Death of a Gentle Lady

tails. My favourite,’ said Angus. ‘I’ll just be putting this in the kitchen.’
    ‘ Petticoat tails ?’ asked Anna.
    ‘The name’s supposed to date from Mary Queen of Scots’ time,’ said Hamish. ‘It’s a corruption of the auld French petit gatelles , meaning “little cakes”.’
    Angus came back. He swung the blackened kettle on its chain over the fire. ‘We’ll have tea in a minute. So you are the Russian lady who tried to kill Mr Blair?’
    ‘I was only having a drink with him,’ said Anna stiffly. ‘If he cannot hold his liquor, it is not my fault.’
    ‘You are ruthless and hard,’ said Angus. ‘You would not have got the position in the Russian police were you not as hard as stone. Be careful, laddie, and do not get in this lady’s way.’
    ‘Angus, when you’ve stopped insulting the inspector here, have you heard anything that might lead us to discover who killed Irena?’
    ‘That would be your late fiancée who turned out to be a hooker. Dr Brodie has had to lecture the whole village on the subject of AIDS and tell them that you cannae be getting it from teacups and the like. O’ course, now that you know she wass killed by her boss, you wonder who killed her .’
    ‘How did you get that information?’ asked Hamish angrily. ‘We only knew ourselves yesterday, and as it happens we’re still not quite sure that she actually killed Irena.’
    ‘I see things. The kettle’s boiling. I’ll get the cups.’
    ‘Angus, we don’t want tea. We want information.’
    Angus closed his eyes. Anna glared at him and half made to rise. Then Angus crooned, ‘You haff to look in Mrs Gentle’s past. There iss something in there the whole of her family don’t want you to know.’
    He opened his eyes again. ‘That’s it,’ he said briskly.
    ‘That’s it?’ echoed Hamish. ‘I could ha’ guessed that one myself. Come on, Anna.’
    Angus’s pale grey eyes fastened on Anna. ‘He will be the bachelor until the end of his days.’
    ‘This old fool knows more than he is telling,’ said Anna wrathfully, and they left the cottage. ‘Let’s get him into an interview room and get it out of him.’
    ‘We don’t use the rubber truncheons up here,’ said Hamish. ‘Angus was aye a good guesser.’
    As they walked back down the hill, Hamish looked fondly down at the village, his village, lying placidly in the sunlight, and wished with all his heart he could get rid of Anna. Her foreignness, her very ruthlessness, was upsetting him.

Chapter Seven

    What bloody man is that?
– William Shakespeare

    Back at the castle, Anna met the members of the family. Andrew Gentle was furious. ‘We have been questioned and questioned. I do not feel like going over it again.’
    The drawing room in which the members of the family were gathered was cold. Outside the narrow windows, the sun shone bravely down, but not a ray of it penetrated into the gloom.
    Jimmy Anderson said, ‘We are going to question you all separately again, and not because of the presence of this Russian police inspector, but because of a new development in the case. We will use the study again. Mr Andrew Gentle, you first.’
    Hamish caught Jimmy by the sleeve. ‘I’d be better off trying to find out something else.’
    ‘Don’t you want to see how they react to the possibility that their mother might have killed Irena?’ muttered Jimmy.
    ‘There are enough of you,’ said Hamish. ‘I’ll be off.’
    Outside, he took great gulps of fresh air. Anna’s treatment of Blair still upset him.
    He decided to go to the hotel and interview the Irishman again. It was nearly lunchtime. His stomach rumbled.
    At the hotel, he went round to the kitchen door. Clarry, the chef, hailed him with delight. Like Willie Lamont, Clarry had worked for Hamish during one of the brief times when Hamish had been elevated to sergeant. If he were ever to be given help again, Hamish wondered if that newcomer would also suddenly discover a yen for the catering trade.
    ‘Any hope of a bite to eat?’ asked Hamish.
    ‘Sit yourself down, man, at that wee table by the door and keep out o’ the way. I’ve the lunches to get ready. Soup and a sandwich do ye?’
    ‘That would be grand.’
    Clarry had three new Polish girls working for him. He complained that the trouble about Poles was that they took any job going, perfected their English, and then moved up the job ladder as quickly as possible – which meant right out of his kitchen.
    The soup was