THIRTEEN

Back at Kilveen Castle, Harry met Dangerfield in reception, looking far from happy. He was cross-questioning Bridget about something — or rather someone.

'Is that all he said?'

'I'm afraid so, Mr Dangerfield. Back as soon as possible. Those were his words.'

'But we're— Oh, Harry.' Now, just like Barry's, Harry's nickname had deserted him. 'Thank God you haven't run out on us.'

'I walked into the village. Magister passed me in his hire car on my way back. Jabber was with him.'

'Jabber too? This is bloody ridiculous. I told everyone yesterday we'd start at eleven. Well, I'm not waiting on that pair. They'll just have to catch up with us at the pub if they're not back by the time we leave. Can you tell them where we'll be, Bridget? The Lairhillock Inn.'

'Certainly, Mr Dangerfield.'

—«»—«»—«»—

Harry stepped back outside with Dangerfield, whom he judged to be in need of a calming breath of fresh air. Wiseman's unexplained jaunt with Lloyd had clearly stretched his patience. He tried to raise Lloyd on his mobile, but got no answer. And he had no number to try for Wiseman.

'I'm beginning to wonder if organizing this reunion was a good idea,' he complained as he snapped his phone shut. 'Nothing seems to be going the way I'd planned.'

'Perhaps Magister just wanted to show Jabber some of the sights he missed yesterday.'

'You'd think he might at least have consulted me in that case.'

'That would have been rather out of character, wouldn't it?'

'You can say that again.'

'I went to the post office to try and buy a camera,' Harry remarked in an effort to brighten Dangerfield's mood. 'Thought we ought to take a few commemorative photographs.'

'Before there's no-one left to photograph, you mean?'

'I'm sure it's—'

'No, no. It's a good idea. I should have thought of it myself. Get one?'

'No such luck.'

'Never mind. We'll stop in Banchory. Should be able to buy a camera there. Smith's will be open.'

'Great. Oh, and I, er, bumped into Stronach.'

'Stronach? You're having me on. He must be older than Methuselah.'

'Looked well on it.'

'You should have asked him to join us.'

'I did.'

'And is he going to?'

'No. But then he always was a miserable so-and-so.'

Dangerfield sighed. 'We don't seem to be too popular, do we, Harry?' Then he summoned a smile. 'Well, we'll just have to put a brave face on it.'

—«»—«»—«»—

Dangerfield's plan for the day comprised a visit to another well-preserved old castle, Crathes, near Banchory, a leisurely lunch at a country inn, followed by tea back at Kilveen. In the event, he delayed their departure by more than half an hour in the hope that Wiseman and Lloyd would return. But they did not. The subsequent stop in Banchory to buy a camera ate further into their schedule and a decision was taken to proceed straight to the Lairhillock Inn, several of the party freely admitting to having had their fill of castles.

—«»—«»—«»—

Much of the conversation over lunch naturally concerned the absence of Wiseman and Lloyd. Erica, who had joined them today, while Dr Starkie rested up at Kilveen — 'He's not as fit as he pretends,' she explained — wondered if their sudden departure, destination unknown, might be connected with Lloyd's strange turn on the castle roof the evening before. He had, after all, been talking to Wiseman at the time.

'And to me, my dear,' said Tancred. 'But, as you see, I was not invited along. I suppose it's possible Magister suggested a drive to Jabber in an effort to jolly him out of his fit of the blues.'

'That would explain why he left you out of it, Tapper,' laughed Judd, who was putting away the Lairhillock's beer at an impressive rate. 'Probably reckoned a succession of snide cracks by you wasn't what Jabber needed.'

'This weekend's been a positive revelation to me, Judder,' Tancred responded. 'I'd quite forgotten how side-splittingly funny you could be.'

Harry attempted to head off an exchange of insults between the two by describing his encounter with Stronach. Astonishment that the gruff old gardener was still alive and well was the general reaction. But Erica took a more probing and disturbingly perceptive line.

'Did you think of asking him about how easy it was to get onto the roof back then, Harry?'

'Yes. As a matter of fact… I did.'

