Late last night Elsie Hamilton had telephoned to say, in her husky sexy voice, that her husband Bob had gone to London on business and she was feeling lonely. What about coming over for a drink? The kids were in bed, sound asleep.
She was an attractive woman as well as a golfer, and he had had her before, on a golf outing to St Andrews. She was a good sport who knew just how much a friendly fuck was worth. There was no undue palaver before or whiny repentance after. Also, unlike other women he knew, she had her children well trained, so that they could be depended on not to interrupt inconveniently. There was a snag. He had overcome it before but perhaps he shouldn’t a second time. He knew Bob Hamilton, in fact had played golf with him, not often, for Bob’s handicap was 17, but once was enough to establish some kind of kinship. As he swithered, with the telephone at his ear, Elsie had asked did he know that Bob in his cups had confessed that he had had it off with Cissie McDade recently? Douglas had not known and was indignant now that he knew. It was because of Cissie McDade that he and Janet had fallen out. Surely he was justified therefore in accepting Elsie’s offer.
He had gone in his white Rover and parked it prudently two avenues away, under a big lime tree. He had not been in the Hamiltons’ villa three minutes before he had a glass of Glenmorangie in his hand and Elsie, clad only in a white dressing-gown, was fiddling with his zip. A woman so keen had to be obliged without delay. So he had gone to it with zest, on top of cushions taken from the big black-and-white settee.
While he was busy, he had done some thinking. Elsie, sensible woman, had wanted only what he was giving her, just as he had wanted what she was letting him have. She had kept her mouth shut. There had been no babbling about magical forces. He had reflected, with satisfaction, that his Janet, though vexatious with her nonsense about holy communion, was too virtuous and old-fashioned to let any man, except him, do what he was now doing to Elsie.
All that thinking had not hindered his performance. Elsie had been appreciative. He had stayed for another two hours and, at her instigation, had had another go before he left. He had not quite succeeded this time but, as Elsie had said, a partial failure on his part was better than most men’s successes. She had been referring to his powerful thigh muscles.
He did not intend to mention this little adventure with Elsie to Janet. His experience as a golfer had taught him to concentrate on one thing at a time.
Among the other passengers for Flodday, he noticed only one checking in golf clubs. This was a big sandy-haired paunchy man in a blue light-weight suit that looked as if it had been slept in. He spoke with an Australian accent and kept yawning. His clubs, Douglas noted, were American-made Pings, the best money could buy. Evidently he had brought them all the way from Australia. He must be keen. Yet at his age – about 50, Douglas thought – and with his belly he could hardly be very proficient. I could give him eight strokes and beat him, thought Douglas.
There were two other interesting passengers, dark-skinned foreigners, speaking a language Douglas could not identify. One was about 40, handsome in a dago fashion, with swarthy face and black moustache. Knowledgeable in such matters, Douglas saw that this man’s fawn linen suit was of the best quality and cut. His shoes were Italian, even more expensive than Douglas’s own. Round his hairy wrist was a gold Rolex watch. Was he going to Flodday to buy an estate there? No narrow-minded nationalist or moralist, Douglas did not mind foreigners buying up large parts of Scotland. Their wealth, if it was considerable enough, gave them that privilege. If this chap with the sweet-smelling hair, after he had bought the estate, wanted to bring over a harem of wives, good luck to him, provided he was discreet and kept them in – what was it called? – purdah, an institution that Douglas thought had a lot to commend it.
The other dago was older and more soberly dressed.
Douglas approved of people with money, for he hoped to have a lot himself one day. Towards that end, marrying Janet had been a mistake. She had brought little into the kitty and her property in Skye needed costly renovations, Moreover, she was too fond of giving his money away to charities that did not deserve it. Few charities did. On the plus side she was beautiful and her beauty was all his. Their children, when he decided it was time to have one or two, would be superior specimens. Janet, he suspected, a little uneasily, had talents still to be revealed. He had once introduced her to golf. After only half-a-dozen lessons she was able to hit the ball only thirty yards or so less than he. He had been relieved when she had suddenly lost interest in the game, calling it childish. Apart from the danger of her becoming better at it than he, which would have necessitated his giving it up, he knew the temptations that could beset golfing women. Weren’t Cissie and Elsie examples?
