Miss Pink at the Edge of the World by Gwen Moffat

Author:Gwen Moffat [Moffat, Gwen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2018-09-20T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

The sun had not yet reached the glen when Miss Pink approached the broch next morning, but Rita was up and, to the older woman’s surprise, the girl was wearing a shabby anorak and boots and looked more as if she were going climbing than driving to Inverness.

“I’m glad I caught you.” Miss Pink was carefully casual.

Rita stood still and stared at her, scraping her knuckles with her teeth.

“Before you left, I mean,” the other went on. “Shall we take the tent down?”

The girl’s eyes shifted restlessly but stayed on nothing. Miss Pink moved closer.

“Where are you going now?” she asked firmly.

“Up the cliff.” It was almost inaudible.

“What are you going to do there?”

“See what’s keeping them.”

“Keeping whom?”

“Pinch. Stark.”

Miss Pink shot a glance at the rock band now touched by the sun. “Pincher and Stark are on the cliff?” she prompted carefully.

“Yes.”

“Since when?” A pause. “When did they leave for the cliff, Rita?”

“After he started the fire.”

“Yesterday morning?”

“Yeah. They went straight across the moor to the cliff. I just drove around all day. It was a long time ago, wasn’t it? I’m worried about Pinch; I don’t care about Stark. He said they might get stranded on the stack: cut off by the tide, but Pinch can swim, although I s’pose he wouldn’t leave Stark. He can’t. Can’t swim, I mean. Do you know when they could get back?”

Miss Pink was thinking hard but her voice was kind. “We’ll go to the House now, have some breakfast, and then we’ll go up to the top and see how they’re getting on.”

She took the other’s arm and they started along the track. As they were passing Catacol the back door opened and Sadie stood on the step. The crofter girl didn’t greet them but, with no acknowledgement of Miss Pink’s presence, she looked at Rita, whose arm was still held by the older woman, and who walked as if slightly drunk. Miss Pink was puzzled by Sadie’s expression; it wasn’t dislike or fear or resentment. She seemed intensely interested but if any emotion was there, it was too deep to show. They walked through the wood, Miss Pink talking a little: not chattering, just making a noise because silence would have seemed sinister. Rita said nothing but kept walking. It was surprising that she should prove so amenable at this moment but Miss Pink didn’t speculate; she was grateful for small mercies.

A wisp of smoke was rising from a chimney at the back of the House and they found Bridget in the kitchen making coffee.

“Rita could do with some of that,” Miss Pink said meaningly. “Where’s Clive?”

He was in his study making notes of more questions for his solicitor whom he’d not yet managed to reach on the telephone. She told him what Rita had divulged.

“So,” he commented heavily, staring at her over his reading glasses: “That was merely a ploy about the broken piton hammer, to gain them time — and they started the fire to keep us occupied all day and to ensure that Hector didn’t go out to his pots.

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