Page 5 of A Very Bookish Murder
‘OK, we’ll deal with it,’ one of the paramedics said calmly, moving forward to take over the compressions while the other began unpacking the defibrillator. After a few jolts, the paramedics decided he was fit to be moved, and the more senior of the two medics shouted, ‘Get a stretcher.’
Within another couple of minutes, the stretcher appeared, Rigby was loaded onto it and then rushed to the helicopter. The paramedics then jumped in themselves and, shortly after, they were up and away.
THREE
It was seven o’clock before Ally finally got back to the malthouse. Rigby had been flown away to Glasgow, to a special cardiac unit. The women attending the writers’ retreat had been shepherded into the Craigmonie Hotel dining room for dinner, although most protested that they wouldn’t be able to eat a thing, and Ross had arrived to take Ally home.
‘Are you hungry? You have had such a shock. You really should eat something if you could face it,’ he asked when, finally home, he guided her to her favourite chair beside the log burner. As she sat down, she was greeted enthusiastically by Flora, her young, black Labrador, and also by Ebony, Ross’s dog, also a black Labrador, who accompanied him everywhere. To her surprise, Ally found that she was peckish, aware that her tummy was rumbling noisily. ‘Do you know, I think I might just be able to manage some fish and chips?’
‘Your wish is my command.’ Ross picked up his jacket. ‘I’ll go and get some right now.’ He looked at her closely. ‘You sure you’re OK?’
Ally shrugged wearily. ‘I keep thinking about poor old Rigby. He always looked as if he had the weight of the world on hisshoulders, but I’d become quite fond of him in a funny way. I hope he’ll be OK.’
‘He always appeared to be absolutely gobsmacked that any crime could take place up here,’ Ross remarked as he made his way towards the door. ‘But he should know by now that there’s no getting away from the evils of this world.’
Ally wondered if he was thinking about his younger son. Not long after the Patterson family had moved up to Locharran from Glasgow forty years previously, looking for a better life, their son, Alan, had died of a drug overdose. Yes, Ross and his surviving son, Will the vet, had found a better life, but not without cost. Their son’s death had also hastened that of Ross’s wife a short time afterwards, as efficiently as any dagger through her heart. Ally couldn’t even begin to imagine the agony of losing a child at any age, and her only prayer was that her children would survive her, as it was meant to be.
After Ross had gone out, Ally’s thoughts turned to the five women who she’d welcomed to her cosy little B&B and entertained the previous night. She still couldn’t get her head round the fact that there was no Jodi as she recalled their arrival the previous evening.
They’d duly arrived in Callum’s people carrier at twenty minutes past six.
Ally had recognised Jodi Jones straight away, since she’d occasionally been featured in the newspapers and on television, due in no small part to her turbulent love life, and Ally had made a point of looking her up on the internet.
Jodi had a mop of greying-reddish hair and a youthful demeanour, although she had to be in her mid-sixties if she’d been to university with Desdemona, who looked a lot older. She wore a black sweater and some black leggings, but what caughtAlly’s eye was the long, black-and-white silk scarf wound around her neck. She looked extremely chic.
‘Now,’ said Penelope Fortescue-Rawlins bossily as she led the other four women into the hallway of The Auld Malthouse, ‘I hope we’re happy about who’s sharing with who? Jodi’s having Room One on her own; Brigitte, you’re sharing with me, and Millie and Joyce, you’ll be sharing the third room.’
‘Yes, yes,’ they confirmed in unison, having heard it all before. They insisted that they could manage to carry their own suitcases, and Ally led the way upstairs, opening the door of Room 1 for Jodi, and then opening the doors of Rooms 2 and 3 for the other four to sort themselves out. She informed them that she’d be doing a light, informal supper in her kitchen – leaving the dining room pristine for the serving of breakfast the following morning – at around half past seven for any of them who wanted to join. For the rest of the retreat, they would eat their lunch and dinner at the Craigmonie, but Ally had made some pasta, assuming they’d be too tired after their long journeys to go back down there again.
As Ally made her way towards the stairs, she was waylaid by Jodi. ‘Lovethe room!’ she said. ‘And this supper idea is so very kind of you. These ladies have come from all over the country; from London, Kent and Gloucestershire, and even Northern Ireland on this occasion, so they’ve been travelling for most of the day. And they’re not exactly in theirfirst flush of youth! That applies to me too because I’ve driven up from South Wales and I’m truly knackered.’
Ally returned to the kitchen to let them settle in and to make a large bowl of salad to go with the vegetarian pasta she’d put together earlier.
The first duo to arrive in the kitchen were the two women who were sharing Room 3.
‘Hello,’ said the taller of the two. ‘I’m Joyce Williams, and this is Millie.’
‘Millie Day,’ said the smaller of the two, almost apologetically. ‘Short for Camilla.’
‘Very regal,’ Ally said, laughing, although regal was not an adjective she’d have used to describe Millie.
They were polar opposites. Joyce was a big-built woman and probably in her mid-sixties, Ally reckoned, who seemed supremely self-confident. Millie, on the other hand, with her salt-and-pepper hair and hesitant manner, was short and sturdily built.
Joyce raved about the kitchen. ‘This is so spacious, yet cosy,’ she proclaimed, looking around approvingly at Ally’s painted wooden units, at the Aga, the log burner, and the long wooden table set for six.
‘I know it’s unusual to have an Aga and a log burner in one room,’ Ally said, ‘but the Aga is oil-fired and provides all the central heating and hot water. And when I spotted the big old inglenook, I just knew Ihadto have a log burner.’And I’m still paying for it, Ally thought.
‘Could I please ask you a favour?’ Joyce asked.
‘Yes, of course,’ Ally replied, wondering what was coming.
‘I’m diabetic and I really need somewhere to store my insulin,’ Joyce asked, looking worried. ‘I wondered if I could store it in your refrigerator?’
‘No problem,’ Ally said. ‘I have an enormous fridge and there’s plenty of room. Just remind me every day and I’ll bring it out for you. I’ll store it all in a big Tupperware box and stick a “Joyce” label on it.’ She made a mental note to buy some small fridges for the bedrooms so that her guests could accessice cubes, wines and milk, not to mention any medication they might have.
Millie, who’d been looking around silently, came alive as Flora came bounding in from outside. ‘What’s your dog called?’ she asked.
‘That’s Flora,’ Ally told her, watching the little woman stroke the dog and play with her silky ears.
