Part 14 (1/2)
Jamie ignored her. ”Here!” he said. ”I hope it was suicide.”
”Yes, no doubt about it.”
Jamie looked dazed. ”I've been up all night, plotting and planning what to do. Now I don't need to bother. But, you know, I can't help feeling heart-sorry for Mackay. I would have liked to murder Mainwaring myself. Well, we'd better be on our way.”
Hamish watched them as they picked their way down the path, Jamie holding his wife's arm so that she would not slip.
”It's a miracle he didn't murder Mainwaring,” said Hamish to Towser, ”for that man is married to a Lady Macbeth and disnae know it.”
Despite all his good intentions, Hamish found himself that evening in Jenny's cosy kitchen. She was flushed and excited and strangely guilty about something. He asked her what was wrong, but she blushed and said, ”Nothing.”
They had a pleasant dinner together and then went to bed for a more energetic night than they had had before.
Hamish awoke at dawn and propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at Jenny's flushed and sleeping face and at her black curls. He decided to ask her to marry him. The sick, unnatural yearning for Priscilla would soon go away. He lay back on the pillows and clasped his hands behind his head and wondered what Priscilla would think when she learned of his marriage. She would do the right thing, of course; she always did. She would congratulate him warmly and send him a suitable present. But when she came calling at his kitchen door in Lochdubh, she would be an intruder, no longer a friend. Perhaps he and Jenny would have children and he could buy them train sets and teach them how to fish. He drifted off to sleep again, and in his dream it was the day of his wedding to Jenny, and Priscilla was telling him she had always loved him.
He awoke with a groan. Jenny stirred and put an arm across his naked chest.
”Are you awake, Hamish?” she whispered.
”Yes,” said Hamish gloomily. He had to propose-now or never.
”There's something I've got to tell you.”
Both twisted round and stared at each other, for they had said the same thing at the same time.
”You first,” said Hamish.
”This is going to be difficult,” said Jenny. ”I love you, Hamish, but I'm going back to my husband.”
”I thought you were divorced?”
”I am. But this awful murder and Mainwaring insulting my painting suddenly made me realize I've never stopped loving Andrew. He phoned from Canada yesterday evening. He still loves me, Hamish, and wants me back.”
Hamish at first felt a burst of sheer masculine fury, followed immediately by an odd floating feeling of relief.
”We're very good in bed together,” said Jenny in a small voice. ”But it's not enough, is it, Hamish?”
”No, I suppose not. When are you leaving?”
”Not for a few months. I've got to sell up here and start s.h.i.+pping my paintings and belongings to Canada. Hamish, are you mad at me? I shouldn't have gone to bed with you. But it just sort of happened.”
Jenny got out of bed and went to the window and drew the curtains. She scrubbed at the steamed-up gla.s.s with her fist and peered out. She s.h.i.+vered and crossed her arms over her naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s. ”It's snowing again, Hamish. What do you want to do?”
”Come back to bed and I'll show you,” said Hamish Macbeth.
The rest of Hamish's stay at Cnothan was quiet and dull. The snow changed to weeks of driving rain. He no longer made love to Jenny as l.u.s.t on both sides disappeared, to be replaced by a comfortable friends.h.i.+p.
The first sunny morning in ages heralded his last day in Cnothan. He wanted to be out of the police station before MacGregor's return. He whistled as he cleaned the rooms and then he cleared all the groceries out of the kitchen cupboards and took them over to Jenny.
”MacGregor left me nothing,” said Hamish, ”so he can find things exactly the same on his return. There's three funny bottles of liqueur missing from his nasty bar, so I've left him a note, telling him to bill Blair.”
”I've made you some sandwiches and a Thermos of coffee for the bus,” said Jenny.
Hamish drew her into his arms and kissed her gently. ”I'll miss you, Jenny.”
She gave a little sniff and buried her head against his tunic. ”You can come and stay with us in Canada.”
”No, Jenny. That would not be at all the thing. I'll drop you a line from time to time.”
”Here, I've a present for you.” Jenny went to the corner and picked up a large square parcel.
”What is it?” asked Hamish.
”It's that painting of Clachan Mohr I did when I was angry.”
”You could get a lot of money for that, Jenny,” said Hamish awkwardly. ”Or you could take it to your husband. He'd never call you a chocolate-box painter again.”
”He's admitted he was jealous,” said Jenny cheerfully. ”He really knows my paintings are good. I really don't like that one, Hamish.”
”Well, I'll take it,” said Hamish. But he privately thought it was a pity that Jenny did not realize her ex- soon-to-be non-ex husband had been right in the first place and was probably only being tactful now.
The small Lochdubh bus came screeching to a halt outside the post office as he stood there an hour later with his bags, his painting, and his dog.
The driver threw him an evil look and went off to buy cigarettes.
Hamish climbed on the bus, put his luggage on one seat and sat on the other with Towser beside him. The whole town was swimming in lazy golden light and people walked up and down aimlessly, looking drugged in the unfamiliar warmth.
A car drew to a halt beside the bus. Hamish looked idly down at the driver who was climbing out and his heart gave a painful lurch. Priscilla Halburton-Smythe. He stared straight ahead, his heart racing.
She poked her head in the door of the bus. ”Want a lift to Lochdubh, copper?” she called. Towser threw himself on Priscilla, uttering ecstatic yips of welcome.
”Aye, that'll be grand, Priscilla,” said Hamish, his eyes wary.
He tried not to look at her, but was painfully aware of slim, stylish elegance and golden hair.
He wrestled with his bags and painting and climbed down from the bus. Priscilla opened the boot. ”Put your bags in there, Hamish,” she said. ”What's that parcel? It looks like a painting.”
”It is,” said Hamish. ”I'd better put it in the back seat so it disnae get damaged.”
”Won't Towser sit on it?”
”No, he'll sleep on the floor. You know that, Priscilla.”
”Yes, I know that.” She straightened up after arranging his bags in the boot and slammed down the lid. Her eyes were clear and untroubled but slightly questioning.
”You haven't given me much of a welcome,” she said.