Mortal Causes

'Slainte.’

The man nodded, saying nothing, but the wife smiled. 'Tell me,' she said, 'are there many Gaelic speakers left in Scotland?’

Her husband hissed at her, but Rebus was happy to answer. 'Not many,' he conceded.

'Are you from Edinburgh?’

Head-in-burrow, it sounded like.

'Pretty much.’

She noticed that Rebus's glass was now all melting ice. 'Will you join us?’

The husband hissed again, something about her not bothering people who only wanted a quiet drink.

Rebus looked at his watch. He was calculating whether he could afford to buy a round back. 'Thank you, yes, I'll have a Talisker.’

'And what is that?’

'Malt whisky, it comes from Skye. There are some Gaelic speakers over there.’

The wife started humming the first few notes of the Skye Boat Song, all about a French Prince who dressed in drag. Her husband smiled to cover his embarrassment. It couldn't be easy, travelling with a madwoman.

'Maybe you can tell me something,' said Rebus. 'Why is a wet bar called a wet bar?’

'Could be because the beer's draught,' the husband offered grudgingly, 'not just bottled.’

The wife had perched her shiny handbag on the bar and now opened it, taking out a compact so she could check her face.

'You're not the mystery man, are you?’ she asked.

Rebus put down his glass. 'Sorry?’

'Ellie!' her husband warned.

'Only,' she said, putting away her compact, 'Clyde had a message to meet someone in the bar, and you're the only person here. They didn't leave a name or anything.’

'A misunderstanding, that's all,' said Clyde. 'They got the.wrong room.’

But he looked at Rebus anyway. Rebus obliged with a nod.

'Mysterious, certainly.’

The fresh glass was put before Rebus, and the barman decided he merited another bowl of nuts too.

'Slainte,' said Rebus.

'Slainte,' said husband and wife.

'Am I late?’ said Patience Aitken, ru

'Patience,' Rebus said, "I'd like to introduce you to…’

'Clyde Moncur,' said the man, visibly relaxing. Rebus obviously posed no threat. 'This is my wife Eleanor.’

Rebus smiled. 'Dr Patience Aitken, and I'm John.’

Patience looked at him. He seldom used 'Dr' when introducing her, and why had he left out his own surname? 'Listen,' Rebus was saying, staring right past her, `wouldn't we be more comfortable at a table?’

They took a table for four, the waitress appearing with a little tray of nibbles, not just nuts but green and black olives and chipsticks too. Rebus tucked in. The drinks might be expensive, but you had to say the food was cheap.

'You're on holiday?’ Rebus said, opening the conversation.

'That's right,' said Eleanor Moncur. 'We just love Scotland.’

She then went on to list everything they loved about it, from the skirl of the bagpipes to the windswept west coast. Clyde let her run on, taking sips from his drink, occasionally swirling the ice around. He sometimes looked up from the drink to John Rebus.

`Have you ever been to the United States?’ Eleanor asked.

'No, never,' said Rebus.

'I've been a couple of times,' Patience said, surprising him. 'Once to California, and once to New England.’

'In the fall?’

Patience nodded. 'Isn't that just heaven?’

'Do you live in New England?’ Rebus asked.

Eleanor smiled. 'Oh no, we're way over the other side. Washington.’

`Washington?’

'She means the state,' her husband explained, 'not Washington DC.’

'Seattle,' said Eleanor. 'You'd like Washington, it's wild.’

'As in wilderness,' Clyde Moncur added. 'I'll put that on our room, miss.’

Patience had ordered lager and lime, which the waitress had just brought. Rebus watched as Moncur took a room key from his pocket. The waitress checked the room number.

`Clyde's ancestors came from Scotland,' Eleanor was saying. 'Somewhere near Glasgow.’

'Kilmarnock.’

'That's right, Kilmarnock. There were four brothers, one went to Australia, two went to Northern Ireland, and Clyde's great-grandfather sailed from Glasgow to Canada 224 with his wife and children. He worked his way across Canada and settled in Vancouver. It was Clyde's grandfather who came down into the United States. There are still offshoots of the family in Australia and Northern Ireland.’

`Where in Northern Ireland?’ Rebus asked casually.

'Portadown, Londonderry,' she went on, though Rebus had directed the question at her husband.

'Ever visit them?’

'No,' said Clyde Moncur. He was interested in Rebus again. Rebus met the stare squarely.

`The north west's full of Scots,' Mrs Moncur rattled on, 'We have ceilidhs and clan gatherings and Highland Games in the summer.’

Rebus lifted his glass to his lips and seemed to notice it was empty. `I think we need another round,' he said. The drinks arrived with their own scalloped paper coasters, and the waitress took away with her nearly all the money John Rebus had on him. He'd used the anonymous message to get Moncur down here, and Patience to put him off his guard. In the event, Moncur was sharper than Rebus had given him credit for. The man didn't need to say a word, his wife spoke enough for two, and nothing she said could prove remotely useful.

'So you're a doctor?’ she asked Patience now.

`General practice, yes.’

'I admire doctors,' said Eleanor. `They keep Clyde and me alive and ticking.’

And she gave a big grin. Her husband had been watching Patience while she'd been speaking, but as soon as she finished he turned his gaze back to Rebus. Rebus lifted his glass to his lips.

'For some time,' Eleanor Moncur was saying now, 'Clyde's grandaddy was captain of a clipper. His wife gave birth on board while the boat was headed to pick up… what was it, Clyde?’

'Timber,' Clyde said. 'From the Philippines. She was eighteen and he was in his forties. The baby died.’

'And know what?’ said Eleanor. 'They preserved the body in brandy.’

'Embalmed it?’

Patience offered.

Eleanor Moncur nodded. 'And if that boat had been a temperance vessel, they'd've used tar instead of brandy.’

Clyde Moncur spoke to Rebus. 'Now that was hard living. Those are the people who built America. You had to be tough. You might be conscientious, but there wasn't always room for a conscience.’

'A bit like in Ulster,' Rebus offered. 'They transplanted some pretty hard Scots there.’

'Really?’ Moncur finished his drink in silence.

They decided against a third round, Clyde reminding his wife that they had yet to take their pre-prandial walk down to Princes Street Gardens and back. They exchanged handshakes outside, Rebus taking Patience's arm and leading her downhill, as though they were heading into the New Town.

'Where's your car?’ he asked.

'Back on George Street. Where's yours?’

'Same place.’

'Then where are we going?’

He checked over his shoulder, but the Moncurs were out of sight. 'Nowhere,' he said, stopping.

'John,' said Patience, 'next time you need me as a cover, have the courtesy to ask first.’

'Can you lend me a few quid, save me finding a cashpoint?’

She sighed and dug into her bag. 'Twenty enough?’

'Hope so.

'Unless you're thinking of returning to the Playfair bar.’

'I've been up braes that weren't as steep as that place.’

He told her he'd be back late, perhaps very late, and pecked her on the cheek. But she pulled him to her and took her fair share of mouth to mouth.

'By the way,' she said, 'did you talk to the action painter?’

'I told her to get lost. That doesn't mean she will.’

'She better,' said Patience, pecking him a last time on the cheek before walking away. He was unlocking his car when a heavy hand landed on his own. Clyde Moncur was standing next to him.