Powerstone (11 page)

Meigle swung, grunted slightly as
the club made contact, and watched the ball soar up until it was lost against
the blue of the sky. He shaded his eyes, nodding when the ball descended
quickly and landed thirty yards from the green. ‘Not too bad. You have to hit
slightly to the left here.’

Drummond narrowed his eyes,
waiting until Meigle’s ball rolled to a stop. ‘Let’s see now. A slight breeze
from the sea and damp grass underfoot.’ He addressed the ball and swung,
allowing his body to adapt to the follow-through. ‘How’s that for a man with
old fashioned clubs?’

‘Fair to middling.’ Meigle watched
Drummond’s ball bounce on the fairway and roll to within a foot of his own.
Sliding his hand over the handle of his buggy, he stepped forward, with the turn-ups
of his trousers just breaking over his shoes. ‘So how’s the family, James?’

‘Doing away,
Sandy
, doing away.’ Drummond preferred
to carry his bag as he strode, long legged, beside Meigle. ‘Margaret’s got
herself the Architectural Chair at
Glasgow
University
at last, which means that I don’t
see so much of her. She’s hardly at home nowadays, what with conferences and
researching and so on.’

‘Good for her. I always thought
that she was too clever for you.’ Meigle stopped to admire the view over the bay,
as he always did at this point. ‘
St Andrews
looks its best at this time of year, don’t you think?’

Drummond stood at his side. ‘You
say that every time you’re here,
Sandy
,’ he pointed out. ‘Whatever the time of year is.’

‘Maybe I do.’ Meigle agreed. ‘But
it’s true each time. And the children? How are they?’

‘Fine. Andrew’s just sent in his
papers and he’s entering
Civvy
Street
. He found a
job with a big American company.’ Drummond scowled for a second. ‘I’d prefer if
he remained in the regiment, but there you are. Sarah is doing great things in
Europe
. She was in
Frankfurt
last I heard, but she said that
she might be transferred to
Strasbourg
.
Some financial matter with the EU.’

‘Sarah working in
Germany
?’ Meigle shook his head, ‘It
doesn’t seem that long since you were complaining about her loud music keeping
you awake all night!’ He stopped and examined the lie of his ball. ‘And Andrew
resigned from the Guards? I thought he would follow in his father’s footsteps.’

‘So did I, but he’s old enough to live
his own life.’ Drummond glanced backward. At seven in the morning the Old
Course was fairly quiet, with only a handful of dedicated players braving the
clock to worship at the shrine of golf. ‘But I doubt that you’ve brought me
here for an update on my family.’

Meigle addressed the ball, looking
toward the green. ‘You’ll be introducing Andrew to the Society soon, then.’

‘On his thirtieth birthday, as is
the custom.’ Drummond watched Meigle select a two iron. ‘I’d chip it to the
right and let the wind take it toward the hole.’

‘It might be better to break the
custom just this once,’ Meigle chipped the ball long enough to avoid the Swilkin
Burn, but hit it too far, so it rolled past the pin and nearly off the green.

‘Bad luck,’ Drummond sympathised.
He drew out a club and, hardly pausing, knocked his ball directly onto the
green. It landed, bounced once and rolled to within six inches of the hole. ‘Is
something happening?’

‘Nice shot.’ Removing the flag, Meigle
selected a putter, lined up the ball and knocked it neatly into the hole.
‘That’s a birdie for me.’ He stepped back. ‘Yes, Jamie. There seems to be a
threat to the Clach-bhuai’

Drummond looked up briefly, raised
his eyebrows, and then returned his attention to the game. He putted gently and
watched as the ball rolled directly into the hole. ‘What sort of threat?’

Removing both balls, Meigle
replaced the pin and walked slowly to the next tee. He eyed the distance to the
green, allowing the
North
Sea
breeze to fan
his face. ‘I’m not sure yet. The report was a bit garbled, but it seems
definite enough.’

