Hamish MacBeth 15 (1999) - Death of an Addict by M.C. Beaton

Author:M.C. Beaton
Format: epub, mobi

SIX

Twas for the good of my country that I should, be

abroad—Anything for the good of one’s country.

—George Farquhar.

♦

Hamish sat on a British Airways flight to Amsterdam and wished he could thaw the atmosphere between himself and Olivia.

They had shared the hotel bed the night before, each lying chastely as far away from the other as possible. But somehow during the night he had, in his sleep, put an arm around her and gathered her close and Olivia had awoken first to find her head pillowed on his chest and herself held fast in his embrace.

She had woken him, demanded to know what the hell he was about, taking advantage of the situation. In vain he had protested that it must have happened in his sleep.

They had been tailed by the man Hamish had dubbed the Undertaker to Inverness Airport but as far as he knew, they were no longer being followed. Of course, the Undertaker could have found out they were on the plane and a tail could pick them up in Amsterdam.

So here he was bound for his first foreign trip with a pretty woman who was just about as much company as Chief Inspector Blair would have been.

Hamish thought of the now silly dreams he had nourished while falling asleep beside her, how they would walk along the canals, see the museums, and just perhaps, just perhaps, something might happen between them.

The plane began its descent to Schiphol Airport. “Where are we staying?” asked Hamish, breaking the heavy silence.

“The Hilton.”

More silence. Hamish sighed. Come into the twentieth century, he chided himself. If she were a man and your senior officer, you would be quiet and respectful. She must be used to men coming on to her.

Hamish nonetheless could not help feeling excited as the taxi bore them the eighteen kilometres into Amsterdam. He was abroad. If only he had a camera. So that when this was all over, he could show the folks in Lochdubh that he, Hamish Macbeth, had actually been abroad. Of course, he could probably buy one of those disposable ones. He could see Anne Franks house, take a trip by boat along the canals, buy some souvenirs. He must buy a present for Angela.

They arrived at the Hilton, which overlooked the Amstel. He was relieved to see their room had twin beds.

“Did you notice if we were followed from the airport?” asked Olivia briskly.

“No, ma’am. But they might send someone over.”

Hamish unpacked his suitcase and then looked hopefully out of the window. There were lights glittering along the canal.

“Would you care to go for a walk before dinner?” he asked.

“No, we will wait. We are to be contacted.”

Hamish sighed, picked up a paperback and slumped down in an armchair by the window.

He would have liked a cup of coffee, but Olivia was exuding such a terrifying air of chilly authority that somehow he did not dare, and he resented her at the same time. Damn all women. Why couldn’t he forget she was a woman?

The phone rang.

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