Crisis (27 page)

Bannerman didn’t know what to say.

‘Of course, if you don’t want my company …’

‘Oh no, far from it,’ insisted Bannerman. He took Shona’s hand and said, ‘I think that would
be absolutely great and thank you. Apart from that,
I understand that I owe you my life.’

‘Nonsense,’ scoffed Shona. Tm sure the landlord
would have raised the alarm on his own without any
prompting from me.’

Bannerman smiled. ‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘but the fact
remains that we’ll never know that for sure. You
were the one who did it. Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome,’ smiled Shona. ‘See you in the
morning.’

Bannerman felt his eyelids become heavy. The
feeling of warmth, after having been so cold, was
still a sensation to be savoured and relished. Angus
MacLeod had given him some analgesic for his
aches and pains, so they did not interfere with the
feeling of well-being which was now being joined
by another pleasurable thought; Shona MacLean was
just next door.

‘Good morning,’ said Shona when Bannerman came
down to the dining-room for breakfast. She was
wearing a tight-fitting navy blue sweater with a
white scarf at her throat and a pair of light blue ski
pants. They were the only two guests in the hotel
and there was a slight chill about the room at this
time in the morning. This was partially off-set by the
fact that the weather was bright and sunlight was
streaming into the room through French windows.
‘I didn’t think you’d be up for ages yet.’

‘Good morning,’ said Bannerman, returning the
smile and moving slowly across the floor to join her.
‘I never could lie in bed.’

‘Sore?’ Shona asked.

‘You name it, it hurts,’ replied Bannerman, easing
himself painfully down into a chair.

‘Are you sure you want to leave today? Maybe you
should take it easy. I can get the bus to Inverness.’

Bannerman insisted that he felt well enough.
There is one problem however,’ he added.

‘What?’

‘My car. I left it up at Inverladdie Farm yesterday.
It’s still there.’

‘
I could collect it?’ suggested Shona. ‘You don’t
look as if you are in any fit state for a hike.’

‘Perish the thought,’ said Bannerman, rolling his eyes upwards.

The phone rang in the hall and they heard the
landlord answer it. Bannerman heard his name being
mentioned so he wasn’t surprised when the man
came into the room and said, That was the police
Dr Bannerman. They’re bringing your car down from
Inverladdie.’

That’s good of them,’ said Bannerman. ‘We were
just discussing how we were going to deal with that
problem.’

The landlord moved his head uneasily as if embar
rassed and said, ‘I think there’s some problem, sir.’ Without waiting to be quizzed on what he meant he
made an excuse to leave the room.

‘
I wonder what that’s all about?’ said Bannerman.

Shona shrugged her shoulders.

Bannerman’s car was not driven back from Inver
laddie; it was delivered on the back of a police
car transporter. When Bannerman and Shona went
outside to meet it they could see why. The car’s
tyres had been slashed and the bodywork had been
defaced by copious amounts of red and black spray
paint. There was a message to be extracted from the
mess which Bannerman, by leaning his head this way
and that, managed to read out a word at a time. Tuck
off
…
bastard … leave … our jobs … alone …’

Two policemen from an accompanying Panda car
came to join Bannerman. ‘Sorry about this Doctor,’
said one of them. ‘If it’s any comfort we’ve got the
pair who did it.’

‘You have?’

‘It’s a small place. It didn’t take us long to find
out who’s been buying spray paint recently. They
still had it on their hands.’

‘Who are they?’ asked Bannerman.

‘Couple of local lads, Turner and Ferguson. They
work at the power station. The story’s been going
around that you are trying to close it down.’

‘I wonder who started that,’ said Bannerman,
thinking of C. J. Mitchell.

‘These two cretins thought they would take mat
ters into their own hands, make their own protest
so to speak. I take it you’ll be pressing charges?’

‘It’s not my car,’ said Bannerman. ‘Ask Hertz.’

‘
I see, sir, then presumably you won’t want it
left here.’

Bannerman shook his head, looking at the sorry state of the Sierra. He was wondering how far disgruntled workers would go to see off a threat to
their jobs. Was that what was behind the shooting up on the shore yesterday? he wondered. ‘I’ll call the car
company, Officer, and ask them to deal with it.’

‘Very good, sir. It’ll be in the police station yard
at Stobmor.’

Bannerman called the rental company and was
pleased to hear that they weren’t at all put out by
his tale. Would he like them to deliver another car
to him from Inverness? Bannerman consulted Shona
and they decided that they would travel down to
Inverness by bus and pick up the new car there
after Shona had completed her business. ‘I’ll have
it waiting,’ said the clerk.

‘The bus will be here at ten-thirty,’ volunteered
the landlord. ‘If you miss that you’ll be here another
day.’

This was a threat that Bannerman took notice of. He was packed and waiting at the stop with Shona
shortly before twenty-five past the hour. Three other
people boarded the bus at Achnagelloch bringing
the total aboard to eight. Two more were picked
up from outlying farms on the twisting roundabout
route the bus followed to reach the A838 before
heading south.