Those were his thoughts as he boarded the plane.
He took the seat next to the Australian.
His first friendly remark was ignored but he persevered. The Scots were famous the world over for their friendliness to strangers and he must not let the side down. Besides, the Australian looked tired and depressed, and was far from home.
‘This your first visit to Flodday?’ asked Douglas.
‘Yep.’
‘It’s a beautiful island. We should get a good view of it today. Sometimes you can’t see it for mist. My name’s Maxwell, by the way, Douglas Maxwell.’
‘Ballantyne.’
‘I saw you checking in your golf clubs. You’ll like the course on Flodday.’
Ballantyne showed interest. ‘D’you know it?’
‘I’ve played it several times. A links course, like St Andrews and Troon. It could be every bit as good as those if it was looked after better. Cowpats on the fairways. Sheep’s droppings on the greens. That sort of thing. Not enough money spent on it. Of course, it hasn’t many members. You a member of a club?’
‘Wallaby Creek, Sydney.’
Douglas had never heard of it but then Ballantyne had probably never heard of Thornwood. ‘Do you play often?’
‘Not as often as I would like.’
‘I noticed you’ve got Pings. Mine are Rams. May I ask what’s your handicap? Mine’s four. I’m still hoping to get down to scratch.’
Ballantyne was sneering. ‘In Australian terms your four would be six. Our system of handicapping is the fairest in the world. Did you know that?’
Not only had Douglas not known it, he did not believe it. ‘What’s your then?’
‘Five. A genuine five. It would be two here. I have a fight keeping to it. I guess I’m getting older and I haven’t been playing so much lately.’
‘Pressure of work?’
‘That and other things.’
Douglas was not far behind his wife in nosiness. ‘What line of business are you in, Mr Ballantyne?’
‘Timber.’
Douglas laughed. ‘You’ll not find much of that on Flodday. There’s hardly a tree. I’m in civil engineering myself. What brings you to Flodday?’
Ballantyne’s face told him not to be so bloody inquisitive. Ballantyne’s voice said, meekly enough: ‘My wife’s there.’
‘What a coincidence! So’s mine.’
‘She’s staying with friends at a place called Ardnave. Do you know it?’
‘I’ve been there. It’s pretty remote. Not many houses.’
‘People we met in Basah years ago,’ muttered Ballantyne.
‘Basah? Where’s that?’
‘You’d say in the Far East. Not far from Indonesia. It’s an island too. Do you know Flodday well?’
‘My wife’s relations own a hotel there.’
‘That’s handy. I’ll need a place to stay.’
‘Won’t you be joining your wife at Ardnave?’
‘Not right away. They were more her friends than mine. You know how it is. Name’s McAllister. Do you know him? He calls himself a painter.’
‘You mean an artist? Like Van Gogh?’
‘What he paints is crap.’
‘To tell you the truth, I think painting’s a bit of a racket. If they know a
painting’s by somebody with a big name, like Rembrandt, they say it’s worth millions. But if they don’t know they say it’s worth hundreds. The same painting, mind you.’
‘Do you think you could get me fixed up with a room?’
‘Sure. David, my wife’s cousin, is meeting me at the airport. I’ll introduce you to him. Maybe we could fix up a game. To find out if a Scottish four is as good as an Australian five.’
‘It’ll depend on Nell. That’s my wife.’
‘I hope she doesn’t object to your playing golf? Lots of wives do. Mine does, a bit. For a ridiculous reason. She’s got a crazy notion that if you play golf you can’t have much of an imagination.’
‘Nell doesn’t mind.’
‘Good. Let’s fix up a game then. How long are you here for?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘I have to return on Monday. What about this afternoon?’
‘It depends on what Nell wants.’
‘But you said she doesn’t mind. You brought your clubs, didn’t you? Provisionally, then, this afternoon, at three. Look, that’s Flodday now. There’s the course. D’you see the flags? Did you ever see greener turf?’
