M.C. Beaton: Death of a Charming Man

“Just black,” said Hamish, beginning to feel more at ease.

“I’m building a kitchen at the back,” said Peter, taking down two mugs.

“What are you doing in the garden?” asked Hamish.

“Digging drains and a cesspool. I plan to have a flushing toilet and a bathroom. You’ve no idea what it’s like when you want a pee in the middle of the night and have to go out to that hut in the garden.”

“You might find it difficult to get help,” said Hamish. “The locals can he a bit stand-offish.”

Peter looked surprised. “On the contrary, I’ve had more offers of help than I can cope with. People are very kind. I didn’t know we had a policeman.”

“You don’t. I’m over at Lochdubh. This is part of my beat.”

“Much crime?”

“Verra quiet I’m glad to say.”

“Macbeth, Macbeth. That rings a bell. Oh, I know. You’ve been involved in some murder cases up here.”

“Yes, but I am hoping neffer to be involved in another. Thank you for the coffee.”

Peter sat down opposite Hamish and stretched like a cat. A good thing there were no young women in Drim, thought Hamish, with this heart-breaker around. “Do you plan to stay here?” he asked curiously.

“Yes, why not?”

“But you’re a young man. There’s nothing for you here.”

“On the contrary, I think I’ve found what I’m looking for.”

“That being?”

There was a slight hesitation. Hamish shivered suddenly.

“Tranquillity,” said Peter vaguely. “Building things, working with my hands.”

Hamish finished his coffee and got up to leave.

“Come again,” said Peter and again there was that blinding smile.

Hamish smiled back. “Aye, I will that, and maybe next time I’ll give you a hand.”

Hamish walked away from the cottage still smiling, but as he reached the car parked in the village his smile faded. He gave himself a little shake. There was no doubt that Peter Hynd possessed great charm. But out of his orbit, Hamish found himself almost disliking the man, almost afraid of him, and wondered why. With a little sigh he opened the passenger door for Towser to leap in, before getting into the driver’s seat.

His spirits lifted when he drove up the hill out of Drim and into the sunshine. There was no need to go back to Drim for some time, no need at all.

He parked the hotel car in the forecourt of Tommel Castle and then walked into the hotel and handed the keys to Mr. Johnston.

“Priscilla’s back,” said the hotel manager. “Will I let her know you’re here?”

“No, no,” said Hamish. “I’ve got my chores to do. I’ll phone her later.”

He hurried off. Five minutes later Priscilla walked into the hotel office. “Someone told me they had seen Hamish and Towser walking off,” she said.

“Aye, he said he couldnae wait. He had chores to do.”

“I wonder what those could be,” said Priscilla cynically. “All he’s got to do is put the dinner I left him in his new oven. Did he tell you about the electric cooker?”

“Yes, he did mention it. Did you ask him if he wanted a new cooker?”

“No, why? There was no reason to. That old stove was a disgrace.”

“I think he liked it,” said Mr. Johnston cautiously. “Cosy in the winter.”

“He’s got central heating now.”

“Aye, but there’s nothing like a real fire. You won’t change Hamish, Priscilla.”

“I am not trying to change him,” snapped Priscilla. “You forget, I’m going to have to live in that police station myself.”

“Oh well, suit yourself.”

“In fact, I might just run down there. I left the instruction booklet for the new cooker on the table, but you know Hamish.”

“Aye, he’s a grown man and not a bairn.”

Priscilla fidgeted nervously with a pencil on the desk. “Nonetheless, I’ll just go and see how he’s doing.”

Mr. Johnston shook his head sadly after she had left. It was as if the usually cool and calm Priscilla had taken up a cause and that cause was the advancement of Hamish Macbeth.

Priscilla pulled up outside the police station. Dr. Brodie was walking past and raised his cap.

The doctor was one of the few people in the village opposed to the forthcoming marriage of Hamish Macbeth and Priscilla Halburton-Smythe. He saw over Priscilla’s shoulder as she got out of her car the approaching figure of Hamish at the far end of the waterfront. Priscilla must have passed him on the road without seeing him.

“If you’re looking for Hamish,” said Dr. Brodie, “he’s gone off to see Angus Macdonald.”

“That old fraud!”

“He’s been feeling poorly.”

Priscilla opened her car door again. “I may as well rescue him before Angus pretends to tell his future.”

She drove off, swinging the car round.

That was childish of me, thought the doctor. I was only trying to give Hamish a break, but she’s bound to see him.

But as he looked along the waterfront, there was no sign of Hamish. Priscilla’s car sped out of view. Then Hamish reappeared. Dr. Brodie grinned. Hamish must have dived for cover. Priscilla should be marrying one of her own kind, he thought, old–fashioned snobbery mixing with common sense.

♦

Angus Macdonald had gained a certain fame as a seer. Priscilla thought he was a shrewd old man who listened to all the village gossip and made his predictions accordingly. When she drove up it was to see the old man working in his garden. He waved to her and beckoned.

She went forward reluctantly. The Land Rover had been outside the police station. Hamish surely would not have bothered walking.

“Dr. Brodie said you were not feeling well,” said Priscilla. “Where’s Hamish?”

“Why should he say that? I havenae seen Hamish.”

“I’d better be getting back.”

“Och, stay a minute and give an auld man the pleasure of your company.”

Priscilla followed the seer into his cottage, noticing with irritation that he was putting the kettle on the peat fire to boil. With the money he conned out of people, she thought, he could well afford to buy something modern.

But she politely asked after his health and learned to her increasing irritation that it was “neffer better.”

Angus settled down finally over the teapot and asked her a lot of searching questions about people in the village. “I thought you were a seer,” said Priscilla finally and impatiently. “You are supposed to know all this by just sitting on your backside and dreaming.”

“I see things all right.” Angus Macdonald was a tall, thin man in his sixties. He had a thick head of white hair and a craggy face with an enormous beak of a nose. He smiled at Priscilla and said, “I see your future.” His voice had taken on an odd crooning note. Priscilla, despite herself, felt hypnotized. “You will not marry Macbeth. A beautiful man will come between you.”

Priscilla burst out laughing. “Oh, Angus, honestly. There is nothing homosexual about Hamish.”

“I wisnae saying that I see a beautiful young man and he’s going to come between you two.”

Priscilla picked up her handbag. “I’ve no intention of being unfaithful to Hamish either. Beautiful young man, indeed.”

She drove down to the police station, but as she was raising her hand to knock at the kitchen door, she heard the sound of masculine laughter coming from inside. She walked around the back of the house and glanced in the kitchen window. Hamish and Dr. Brodie were sitting at the kitchen table, an open whisky bottle in front of them. Hamish appeared more relaxed and amused than Priscilla had seen him look for some time.

She walked away and got back in the car. Surely Dr. Brodie could not have been deliberately lying to her about Angus. But she felt reluctant to go in there and face him with it. Besides, the new guests would be arriving about now at the hotel. She would feel more like her old self when she got down to work. She always felt better these days when she was working.