Lady Bradbury-Scott gave her a little bow. ‘No offence.’ Then turned back to Roberta. ‘Sergeant Moore...Sandy, was with me all night after the reception ended and the bar was closed, so he couldn’t have had anything to do with Reginald’s unfortunate end. Besides, he wasfartoo tipsy. And he was with melastnight as well, so he can’t have had anything to do with Albert Nairn’s suicide either.’ She held her hands out to Sergeant Moore. ‘We’ve been having an affair, and are in love.’
Moore bit his lip, then rushed over and wrapped her up in his arms, framed by torchlight. ‘Oh, Jocasta...’
She beamed at him. ‘Sandy!’
The pair of them kissed and every bugger in the room applauded, like this was a rom-com instead of a murder inquiry.
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Roberta hauled in a deep breath. ‘YOU’RE ALL A BUNCH OF UTTER BASTARDS!’
Lord Fitzroy-Galbraith stood. ‘Well, I think that concludes our business, ladies and gentlemen. Janey?’
The weird wee redhead curtseyed. ‘Yes, Your Lordship?’
‘Open the curtains, there’s a good girl. And I think we’ll have afternoon tea in the conservatory today, shall we?’
Roberta turned on her heel and stormed from the room, slamming the library doors behind her.
She leaned back against the carved grey stonework that flanked the hotel entrance, and took another swig of Glenfeòrag, straight from the bottle. Burping as its smoky burn spread across her chest, warming Old Faithful from the inside.
From here, on the top step, beneath that stone portico, there was a perfect view – if your idea of a perfect view involved lots and lots of grey and rain and trees. Not the comfiest of seats, bit hard on the old arse, but at least she wasn’t in there hobnobbing with conniving, lying, murdering, conspiratorial bastards.
Nowthatwas something worth drinking to.
So she did.
Should’ve nabbed some crisps when she liberated the bottle, but there weren’t any in the sort-of-locked case it’d been hiding in behind the reception desk. Well, it wasn’t like they needed it to welcome anyone, was it? No bugger was turning up till the bridge got fixed, or the phones came back on...
She pulled out her mobile and checked. Nope: still no bars.
No bars and the battery was almost flat too.
But the generator was out of diesel, which meant no lights, no hot food, no hot water, and no way to recharge her e-cigarette either... Unless she siphoned fuel out of those big posh four-by-fours marooned in the overflowing car park? Or broke into someone’s Jaguar and hijacked their USB charging port? Which wasdefinitelyworth a go.
To celebrate, Roberta sooked in a huge breath of cherry vape and hissed it out through her nose. Closing her eyes to enjoy that nicotine and whisky hit.
A creak and a thunk sounded behind her – the hotel door opening and closing again.
‘Robbie?’Susan settled down on the top step. Close enough to feel the warmth of her skin.
Roberta kept her eyes on the rain-drenched world. ‘Yup.’
‘That lanky constable’s off breaking a window round the back.’ She nudged her. ‘Are you all right?’
Course she wasn’t.
Another swig of Glenfeòrag, eyes front. ‘Did you know?’
‘Did I know what?’
Roberta gestured with the bottle, setting its amber contents sloshing. ‘This. Were you part of it? Every other bugger was.’
‘Robbie!’ Her stern voice. ‘OfcourseI wasn’t. And you should be ashamed of yourself for eventhinkingthat.’
Yeah, well, one more thing that could join the list.
Rain hissed against the gravel, sparked off the loch-sized puddles around Prostate Fountain, growled in the trees.
Off in the middle distance, a fat black crow lifted above the pines, realised it was still pissing down, and sulked back into the forest again. Probably thinking, ‘Bugger this for a game of soldiers.’ It and her both.
