4 Death at the Happiness Club (7 page)

Christopher didn't claim to understand women, but surely sisters were a mutated sub-species, or whatever the biological term was. But if shouting at Caroline over some vague issue to do with the human condition helped her to recover, maybe it was justified.

He sat up straight and faced her.

'Is there any brandy left, or are you going to hog it yourself?'

Sharing a drink with a recovering alcoholic was of course absolutely the wrong thing to do, but Christopher knew that, no matter how hard he tried, he would never do the right thing anyway. He might as well relax and go with the flow for now.

As rain battered on the top of the tent, they silently shared the last dregs from the bottle and eventually slept.

Chapter 10 Stormy Waters

Maisie Sue wasn't sure how safe the boat was. It didn't seem all that impressive, with its peeling paintwork, scruffy seats and odd smell, but if there was one lesson she had taken to heart after two years living in Scotland, it was that she mustn't criticise things based on their appearance. What was unacceptably squalid to her would usually turn out to be perfectly normal - even luxurious - as far as the other inhabitants of Pitkirtly were concerned.

The weather didn't look very promising either. Only yesterday there had been blue sky as far as you could see, and temperatures reaching almost into the twenties - Maisie Sue had learned to count in Centigrade after a couple of embarrassing experiences involving weather forecasts and planned events.

None of her fellow-passengers had any problem being on board. Jock McLean - why was he here at all? He didn't seem to have enjoyed the speed-dating event, and he had said he wasn't planning to join the Happiness Club because he was perfectly happy the way he was, which Maisie Sue didn't believe for a minute - had settled down in the inside cabin near the bar. Jemima and Dave - again, what were they doing here when it was meant to be a singles club? - were wrapped up in various unattractive layers of waterproof clothing, and had gamely gone up to the top deck, where they sat huddled together and seemed to be treating the event as something to be endured and not necessarily enjoyed.

Penelope Johnstone, wearing the same sort of clothes as she usually did, making no concessions to the weather or type of activity, had appeared with her son in tow again. Amaryllis jumped aboard at the last moment and prowled up and down on the upper deck until Sean Fraser took her arm and apparently persuaded her to sit down on one of the long benches.

Maisie Sue, also positioned on the top deck, mainly to avoid Jock McLean, peered around anxiously looking for the lifeboats. She had heard it could be very stormy out in the middle of the Forth, where they were headed. Officially it was a mystery cruise, but everyone knew it would go to Inchcolm, because all trip boats did.

Sean and his sisters took it upon themselves to circulate. They seemed to be trying to encourage people to chat and socialize, but in most cases it was a losing battle. Maisie Sue could have told them that. In a life-or-death situation such as might arise any moment on this boat trip, people didn't want to have to help complete strangers on to the lifeboat. Their efforts were sure to be reserved for their nearest and dearest. In which case, she thought sourly, Jemima and Dave would be all right, but all the others would be on their own.

The boat ploughed on through larger and scarier waves. Sean approached Maisie Sue.

'All on your own today? Wouldn't you care to join some of the others? There are some interesting conversations going on.'

Yeah, thought Maisie Sue, about what to do if the boat sinks.

She gave herself a mental shake. It wasn't like her to be so negative: what had got into her? She had been brought up to make the most of every situation, even the least promising. Had she been spending too much time with Amaryllis? Or Jock McLean? Or had she lived in Pitkirtly too long? Maybe she should indeed return to the States for an infusion of fresh optimism, as ubiquitous over there as orange juice.

'I guess I'll sit here for a while,' she said to Sean. 'And maybe mingle a little on the way back.'

'Fine,' he said in a tone that suggested the opposite. To her annoyance, he sat down next to her and started talking. What didn't he understand about her wanting to be on her own?

Now, just stop it, Maisie Sue, said her inner self-critic. This man's making a genuine effort to be nice. Give him a chance, will you?

An evil thought crossed her mind. Sean Fraser himself wasn't a bad-looking man. In fact, now that she looked at him properly, he might well be a better catch than most of the others on the boat today. He couldn't be much younger than she was, maybe ten years at the most.  He was with his sisters, so he probably wasn't married. At the moment. Ha! Said her inner optimist, unceremoniously pushing the critic out of the way. Just go for it, Maisie Sue.

She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

He paused in his exposition on the benefits of joining the Happiness Club and stared at her.

'So - will you be taking part in all the events yourself, Mr Fraser?' she said sweetly.

'Um - that's what I usually do,' he said. 'We can only provide a full programme, of course, once we get more people signed up. This and the speed-dating event - they're just tasters.'

'So what sort of thing do you have in mind? For future events?' said Maisie Sue. 'A barn dance is always good for breaking the ice.'

