by Gwen Moffat
‘A good idea,’ Miss Pink said. ‘I’m surprised he’s accepted a substitute so quickly—but delighted.’
Rose ignored the gist of this and said quickly, as if she’d been waiting for the chance, ‘Maybe we do protect him too much. I thought I’d take a chance and let him out on his own. He’s not to go near the edge of the quay, mind. He’ll not be out of the sight of one of us at any time.’
Miss Pink returned to her breakfast and the problem of what she should do on a poor day in a Highland village when one of its residents was missing. She found the inability to reach a decision annoying and something of a bore, but this was to be her last experience of ennuie for some considerable time and it was short-lived.
The interruption came when she was drinking her second cup of coffee. She was reading a book review in yesterday’s Observer when she caught the sound of someone running fast along the road—a woman in high heels. She heard the bell ring on the Post Office door and raised voices, muted as the door swung shut. She sat unmoving, her coffee forgotten. She could still hear a voice, even through the party wall. It moderated a little, there were moments when it ceased altogether; finally she heard the bell again and then, to her amazement, the clack of heels terminated with the banging of a fist on her own door. She opened it to Joan Knox, her hair awry and her eyes anguished.
‘Have you seen my boy, miss? Hamish—did you see him this morning?’
‘Why, no.’ Miss Pink stood back. ‘Won’t you come in?’
‘No. I got to find him. I can’t go to her …’ She gestured savagely at the nurse’s house.
The police car came out of the Knoxes’ drive and roared along the street in low gear. It stopped and Knox got out and came quickly to Miss Pink’s door. He took his wife’s arm. She shook him off. ‘The boy’s gone,’ he told Miss Pink, putting an arm round Joan’s shoulders. She whirled and punched him in the mouth. They fell apart, Knox holding his jaw, Joan cringing. As the woman opened her mouth for what might well be a shriek, Miss Pink pushed her firmly indoors and into a chair where she collapsed in a paroxysm of sobbing.
‘Shut the door, Mr Knox,’ Miss Pink said. ‘Then put the kettle on and pour some brandy. You’ll find everything in that corner cupboard. Take a dram yourself.’
She sat opposite Joan, alert for any renewal of hostilities, but the woman had lost all initiative. Knox busied himself as directed and eventually, with the aid of tissues, the brandy and Miss Pink’s stern supervision, she regained control of herself although still shaken by the occasional racking sob. At last, and without a word being said, she looked at Knox with eyes that were still hostile but which seemed to hold a plea. There was fear too; she was terrified, but not—Miss Pink thought—of her husband.
Knox took it upon himself to explain, shifting uneasily under that intent stare. ‘There was a bundle of clothes, a dummy like, in his bed this morning. She went up when he didn’t come down to breakfast. His clothes are gone—he’s been out all night.’
‘He’s sixteen.’ Miss Pink was equable. ‘I’ve no doubt he has friends among other lads: virtually young men. It’s not unheard-of for an adolescent boy to stay out all night. It’s very thoughtless, but young people aren’t always thoughtful.’
‘It’s unnatural,’ Joan said. ‘He never did this before; he’s been set a bad example.’
Knox opened his mouth and closed it again.
Miss Pink said, ‘You don’t know how many times he’s done it and come back without your knowing he ever left his room.’
‘Then what’s keeping him?’
Miss Pink looked at Knox, who said wildly, ‘He stole a car and ran out of petrol, or he’s with his mates in Morvern. Or someone got drunk and couldn’t drive him home. He got drunk. Christ! (beg pardon, ma’am) anything could have happened.’
‘That Millar were out yesterday.’ Joan made it sound like an accusation.
‘Hamish could run rings round him.’
‘He’s mad. He’d kill Hamish.’ She stopped, her hand over her mouth.
‘Alec was with his father yesterday,’ Miss Pink said firmly. ‘They’d never let him out on his own.’
‘How do you know?’ The hostility was turned on Miss Pink. ‘Our boy got out, didn’t he? Maybe that Alec Millar was out all night. Maybe they met.’ As she envisaged the confrontation, her mouth widened.
‘No!’ Miss Pink said, so loudly that the rising hysteria was quenched. She went on, enunciating very clearly. ‘Rose Millar is so concerned about her son that I doubt if she goes to sleep. A mouse couldn’t move in that house at night without her hearing it.’
