It didn’t take long for Amaryllis to feel claustrophobic again. She just wasn’t used to sharing her living space.
After extracting a promise from the Tibetans that they wouldn’t encourage Jock McLean in any madcap schemes that would land them all in custody, she slipped away from the flat. She decided to be kind to Christopher and extract him from his imprisonment with Big Dave and Jemima, then she planned to track down the man with the mud-coloured eyes and interrogate him. Not in a bad way, as she might once have done during her professional career, but subtly and gently, so that he wouldn’t know he’d been interrogated at all.
She wasn’t surprised when Christopher started off by being difficult. It was as if he was programmed that way.
‘We’ll never find him,’ he said when she told him the idea as they stood in the porch of his house listening to the rain dripping through the hole in the guttering that he had been meaning to get fixed since about 1983.
‘We can start in the Queen of Scots,’ suggested Amaryllis. ‘You said Maisie Sue told him that’s where we’d be.’
‘No, she didn’t. She said that’s what she was about to tell him when he disappeared.’
‘Maybe he’s gone there anyway. Maybe she met him again and told him. Maybe he just wants to get some general background about the area. That’s what I would do.’
‘He probably doesn’t have your training and experience,’ Christopher muttered darkly.
‘Well, let’s go and have a look anyway. We can get a quick drink while we’re there.’
‘Is Jock still with the Tibetans?’
‘Yes, I left him in charge. Or at least, I left one of the kids in charge without telling Jock. I don’t want him persuading them to do anything silly.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Christopher, and fetched his jacket. The kitchen door, which led off the hall and which was usually open, was closed.
‘Are Jemima and Dave in there?’ said Amaryllis as they walked down the front path.
‘And the police,’ said Christopher.
‘I wish they’d leave her alone. It just gets her flustered.’
‘I’m not so sure. I think it may get them flustered. She’s been doing family history research on my computer. She talks the talk, all right.’
‘Nice to see her so wrapped up in something,’ said Amaryllis.
‘What if this has something to do with her and her cousins though?’ said Christopher. ‘She could be in danger. We were just speaking about that when the police came round.’
‘Dave’ll look after her.’
‘But he isn’t getting any younger... I wondered whether to say something to the police...’
‘They won’t give her protection on the basis of a vague hunch,’ said Amaryllis. ‘We’d better keep an eye on her between us. It shouldn’t be too difficult.’
Their steps turned effortlessly down the road that led to the Queen of Scots, favourite haunt of their little group of friends. It was where they had first met, in fact. Christopher glanced sideways at Amaryllis and wondered if she remembered that day. She showed no sign of nostalgia, however. Her mind seemed as usual to be pursuing some other agenda.
‘The police must have thought of all that,’ she continued. ‘They’ll have somebody at work tracing living relatives already.’
‘But they don’t have the family knowledge that Jemima has.’
She pondered this.
‘They know about her scrapbook.’
‘Yes, I think they took a photo-copy of the family Bible page,’ said Christopher. ‘But she’ll have lots more in her head. People do usually. Family stuff. Auntie Flora’s little white terrier; Uncle Archie always bringing Dinky cars when he came to see you. Nobody else knows them unless you write them down. ‘
‘Hardly worth writing down,’ reflected Amaryllis.
‘Well, you never know,’ said Christopher, smiling. ‘One person’s odd reminiscence could be someone else's vital clue.’
They arrived at the Queen of Scots just as he said that. A couple of smokers standing outside in the rain gave him an odd look.
‘Last one to the bar buys the drinks,’ he said, holding the door open for Amaryllis to make sure she was first in.
She laughed. ‘Couldn’t you just have offered to buy me a drink?’
‘You might have thought I was trying to pick you up, and taken offence,’ he said solemnly.
Amaryllis glanced quickly round the bar as they went in. It was a habit of hers anyway, sizing up potential threats. On this occasion she had an excuse for it; but she didn’t see anyone with mud-coloured eyes.
‘Somebody was asking after you,’ said the barmaid to Christopher as she poured his pint of Old Pictish Brew.
‘Let me guess – a man dressed in brown, with mud-coloured eyes,’ said Christopher.
‘How did you know that?’ said the barmaid.
‘Look out – you’re spilling it,’ said Amaryllis. She picked up her gin and tonic, and headed over to their usual table. Christopher joined her with his pint.
‘Is that old Pictish Brew any good?’ she asked idly.
