook my own food. Must look after my figure.”
Oh, let me look after it for you, thought Hamish dreamily.
“Come along,” she said briskly.
As he followed her through a dark stone-flagged passage and across the shadowy hall where only weak light filtered through the mullioned windows, Hamish reflected that the hunting box had probably been built at the end of the nineteenth century when there was a craze for Gothic architecture. Stuffed animals’ heads looked down from the thick stone walls. A stone staircase with a stone banister led upwards.
Gloria pushed open a heavy oak door, stood aside, and called, “Here is our local bobby to see you, Mr. Harrison.”
An old man with his knees covered in a tartan rug was seated in a wheelchair by a French window overlooking a terrace where a few dead leaves skittered along in the breeze.
He swung his chair round. “He’s already said hullo. Where the hell are the Jansons? I want a drink.”
“I’ll get it,” said Gloria. “Your usual whisky and soda? What about you, Hamish?”
“Too early for me,” said Hamish.
“Sanctimonious prick,” commented Mr. Harrison.
He had a thick head of hair and bushy eyebrows. His eyes were small and black.
“You see this copper here, Gloria?” he demanded. “This is just the sort of chap you want to avoid. If he had any guts or ambition, he would have risen in the ranks instead of being stuck in the back of nowhere.”
“Like you,” said Hamish.
“Here’s your drink, my dear,” said Gloria soothingly. “Aren’t we a bit cross this morning?”
Mr. Harrison took the glass from her and his face softened. “What would I do without you? Push off, copper.”
Hamish smiled. “If you ever need my help, forget it.”
“I’ll see you out,” said Gloria.
Hamish hesitated at the front door. “Any chance of taking you out for dinner one evening? There’s a very good restaurant in Lochdubh.”
“I’m allowed a day off a week. Every Sunday. Maybe that would be nice.”
“What about next Sunday? I’ll drive so you can have a drink.”
“If Mr. Harrison saw you, I don’t think he would approve. I’ll get Juris to run me there. What time?”
“Say eight o’clock?”
“Fine.”
“You’re not going to bring those creepy animals with you, are you?”
“No, not at all,” said Hamish, her attractions dimming a little like a faulty lightbulb. “See you there.”
He climbed into the police Land Rover. Sonsie was in the passenger seat and Lugs in the back. “You’re not creepy, are you?” he said. Sonsie gave a rumbling purr.
At the police station, he was met by local fisherman Archie Maclean, carrying two mackerel. “Make you a nice wee dinner,” he said, handing them over. “I saw you chasing after that flirty nurse.”
“Why do you call her flirty?”
“Herself gets the Sundays off and aye gangs up tae the bar at the hotel and sits there till some fellow invites her for dinner.”
“Surely not!”
“Aye. As sure as I’m standing here. If you’re looking for Charlie, he’s gone off with Priscilla.”
“Why?” demanded Hamish.
“I dinnae ken. Take the fish.”
“Thanks, Archie.”
Hamish went slowly into the police station, where he put the fish in the fridge. He was envious of Charlie’s easy-going friendship with Priscilla. He wondered sourly whether Charlie was gay. He had shown no sexual interest in any female so far. But then one of his own best friends was Angela Brodie, the doctor’s wife, and he could not ever remember lusting after her.
Curiosity overcame him. He told his animals to stay and went back out to his vehicle and sped off to the hotel.
The manager, Mr. Johnson, said they were down in the basement but he didn’t know what they were doing. Hamish made his way down.
“This’ll just be grand,” he heard Charlie saying. “But maybe Hamish won’t like it.”
The voices were coming from the far end of the basement where a door stood open.
“Hamish won’t like what?” he called.
There was a short silence and then Priscilla called, “In here.”
Hamish walked in. He found himself in what seemed to have been a small apartment.
“What d’ye think?” cried Charlie. “Priscilla says I could move in here and you’d have more room at the station.”