Chorus of Witches by Paul Buckland

Author:Paul Buckland
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Valancourt Books
Published: 2021-11-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 6

“Colin, this is wonderful! The last person on earth I expected to see up here . . .” Alan Kendrick spoke excitedly, hardly able to contain the intense pleasure he felt at this long-awaited meeting. Entirely forgetting his surroundings and the other people in the bar, he gazed at Colin with almost embarrassing appraisal, absorbing every detail of his appearance with a lively and warm regard. Then, simultaneously, they both started to speak—broke off, and laughed.

“This calls for a drink,” said Alan. “What would you like? Gin and ginger ale? Right. We’ll sit down. We can talk better.”

“Yes, but I’m with somebody . . .” Colin indicated Jock.

Alan looked round and saw a dark-­haired man at one of the tables. He was impressed by the handsome, brooding face—although at the moment it seemed to be rather grimly set. He remembered, then, seeing him at the top of the Steps with Colin. “Oh. He won’t mind if I join you, will he? What does he drink?”

“Whisky,” said Colin, noticing Alan’s momentary look of disappointment at Jock’s presence. They collected the drinks and moved to the table. “Jock, this is Sergeant Kendrick—I mean Alan. I’ve never called you Mister Kendrick before—it seems funny. Jock Macmillan.”

“Hope you don’t mind my barging in?” Alan apologised. “Only I haven’t seen Colin for years.”

“He’s an old friend of the family,” explained Colin.

“Aye, it’s all right,” said Jock solemnly, as they shook hands.

“It’s amazing, seeing you like this.” Alan gave Colin a friendly smile. “I’ve got hundreds of questions to ask—it’s difficult to know where to start. What are you doing now? Are you in Edinburgh for long?”

“No. Only this week.”

“How are your mother and father? Are they with you?”

“No, I’ve been away from home some time—after leaving art school. I’ve been designing for textiles—working in Liverpool . . .”

“That doesn’t surprise me. I remember you used to draw and paint. Very well, too.”

“Yes, you gave me a paint-­box. I’ve still got it.”

“Good Lord, it was ages ago—so was our last meeting—ten years at least. I’ve often thought about you all. What about your sister? Laura. How is she?”

“Much the same,” Colin said dryly. “She’s married, with two children.”

“Oh, is she? But what are you doing up here? Are you on business or something?”

“Do you live in Edinburgh now?” Colin broke in. He was not certain as to the best way of explaining things to Alan, and thought it wiser to avoid the subject.

“Yes,” said Alan, “I’ve got quite a good job. I was living in London for a time. Look—you must come and have dinner one evening. I’d like you to meet Julia.”

“Julia? Is that your—your wife?”

“No, I’m not married or anything. She’s a relation of Father’s. Julia Douglas. A widow. I think you’d like her. It’s a nice house, too. Across the Meadows, behind the Royal Infirmary.”

Was there any significance to that “or anything,” Colin wondered. But it was silly to jump to conclusions; it was a habit he and the others had,

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