‘He’s a powerful man,’ Joan said. ‘He could get past his mother.’
‘And his father?’
‘Duncan Millar would egg him on. They always hated us—poachers and thieves, the lot of ’em.’
‘That’s enough!’ Knox flushed dangerously. ‘You’ll have to make allowances, ma’am,’ he said, dropping his voice a fraction. ‘She’s hysterical; I’ll get the doctor to her.’
‘Not the doctor, nor yet that nurse, so-called. I’m all right. I’m frightened, that’s all. I want to know where my boy is.’
Miss Pink said, ‘We can’t do anything about finding him until you calm down. At the moment you’re claiming all the attention for yourself. If you go home with Mr Knox quietly and have Mary MacLeod in for company, the rest of us will start looking for Hamish.’
‘Where will you look?’
‘We shall make enquiries methodically; we know the drill—’ Miss Pink stopped, appalled, and Joan responded as if cued.
‘There are two people missing now.’
There was a grim triumph in the statement, as if she felt herself vindicated.
***
Anne Wallace received her visitor without surprise. ‘Yes, I know he’s missing,’ she said calmly. ‘Come in, please.’ She ushered Miss Pink into her sitting room. ‘What can I do?’ she asked. They both remained standing.
‘Some effort has to be made to find out where Hamish is,’ Miss Pink said. ‘Some compromise between reporting him as a missing person and ignoring his absence completely.’
‘So what do you suggest?’
Miss Pink felt at a disadvantage and this annoyed her. ‘Aren’t you bothered?’ she asked.
Anne nodded as if she’d been expecting that question. ‘I’m not concerned,’ she admitted. ‘I’m interested as a neighbour, but not professionally. If I was to get involved every time a teenager stays out all night, I’d have ulcers inside a month.’
‘I see your point. May I ask how you knew about Hamish?’
‘Mr Knox phoned me. He was bothered about his wife. She was hysterical when she found the boy’s bed hadn’t been slept in; Knox panicked and asked me to bring a sedative.’
‘Did you?’
‘Oh, no. I made him see reason and told him to talk some sense into his wife. So how did you get involved? I’m sorry, that sounds rude.’
‘Not at all.’ Miss Pink told her about the Knoxes’ visit.
‘And are you really going to look for Hamish?’ Anne asked.
‘Knox is ringing the hospitals in Morvern and Inverness. He’s contacting his friends in the police without reporting it officially. Since Joan Knox’s outburst the affair can’t be kept secret, so while he’s making his enquiries I intend to ask people if they have any information that might help. It’s the least I can do. If all the results prove negative, I expect Knox will make an official report. Ultimately it’s up to him, and he’s under pressure from the boy’s mother.’
‘No doubt.’ The tone was dry.
‘She’s hostile to you,’ Miss Pink said bluntly. The woman stared at her. ‘Is it a coincidence,’ Miss Pink asked, ‘that she should be hostile at this moment, or does she make a connection?’
‘A … connection between—what?’ The woman was white. Her eyes narrowed and she fidgeted, but professional calm had not deserted her. ‘It’s not a coincidence,’ she said at length. ‘Hamish is spo
iled, and only the fact that his father manages to assert some authority keeps the boy straight—and not quite, at that. He’s got a nasty line in practical jokes. He played a trick on me last summer which was quite outrageous and I shan’t forget it in a hurry. Of course, Joan Knox won’t wear it; Hamish is a good boy.’ It was a spurt of venom that was gone in an instant. ‘Joan and I are not on visiting terms,’ she concluded coldly.
‘So,’ Miss Pink said with a burst of joviality that clearly startled the nurse, ‘I’ll complete my interrogation with the traditional question: When did you last see Hamish?’
Anne seemed undecided as to whether her visitor were mad and harmless, or devious. She answered carefully, ‘I didn’t see him yesterday. I don’t have many calls to make at a weekend: it’s a morning round only on a Sunday. In the afternoon I stayed indoors and I wouldn’t see anyone pass the gateway unless I was looking out at that moment. My hedge is pretty high, as you see; it hides the street from this window. I did see him Saturday afternoon. I was coming home from Morvern and he was turning in to the lodge drive. He was on a pony. That would be some time after five, around five-thirty.’
