Death of a Gentle Lady

hate to rush you but my husband needs that cheque for the repairs to the church roof.’
    Mrs Gentle gave her little curved smile. ‘What cheque?’
    ‘You promised to donate a generous amount of money towards the church.’
    ‘Did I? How stupid of me. I am holding a family reunion next week and I have just discovered I am quite low in funds. Such a pity. I am sure you will find the money somehow.’

    Mrs Gentle returned home in a bad mood. The sight of her daughter slumped in front of the television set with a large gin and tonic in her hand made her erupt into rage. She switched off the set, walked round, and stared down at her daughter.
    ‘Sarah, I want you out of here after the family get-together.’
    ‘But you asked me up here. You said I could stay as long as I liked.’
    ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’m changing my will as well. It’s time you got a job.’
    ‘But I’m fifty, Mother.’
    ‘You’ll find something. Andrew has a good job.’ Her son, Andrew, was a stockbroker. ‘The grandchildren are doing well. You’ve always been a failure. Ayesha, take that stuff into the kitchen and stop gaping.’ The maid went off. Mrs Gentle watched her go, then followed her into the kitchen. Ayesha had been working as a maid in a London hotel when Mrs Gentle had offered her the job although she maintained the fiction that she had hired the girl through an agency.
    ‘I never asked you what country you came from,’ said Mrs Gentle.
    ‘Turkey,’ said Ayesha, putting groceries away. ‘Izmir.’
    That curved smile again. ‘Dear me, I thought all Turks were dark.’
    ‘Not all,’ said Ayesha. ‘Some of us are quite fair.’
    ‘Let me see, Turkey is not in the European Union. I do hope you have a work permit. Silly me. I never asked you.’
    Ayesha flushed to the roots of her hair. ‘I was studying at London University, but my student visa ran out. I needed money, so I worked in a hotel.’
    ‘I can’t have an illegal alien working for me. Wait until after the family party and then you must leave or I will have to report you to the police.’
    ‘Oh, please. Can’t you apply to the Home Office for me?’
    ‘Don’t be silly. Oh, don’t start to cry. Get on with your work.’

    Hamish Macbeth was just settling down to a dinner of comfort food – haggis, mashed potatoes, and mashed turnips – when he heard the front doorbell ring. The locals never used the front door, which had jammed with the damp ages ago. He went to the door and shouted through the letter box, ‘Come round to the side door.’
    He went and opened the kitchen door. Round the side of the police station came a tall figure he recognized as Mrs Gentle’s maid.
    When he ushered her into the kitchen, he noticed her eyes were red with crying.
    ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘What’s the matter, lassie?’
    ‘I have come to be arrested.’
    ‘I’m just about to eat, and there’s enough for two,’ said Hamish.
    ‘I can’t eat.’
    ‘Oh, you’ll feel better.’ He got another plate and put a generous helping on it for her. ‘Now eat and tell me about it.’
    Ayesha picked at her food as she told him that she was in the country illegally and had lost her job.
    ‘I can’t be bothered arresting anyone at the moment,’ said Hamish.
    She really was very beautiful, he thought. She was nearly as tall as he was himself, with a splendid figure in hip-hugging jeans, a T-shirt, and a denim jacket. Her hair looked a natural gold, she had high cheekbones and a perfect mouth.
    ‘What is your name?’ he asked.
    ‘Ayesha Tahir. Turkish.’
    ‘I didn’t know there were blonde Turks.’
    ‘Some are.’ She took a mouthful of food. ‘This is nice. You are not like a policeman.’
    ‘I’m not going to be one much longer, thanks to Mrs Gentle putting the poison in.’
    ‘The poison?’
    ‘She managed to persuade my bosses that my services were not needed in Lochdubh.’
    ‘Can’t you stop her?’
    ‘I can’t stop anything now. I’m going to resign.’
    Hamish clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. ‘Why should I arrest you?’ he asked.
    ‘Like I said, Mrs Gentle has found out that my visa has expired. She says I can stay until after her family party and then I’ve got to leave.’
    ‘Have you got your passport with you?’
    ‘Yes, in my bag.’ She fished it out and handed it to him.
    Hamish flicked through the passport, studied the visa, and then said, ‘Would you like to leave this with me? I might be