'A barn dance. Hmm. I must admit we hadn't thought of that.'

'Or do you Brits go more for tea-dances?' she asked. 'I can do either. I was once the Waltz Queen of Red River County. That was some while ago, of course.'

'Great,' muttered Sean, sliding along the bench and rising to his feet in one movement. 'We'll certainly consider your ideas. But would you like a membership form?'

'OK, I guess so,' she said, and accepted a bundle of A4 sheets. There seemed to be a lot of boxes to complete.

'It's a computerised matching form too,' he said. 'It maximises your chances of meeting that special someone. It helps us to make sure people are mixing with each other in the right way too. So we can give clients a better service. There's a space to add in ideas for extra events - you could put your barn dance and tea dance in there if you want.'

The boat rocked suddenly and he lurched forward, almost colliding with Amaryllis in the gangway.

'Now, Ms Peebles,' he said to her. 'Haven't I told you already about the danger of wandering about on the top deck?'

He sounded almost avuncular. Amaryllis wouldn't like that.  And certainly the look she gave him as he disappeared down the steps to the lower deck was not at all pleasant. If Maisie Sue had been prone to exaggeration she might even have called it murderous.

Amaryllis slid on to the bench.

'You're not going to join his club, are you?' she said.

'I was kind of planning on it,' said Maisie Sue. 'It seems like the only way I'm going to meet anyone in the timescale I need.'

'But look at the people you're going to meet here!' said Amaryllis, waving her hand around to include Jemima and Dave, a creepy-looking man in a camouflage jacket with binoculars, and Chief Inspector Smith, whom Maisie Sue hadn't noticed before but who was sitting a couple of rows behind her reading a book. 'I don't know why he's bothered to come either,' she added, lowering her voice only slightly. 'He's been reading his book all the time.'

'Well, you never know,' said Maisie Sue. The optimist inside was working really hard. 'Sometimes people can be quite surprising.'

'I don't think so,' said Amaryllis scornfully. 'Now, I've been thinking about identity theft.'

'Sssh,' said Maisie Sue, glancing over her shoulder at Chief Inspector Smith.

'Don't worry about him - he isn't taking any notice. The classic way of doing it is to take over a dead person's identity. But nowadays with computers and so on, it's become more feasible to take on the identity of a living person.'

'Now, you just stop right there, Amaryllis Peebles!' said Maisie Sue. 'Both of these options seem to me to be downright illegal and quite immoral too. I don't know what sort of person you think I am! I'm not the one who spent a lifetime deceiving people in intelligence work, and pretending to be someone else, and I've never deceived my own partner by running off to Gdansk with a blonde floozy either.'

'No, I suppose not,' said Amaryllis. 'Well, if you do decide that's the only way forward, just say the word and I'll set it all going for you. I've been trying to work out the best way of hacking the Immigration Service computer systems in case we decide to go that route. So don't worry, there's always that option.'

'That also sounds illegal to me,' said Maisie Sue. 'It would be in the States anyway.'

'Sometimes you have to break eggs to make an omelette,' said Amaryllis, cryptically.

'You always have to break eggs to make an omelette,' said Chief Inspector Smith, suddenly appearing behind them. 'Are you planning something dodgy again?'

'Are you on duty here or what?' said Amaryllis indignantly. 'We were just sharing cookery tips, weren't we, Maisie Sue? And by the way, Mr Smith, did you know Maisie Sue makes really good pancakes? If you ever happen to be in her house, say at breakfast time, make sure you ask her to make you some.'

She slid along the bench and headed for the steps. Mr Smith and Maisie Sue looked at each other. She noticed he had very bright, alert-looking eyes of an indeterminate blue-grey-green colour. Now Mr Smith must be around the same age as she was, and she guessed he was single, now that he had appeared at two singles events. She fluttered her eyelashes very slightly and stared up into his face as he spoke.  Nobody could possibly object to the future wife of a detective inspector getting a UK visa.

Operating her eyelashes took such concentration that she wasn't sure what he was saying, but that could come later. First catch your fish…

Chapter 11 Queasy on Inchcolm

Amaryllis had been more unnerved than she would have thought possible by Mr Smith's sudden move. There were only two explanations she could think of for him to loom over her and Maisie Sue like that. One was that he had been tipped off by the immigration authorities about Maisie Sue's impending visa problem, and was keeping her under not very subtle surveillance. The other, and much scarier possibility was that he fancied either her or Maisie Sue and had deliberately come along to the Happiness Club to get close to one of them.

Her first reaction was to hope fervently it was Maisie Sue and not her.

Her second reaction was to resolve to thwart him in whichever of these aims he was currently pursuing.

