Death of a Charming Man Read Online Free

their rooms or through to watch television, she noticed one of the most beautiful young men she had ever seen sitting at a table in the corner. He was reading a magazine and had a half-finished pint of beer in front of him. His golden hair gleamed softly in the overhead lights and his long eyelashes cast shadows on his tanned cheeks. He looked up and saw her watching him and gave her a slow, intimate smile, and Priscilla found herself smiling back. Another customer came up and she forgot about the beautiful young man for the moment, but just before closing time he came up to the bar and said, ‘Have I time for another?’
    ‘Just,’ said Priscilla. ‘Another pint?’
    ‘I’ll have a whisky to see me on my way.’
    ‘Make sure you’re not over the limit,’ said Priscilla, holding a glass under the optic. ‘The police can be quite strict.’
    ‘I shouldn’t think Hamish Macbeth would be too strict about anything’ came his voice from behind her.
    She felt a sudden superstitious stab of fear. Was this Angus’s beautiful young man? But she turned around and, putting the glass on the bar, said, ‘So you know our local copper.’
    ‘He paid a call on me. I live in Drim.’
    ‘Do you have relatives there?’
    He paid for his drink. ‘No, I just wandered in one day and stayed. What about you?’
    ‘My parents run this hotel.’
    ‘Poor you. Hard work, I should think. Ever get a night off?’
    ‘From time to time, when we’re not too busy.’
    ‘You must come over to Drim and see my place,’ he said, leaning easily on the bar. He held out his hand. ‘Peter Hynd.’
    ‘Priscilla Halburton-Smythe.’ Priscilla took his hand and then gave him a startled look as something like an electric charge went from his hand up her arm. ‘I’m not free even on my nights off,’ she said. ‘I am engaged to be married, and that takes up my time.’
    ‘Who’s the lucky man?’
    ‘Hamish Macbeth.’
    He stood back a little and surveyed the cool and sophisticated Priscilla from the top of her smooth blonde head to the expensive French evening top, which was as much as he could see of her behind the bar. ‘Well, well, well,’ he said. ‘You amaze me.’
    Priscilla gave herself a mental shake. Peter Hynd was talking to her as if he had known her for a long time, not so much by his words as by his manner, which seemed to be creating a heady atmosphere of intimacy. To her relief another customer came up and Peter took his whisky and retreated to his corner.
    He stayed in the bar until she closed it down and pulled the grille over it. He looked about to speak to her again but she quickly left the bar and went to see Mr Johnston. She experienced the same feeling as Hamish had had – that once she was out of Peter’s magic orbit, she found she neither liked him nor trusted him. ‘I must tell Hamish,’ she thought, but then forgot all about the meeting until some time later.
       
    Over in Drim the next day, Miss Alice MacQueen was up early to prepare for business, and business had never been so good. She was the village hairdresser and worked from the front parlour of her cottage. Before the arrival of Peter Hynd, she had not been very busy, the women of Drim getting their hair permed about once a year, usually before Christmas. But now her services were in demand, and the number of greyheads who wanted to be dyed blonde or black was mounting.
    Mrs Edie Aubrey was also preparing for a busy day. For the past six months, she had been trying to run an exercise class in the community hall but without much success. Now her classes were suddenly full of sweating village women determined to reduce their massive bums and bosoms.
    In the general store, Jock Kennedy unpacked a new consignment of cosmetics and put them on display. He had found the women were travelling to Strathbane to pay a fortune for the latest in anti-wrinkle creams and decided it was time he made some money out of the craze for youth that the incomer had roused