It was nearly morning when he dozed off; and it seemed to him that he woke up again almost at once, with the starlings chattering on Mrs. Connacher’s roof. But when he looked at his wrist-watch on the bedside table, he saw that it was nearly eight o’clock. He got up, therefore, and had a bath; and as he dressed in a dark blue suit for the Kirk, he felt better, both physically and mentally. His shoulder didn’t ache so much, and his thoughts of Veronica Jane had become less turbulant. He would stick it out.
Sheena, who was in the choir, set out early for the church, escorted by Hector. Mrs. Connacher had polished the latter’s shoes until they shone; Sheena had straightened his tie and brushed his rumpled sports jacket and flannels, and altogether he looked fairly respectable. But his bony wrists still stuck out of his sleeves and his hair had become a riot in the wind almost before he reached the front gate. Sheena laughed and took his arm.
Drinking a cup of tea at the kitchen window, Nellie watched them go off along the road. She turned to Kenneth who was standing with his back to the glowing range.
“Sheena’s in love with him,” she said.
He looked startled. “Surely not. They’ve only known each other for a couple of days.”
“Maybe so. But I ken that lassie. She wears her heart on her sleeve. It’s a pity Mr. MacNab doesn’t feel the same.”
“How do you know? He’s paying her plenty of attention.”
“It’s for the sake of the picture, Kenneth. He likes her as a model — not as Sheena Mathieson… But och, never mind my blethers. You've enough worries of your own. If you’re ready, we can be making for the Kirk any time now.”
They walked through the village together, Nellie very prim and straight, with black choker collar and Bible in hand, smiling a vague Sunday smile to her neighbours.
As they came abreast of the avenue leading up to the church, there was a sudden snarl of gears. Hugh Cameron’s red sports car swung past them, turning in from the main road with a spurt of gravel. Kenneth saw Veronica Jane in the passenger-seat and to his dismay discovered that his hands were unsteady. To cover his embarrassment, he took out his case and prepared to light a cigarette.
It was a completely instinctive movement; but Mrs. Connacher was scandalized. “Kenneth — put away that case at once! What on earth would the Glendale folk say if they saw you smoking near the Kirk? And you the old minister's son, too?"
"Sorry," he murmured and returned the case to his pocket.
She touched his arm. "Never mind. I ken what's wrong. But don't you fret, Kenneth. She hasna got the slightest notion o' the young doctor."
He didn't believe her; but there was no chance of further conversation on the subject, for as they approached the church door three young men, all farmers' sons, came to speak to him. Years before they had been class-mates of his in the local school, and until the bell began to ring they kept up a steady stream of reminiscence. He was glad to meet them again and only wished his response to their jokes could have been more carefree. But they seemed to notice nothing amiss and when they left him in the porch he had received warm invitations to visit their respective homes.
At the inside door he found Hector waiting for him, with a curious grin quirking one corner of his big mouth. Greeting Wee Ned, who was standing with a solemn twinkle by the plate, Kenneth passed inside and led the way to Mrs. Con-nacher's seat. She rose and let him move in beyond her; and it was only then, as he prepared to sit down, that he discovered he had been put next to Veronica Jane. On her other side was Hugh Cameron.
His pulses beat erratically; but in spite of excitement and awkwardness he noticed the fleeting smile that passed between Nellie and Hector. So his old nurse had arranged all this, inviting Veronica Jane and her companion into her pew and instructing Hector to wait outside for him, in case he might think of sitting elsewhere…
Kenneth wasn't sure whether to be angry or glad. Then he remembered he was a policeman — a public servant whose private thoughts should be kept ruthlessly under control. His jaw stuck out.
"Good morning," he murmured, glancing at Veronica Jane with a frown symbolic of his hard responsibilities.
She was smiling up at him from beneath the brim of a most becoming small hat. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and he was conscious of her characteristic perfume. There was warmth and friendliness in her eyes.
"How is your shoulder?" she whispered.
"Better, thanks.”