Downstairs in the cabin, Jock McLean sat and stared at the water outside. He seemed even more miserable than usual. Amaryllis sat down next to him.

'Happiness! Hmph!' he said.

'I agree,' said Amaryllis. 'It's completely over-rated.'

'It's a rough day,' he said, watching the waves. 'I hope we won't sink - that'd be the last straw.'

They looked out together for a while. There was no sign of their destination. Suddenly he stood up and said, 'Sorry, lass, I've got to go now. Can I get past?'

He rushed off. He had looked a bit grey in the face, and Amaryllis wondered if he was all right. It wasn't like Jock to show any sign of human weakness.

Surveying her fellow-passengers, she noticed some of the other inhabitants of the cabin weren't looking too good either. One woman had her eyes shut, and moaned softly every time the boat swayed, which was frequently. A middle-aged man clung to the back of the row of seats in front and had a glazed expression on his face.

The people on the top deck had been all right, as far as she could tell. Had the cabin-dwellers been drinking? Or was something else wrong. Diesel fumes from the engine? What else could it be? She sniffed the air.

Sean appeared, opening a little door that seemed to lead behind the bar.

'Have these people been drinking?' Amaryllis asked him, thinking as she did so how much like a dowager duchess she must sound.

He shrugged his shoulders. 'Maybe half a pint or so.'

'A few of them don't seem very well,' she said. 'Do you think it might be the diesel fumes?'

'There's no knowing with boats,' he said. 'Some people are just very susceptible to sea-sickness.'

'That's ridiculous,' she said. 'It's the middle of July and we aren't even out at sea. And why should all the people in the cabin feel ill and nobody on the top deck?'

'Look,' he hissed. 'Keep your voice down - you'll get the rest of them started. If there's one thing I know about, it's mob psychology. Do you want to start a panic in here?'

'No, of course not,' she snapped. 'Do you want people poisoned by fumes? Why don't you get them all up on deck in the air just to make sure?'

'We're nearly there anyway,' said Sean. 'They'll get more air than they know what to do with on the island, or so I've heard tell.'

He was right about that anyway, Amaryllis reflected as they went ashore.

For some reason she wished Christopher were here. She had texted him earlier in the day to let him know where she was going – not that he had been showing much interest in her movements lately, and she despised texting as a form of communication, but she wanted to show she wasn’t just sitting waiting for him to get in touch. He wouldn't be all that impressed by the scale of the ruins or the hype that now surrounded the island, but she could just picture his amusement about what Sean had to say. It was rather light on history but heavy on romance.

'Of course everyone knows about the background to the ruins on this island,' he said, raising his voice to be heard above the chatter of his own and other tour groups, and the noise of the omnipresent sea-birds. 'Something you might not know, though, is that it's possible to get married here, so as you have a wander round, just see if you can choose the perfect spot for a wedding, and then have a look at your companions and choose the perfect person to be with on that very special day!'

'You've got half an hour,' he added. 'Make sure you're back in time or you may find you spend longer here than you want.'

'Two minutes is longer than I want,' grumbled Jock at Amaryllis's side. She smiled at him with mock sweetness.

'Don't you want to go and find the perfect place for our wedding, then, Jock?'

'That's the spirit!' said one of Sean's sisters, over-hearing. Was it Dilly or Dee? Amaryllis had trouble with their voices, which were very similar. She hadn't seen either of them on the boat. Maybe they too had been incapacitated.

They all wandered away from the boat, forming smaller groups as they went. Jock and Amaryllis fell in with Jemima and Dave.

'I don't think I'd want to get married here,' said Jemima. 'It's a bit too bracing. And those birds are too loud.'

'I expect Sean would scare them away for you on the big day,' said Amaryllis.

Jemima gave her a look. 'I wouldn't let that man near any big day of mine.'

'Hold on a minute,' said Jock, who had been rummaging in his pockets. 'I think I've left my pipe on the boat.'

'You don't need it just now, do you?' said Jemima disapprovingly.

'Wait there for me. I'll just be a minute.'

Jock left the group and hurried back towards the boat. They watched as he clambered aboard.

'It's a bit disrespectful to smoke here anyway,' said Jemima. 'What do you think, Dave?'

'Oh, yes, a bit,' he said with a grin. 'But you know Jock.'

They all knew Jock.

As they watched, he emerged from the cabin and waved something at them triumphantly. He waited until he was back on the jetty to get out some matches and light the pipe. Walking away from the boat, he tossed the match casually over his shoulder.

First there was a whoosh, then a boom, then flames were shooting out of the boat, and Jock was nowhere to be seen.