‘And what do you think has happened to him?’
Anne smiled. ‘There are no witnesses to this conversation, so I’d say that either he got into trouble along with the local lads or he’s played a trick that’s rebounded on him.’
‘Who are his friends?’
‘You’ll have to ask his father.’
‘And Campbell? When did you see him last?’
‘At the fire—no, he wasn’t there. Friday morning probably; he was out in his boat.’
‘Have you any theories about his disappearance?’
‘I assume that he put out to sea and just kept going until his fuel ran out.’
‘You mean suicide? Why should he kill himself?’
‘I think he went mad—burning his home down like that.’
***
‘She’s wary.’ Miss Pink leaned back in her chair and sighed. ‘The nurse is wary, Knox is angry, his wife is terrified. And I’m at a loss. What about you? What’s your reaction to this latest development?’
‘Too much is happening; I’m bewildered.’ Beatrice suited actions to words, absently moving the coffee things about the table in her sitting room.
‘I came straight here from Anne’s house,’ Miss Pink said. ‘I couldn’t face anyone else for the moment. I needed to talk to someone—not to put too fine a point on it—someone like myself.’
‘You flatter me.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Of course. Well, what’s to do now?’
‘I’m hoping that shortly Knox will have to do something himself.’
‘He can’t expect you to do anything.’
‘It’s a peculiar situation. He doesn’t want to bring the authorities in officially in case the boy is playing some kind of trick. It’s obvious that he knows Hamish does indulge in practical jokes. Anne is in no doubt about it. On the other hand, the boy could have met with an accident. But then there’s Campbell’s disappearance; can there be a connection? If Hamish is up to mischief, he’s placed his father in an awful dilemma. He needs all the help he can get.’
‘Let’s walk to the lodge and talk to Coline. By the time we get there either Knox will have news—or he must come to a decision. If his wife doesn’t make him, Coline will as soon as she hears what you have to say.’
***
The rain had stopped and a stiff breeze was blowing up the loch driving the next shower before it, obscuring the skerries and veiling the sodden slopes. As they turned into the street Miss Pink said, ‘I’m sure Rose Millar knew that Hamish was missing when I was in the shop at breakfast time, but she didn’t mention it.’
‘Wait! Can that be a whimbrel?’
They stopped and listened, their eyes on the birds feeding at the edge of the tide. ‘Mostly curlew,’ Beatrice murmured. ‘Sorry, you were saying Rose knew Hamish was missing before you did?’
‘She was too concerned to impress on me that Alec went out only once yesterday, and that with his father. But he was out alone this morning. So then she implied that today was the first time he was unaccompanied. None of that cuts any ice with Joan Knox, who says Alec could even have been out last night. If Hamish comes to grief, it’s obvious who she’ll hold responsible.’
‘A foregone conclusion.’ Beatrice turned away from the birds. ‘They’re all curlew. Oh dear, can this be more trouble?’
Esme Dunlop was bearing down on them. ‘How are you?’ she called. ‘Lovely soft day—we need the rain. Seen anything?’
‘Nothing,’ Miss Pink said. ‘But one keeps looking: for wreckage, clothing, anything. And you?’
‘Hell! You think he’s in the loch?’ She swung round, taking in the woods and the escarpment. ‘I hadn’t got that far—wondering whether he was on land or in the sea. He’s gone and that’s it as far as I’m concerned. Good riddance.’
‘You didn’t like him,’ Miss Pink observed lightly.
‘You can say that again. If you ask me, he was behind all the mischief in this village from the word go: car thefts, the police car, the heavy breather, anonymous letters—particularly letters.’
‘Campbell sent you that?’
‘Who’s talking about Campbell?’
‘I was.’
‘Oh.’ There was a long silence, then she laughed. ‘I was talking about Hamish.’
Miss Pink looked mildly interested. ‘So you had phone calls in addition to the anonymous letter. May one ask what was said?’
‘Nothing. It was a heavy breather—giggling too, but no words.’
‘What time did he call?’
‘After midnight.’
‘You answered the phone.’