Ballantyne stared down gloomily. ‘It looks pretty bare.’
‘Spoken like a timber merchant.’ Douglas laughed.
‘Nowhere to hide.’
‘Except for some caves.’
‘A good place to tell the truth.’
And not a bad place either to tell judicious lies.
‘I’ve heard there are ancient ruined churches.’
‘There’s one out at Ardnave. Are you a religious man?’
Ballantyne shook his head. ‘When she was at school, Nell won a prize for Bible knowledge.’
Another strange remark, thought Douglas. He almost said that his Janet had second sight, but that wasn’t a thing to speak about, far less boast about.
2
It was one of Douglas’s jokes, frequently repeated, that it was appropriate that David McNaught should keep a stuffed penguin in his office, for with his habit of wearing black waistcoats and white collars, and with his big nose and flat feet, he looked like one. But Douglas had never seen a furtive penguin, and at the airport David was very furtive when asked why Janet hadn’t come with him. Also he kept staring away from Douglas to the two dagos who were being obsequiously looked after by a chauffeur in a grey uniform with the name Ascog Castle Hotel on the front of his cap. It was one of the most exclusive and luxurious hotels in Scotland.
‘Do you know who they are?’ asked Douglas.
‘Yes. I was talking to Mr McCrae the chauffeur. The younger one’s Mr Gomez, a millionaire from Manila in the Philippines. The older one’s his lawyer.’
‘I thought so. Are they here to buy up some estate?’
‘I understand it’s a private visit.’
‘Well, what about Janet? Why isn’t she here to meet me? Don’t tell me she’s still in a huff. Or is she too ashamed of herself ?’
‘As a matter of fact, Douglas, she’s not staying at the hotel.’
‘Then where is she staying?’
‘At Ardnave.’
‘Ardnave?’ Douglas looked about him. He couldn’t see Ballantyne. ‘Who’s she staying with at Ardnave?’
David looked more furtive than ever. ‘A family called McAuslan.’ There had once been a minister in Skye called that.
‘How did she come to meet them?’
‘In church.’
‘Oh. But she should still have come to meet me. She’ll have no grumble then if I have a game of golf this afternoon with this gentleman.’
Ballantyne was coming over.
‘David, this is Mr Ballantyne, from Australia. He’s come to join his wife who’s also staying at Ardnave, with people called McAllister. But he wants a room in the hotel for tonight.’
David’s face could hold no more furtiveness. It kept spilling out. ‘Mr Ballantyne,’ he asked in a small voice, ‘is Mrs Ballantyne expecting you?’
‘I wouldn’t think so. I didn’t let her know.’
‘I have met her. She came into the hotel, with Douglas’s wife Janet.’
‘So they know each other?’ cried Douglas. ‘That’s good. They won’t object then to our having a game of golf’
‘I don’t think that follows,’ said David, in another small voice.
‘Do you know McAllister?’ asked Ballantyne.
‘He comes into the hotel occasionally.’
The luggage then arrived. They carried the suitcases to the car.
Douglas sat in front with David. They set off towards Kildonan.
‘This McAllister,’ said Ballantyne,’ I don’t suppose he’s married.’
‘No, he isn’t.’
Douglas wasn’t the quickest of thinkers, except when his own interests were involved. He couldn’t understand how Mrs Ballantyne could be staying with the McAllister family if that family consisted only of McAllister.
‘He never struck me as the marrying kind,’ said Ballantyne, ‘but I bet he’s got some woman living with him. He likes having a woman in bed so long as he can get rid of her whenever he wants.’
Douglas knew many men like that. He was one himself. This McAllister was a man to be envied. He had the use of women without any responsibility. He could throw them out as soon as they were of no more use.
‘Can I hire a car in town?’ asked Ballantyne. ‘In case I want to drive out to Ardnave?’
‘Good idea,’ said Douglas. ‘I’ll go with you, if you don’t mind. My wife’s at Ardnave too, staying with a family called McAuslan. I wonder if the McAuslans know McAllister. They’re bound to, the place being so isolated.’