Amaryllis took to her heels at once and ran towards the jetty as the others watched, helpless.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she was saying in time with her footsteps, and she wasn't referring to Jock McLean but to herself. Why hadn't she guessed the cabin was filling up with gas? The signs had all been there. If anything happens to Jock, she told herself, Christopher will never forgive me. I'll never forgive myself. Nobody will ever forgive me.

The flames had turned to plumes of black smoke curling up into the sky by the time she got there. It looked as if the jetty itself was more or less undamaged, but where was Jock? Amaryllis had been involved quite closely with explosions during her security services career, and it was unusual for someone to be completely vapourised.  Certainly the force of this fairly minor blast, though destructive and frightening, wouldn’t have been enough to do that.

She heard a groan from under the jetty. When she peered over the edge, Jock McLean’s face stared up at her.

‘What am I doing down here?’ he asked plaintively.

‘I was just going to ask you that,’ she said. Well, he was still alive anyway, even if a bit confused. She had a closer look. He was lying half on rocks, half on sand, under the jetty. ‘Can you move your legs?’

‘Yes, I think so – is that a good sign? What happened?’

‘Oh, nothing much. You’ve blown up the boat, that’s all. Stay where you are and I’ll come down.’

She jumped lightly on to the sand and hurried over to Jock. One of his legs was twisted at an odd angle, presumably because it had hit the rocks as he had fallen or jumped down. He didn’t seem to want to stand up, either, which wasn’t like him. She wondered if he felt dizzy. There was smoke all over the place, which wouldn’t do either of them any good if they hung around here. She glanced around. There were spectators by now, unfortunately. The rest of the Happiness Club group had drifted back down to the shore to see what had happened. Sean Fraser was standing at the point where the jetty met the path that led to the abbey, staring in disbelief at the remains of the boat which had brought them to the island. His sisters stood just behind him, a step or so back like the wives of some unreconstructed sheikh.

‘Better get a bit of wood or something and move him,’ said Dave, who had come up behind Amaryllis without making a sound. ‘He won’t want to lie around here.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ said Jock, coughing as a cloud of smoke enveloped them.

Dave went off for a few moments and came back with some planks he had unceremoniously ripped off the jetty, and a length of wire he had picked up on the beach. Together he and Amaryllis fashioned a kind of stretcher and somehow rolled Jock on to it. Inspector Smith appeared as they were about to lift it, moved Amaryllis bodily out of the way and took over as a stretcher-bearer with Dave. They carried Jock up to the main path, where Penelope Johnstone and Jemima had cleared a space among the spectators, and set him down there while they discussed what to do.

‘I’ve called the emergency services,’ said Inspector Smith. ‘They won’t take long to get here… Hey!’ he shouted at some of the onlookers. ‘Don’t get too near the boat. It’s dangerous. Stay well back.’

As they seemed to be taking no notice, he went back to the jetty himself to take control of things. Amaryllis had to admit that he was quite a useful man to have around in an emergency, although she knew she could have helped Dave carry the stretcher herself if she had had to.

‘Did something catch fire?’ said Jock woozily. ‘Have I been asleep long?’

All this woozy haziness wasn’t like Jock. He must have hit his head as well as injuring his leg. Amaryllis hoped he didn’t have some sort of blast injury too, but maybe he had fallen off the jetty just before the boat went up. She wished the emergency services would hurry up, although realistically she knew they couldn’t be there instantly.

Was Jock warm enough? She glanced round to see if anyone looked as if they might be able to lend him a spare coat or something. Dave and Jemima had been well wrapped up today in waterproofs and Penelope was wearing her usual camel-coloured body warmer. Amaryllis commandeered all these and wrapped them round a reluctant Jock. She considered requisitioning Jemima’s woolly hat but decided against it on the grounds that it might be dangerous if Jock had some sort of head injury. That took up a few minutes. Once Inspector Smith had shooed the onlookers back up the path a bit, he had a word with Sean, who then took the Happiness Club group further up towards the abbey, presumably to make the most of the time by viewing all the romantic wedding spots. Maisie Sue, who had been last to appear at the scene, gave them anxious glances over her shoulder as she left. Zak Johnstone seemed transfixed by the scene: he stood there, impervious to anyone's attempts to move him on. Amaryllis heard him breathe, 'Awesome-sauce.'

‘I wonder how we’ll get home,’ said Jemima.

‘We’ll maybe be marooned here for the night,’ said Dave. He grinned. ‘Romantic or what?’

‘Definitely what,’ said Amaryllis firmly. She refused to picture Dave and Jemima snuggled up together in a niche in the rocks. ‘They’ll send a spare boat for us.’

Jock groaned. ‘Never going on a boat again…’

‘You’ll probably have to be airlifted out,’ Amaryllis told him, ‘so I’d stop complaining about boats if I were you.’