A Breath on Dying Embers by Denzil Meyrick

Author:Denzil Meyrick
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Birlinn

36

Brian and Ella Scott were sitting at a table with some of the Great Britain’s other passengers. There was an elderly Arab sheik – apparently an oil billionaire – and his beautiful young girlfriend; a striking Frenchwoman and her new wife who together ran an upmarket Cognac house she’d inherited from her mother; an Australian senator who’d had far too much to drink, and a quiet, bookish-looking civil servant from Edinburgh wearing a trouser suit that engulfed her, being several sizes too large. She blinked at the party behind round spectacles, flashing an occasional nervous smile.

‘Aye, it’s a nice day,’ said Scott, remembering Symington’s instruction to get to know as many of the passengers as possible, and pick up any gossip and potential intelligence that he could. He’d been a police officer for a long time, and she was placing much faith in his instinct to spot something wrong, out of place.

‘Nice day, mate? I nearly froze my bloody bollocks off when I was up on deck earlier. In Australia, this is like the fucking winter – if you’ll pardon my language, ladies.’

Chantelle Amion stared at him in disgust. ‘But everything is so dry and dusty in your country. I was in Perth – it almost choked me.’

‘We make a better drop of wine than you do now, you have to admit that.’

‘Monsieur, your wine is cheap and cheerful – not for the connoisseur, I assure you. I’m right, Patti, yes?’ She patted her wife’s hand affectionately.

‘As long as it gets you pished, eh?’ said Scott, earning a kick under the table from Ella, who smiled sweetly at the Frenchwoman.

‘That’s a lovely dress, Chantelle.’

‘A Stella McCartney – I feel it is only right to wear what little your country has to offer in haute couture while I’m here.’

‘Mine is fae Debenhams,’ replied Ella. ‘Best dress I’ve had for a long time. William’s no’ a big spender, are you, darling?’ She had to nudge her husband, who still hadn’t got to grips with his cover identity.

‘Aye, right – och, I’m no’ much for dresses myself. Nane o’ that effeminate stuff where I’m from.’ Scott smiled, ignoring the French couple’s baffled stares.

‘You are a very funny man, Mr Sinclair,’ said Sheik Ahmad. His accent was that of an English private school rather than his homeland. ‘Please, tell me more about your turbine operation. You must understand, your renewable energy holds certain concerns for me, as a man who sells oil for a living. However, I can see which way the wind is blowing, and I am certainly thinking of investing in the future. I hope you’ll forgive my little joke.’

Ella Scott braced herself. She’d been coaching her husband in the short time available about the mechanics and nuances behind wind turbine manufacture and usage with the books, pamphlets and websites Symington had provided. To say she wasn’t sure that her husband had mastered the subject was putting it mildly.

‘Aye, well, it’s no’ as simple as it looks,’ said Scott. ‘You see, things go fine when the wind’s on the go, but when it stops – well, the wheels fall off the bus, like.

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