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“Sit down,” she said. “Five pounds, please.”
Feeling very let down, Josie handed over five pounds. Where were the tarot cards, the crystal ball, and the kabbalistic signs?
“Let me see your hands.”
Josie held out her small, plump hands.
“You’ll live long,” said the fortune-teller, “and have two children.”
“My husband? Who’s my husband?” asked Josie eagerly.
“I ca
“Anything else?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“You’re a fraud,” said Josie angrily.
The Gypsy’s light grey eyes flashed with dislike and then suddenly seemed to look through her. “Bang and flames,” she said.
“What?”
“There’s danger up ahead. Look out for bombs.”
“Glad to know the Taliban are going to pay a visit to this dead-alive dump, this arsehole of the British Isles. It might liven things up,” said Josie furiously. She walked down the steps of the caravan and stood blinking in the sunlight.
What a waste of five pounds, thought Josie crossly. Then she saw that the crowds were begi
“It’s the crowning o’ the Lammas queen.”
Josie followed the crowd. It was very hot. She could feel the sun burning down right through her cap. This far north, she thought, there was no pollution to block any of the sun’s rays.
In the distance she could hear the skirl of the pipes. Using her authority, Josie pushed her way to the front. The provost, the Scottish equivalent of the English mayor with his gold chain, was already on the platform surrounded by various town worthies. Hamish was there as well, standing to one side of the platform. She went to join him. A wide gate at the side of the field was being held open.
First came the pipe band, playing “ Scotland the Brave.” Behind came a decorated float with the queen seated on a throne with two handmaidens. The Lammas queen was a true highland beauty with black glossy hair and wide blue eyes fringed with heavy lashes.
The float was decorated with sheaves of corn. “Where did they get the corn?” asked Josie.
“Plastic,” said Hamish.
The queen was helped down from the float, and two men in kilts carried her throne up onto the platform. The pipes fell silent. “What’s her name?” asked Josie.
“That’s A
A
She sat down on the throne. To Josie’s surprise, the crown, which was carried to the platform by a nervous little girl bearing it on a red cushion, looked like a real diamond tiara. The gems blazed in the sunlight, sending out prisms of colour.
“Is that real?” Josie asked.
“Aye,” said Hamish. “It once belonged to a Lady Etherington, English she was, and right fond of the Highlands. She lent it out once and her family have got it out o’ the bank every Lammas Day since then.”
“Do the family live in Braikie?”
“No. Lady Etherington’s grandson who owns the tiara lives in London but he’s got a shooting box up outside Crask and he aye comes up for the grouse shooting.”
Gareth Tarry, the provost, made a long boring speech. It was mostly about defending the council’s decision to stop building the seawall on the road to Braikie where, in previous years, the houses had been flooded at high tide.
It was only when an infuriated man from the audience shouted out, “You wouldnae be broke, ye numptie, if ye hadnae pit all your money in an Iceland bank.”
Anyone who had invested their savings in Iceland banks during the credit crunch was currently left in doubt as to whether they would get their money back.
The provost pretended not to hear but decided to get on with the crowning. He raised the glittering tiara and a
Everyone cheered. A
“She’s off round the town,” said Hamish. “You stay here and I’ll follow and keep my eye on that tiara.”
Hamish loped off. Josie miserably watched him go. She had looked forward so much to spending the day with him. But she suddenly had work to do.
People who owned houses along the shore road leading into Braikie, and who had been unable to sell their properties because of the frequent flooding from the rising sea, were gathering in front of the platform, heckling Mr. Tarry. He was a plump, self-satisfied-looking banker.
The provost saw the arrival of his official Daimler on the road outside the field and, climbing down from the platform, he tried to ignore the crowd and make his way to it. “You listen tae me,” shouted one man, and, trying to stop him, grabbed him by the gold chain.
Josie sprang into action. She twisted the man’s arm up his back and dragged him to the side. “You are under arrest,” she said, “for attempting to steal the provost’s gold chain. Name?”
“Look, there’s a mistake. I chust wanted to stop him and get him to answer my questions.”
“Name?”
“Hugh Shaw.”
Josie charged him and then proceeded to handcuff him. She heard cries of “Get Hamish,” and “Whaur’s Macbeth?”
Hamish came ru
Josie said, “This man, Hugh Shaw, tried to steal the provost’s gold chain.”
Hamish looked down at her wearily. He knew Hugh owned a bungalow on the shore road. “Were you just trying to get his attention, Hugh?” he asked.
“Aye, that I was, Hamish. Thon fat cat has bankrupted the town, and until that wall is built there’s no hope o’ getting my place sold.”
“Take the handcuffs off, McSween,” said Hamish.
“But-”
“Just do it!”
Red in the face, Josie unlocked the handcuffs. Hamish raised his voice. “Now listen here, all of you. The only way you’re going to get that wall built is to do something about it yourselves. There are out-o’-work bricklayers and dry-stone wallers amongst ye. We’ll work out some fund-raising scheme and build the damn thing ourselves.”
There was an excited murmur as the news spread back through the crowd. The local minister, Mr. Cluskie, mounted the platform and went to the microphone. He a
Josie stood off to the side. She was a small woman but she began to feel smaller and smaller, diminished, melting in the heat.
“The tiara!” exclaimed Hamish and set off at a run.
He knew that the tiara, when the procession reached the town hall, would be placed in a safe and replaced with a gold cardboard crown for the queen to wear for the rest of the day.
He jumped into the Land Rover and headed for the town hall in the centre. To his relief, A
“I just have to see it’s in the safe all right,” he said to Jamie’s back.
“Och, man, each year you worry and each year it’s fine. Sir Andrew Etherington’ll be down on the morrow to collect it as usual.”
Nonetheless, Hamish insisted on supervising the installation of the tiara in the town safe.
Then he returned to the fair and joined a miserable-looking Josie. After Hamish had run off, the crowd had shu