Кит Мори - Flotsam and Jetsam

‘Guthrie Lovat the beachcomber?’ Annie asked. ‘Sure, he must be about your best customer – or client, as I expect you call him these days.’

Alec grinned. ‘He is a good customer, right enough. We seem to send his work to just about every corner of the world.’

‘Aye he seems to be quite the famous artist these days,’ replied Annie. ‘Or what some folk call art, at any rate. But I remember him when he was just plain Guthrie Lovat, the beachcomber, scraping a living by selling all the flotsam and jetsam that got washed up on the West Uist beaches. Then he found that some of the tourists liked some of the bits and pieces he carved, or stuck together, and he started getting commissions. He’d never even been to art school, but somehow he built up a reputation and made a parcel of money. Enough to buy the strip of beach at Half Moon Cove.’

Alec laughed. ‘Aye, he’s a proper millionaire now. A regular Howard Hughes. I am guessing that me and Agnes are about the only folk he lets into the Crow’s Nest.’

He gave them both a knowing wink. ‘Except tomorrow he’s letting VIPs in to see him and his work.’

Agnes was leaning forward on the counter. ‘Go on then, tell us. What VIPs?’

‘He has agreed to let Fergie Ferguson and Chrissie from the TV show Flotsam & Jetsam in to interview him. And then he’s going on their show.’

‘You are kidding!’ Agnes exclaimed.

‘Gospel, so help me,’ Alec replied. He told them of his meeting at the gates of the Crow’s Nest.

‘So I gave him their card when I went in to pick up all this stuff and he even got me to phone them up. It must be a first. I don’t think he’s ever done an interview since Calum Steele did one in the West Uist Chronicle a few years ago.’

Annie clicked her tongue. ‘Aye and that was a hatchet job. Our Calum knows how to make enemies.’

‘Anyway, he seemed to like the idea. I guess he feels it could do his business a bit of good.’ He stopped and grinned. ‘From what he said he doesn’t think that they are real people.’

At which all three of them laughed.

‘Some people seem happy today. Is it a private joke?’ came Dr Dent’s voice. He had entered the shop unnoticed, despite the fact that he was still wearing his waders. He stood with his broken insect net in one hand and with his specimen collecting box hanging from one shoulder.

‘Good morning, Doctor Dent,’ said Alec. ‘I don’t suppose there is any harm in telling, since it will be on TV soon enough. Guthrie Lovat has agreed to let the Flotsam & Jetsam folk see him. He got me to phone Fergie Ferguson while I was delivering his mail. And I have to say that Fergie seemed right pleased.’

‘Interesting,’ returned Dr Dent. ‘I could do with seeing him myself. I’ve tried telephoning, but the last time I spoke to him he just said there was no way he would have me on his land.’ He shrugged. ‘The Lord only knows why.’

Annie McConville frowned. ‘Oh he is such a rude scunner. Always was.’

‘I have got a pretty good idea about the insect population of West Uist,’ went on Dr Dent, ‘but I have an idea that the Half Moon Cove area could be very different to the rest of the island. You see, it’s like a funnel to the Atlantic Ocean, I believe that knowing more about the midge larval population around the beach and the sand dunes could be very interesting scientifically. That is why—’

‘Why don’t you make a plea on the Flotsam & Jetsam show tonight?’ Annie suggested. ‘I see that you are going to be on the programme already.’

Dent nodded, and then looked at Alec. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. But then I hadn’t heard this news about Guthrie Lovat. I will do just that. But perhaps if Alec here also had a quiet word in Mr Lovat’s ear, it would help to get me in through that barbed wire fence of his.’

Alec considered for a moment then nodded in agreement. ‘Anything I can do to help the progress of science.’ He pointed to Dr Dent’s insect net. ‘Have you had an accident with your midge net there?’

The entomologist told them of his encounter at the river and about reporting the incident to the police.

‘Why not let Calum Steele at the West Uist Chronicle know about it as well?’ Agnes suggested. ‘He is always on the lookout for news. That would be right up his street.’

‘Hmm, maybe,’ Dr Dent grunted. ‘Though he has a tendency to distort things, as I know through experience.’ He shrugged as if dismissing the matter. ‘Meanwhile I’ll need some of your finest fishing line to see if I can mend the net.’

Agnes nodded. ‘I’ll be with you as soon as I have finished with Mrs McConville.’

‘Ah, you’ll be wanting money then,’ Annie said to her. Then she took a sharp intake of breath when Agnes told her the price. ‘Goodness, I’ll be needing a bank loan soon.’

‘Ha! Everything is so expensive these days, isn’t it?’ Dr Dent said. He turned to Alec and pointed to the post office counter at the end of the shop. ‘So I think I had better draw some money out of my account while I am here. Anew insect net like that will be expensive to replace and I can’t be without something. I will need to send to the mainland for another.’

Alec nodded with his usual cheerfulness. ‘Let me just deal with my bag and then I’ll see to your money.’

‘Oh yes, and I’ll take a bottle of your best malt whisky, too,’ Dr Dent added. ‘I might need a bit of Dutch courage before this TV show.’

Morag pushed open the door of the Bonnie Prince Charlie Tavern on Harbour Street and weaved her way through the lunchtime crowd.

Mollie McFadden the doughty landlady of almost sixty years was pulling a pint with well-practised ease as she marshalled her staff as they bustled about with trays of tantalizing smelling seafood and pints of Heather Ale. She peered at Morag through her pebble-thick spectacles and gave her a broad smile as she recognized her.

‘Why Sergeant Driscoll, it is not often that we have the pleasure of your company at lunchtime.’ She placed the pint before a thirsty customer and collected his money with a smile.

‘And what can I be getting you, Morag? Are you here for the celebration? A birthday maybe? Or to meet a gentleman?’ Her eyes twinkled mischievioulsy and she raised a hand to push her spectacles back on her nose, revealing as she did so a well-developed forearm, a consequence of having pumped a veritable sea of the Bonnie Prince Charlie’s own Heather Ale over the years.

‘No such luck,’ Morag returned with a down-turned mouth. ‘Just police business.’

‘No trouble, I hope?’ Mollie asked, a trace of anxiety flashing behind her spectacles.

Morag shook her head with a grin. ‘Nothing like that. I am trying to track down a fishing party who were out with Bruce McNab this morning.’

Mollie’s face brightened. ‘Oh they are in the Prince’s Suite at this very minute. They wanted a bit of privacy you see. One of them is a chap who doesn’t believe in wallets. He’s a tubby wee Dundonian chap I think. Some sort of big business chappie. He just pulled out a roll of twenties and peeled the notes off like he was tossing a lettuce salad. They all came in dribs and drabs.’ She eyed Morag suspiciously. ‘There is nothing dodgy about them, is there? I wouldn’t like to see them sucking Bruce McNab into anything illegal.’

‘Don’t worry, Mollie, I am sure it will all be fine. I just need to have a chat with them.’ She pursed her lips and leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘Did you notice if Sandy was one of them?’

‘Sandy who?’

‘Sandy King, the footballer!’

Mollie shrugged unconcernedly. ‘No idea. I don’t follow the football. I prefer my men to play a hardier game than that. Something like shinty.’ Her eyes seemed to grow misty behind the thick lenses. ‘Like Bruce McNab. Now he really was a shinty player to watch.’