Drummond lined up for the hole,
adjusting his tie so that it did not flap in the wind. ‘Definite enough to
justify a meeting of the Society?’ He surveyed the fairway ahead. ‘You know
this course better than I, Sandy, so what do I do, drive left where there’s
plenty of room but the approach is awkward, or drive right, between these ugly
bunkers and the gorse, and have an easier approach?’

‘You’re driving blind, Jamie, but
hit left of Cheape’s Bunker and go with the wind, Jamie. Always go with the
wind at
St Andrews
.’ Meigle watched as Drummond hit
right, shaking his head as the wind carried the ball straight into a bunker.
‘Bad luck.’ He waited for a moment. ‘Yes; the message did seem to justify an extraordinary
meeting of the Society.’

Drummond waited until Meigle
addressed the ball. ‘That’s unusual. When was the last extraordinary meeting
held?’

‘1941,’ Meigle replied without
lifting his eye from the ball. His driver struck sweetly and the ball soared
toward the green, until a fluke of wind flicked it back, a full fifty yards
short.

‘Hitler’s War,’ Drummond hoisted
his golf-bag onto his back and made for the bunker, with his nailed brogues
leaving neat punctures on the grass. He studied the lie of his ball, selected a
sand wedge and stepped quietly down. ‘If I remember correctly, the Society had
the Stone buried, together with all the associated paraphernalia.’

Meigle watched Drummond chip his
ball expertly onto the fairway. A handful of sand drifted downwind.

‘I haven’t heard of any specific
threats of war,’ Drummond said as he climbed out of the bunker. ‘And I would
hear of that before you, so it must be something more direct.’

‘I’ll know more by the time we
arrange the meeting,’ Meigle sliced his next shot and the ball landed in the
gorse.

‘Damned bad luck. That’s these
tungsten shafts, fine for distance but poor for close work. You’d be better
with the more traditional materials; centuries of experience and all that.’

‘Damned bad play,’ Meigle
corrected. ‘Never did like this game. I’ll drop a shot and replace the ball.’

‘How is your family?’ Drummond
asked. ‘I heard that Anne has retired?’

‘Two years ago,’ Meigle agreed.
‘We were married forty years then she decided to stop bringing in the money.
Now she tries to help me all the time and manages a dozen different meetings
for charities and the like.’

‘Under your feet, eh? Hard luck,’
Drummond sympathised. ‘And the children?’

‘Young Alex is doing well. He’s in
oil, you know; managing director of a multi-national. Just made a large strike
in the
Thar Desert
or some other God-forsaken place.
Rich as Croesus and a bigger sinner than Herod. Always got some stunner
attached to his arm, or elsewhere.’

‘You’ll be proud of him, then.’
Drummond lobbed his ball on to the green.

‘Oh aye; chip off the old block.’ Meigle
smiled at some distant memory, and then examined the head of a number three
iron. ‘He lives his own life though; no time for an old duffer like me. You
already know that Charles is in politics. He’s an MP now, spending half his
life working with the most appalling people.’

‘They tell me that
Westminster
is like that. Terrible place.’
Drummond watched as Meigle dropped a ball and knocked it a yard short of the
green. ‘And your girl? Young what’s-her-name? Dammit, I should remember, I am
her godfather for goodness sake.’

Meigle replaced his club. ‘Young
Rachel. They do say that the memory is the second muscle to fail, Jamie. She’s
not so young now, though. Caught herself a man and created a family. Quiet
children; must take after the father. She’s working on scientific research at Roslin.
Something to do with environmental studies; God knows we need it with the world
in such a state.’ Meigle shook his head. ‘You’ll meet them later.’

‘Of course.’ Drummond looked
behind him as two more golfers edged onto the fairway. One waved to him.
‘Getting a bit public now,
Sandy
,
don’t you think?’

‘Positively
Princes Street
,’ Meigle agreed. ‘Call it a draw
shall we?’

