right then the whole incident shrank in importance. Dave Rother might howl his rage, but as long as young Benson had the sense to get well away …
‘At least it wasn’t anyone from the village,’ said Sheila Francis, as if reading his mind. She eased herself with a murmur of relief and swung her long, slim legs up on the chair. ‘Things are stirred up enough already.’ She looked pointedly at Carrick, then turned. ‘He hasn’t been exactly helping, Maggie. When I found him he’d been talking to Harry Graham. You can guess why.’
‘And being his usual tactful self, I imagine,’ said Maggie with a heavy sarcasm. ‘Men – they’re a damned menace, all of them.’
Carrick shrugged defensively. ‘It was worth it, Maggie. He’s a lot different underneath from what I expected. I’d say he has his own kind of patience – but I wouldn’t like to cross him.’
‘That’s sense, at least.’ The woman’s voice became suddenly serious. Reaching down, she silently picked up a poker from the hearth and used it to stir the smouldering peat fire. It sputtered to a fresh glow as she looked up. ‘The man may not look it now, but he was a Commando in the last war. So was my own husband till he was killed – they were in the same platoon. My Andrew used to say Harry Graham never rushed anything, but that he was the one man he knew who’d rather kill with his hands than waste a bullet.’
‘That’s what he said he had in mind, when he’s sure,’ said Carrick quietly.
‘Then he means it.’ She laid down the poker and tucked her dressing gown closer, sitting quietly for amoment as if alone with her own memories. There was a silence in the room, broken only by the soft sputter of the fire and the ticking of the clock.
‘What was his niece like?’ asked Sheila Francis suddenly.
‘Pretty in her own way and fond of having a man around.’ The tanned face wrinkled in a smile. ‘Mind you, at that age I felt the same. A man’s a useful thing if you keep him in his place.’
Carrick grinned wryly at the thrust. ‘Was that the reason she kept coming up here?’
‘Maybe part of it. Though I’d the feeling things might not be too happy at her own home. She certainly had her freedom in Portcoig. Harry Graham didn’t worry about what she did and usually he was too busy at the distillery to know anyway.’ She stopped, her mouth firmly resolute. ‘Now that’s enough about it. There’s no use asking me more because I just don’t know. Nobody does.’
‘It might be better if it stays that way,’ said Sheila Francis quietly. She uncurled from her chair. ‘Is there more coffee in that pot, Aunt Maggie?’
‘Help yourself.’ The woman’s manner became brisk again. ‘I’ll take some too. And now it’s my turn. Webb, tell me about this Pettigrew man you’ve got aboard – starting with why he always looks so damnably miserable. He’s not much to look at, but when you get to my age that doesn’t matter so much as long as they’re in trousers.’
Carrick grinned and tried to answer.
It was close to midnight when Maggie MacKenzie gave a first polite yawn. Carrick and the girl took the hint, shook their heads at her mild protests, and left the cottage minutes later.
Outside the clouds had cleared and the black velvet sky sparkled with starlight. But it was cold and the on-shore wind had built up in strength.
‘I’ll drive you back to the pier,’ volunteered Sheila Francis as they reached her car. ‘After that I’m heading straight for bed – I had to be up at dawn this morning.’
‘I could always walk,’ said Carrick quizzically.
‘Why? I pass the pier to get home anyway,’ she declared with a mild irritation. ‘Look, I’m getting cold just standing here. So stop arguing and get in.’
He gave her a mock salute and obeyed. Starting the car, she turned it and drove back the way they’d come. As the long silhouette of the pier showed ahead, Carrick cleared his throat
‘At least it wasn’t anyone from the village,’ said Sheila Francis, as if reading his mind. She eased herself with a murmur of relief and swung her long, slim legs up on the chair. ‘Things are stirred up enough already.’ She looked pointedly at Carrick, then turned. ‘He hasn’t been exactly helping, Maggie. When I found him he’d been talking to Harry Graham. You can guess why.’
‘And being his usual tactful self, I imagine,’ said Maggie with a heavy sarcasm. ‘Men – they’re a damned menace, all of them.’
Carrick shrugged defensively. ‘It was worth it, Maggie. He’s a lot different underneath from what I expected. I’d say he has his own kind of patience – but I wouldn’t like to cross him.’
‘That’s sense, at least.’ The woman’s voice became suddenly serious. Reaching down, she silently picked up a poker from the hearth and used it to stir the smouldering peat fire. It sputtered to a fresh glow as she looked up. ‘The man may not look it now, but he was a Commando in the last war. So was my own husband till he was killed – they were in the same platoon. My Andrew used to say Harry Graham never rushed anything, but that he was the one man he knew who’d rather kill with his hands than waste a bullet.’
‘That’s what he said he had in mind, when he’s sure,’ said Carrick quietly.
‘Then he means it.’ She laid down the poker and tucked her dressing gown closer, sitting quietly for amoment as if alone with her own memories. There was a silence in the room, broken only by the soft sputter of the fire and the ticking of the clock.
‘What was his niece like?’ asked Sheila Francis suddenly.
‘Pretty in her own way and fond of having a man around.’ The tanned face wrinkled in a smile. ‘Mind you, at that age I felt the same. A man’s a useful thing if you keep him in his place.’
Carrick grinned wryly at the thrust. ‘Was that the reason she kept coming up here?’
‘Maybe part of it. Though I’d the feeling things might not be too happy at her own home. She certainly had her freedom in Portcoig. Harry Graham didn’t worry about what she did and usually he was too busy at the distillery to know anyway.’ She stopped, her mouth firmly resolute. ‘Now that’s enough about it. There’s no use asking me more because I just don’t know. Nobody does.’
‘It might be better if it stays that way,’ said Sheila Francis quietly. She uncurled from her chair. ‘Is there more coffee in that pot, Aunt Maggie?’
‘Help yourself.’ The woman’s manner became brisk again. ‘I’ll take some too. And now it’s my turn. Webb, tell me about this Pettigrew man you’ve got aboard – starting with why he always looks so damnably miserable. He’s not much to look at, but when you get to my age that doesn’t matter so much as long as they’re in trousers.’
Carrick grinned and tried to answer.
It was close to midnight when Maggie MacKenzie gave a first polite yawn. Carrick and the girl took the hint, shook their heads at her mild protests, and left the cottage minutes later.
Outside the clouds had cleared and the black velvet sky sparkled with starlight. But it was cold and the on-shore wind had built up in strength.
‘I’ll drive you back to the pier,’ volunteered Sheila Francis as they reached her car. ‘After that I’m heading straight for bed – I had to be up at dawn this morning.’
‘I could always walk,’ said Carrick quizzically.
‘Why? I pass the pier to get home anyway,’ she declared with a mild irritation. ‘Look, I’m getting cold just standing here. So stop arguing and get in.’
He gave her a mock salute and obeyed. Starting the car, she turned it and drove back the way they’d come. As the long silhouette of the pier showed ahead, Carrick cleared his throat
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