Bannerman collected his new car from the rental
company while Shona visited the offices of the
people responsible for promoting the craft fair she
wanted to participate in. He gave her an hour before
driving to the pick up point, where he waited a
further fifteen minutes before she appeared.

‘How did it go?’ he asked.

‘Very well I think,’ said Shona. They’ll let me know by the end of the week.’

‘Does that mean you won’t be coming to Edinburgh?’
Bannerman asked.

‘Of course I will,’ insisted Shona.

‘Good,’ smiled Bannerman, and he meant it.

They had missed lunch by being on the bus and
they had made do with a snack when they finally got to Inverness. Bannerman asked if Shona was hungry or should they make a start and eat on the way south
to Edinburgh.

‘Let’s get started,’ said Shona. ‘Move over.’ Bannerman relinquished the driving seat to her
and settled down to enjoy the journey. He had
always preferred being a passenger in a car to driving
it. That way he never lost his temper. Thinking about that reminded him that he had forgotten to collect his
tape of Gregorian chant from the damaged Sierra in
Achnagelloch.

TEN

They stopped at Aviemore to eat and chose a restau
rant which appeared inviting by virtue of its orange lighting which suggested warmth. Inside, people in
ski-wear were bemoaning the fact that there had
been no snow. They were complaining about how
much money it was costing them to find alternative
things to do.

‘Last bloody time,’ said one man with a pro
nounced north of England accent. ‘I could have
gone to bloody Zermatt for half of what it cost me
to visit bonnie bloody Scotland.’

‘Maybe it’ll snow tomorrow, love,’ suggested his
wife.

‘Piss wi’ bloody rain more like,’ said her hus
band.

The general consensus agreed with the husband.

‘I’ve not had a single chance to try out my new
skis,’ complained another woman clad in what
appeared to be a purple-coloured second skin. It
clashed violently with her pink lipstick. Sunglasses,
perched high up in her hair, seemed as incongruous as sandals in Siberia.

The northern man leaned towards her and said,
‘I tell you what, love, if that silly bloody tour
guide comes round once more with his silly bloody
talk about going for a nice walk in the hills,
I’ll try out your new skis for you on him …
sideways.’

The skiers laughed and Bannerman noted that the Dunkirk spirit, so beloved by politicians, was still alive and well.

‘Do you ski?’ Shona asked.

Bannerman said not. ‘You?’

Shona shook her head.

Despite the fact that it had rained for most of the way and the wind was forcing high-sided vehicles
to double-up on the Forth Road Bridge, Bannerman
was sorry that the journey was coming to an end.
He and Shona had spoken practically non-stop and
he had enjoyed every minute of it. There was
something about Shona’s philosophy of life which
he found intriguing and appealing. On the surface
it appeared to be straightforward and uncomplicated
- people should do what they want to do. It was
only when you considered the difficulties of putting
this into practice that the degree of achievement
in actually doing it became apparent. As Angus
MacLeod had pointed out, people liked to pretend
that they were doing things their way, but it was
seldom true.

‘What are you thinking about?’ asked Shona.

‘Life,’ smiled Bannerman.

‘Life is what happens to you while you’re thinking
about it,’ said Shona.

Bannerman turned his head to look at her. She
was concentrating on the road ahead but there was
no sign of stress or strain on her face, despite the
appalling driving conditions. She seemed vibrantly
alive and enjoying every minute of it. What was
more, she looked beautiful.

‘What are you thinking now?’

1 was thinking I would have to phone the Medical
Research Council in the morning,’ lied Bannerman.

As they cleared the brow of a hill the darkness ahead
was suddenly speckled by a carpet of amber lights in the distance, denoting the outskirts of the city.
Shona asked, ‘Where are you staying?’

‘In the Royal Mile but drive to where you want to
go and I can drive from there, really. How long are
you staying?’

‘I’ll have a wander round tomorrow and look up some old friends. I’ll probably head back the day
after tomorrow,’ said Shona.

‘You’re not staying with friends then?’ asked
Bannerman.

‘No.’

Bannerman felt awkward. He said, ‘I don’t want
you to get the wrong idea, but the apartment they’ve
given me has two bedrooms and if you would care
to stay there while you’re here, you’d be most
welcome.’

Shona smiled at Bannerman’s awkwardness, thinking it belonged to another generation. Remembering what Bannerman had said to her on North Uist about
the neighbours, she said, ‘Wouldn’t the good people
of the university be outraged?’

‘Probably,’ said Bannerman.

‘Then I accept,’ said Shona.

‘Welcome back Doctor,’ said George Stoddart, when
had informed Stoddart about the real fate of ‘poor Lawrence’. He was relieved to find, as the con
versation progressed, that Stoddart was under the impression that Gill’s death had been an accident.
This was good. Stoddart could contribute noth
ing useful to the investigation. The less he knew
the better.