‘McDougall’s garage has a car for hire,’ said David.
‘Maybe I should phone first.’
‘Mr McAllister doesn’t have a telephone.’
‘Well, I could phone the McAuslans,’ said Douglas.
‘They haven’t got a telephone either.’
‘It must really be the outback,’ said Ballantyne.
They stopped then at the hotel door.
Leaving David to deal with Ballantyne, Douglas, as a relative, went through to the kitchen looking for Mary. He found her supervising the preparation of lunch.
She took him to the private sitting room.
‘I suppose David told you Janet’s not staying at the hotel?’
‘Yes. He said she’s staying with people called McAuslan out at Ardnave.’
‘Did he tell you that?’
‘Yes. Do you know them? You must, for David said Janet met them in church.’
‘Is that what he said? Now, Douglas, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll have to get back to the kitchen.’
‘Where are Agnes and Jean?’ He had always found his nieces more ready informants than their mother.
‘Out playing somewhere.’
‘Just a minute, Mary. On the telephone you seemed to be hinting that, if I didn’t come immediately, there could be trouble. What did you mean? What kind of trouble?’
‘You did not come immediately. This is Saturday. I telephoned on Wednesday.’
‘I couldn’t just drop everything.’
‘Neither can I. Speak to David. She’s his cousin.’
She went out but came back briefly to tell him that he had been put into No. 18.
He felt annoyed, not so much at Mary, for she had a hotel to run, but at Janet, who was putting him to all this inconvenience under the silly impression that she was getting her own back. Also, if he remembered rightly, Room 18 was one of the few that did not have a view of hills and sea. It was true that as a relative he would not be paying for it, but that was no excuse. It was again Janet’s fault. In some way she had offended Mary and he was being made to suffer for it.
3
Meanwhile, David had conducted Ballantyne to his room on the top floor. It had a double bed which Ballantyne, with a curious shyness, had requested. He did not look a shy man. There was a fine view of the har
bour and across the sea-loch. Ballantyne stood looking out, wistfully. He was not a wistful man either.
‘Can you see Ardnave from here?’ he asked.
‘I’m afraid not. It’s too far west.’
‘You said you met my wife, Mr McNaught.’
‘Just the once, briefly.’
‘I shouldn’t ask you, for how should you know, but do you think she’ll be pleased to see me?’
‘I’m sure she will. I believe she sent you a cable.’
‘When?’
‘Two days ago. You must have left before it arrived.’
‘Why was she sending me a cable? She’s not in trouble, is she?’
‘No. I think it was to say that she was returning home next week. So Janet told me.’
‘Is she friendly with Janet?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s good. She was supposed to be away for four months.’
‘She must be feeling homesick.’
‘Do you think so? This other woman that McAllister’s got living with him, do you know her?
David decided that it would be better to let Ballantyne, and Douglas too, find out for themselves what was going on. He had compromised himself enough already.
‘Yes, I know her. I’m going out to Ardnave myself this afternoon. I could give Mrs Ballantyne a message if you like.’
‘Thanks. Just tell her I’d be very pleased if she would join me for dinner tonight.’
‘I’ll tell her. I’m sure she’ll be delighted.’
‘Will you be seeing McAllister – no, never mind, I’ll have to deal with him myself. Well, I’m much obliged to you, Mr McNaught. I wonder if you’d ask young Maxwell if he’d like to have lunch with me. He talked about a game of golf this afternoon but maybe he’ll be in too big a hurry to meet his wife.’
‘I think he’ll be able to play. He’s not meeting Janet till this evening.’
‘Maybe we can all have dinner together.’
With flat-footed speed David went downstairs and locked himself in his office. He needed to be alone for a few minutes to consider how he could get away with his lies about the McAuslans. He would need Janet’s co-operation. She might give it too enthusiastically and talk at length about her hosts, the mythical McAuslans, but on the other hand she might prefer to tell Douglas the truth.
Poor Angus Page 12