Death of a Perfect Wife Read Online Free PDF

they’re free range. I get cook to dip them in coffee to turn them brown and stick a wee hen’s feather on some of the shells to make it look like the real thing but it would be just my luck if one of them got the food poisoning. What d’you want in return?’
    ‘Is a Mr Daviot in the hotel?’
    ‘Yes, just arrived.’
    ‘Then I want dinner for two this evening,’ said Hamish.
    ‘All right. You’re on. But don’t order champagne.’
    Hamish then phoned Tommel Castle. The butler answered the phone and Hamish asked to speak to Priscilla. ‘Who is calling?’ asked the butler suspiciously. ‘James Fotherington,’ said Hamish in impeccable upper-class accents.
    ‘Certainly, sir,’ oiled the butler.
    Priscilla came to the phone. ‘Hello, Hamish,’ she said. ‘It is you, isn’t it?’
    ‘Yes, will you have dinner at the Lochdubh with me tonight?’
    There was a long silence and Hamish gripped the phone hard.
    ‘Yes,’ said Priscilla at last. ‘But we’ll go Dutch. Johnson’s prices get higher and higher.’
    ‘I haff the money,’ said Hamish in offended tones.
    ‘Very well. What time?’
    ‘Eight. And … er … Priscilla, could you wear something grand?’
    ‘Any point in asking why?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘All right. See you.’
    Hamish went back into the kitchen. Paul had gone. So had all the biscuits. Not only that, but there were smears of jam on the plate. Eating chocolate biscuits with jam, marvelled Hamish. It’s a wonder that man has any teeth left.
       
    That evening, Dr Brodie sat down to a plate of pink wild rice. His wife poured him a glass of Perrier. ‘What’s this?’ he asked, pushing the mess with his fork. ‘Tuna fish rice,’ said Angela proudly. ‘You put a can of tuna in the blender and just mix the paste with the wild rice. Try the whole wheat bread. I baked it myself.’
    Dr Brodie carefully put down his fork. He looked at his wife. Her hair was all curly, like a wig, and highlighted with silver streaks. She was wearing a white smock with strawberries embroidered on it, a pair of new blue jeans, and very white sneakers. He had not complained once about all the changes, pleased that his wife had all these new interests but hoping she would tire of it all and revert to her normal self. But it had been a long and tiresome day. He was hungry and he was weary. His home sparkled like a new pin but felt sterile and uncomfortable.
    He put down his fork and got to his feet.
    ‘Where are you going?’ asked Angela.
    ‘I am going to the Lochdubh Hotel for a decent meal. I hear they’ve got a new chef. Like to come?’
    ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Angela, tears starting to her eyes. ‘I’ve been slaving all day, getting the place clean, making the bread …’
    Dr Brodie went out and very quietly closed the door behind him.
    Angela sat down and cried and cried. Trixie had said he was killing himself with all that junk food and cheap wine and cigarettes. She had done it all for him and he had sneered at her. At last, she dried her eyes. There was the Bird Society meeting. Trixie would be there and Trixie would know what to do.
       
    Mrs Daviot said to her husband, ‘That’s a distinguished-looking couple.’
    The superintendent looked over the top of his menu. A tall thin man with flaming red hair in a well-cut but slightly old-fashioned dinner jacket was ushering in a tall blonde who was wearing a strapless jade green gown with a very short ruffled skirt and high-heeled green silk shoes. The waiter came up to take the Daviots’ order. ‘Visitors, are they?’ asked Mr Daviot, indicating the couple.
    ‘Oh, no,’ said the waiter, ‘that’s Miss Halburton-Smythe and Mr Macbeth, the local constable.’
    ‘Ask them to join us,’ said his wife eagerly. Mrs Daviot was a social climbing snob and longed to be able to tell her friends that she had had dinner with one of the Halburton-Smythes.
    Soon Hamish and Priscilla were seated at the superintendent’s table. ‘I think it