‘Once. Why? Someone else was getting calls, or everybody? I see, you’re not talking. Well, take my word for it; there won’t be any more telephone calls.’
‘He could start again, unless he’s had a bad fright.’
‘He won’t be coming back.’ It was said smugly but, as if the words had been too much for her own equilibrium, Esme’s face fell. ‘Or is that wishful thinking?’ she asked.
‘Gay as a puppy,’ Beatrice remarked when they’d parted from Esme and were walking up the Lamentation Road.
‘Jolly,’ Miss Pink corrected absently. ‘How I detest this corruption of the language. So she got heavy breather calls too. She was subdued, now she’s back to normal—and Hamish is missing. How much does she know about his disappearance?’
‘Nothing,’ Beatrice said promptly. ‘She’s far too frank about her relief.’
‘Have you never heard of double-bluff?’
Beatrice shrugged. ‘She’s wrong. The business with the police car could have involved Hamish conniving with local boys, but anonymous letters and phone calls and car thefts—never. That wasn’t him; he’s just … well … naughty.’
***
At the lodge Coline had learned something of the village gossip, but by no means all. ‘It’s scarcely enough to have hysterics about,’ she said, serving sherry: ‘A sixteen-year-old not coming home at night.’
‘Who told you?’ Miss Pink asked.
‘Rose Millar. Joan Knox didn’t turn up for work—we employ her full-time now that Debbie’s left—and I called the police house. I couldn’t get through, so I rang the Post Office to ask if Joan were ill. I got a pretty cool reception there, I can tell you. Apparently Joan accused Rose of nameless horrors in respect of Hamish.’
‘Alec, actually; she’s accusing Alec,’ Miss Pink said. ‘You couldn’t get through to Knox because he was calling the hospitals and various friends in the police. And Hamish was home during the evening; he left a dummy in his bed. So there was an intention to deceive his parents should they look in on him.’
‘That’s a different kettle of fish. Now why would he do that?’
‘Do what?’ Ranald entered in his stocking feet. ‘Excuse me, ladies; we’ve been batten
ing down the hatches, or rather I have. I miss Campbell. We’ll have to get Sinclair and Millar to give us a hand, m’dear. First storms after a long drought always find all the weak places.’
‘Melinda says Hamish was out all night and left a dummy in his bed.’
‘Was he now! Why did he do that?’
‘That’s what we’re wondering. He’s missing.’
‘What! Like Campbell? Why wasn’t I told?’
‘Sweetie, I’ve known since ten o’clock, but I didn’t think it important.’
‘Two people missing? It’s dead serious. What’s Knox doing about it?’
Miss Pink told him. Beatrice said, ‘I wonder if Knox has thought to get in touch with Hamish’s friends. There are a number of lads on the crofts along the lighthouse road.’
‘I think we should find out.’ Coline rose and left the room.
Ranald stared after her, then turned to Beatrice. ‘What do you think? You know him.’
‘Not well; I don’t employ him. You’d have seen more of him.’
‘True. He’s a nice enough lad. Flora was a bit impatient with him. Of course, she can ride. She had to teach him … Wonder what Knox has discovered.’ He made to rise, remembered his manners and sank back in his chair.
‘Was Hamish out yesterday when everyone else was searching for Campbell?’ Miss Pink asked. ‘After we returned from the islands and told you about the meal in the tent?’
‘He was on the moor behind Fair Point, on horseback. I saw him once or twice. I went out to the light again in the Land Rover.’
‘Did you see him when he brought the pony back?’
‘No, there would be no need. He’d put the tack away and turn the pony out himself. He knows what to do.’
‘I suppose all your ponies are accounted for?’
‘What? You think he’s gone off with a pony like Campbell took a boat? Impossible. The ponies are all there anyway—I gave them some hay this morning. I’m the dogsbody now.’
Coline returned, looking concerned. ‘Knox has drawn a blank,’ she said. ‘He’s mystified and unhappy. Joan’s giving him no peace. He says Hamish had no close friends among the local lads, but he’s spoken to several of the fathers; no one else is missing, and no other boy who’s available at the moment can help. I told Knox he must report the business to the superintendent at Morvern and let him take it from there. Any other parent would do that; Knox has to stop thinking of appearances.’
