Death of a Gentle Lady

to his toes.
    People said later they had never seen Blair in such fine form. He danced the Eightsome Reel, the Gay Gordons, and the Dashing White Sergeant as if his feet had wings.
    When he finally retired to the honeymoon suite in the hotel with his bride, Blair stumbled across to the bed, fell across it, and lay there snoring. Mary carefully hung away her wedding dress, had a bath, and put on not the honeymoon nightgown, but a serviceable flannelette one.
    She undressed her snoring husband down to his underwear. With a contented little smile, she took her knitting out of her suitcase, turned on the television, and proceeded to knit.
    Marriage was good.

    The following evening, Aileen arrived exactly at seven o’clock. Unfortunately, Aileen was one of those women who look more attractive in uniform than out of it. When she shrugged off her coat in the restaurant, she showed she was wearing a pink boob tube decorated with sequins. Her navel was decorated with a fake ruby, very much in prominence as a roll of fat bulged over her tight Lycra trousers when she sat down. She had put pink streaks in her hair, and her eyelashes were so heavily mascaraed, it looked as if two large spiders had found a home in her face.
    Oh, God, I wish something would happen to get me out of this, prayed Hamish, hiding his face behind a menu.
    Willie’s face when he took the order was a tight mask of disapproval.
    Aileen chipped in and said they’d have a bottle of Valpolicello to start. ‘Hear you’re quite a lad with the ladies,’ she said when Willie had left.
    ‘All lies,’ said Hamish. ‘I’m quite shy really.’
    ‘Come on, laddie. Shy men don’t get engaged to hookers.’
    Her voice rang round the restaurant. The other diners listened avidly.
    Hamish was just wondering if he could fake illness when to his amazement, Anna Krokovsky walked into the restaurant. He did not like her but in that moment he looked on her as his saviour.
    She was out of uniform. ‘May I join you?’ Ignoring Aileen’s scowl, she pulled up a chair and sat down.
    ‘Aileen, do you know Inspector Krokovsky?’ asked Hamish.
    ‘I’ve seen you around,’ muttered Aileen.
    ‘I thought you had gone back to Russia,’ said Hamish.
    ‘I had, but I am here with a special invitation. You are invited to Moscow. We would like to study your methods.’
    ‘How long for?’
    ‘A few months. Mr Daviot says officers from Strathbane can cover your beat.’
    This was worse than the prospect of a night with Aileen, thought Hamish miserably. Blair would work furiously during those months to prove that the station in Lochdubh was not needed.
    ‘It’s verra kind of you,’ he said awkwardly. ‘But I’m afraid I must refuse.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I would like to talk to you in private. Maybe afterwards.’
    ‘No, now.’ She turned to Aileen. ‘Would you mind leaving us?’
    ‘Whit!’ screeched Aileen. ‘I’m on a date.’
    ‘Do you want me to phone Superintendent Daviot?’
    Aileen glared at Hamish, who was studying the tablecloth. Then she threw down her napkin.
    ‘Never, ever speak to me again, Hamish Macbeth.’
    Hamish got to his feet to help her on with her coat, but she pushed him away. Under the fascinated eyes of the diners, she rushed to the door and slammed it so hard behind her that the whole room seemed to vibrate.
    Anna sat unmoved.
    Hamish began to speak, but Willie arrived with the starters. ‘I may as well eat what she has ordered,’ said Anna. ‘Your taste in women is not what I would have expected.’
    ‘Let’s get down to this,’ said Hamish. ‘I cannot go. I am begging you not to press the matter. I have fought and fought until I am weary to keep the police station open here. You like my methods or you would not have got this invitation for me. If I go away for several months, they will find a reason to close the station. I will be put on the beat in Strathbane. There will be no one to deal with this vast area, no one to look after the old people in the outlying crofts. They talk about community policing in Strathbane but they really don’t have the first idea how to go about it.
    ‘Did you come all this way just to invite me?’
    Anna suddenly smiled. ‘Not exactly. Scotland Yard need Moscow’s advice on the mysterious death of a Russian in London. You look wretched. Eat your food and we will forget about the matter.’
    ‘But what will Daviot say?’
    ‘I will say I have been called back to London and will approach you