“I thought watching television would have given them a broader outlook.”
“It narrowed it. They watch the soaps, you see, and that turns them into drama queens. One of the women confided in me last year that she had low self-esteem because her mother never said she loved her. A Scottish mother, for heaven’s sake, does not go about telling her children she loves them. It is just something up here that’s expected to be understood. Then those American chat shows are a curse. I ‘member when a few of the biddies decided they had been sexually abused in their youth.”
“I thought there might be a lot of incest in these villages.”
“Not with the church being so strong. They’d be affeard that God would strike them dead. Anyway, it seems as if no one is ever going to find out what happened to Penelope. Did you know that Harry Frame reported me to my superiors for harassment?”
“Yes, he was fuming about that this morning. Do you think he did it? Come on, Hamish! Harry!”
“Chust a thought,” said Hamish huffily, because he was privately wishing he had never approached Harry Frame.
“I mean, why?”
“Because Jamie was buggering up the film and then Penelope. Will it run smoothly with both of them out the way?”
“Well, yes. Mary Hoyle is a very good actress. And she never throws scenes, she doesn’t drink and she has a reputation of never being late on the set and of taking direction. She’s a director’s dream.”
“Giles Brown is the director.”
“Don’t get any ideas there. He couldn’t hurt a rabbit. In fact, he is a bit of a rabbit.”
“Would you like to go out for dinner tonight?” asked Hamish.
“That would be nice. Where?”
“The Napoli.”
“Is nine o’clock too late?”
“No, that’ll be just fine.”
Sheila rose. “See you then, copper.”
Hamish admired her sturdy legs as she walked out of the kitchen. Sheila got in the car and drove slowly off. Then she stopped outside the general store, went in and asked where the seer lived.
Having got directions, she drove up to the back of the village and parked the car at the bottom of the long winding path which led up to Angus’s cottage. She had bought a bottle of wine in Patel’s since she had heard the seer expected a gift.
Despite her natural cynicism, she was impressed with Angus’s old cottage and by Angus himself, with his long beard and piercing eyes.
“So,” said Angus after they were seated, “it iss the famous Miss Sheila Burford.”
“How do you know my name?”
Angus smiled at her. “I see everything.”
“I am not famous. You are mistaken about that. I am a combination of researcher, secretary, office girl, tea maker and general dogsbody. Strathclyde Television does that soap The Highland Way. Harry promised me I could direct one of the episodes, but nothing’s come of it.”
“I see it all. You won’t be a director.”
“I thought that,” said Sheila gloomily.
“You’ll make your name as a producer.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I am neffer wrong. So you are wasting your time thinking about marriage.”
“Doesn’t every girl?”
“A pretty young thing like yourself, with all that ambition inside you, should not be contemplating throwing her career away by getting married to a village policeman.”
Sheila coloured but laughed. “Hamish and I are just friends.”
“Remember what I said,” intoned Angus. “Now I am tired. The spirits have left me.”
“I didn’t even know they had arrived,” said Sheila, getting to her feet. She waited a moment to see if he had anything more to say, but the seer had lain back in his chair and closed his eyes.
Sheila made her way thoughtfully down the path to her car. It was all a load of rubbish, of course. Still, it would do no harm to seek out Harry Frame if he had not left for Glasgow and tackle him about that director’s job.
♦
When she got back to Drim, it was to find Harry closeted with the lawyers. It was late afternoon before he emerged from the room in which they had been holding their meeting.
“Can I have a word with you, Harry?” asked Sheila.
“Just a few minutes. I have to get down to Glasgow. We’ll use Fiona’s office. It’s empty at the moment.”
They went inside and Harry closed the door.
“It’s like this,” said Sheila. “You know I work hard.”
“None better,” said Harry. His eyes fell to her legs. She tucked them under her chair.
“You’ve been saying for ages that I could direct an episode of The Highland Way. Any chance of that?”
He was sitting opposite her. He drew his chair closer until their knees were almost touching.
“Your work for me is appreciated, Sheila. You know that. You’re a pretty girl and we get on fine. In fact, we could get on better.” He put a large hand on her knee and squeezed it.
“Harry,” said Sheila, “I would like that director’s job because you think I can do it and not for any other reason.”
“No, no,” he said, caressing her knee. “But I could be great help to you in your career.” The hand left her knee and clasped her breast.
She jerked away and stood up. “Forget it, Harry,” she said, and went quickly out of the room.
She ran through the castle and out into the courtyard. Damn that seer. She was not going on anyone’s casting couch.
♦
Eileen Jessop gathered up her cartridges of videotape. She needed help, and now that Colin was not going to stand in her way, she was going to go to Drim Castle and ask Fiona King if she might have time to look at some of the film and see if someone could help her edit it.
Wearing makeup and her new shirtwaister dress, she drove to the castle. The first person she saw in the courtyard was Sheila.
“It is Miss Burford, is it not?” asked Eileen, suddenly feeling dowdy before this picture of glowing youth.
Sheila did not recognise the minister’s wife.
“I am Eileen Jessop. We met when you were looking for a location. I am the minister’s wife.”
“Oh, yes, I remember you now,” said Sheila politely, although her mind was still filled with outrage at Harry’s advances. She felt in her bones that once the series was filmed he would get rid of her as soon as he could.
“I wonder if I might see Miss Fiona King. I wanted her help in a little matter.”
“She wasn’t in her office,” began Sheila, and then she saw Fiona striding into the courtyard. “There she is now. Fiona!”
Fiona joined them. “This is Eileen Jessop, the minister’s wife,” said Sheila.
“Oh, yes,” said Fiona, looking edgy and harassed. It had been a long day.
Eileen surveyed her timidly and then took a deep breath. “I have been filming a play of mine, using the village women as actresses. The film needs cutting and editing. I wondered if you could spare the time to see a little of it, and perhaps one of your staff could advise me.”
Fiona was usually tactful, but the stress of the murders and the police investigation into Penelope’s murder had shredded her nerves. All she wanted was a deep bath and a cold drink.
“We are a professional television company,” she said nastily, “and you should know we hardly have time to break off our work to cope with amateur dramatics. I am sorry, but that’s the way it is. Sheila, I’ll be at the hotel if anyone wants me.”
She strode off.
Sheila saw that Eileen was red with mortification. She looked at her watch. “I’m meeting someone for dinner, but I’ve an hour to spare. Bring your stuff and I’ll look at it for you.”
“I feel ashamed of myself now,” said Eileen, clutching her cartridges protectively to her chest. “You’ll just be bored.”