Malice in the Highlands Read Online Free

by the two sturdy ladies from Thirsk at the next table— lacked any vestige of the taciturn reserve normally attributed to his race as he held forth, gesticulating wildly to embellish some dogmatic assertion or other. His English companion, who appeared slightly older and almost excessively reserved by way of contrast, could be seen to interject only the occasional remark, the seemingly innocuous nature of which was often belied by the spirited reaction it evoked.
    Later in the dining room over dessert, it occurred to Powell to mention something that had nearly slipped his mind. “I had an unexpected call last week from an old acquaintance of mine. Chap named Pinky Warburton.”
    “Pinky?” Barrett snorted derisively.
    “A schoolboy sobriquet derived from a rather remarkable rubicundity, if you must know. His proper name is Alphonse. His mother's French.”
    “Oh, aye?” Barrett yawned, obviously not impressed with either the subject matter or Powell's alliterative prowess.
    “His father and mine were old army chums. We used to spend a week each summer at their country place in Hampshire.”
    “Country place, you say? Replete with chalk-stream trout and high pheasants, no doubt. Erskine, I'm truly impressed.”
    Powell continued, ignoring what he had come to recognize in Barrett as a kind of reverse snobbery, “We'd managed to keep in touch over the years, but after his father died a few years ago Pinky more or less dropped outof circulation. Appearances to the contrary, it turned out that the family was actually quite hard up.”
    “Ah, the modern plight of the landed classes,” Barrett observed pointedly.
    ‘That's not the worst of it. After Pinky's father had somehow managed to fritter away what little remained of the family fortune, his mother ran off with a Texas millionaire. It all proved to be too much for the old boy and he eventually shot himself. Pinky took it pretty hard, as you might expect.” Powell sipped his port impassively. “After death duties and the rest, he was basically left without a pot to piss in. In the end he had to sell the family holdings to settle his father's debts. Since then he's knocked about a bit, trying his hand at one thing or another, but, as I say, I hadn't heard from him for some time. Until last week.”
    “A tragic tale, I'll grant you, but may I inquire as to the point of it all?”
    “I'm getting to that,” Powell replied tersely. At times Barrett could be quite irritating. “Pinky seemed a bit down in the mouth. It wasn't anything he said, really, but I got the distinct impression that it would do him a world of good to get away for a while. To cut a long story short, I invited him up here to join us, so we'll be, ah, a threesome. I hope you don't mind, since he'll be arriving tomorrow.”
    “Of course not,” Barrett said shortly, fixing Powell with a penetrating look. “As long as it's clearly understood that this is a fishing expedition and not some sort of soul-searching session.”
    Powell flushed. “Don't be ridiculous, Alex. Pinky's all right. He simply needs a brief respite from the rat race—Iknow I bloody well do.” He yawned and consulted his watch. “Is that the time? I’d better turn in.”
    “At nine-thirty?” Then Barrett grinned knowingly. “The early bird catches the worm, eh?” He drained his glass. “I think I'll do the same.”
    “By the way, which beat did we draw?”
    “Number three, which is where, as you will no doubt recall, I caught the sixteen-pounder last year.”
    Powell sighed and raised his glass. “Op yours, Alex.”

CHAPTER 2
    It rained heavily all night and when Powell came down to breakfast the next morning he encountered a general atmosphere of doom and gloom. Even Nigel seemed uncharacteristically somber. The river had risen almost two feet overnight and would probably be unfishable for at least a day, perhaps longer.
    Powell located Barrett in the crowded dining room, presiding over a mountain of rashers and