‘Fair result.’ Lifting his ball,
Drummond returned the wave and began to walk slowly back toward the clubhouse.
‘You’ll let me know in plenty of time about the meeting, I dare say?’

Meigle nodded. ‘As soon as I get
it arranged, Jamie. I’ll have to allow time for the overseas members to come
in.’

They walked past the golfers who
had waved. One shouted over to them, enquiring if they had given up and
Drummond stopped for a second. ‘Too cold for an old man like me!’ He waited for
a response and grunted when none came. ‘Poor quality. No sense of style at
all.’

Meigle watched the golfer muff his
drive. ‘Poor golfer too, but that’s no wonder when he’s all padded up like
that. He’s got more layers of clothes on him than a polar bear. I was thinking
of next month, Jamie. I don’t want to wait any longer than that, in case
anything happens in the meantime.’

Drummond nodded. ‘That would be
best then. You know my mobile number?’

‘Of course.’

‘Anytime, day or night,
Sandy
, if you need me.’ They had
reached the first tee, and people were gathering around the clubhouse to watch
the golfers. ‘I can come alone or with company.’

‘Bring your son, Jamie; it’s as
good an opportunity as any to introduce him. And use your contacts; see if you
can find out anything.’ They shook hands, nodded and turned aside. Meigle
rolled his clubs to the silver BMW and placed them carefully in the boot before
sliding into the driving seat. It would take him nearly an hour to drive home
to
Edinburgh
, and he had a meeting at ten. He
looked up briefly as the helicopter lifted from the grounds of the Old Course
Hotel, circled the town once and headed
North West
toward Perthshire. Trust Jamie to travel in style.

The news about the Clach-bhuai was
disturbing, but it added interest to a life that was fast becoming dull.
Perhaps people fantasised about retirement, but the path to enforced leisure
was paved with boredom. He slammed the horn to warn a slow moving vehicle that
he was coming, overtook smoothly and pressed down the accelerator. He hoped that
the threat was genuine, so he could set his teeth into a challenge.

New York
and
Edinburgh
, May

‘The Honours have only left
Edinburgh
Castle
twice in the last three hundred years,’ Irene once again
stood beside her laptop, lecturing her team. They listened intently, eyes
focussed on the screen as she produced a series of images.

Patrick leaned across to
Bryan
and whispered something that made
both smile.

‘May I continue?’ Irene’s glare caused
both to withdraw to their seats. ‘In 1953 the Crown was taken for a national
service of thanksgiving when Queen Elizabeth took the throne, and again in 1999
when the new Scottish Parliament was opened in its original building on the
Mound.’

Irene flicked up a picture of the
steep road that curved alongside
Princes
Street
Gardens
and pointed to the sombre structure that the Scottish
Parliament used until their custom-built home was complete.

‘And here are the Honours
themselves.’ Irene had located a further set of pictures of the Honours, and
described each artefact in some detail. She noted that her team was much more
focussed now that the hit was definite. ‘One crown, one long sword and one
sceptre.’ She paused for a second before adding another click. ‘There is also a
mace, but that is reserved for Stefan. It is more modern than the others, so
does not have the same historic value, although its intrinsic value is
considerable. Added to your three-quarters of a million, Stefan, you should be
able to retire on the proceeds.’

Stefan did not reply to her smile,
but his eyes were sharp as they surveyed the picture.

‘The Honours are being removed
again, this year, when the Queen, Prince Phillip, Prince Charles and Camilla
are all going to
Edinburgh
. The Scottish Government is
hosting a European Union conference, so various heads of state will be coming.
The Honours are to be used to highlight the importance of the occasion.’

Irene did not know what type of
persuasion Patrick had used to mollify Mary, but the driver looked nearly
relaxed as she produced a cigarette lighter in the shape of a Formula One
racing car and lit a cheroot. She looked to Patrick and raised her eyebrows.

‘How are they to be transported?’
Mary asked. ‘Armoured car?’