'And?'

'He said the Urquhart family furniture was stored on the upper floors. That's why they were strictly off limits to the likes of us.'

'No exceptions?'

'None.'

'He was positive about that?'

'Yes. He was.'

Harry had shied away instinctively from admitting just how ambiguous an answer Stronach had given. But he instantly regretted misrepresenting the old man, not least because the expression on Erica's face suggested she did not quite believe him. Dissembling never had been his forte.

—«»—«»—«»—

Dangerfield tried Lloyd's mobile several times during lunch without success. It was not even ringing now, a circumstance which bred a number of wild theories about where he and Wiseman could be that was blocking the signal. They were evidently not en route to the Lairhillock Inn. A phone call to the hotel confirmed nothing had been seen or heard of them.

—«»—«»—«»—

This was still the case when they returned to Kilveen in mid-afternoon. Dangerfield's exasperation had run its course by then. He suggested it was now or never where group photographs were concerned, so Matthews was drummed into service as cameraman, Dr Starkie was lured down from his room and they all assembled in grinning formation on the castle's front lawn. Gregson, it transpired, had brought his own camera, which he had been too diffident to mention. That too was put to use. It was agreed more photographs could be taken later when Wiseman and Lloyd condescended to rejoin them — assuming they did so before nightfall.

—«»—«»—«»—

Sarcasm about the pair's mystery jaunt camouflaged an underlying anxiety. Harry felt sure everyone was thinking what he was thinking. It began like this with Askew. Would it end the same way? There was more going on over this weekend at Kilveen — far more — than the simple, light-hearted reunion Dangerfield had proposed. But Harry for one had not the remotest idea what it was.

—«»—«»—«»—

The photographic session over, the party dispersed, some to their rooms, others to tea in the lounge. Harry took himself off for a walk around the grounds, transformed from the wilderness Stronach had presided over into artfully landscaped lawns, hedges, shrubberies and rockeries, with a winding path beyond tracing a circular route through the surrounding woodland, which Harry followed for a quarter of an hour or so.

Returning via the extensive kitchen gardens, he heard the clink of mallet on ball from the croquet lawn as he was climbing the steps leading to it. At the top, he saw, to his surprise, Dr Starkie lining up a shot — and looking fit enough while he was about it — with Erica Rawson watching from the sidelines, leaning on her mallet. A less likely pair of croquet players he would have been hard pressed to imagine.

Erica saw him a second before Starkie, who was stooped in concentration over the ball, talking as he squinted towards the targeted hoop. 'We should beware of connecting events simply because they coincide,' he said. 'It's a classic—'

'Harry!' Erica shouted, cutting the doctor short.

'Barnett,' said Starkie in muted surprise, unravelling himself stiffly from his stoop.

'Hi,' said Harry. 'Who's winning?'

'No clear leader so far.'

'He is,' said Erica, with a rueful smile. 'It's just that one of his tactics is not to admit it.'

'Aye, well, I have to try everything to compensate for the age gap.' Starkie ventured a rare smile of his own.

'I should have thought this was one sport where age wasn't much of a factor,' said Harry.

'It's always a factor,' Starkie responded. 'Surely you've—'

'Erica!' The voice slicing through their conversation was Dangerfield's. They looked up to see him hurrying along the flagstoned path from the castle towards them, his face clouded with concern.

'What's the matter?' Erica called.

'Is there any chance you could drive me into Aberdeen in your car? I honestly don't feel up to taking the minibus.' He arrived breathlessly at the edge of the lawn. 'It's… an emergency.'

'What's happened?' asked Harry.

'What? Oh, Harry. I didn't… see you there.' Dangerfield wiped some sweat from his brow. 'Sorry. I ought to… It's… bad news. There's been an accident. Magister's in Aberdeen Royal Infirmary. They've just phoned. I, er, think I ought to go and see him. The thing is, er…'

'What about Jabber?'

Dangerfield did not answer. His mouth shaped words he seemed unable to speak. His gaze met Harry's grimly across the lawn. Then, slowly and decisively, he shook his head.