He stared ahead. The bell had stopped; the organist was playing a voluntary, and the choir-girls were trooping in. But none of these items registered clearly on his mind. On Veronica Jane's left Hugh Cameron sat with folded arms, a rather petulant look on his face. So far he had carefully avoided meeting Kenneth's eye.
But Veronica Jane hadn't finished with the conversation. "Sergeant MacDonald,'' she said, almost below her breath.
He fiddled uneasily with the creases in his trousers, conscious that Nellie on his right was trying to listen. "Yes — what is it?''
"You — you were annoyed with Hugh and me last night. I'm sorry.''
"That's all right. I was doing my duty. Nothing else matters.''
The choir had settled into their places by now, and the white-haired minister was climbing into the pulpit. Kenneth saw her white teeth pressing into her lower lip and cursed himself for a priggish-sounding ass.
Suddenly her gloved hand rested on his knee. "I — I didn't disbelieve you — about the Actor, I mean.'' Her voice was quiet but insistent. "Hugh did at first, but he realizes now he made a mistake. I guess I'm a whole lot grateful for what you're doing for me. And I do understand that there's real danger. Please believe me, Sergeant MacDonald.''
He tried to harden his heart. The whole affair was getting beyond him. Time and again she had got round him. She was doing her best to get round him again. By allowing his heart to get the better of his head he was failing badly in his job. He was forgetting that police work was a strict science. Let sentiment obtrude and disaster would follow as a logical conclusion.
But she was hard to resist. He ought to remain impersonal and impassive — that was his duty. Even as he reminded himself of this, however, he turned to her with a quick smile. She caught her breath.
"I do believe you,'' he said. "Just go on taking care of yourself. I'm sorry I've got to be officious at times. It's for your own good.''
“You're not a spoil-sport." For a moment they might have been alone in the church. “You spoilt nothing last night. Nothing at all…"
Then the organ stopped and the service began. Veronica Jane sighed and leaned back. Kenneth was aware of Mrs. Connacher’s primly satisfied expression. Had she heard what they had been saying?
As the old minister rose in the pulpit to announce the opening psalm, he glanced along the aisle towards the hotel pew. Seated there were Miss Cunningham, Colonel Huskisson-Smythe, Arthur Paterson and the honeymoon couple. Kenneth started as he saw Miss Cunningham’s eye on him — a particularly venomous and disapproving eye. It seemed to be saying: “In my young days whispering in church was unheard of. But what can one expect of a man who drinks and beats his wife!"
Confound Veronica Jane! What a fool she could make of him if he didn’t exercise proper control…
He took a grip of himself and prepared to lose himself in the service. It was the only way to find even a temporary peace.
And as time went on the quiet sincerity of the minister, together with the fine old hymn tunes which he remembered from his boyhood, succeeded in bringing him a new calmness of spirit. Listening to the sermon, based on the text, “Let no man deceive you with vain words", he found that he had become almost happy. But his conscience troubled him. Did his happiness stem entirely from religious feeling or from the fact that Veronica Jane was sitting close beside him, her silken knee almost touching his own?
When the benediction had been pronounced, Nellie settled down to a long private prayer. Kenneth turned to Veronica Jane. “What are you and Dr. Cameron doing this afternoon?" he
asked.
Her eyes flashed in what might have been momentary annoyance. Almost at once, however, she answered quietly: “We’ll go for a walk somewhere. Across the hill to Drumeden I guess. To show him where my father was born."
“I see. If you’re going out again in the evening, please let me know."
“Perhaps after dinner we’ll come and see Mrs. Connacher.”
She hesitated. With odd irrelevance she added: “Your childhood sweetheart looked very nice in the choir. That little hat suits her.”
“Sheena, you mean?"
“Yes. She couldn't take her eyes off this seat all through the service."
“It's Hector. Mrs. Connacher says she's fallen for him."
“I wonder," said Veronica Jane, somewhat sharply.
He had no time to reply, however, for Mrs. Connacher, finishing her prayer writh an audible and unctious “Amen", abruptly caught his sleeve. “Let's go, Kenneth. I’ve still to boil the potatoes for lunch… "
As they went out through the porch, among a press of people, he was suddenly struck by a strong and unexpected feeling of uneasiness. It was a peculiar sensation, as if his policeman's sixth sense, stimulated by some unknown agency, were warning him of danger — danger that lay somewhere close at hand. He shivered and turned quickly.