He took a slurp. ‘Terrible. But the name appeals to me.’ He took a great big gulp.
‘So he’s been here already,’ said Amaryllis. ‘I wonder where he went.’
‘The barmaid didn’t give him my address,’ he told her. ‘So we don’t need to worry about him surprising Big Dave and Jemima.’
‘Someone might give him it, though,’ said Amaryllis, trying to be delicate with her gin and tonic. They might have to go the rounds of other pubs – not that there were very many in the town.
‘I’ll phone and warn them.’
Christopher fished out his mobile and called the house number.
‘No reply.’
‘They probably don’t want to pick up your home phone,’ said Amaryllis. ‘People can be funny like that... Does either of them have a mobile?’
‘Not sure,’ said Christopher. ‘I suppose I’d better head back up there and warn them they might get a visitor.’
‘Drink your drink, for goodness’ sake,’ said Amaryllis. ‘Stop worrying.’
She sat back in her chair.
Christopher fidgeted.
The door opened and Maisie Sue swept in, a swirl of rain around her.
Christopher jumped to his feet. Unfortunately this movement attracted her attention.
‘Christopher! I’ve been looking for you.’
‘Oh, God,’ said Christopher. ‘I mean, oh good. We’ve been looking for the man with the mud-coloured eyes.’
Maisie Sue came over to their table. She gave Amaryllis the ghost of a half-smile.
‘But that’s why I’ve come to find you! I just saw him again!’
‘Where?’
‘He was on his way up the High Street. Looking for another of your English pubs.’
‘Scottish,’ said Christopher.
‘Oh, I'm sorry, Christopher! I know how picky you folks are about that kind of thing. He told me he’d looked for you in here, and the barmaid told him you hadn’t been in.’
‘I suppose we’d better go and find him, then,’ said Amaryllis. She took another prim sip of her gin and tonic. ‘Drink up, Christopher.’
‘You can’t rush Old Pictish Brew,’ said Christopher reproachfully.
‘Well, if you’re not going anywhere, I guess I’ll bring my drink over here too,’ said Maisie Sue. Christopher gulped his Old Pictish Brew down so quickly that Amaryllis didn’t think it could have touched the sides. He glared at her as she took another sip of her drink.
‘Hurry up,’ he hissed as Maisie Sue retrieved her drink from the bar. ‘She’s coming over. We won’t be able to get away.’
‘Get away?’ said Maisie Sue sweetly. ‘Are you going somewhere?’
‘Christopher’s in a hurry to find the man with the mud-coloured eyes,’ said Amaryllis. ‘I wonder if you can tell us anything more about him, Maisie Sue?’
‘I guess I can try,’ said Maisie Sue, cradling a lager and Irn Bru, a drink she had only recently been introduced to by Jock McLean in a mischievous moment. She thought for a moment, giving them a welcome respite from the sound of her voice, and then said, ‘I guess he might have had black shoes. Very highly polished.’
‘Wow, that really is useful,’ said Amaryllis. She saw Maisie Sue watching her uncertainly for signs that she was being sarcastic. I must stop winding people up, she told herself. But maybe not just yet.
‘So he had brown hair, brown eyes – ‘
‘Mud-coloured,’ said Maisie Sue.
‘Mud-coloured eyes,’ continued Christopher, ‘brown jacket... Was he wearing glasses? Did he have facial hair? How tall was he? Was he overweight?’
‘My, my Christopher,’ said Maisie Sue, ‘you’ve been learning interrogation techniques from somewhere, I can see.’
She gave Amaryllis a sideways glance.
‘Just answer the questions,’ said Amaryllis, trying to sound like a policeman from a television show.
‘No facial hair,’ said Maisie Sue. ‘About medium size. No glasses... Am I free to go now?’
For the first time ever, she took her drink and moved to another table without Christopher and Amaryllis having to make an excuse to get away from her.
‘I think you offended her,’ said Christopher with glee.
Amaryllis sipped at her drink again, and suddenly jumped to her feet and ran for the exit.
‘Last one to find the mud-coloured man’s a sissy,’ she called back at him. She gave Maisie Sue a big grin. She suddenly felt more light-hearted than she had for a while. Maybe she’d been suffering from jet lag. Or – it occurred to her in a flash that illuminated everything with painful brightness – maybe she and Christopher hadn’t spent enough time together, just the two of them. She pushed that idea right down into the deepest recesses of her brain. She had a feeling that the more she thought about it, the more hideous snags she would find in it.