Death of a Dreamer
“– W.S. Gilbert Priscilla was crossing the reception area when Hamish stopped her. ‘It’s urgent,’ he said.
‘All right. Let’s go into the lounge.’ ‘No, not there. Robin’s interviewing Jock’s wife.’ ‘Who’s he?’ ‘She. A detective.’ ‘Let’s use the office, then. Mr Johnson’s gone out shopping.’ Priscilla selected a key from a whole bunch of them on a chain fastened around her slim waist.
‘You look like the chatelaine of the castle. Do you have to work? Where are your parents?’ ‘They’ve gone to visit the Derwents over in Caithness. I don’t mind.’ She unlocked the door. ‘Help yourself to coffee and tell me what it’s all about.’ Hamish poured himself a mug from the coffee machine in the corner and turned and raised an eyebrow. ‘Not for me,’ said Priscilla.
‘It’s like this,’ said Hamish. ‘We were interviewing Jock’s ex-wife. She says Jock only offers to paint a woman’s portrait as a way of chatting her up.’ ‘He seems harmless enough, Hamish.
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