Near him were Veronica Jane and Hugh Cameron. A few yards away the hotel guests were making their way to the main door. Miss Cunningham looked him in the eye and sniffed. Colonel Huskisson-Smythe and Arthur Paterson nodded perfunctorily. The honeymoon couple, arm-in-arm and smiling to each other, seemed not to notice him at all. The man was slim and fair-haired. But it occurred to Kenneth, glancing closely at his face, that he wasn't quite so young as he looked from a distance. There were, for instance, crow's feet around his eyes. These might, of course, have been caused by a long spell in the glare of the desert during the war. On the other hand they might simply mean that the man was nearer fifty than thirty…
Then from the left a wiry figure came thrusting towards him.
“Ah — good morning, Sergeant MacDonald!" Professor Symington was smiling broadly. “I enjoyed that sermon. Mr. Woodward tells me this was your father’s church."
Kenneth’s uneasiness evaporated. But at that moment he knew that the Actor was somewhere close beside him in the porch. Huskisson-Smythe, Paterson, Professor Symington? Or someone else — someone whose disguise was so unusual and original that only a highly suspicious person would ever spot it.
Chapter 12
The Intangible Clue
Professor Symington went on: "I thought you might like to know. Eve discovered an extraordinary series of arrowheads at the dam — definitely Mesolithic. This morning it was. I couldn’t sleep and got up early — before breakfast. Much to Mr. Woodward’s surprise, I’m afraid. But I had what they call a 'hunch’, Sergeant MacDonald.”
Kenneth smiled. "That’s great news. You’re going to put Glendale on the map, then?”
"On the archaeological map — I do hope so… If you have nothing better to do this afternoon, would you care to come with me to Glen Eden? You seem to be interested in my work, and I could explain everything much better on the spot. Show you the level at which the arrow-heads were found — all that kind of thing.”
He was eager, enthusiastic. His slim, wiry body was bent forward as he waited for an answer. His fingers drummed on the brim of his hat, which he was holding in both hands.
"I’d like to come,” replied Kenneth. Then he hedged: "But it’s just possible that I may have to visit the Police Station in Campbeltown. Are you going up to the dam by yourself in any case?”
"Oh, yes. I’ve got to make the most of my time.” The archaeologist swung his arms. "And as you know, the better the day the better the deed!”
"All right. I’ll try to put in an appearance — but if I don’t you’ll understand I’ve been held up?”
"Very well. But do your best, Sergeant MacDonald.” Professor Symington moved away, putting on his hat. "You’ll enjoy it. Archaeology depends on clues and inferences — exactly like police detection.”
Kenneth was thoughtful as he walked down the avenue towards the main road. Most of the congregation had now left the church, and in the distance, outstripping the walkers, he could see Hugh Cameron’s lively red car moving in the direction of the shore and the hotel. He had a feeling of frustration. His conversation with Veronica Jane before the service had been cut short. Now he wanted badly to speak to her again. For an instant he allowed himself to face the truth: every day this girl was becoming more and more necessary to him, more and more dangerous to his peace of mind…
Then his heart turned over. Behind him came a quick patter of feet on the gravel and a bright and cheerful voice which said: “Say, Kenneth — wait for me. You walk so fast .I’ve got to run to catch up!"
He stopped. She overtook him, slightly breathless, her cheeks flushed and her eyes dancing. Her hat with its wisp of white veiling sat ethereally on her golden hair.
“I — I thought you'd gone back to the hotel in Dr. Cameron's car," he said, stammering a little.
She shook her head. “I decided I'd like to walk, so I got Hugh to take Miss Cunningham instead. Poor old lady, she’s not so young as she was, and it's quite a bit to the hotel. Besides, I wanted to tell the preacher how much I enjoyed his sermon."
" 'Let no man deceive you with vain words," he said, feeling it was necessary to say something.
