by M C Beaton
God, he could murder for a drink. But it was back in the minibus to the rehab. The man who had nudged him, Cyril, said, "You know, if you want to get well, you're going to have to speak up a bit."
"Leave me alone," growled Blair.
Once back at the rehab, he made for the public phone and phoned Daviot. He listened while Daviot told him of the arrest of Parry. Then Blair took a deep breath. "Anything come of that investigation, sir?"
"We're still looking into it. Carry on with the cure."
Blair went up to his room and sat on the bed and stared into space. Another success for Hamish Macbeth.
It was too much. He opened the window and looked down. He was two stories up but there was a drainpipe next to the window.
He shinned down it and softly made his way out of the grounds. Down the road was a pub called the Bell but known at the rehab as the Alkies Slip, because that was where some of them fell off the wagon.
Blair pushed open the door and went in. He ordered a double whisky. He knocked it back, feeling the warmth permeating his body. It was nectar. He was about to order another when he knew that if he did, it would lead to another and another and he wouldn't be able to make it back up the drainpipe. So he bought a half bottle over the counter and reluctantly made his way back to the rehab. It was all Hamish Macbeth's fault, he thought bitterly.
The speaker at the meeting had said that when he was drinking, he blamed everyone and everything for his troubles.
But Blair hadn't been listening.
* * *
Olivia was on holiday and she enjoyed her first few days playing house immensely. The weather was glorious, an Indian summer, and apart from a sad visit to Tommy's parents, she and Hamish had gone for walks, had gone fishing, made love and had eaten the meals she had prepared.
But then the weather had changed. Driving rain had blown up the long sea loch, clouds had covered the mountains, and Olivia began to feel claustrophobic and very far from home. For a few days she had entertained the dream of marrying Hamish. But now she knew she was a city girl to her bones.
She was sitting in the kitchen one morning, watching the rain smear the windows, looking out at a blurred view of damp sheep and wondering what to do. Her shrewd mind told her that Hamish was not in love with her, though he might think he was. He just wanted to get married. She had found a photograph of a beautiful blonde tucked at the back of his sock drawer, and from local gossip she gathered the blonde was Priscilla Halburton-Smythe, to whom Hamish had once been engaged. He had not thrown the photo away, only hidden it so that she would not see it.
She heard him coming back and went to put on the kettle. He had said he was going into Inverness.
He came in and kissed her and then fished in his pocket and took out a small velvet jeweller's box. "For you. Open it."
Olivia opened the little box. A diamond and sapphire ring winked up at her.
"Is this what I think it is?" she asked.
"I suppose I should have asked you to marry me first."
Olivia snapped the box shut. "Yes, you should, Hamish. I can't marry you."
"Why?"
"You're not in love with me and I couldn't bear to live here."
"I am in love with you."
"Okay. Let's try this. I can't live here. I would expect you to get a transfer to Glasgow."
"But I thought you liked it here!"
"As they say, it's a nice place to visit but I wouldn't want to live here."
Hamish picked up the ring box and put it in his pocket. "If that's the way you want it," he said stiffly.
"I'm leaving today, Hamish. I don't think you're going to forgive me for this rejection. But you're not in love with me."
"If you say so. Let me know when you're ready to leave."
And that was that. Hamish drove her to Inverness to catch the Glasgow train. He would not unbend. His stiff-necked Highland vanity would not let him. He stood on the platform and watched the train pull out. She hung out of the window and waved, but he would not wave back.
Hamish drove the long road home, now tired and miserable. He had planned to go to Strathbane and see if they had got any further with investigating who was responsible for the leak but he no longer had the interest or the energy. He was sure the culprit was Blair, but Blair was a wily fox and would have made sure there was no evidence against him.
When he got back to the police station, which still smelled faintly of the perfume Olivia had worn, he phoned Strathbane and put himself back on duty.
An hour later, the phone rang. Hamish answered it. It was Jimmy Anderson. "This is probably a load o' rubbish, Hamish, but there's a report of the sighting of a monster in Loch Drim." Jock, thought Hamish, and the way I feel at the moment, I'll kill him.
"It looks as if you willnae be promoted down here after all," said Jimmy. "Some bod from Amsterdam put in his expenses. Pieter something. Charged for giving the police a backhander to look at some street videos to find out where you'd gone and you were shacked up with a tart. Daviot's a puritan. You've to report to the hospital for an AIDS test. Also, you'd better account for all that money they lent you to play the big shot. And what about the fancy gear?"
"I sent back the Rolex, the credit cards, passport, and the sunglasses, cuff links, all that stuff."
"And what about the clothes?"
"Got ruined during the investigation."
"What! All of them?"
"All of them."
"Well, I suppose you'd better get something out of it. Daviot says he'll make you up to sergeant again so you've got a wee promotion."
Hamish's heart sank. "Just so long as they don't send me some daft constable like last time. I mean Sergeant MacGregor over in Cnothan doesnae have a constable."
"Bad luck, mate. I think auld Daviot feels you need a stern and upright constable to make sure you don't stray onto the primrose path."
"What a day!" moaned Hamish. "I'll go and kill the monster for you."
As he drove towards Loch Drim, the clouds rolled back and the stars shone down. He kept telling himself that he was heartbroken but with each mile Olivia's face grew fainter in his mind. The whole drug case began to seem in retrospect like a fevered dream.
As he drove into Loch Drim, he noticed that Jock Kennedy's store was still open and that many cars and a coach were parked in front.
He parked alongside and went into the shop. It was full of people. Jock and Ailsa were busy selling Monster Toffee and small plush toys of monsters.
Jock looked up and saw Hamish.
Hamish nodded to him and turned and walked out.
It was hard to make a living in the Highlands. Jock was doing good business and giving a lot of people some harmless excitement. It would be a shame to stop it. He didn't care much about anything anyway. He climbed back into the Land Rover and drove off into the heathery darkness of the Sutherland highlands.
Some months later, Olivia sat in a doctor's surgery in Glasgow.
"Yes, I am afraid there is a definite lump there," said the doctor. "It may be benign but I think you should have a biopsy."
Olivia sat rigid. Traffic hummed on the street below the frosted glass windows of the surgery.
"How soon?" she asked through dry lips.
"As I said, I'll get on to it right away. The sooner the better. Are you married?"
"No. If it is cancer, will I need to have the breast removed?"
"Yes, but they do wonders these days in building up a new one."
It would get round the station, thought Olivia bitterly. If she had cancer and if she survived, new breast or not, she would be dubbed One Tit Olivia until the end of time. Men were cruel.
When Olivia returned to her flat, she looked at the phone. She had an impulse to phone Hamish but she fought against it. This was one battle she would need to fight on her own. If Hamish had really loved her, he would have followed her to Glasgow. He had never even tried to get in touch with her.
About the same time as Olivia had h
eard the bad news, Hamish strolled along the waterfront with Angela. He had finally told her of how he had proposed to Olivia and had been turned down.
"She told me I didn't love her," said Hamish, "and that turned out to be the case. I wanted to be married and have children." He sighed. "It would have been nice to have a wee bairn about the place. She was such a bonny, strong, healthy woman."
"You make her sound like a cow," said Angela. "Strong, healthy woman, indeed! Anyway, don't give up hope."
"I've still got the ring." Hamish laughed. "Who knows? It might come in handy someday."
***
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