"Yes. A good text. I hate deception, don't you, Kenneth?"
"There's a lot of it going on," he replied, heavily. Then suddenly he chuckled, feeling extraordinarily light-hearted. "Perhaps it's a good thing," he said. "Otherwise I'd be out of a job."
She looked up at him and laughed, flicking her eyelashes. With a catch in his breath he swung into step beside her down the avenue. Delighted by this meeting, he was quite unaware that it had been the result of careful planning. But Veronica Jane remembered how Hugh had frowned at her suggestion that he should give Miss Cunningham a lift in her place and how surprised the old minister had looked when, excusing herself with a quick, warm smile, she had left him to pursue Detective-Sergeant MacDonald.
Such memories, however, troubled her not at all.
"You're becoming quite witty in your old age," she remarked.
He glanced down and observed that her eyes were demurely lowered. She was teasing him again — that was evident. But somehow — just at the moment — he didn’t care. In fact, he liked it. They encountered a group of local people at the foot of the avenue but passed them by, oblivious to their douce salutations.
“You, of course, have been old for so long that you know all the answers,” he retaliated.
She nodded. “Sometimes your innocence makes me feel like a hundred. But tell me, Kenneth,” she went on, “how old are you, really? Forty-eight?”
He remained grave and courteous. “As a matter of fact,” he said, “I’m over fifty. I was born the year Queen Victoria died.”
She shrugged. “I was afraid so. A moulding relic of a bygone age. Actually you could be my grandfather.”
“Quite easily. Though come to think of it, I should hate to be your grandfather.”
“Why?”
“Being American you’d probably call me grandpoppa and make me sound like a cooling drink.”
“And you’re not so cool, are you?”
“Anything but!”
Then he glanced at her in sudden panic, and she burst out laughing, causing several young men gathered outside the village shop to pause in the act of lighting cigarettes and wonder how they might get to know her better.
She caught his arm. “We are silly, aren’t we!” she exclaimed. “I — I guess it’s the spring.”
He recovered his wits and felt happier than ever. He had forgotten all about Hugh Cameron — all about Max Bergman and the events of the previous night. He was no longer a policeman. He was a man. And nothing existed except the enchanted present.
“It’s the spri
ng,” he agreed. “Or maybe it’s because I understand you better now. You must have thought me pretty hopeless that first time we met in Muir’s Hotel.”
“You did seem a bit cold and unfriendly,” she admitted. “But then, I understand you better now, too.”
“Do you, really?” His voice was so urgent and appealing that she felt the colour mounting in her cheeks.
To counteract this tendency she wrinkled her nose and tried to make fun of him again. “Yes,” she said. “It’s quite astonishing what nice human bits I've quarried out from underneath the granite!”
He chuckled. “Why is it so easy to talk to you?" he demanded.
“Don’t you find it easy to talk to other girls?” she returned, quickly. “Sheena Mathieson, for example?”
“Oh, yes.’’ He hesitated, then went on: “I find it easy to talk to Sheena, of course. But I mean — well, I mean this kind of talk. I couldn’t talk like this to Sheena. I understand what you’re thinking — and you understand what I’m thinking — and, well’’ He came to a dead stop, suddenly embarrassed by his own impulsive confession.
But she came to his rescue. “I know,” she said. “I know exactly. No one’s ever dared to pull your leg — except me. And so other people have never found out how nice you actually are.”
“Now you’re at it again,” he grinned.
They went on down the road, past the Post Office, past other remnants of the congregation, past Mrs. Connacher's house. From the window of his room Hector caught a glimpse of them going by and called to Sheena. When she came he put his arm about her shoulder and said: “Looks promising, eh?”
She continued peeling off her gloves. “Veronica Jane is lovely,” she said.
“But no good for a picture. Not like you. The bones in her face are attractive, but they’re wrong — artistically.”
That was all, however; and presently Sheena left him and went into the kitchen to help Nellie with the potatoes…
As the road kinked towards the beach Kenneth took his courage in both hands. “I've never seen you look so — so beautiful,” he said.
Escort to Adventure Page 15