Tricksters (7 page)

‘I was using the phone,' Rachel said.

Sam dialled another number, oblivious. ‘Yeah, Donald Allan? Yeah, Sam Kerr here . . . Okay. Well, actually, it's not too bad at all. The mobiles don't work, though . . . Oh, did she? Well, the evening meal wasn't all that bad . . . No, the owner's English, married to a Chinese chick or something . . . That's right, Donald Allan, the cooking's kind of what you'd expect a guy from England and a bird from Hong Kong to come up with . . . Yeah, you eat and an hour later you're starving . . . and you also have an uncontrollable urge to open a pottery in the Highlands. Ha ha! . . . The two-step deal? . . . Like a good Gaelic song . . . Oh, they'll sell sure as anything . . . I've got the wife wrapped around my little finger already!'

Suki opened the office door and stood motionless.

Sam stared at her. ‘Uh . . . I've got to go . . . Oh, geez . . .' He replaced the phone and smiled nervously at Suki who proffered an invoice. He looked blankly down
at the paper, slowly took out a chequebook and in embarrassed silence wrote out a cheque.

Suki affected a cod Chinese accent. ‘Coffee? How many? One? Two?'

Sam grabbed the invoice and made a halting run to the door. He used similar telegraphese. ‘No, no coffee. Big hurry . . . I . . . uh, me. Visions to mix . . . Oh, geez! So, uh, chop-chop, uh . . . Oh, geez!'

‘Pssst!'

Sam looked at her.

Suki was brandishing a hideous statue of a black man wearing boxing gloves. ‘Me give you gnome. You give me money.'

‘No!'

‘You sure you don't want buy gnome? Is no' clear to me why no' buy gnome.'

Sam mumbled, ‘If your eyes weren't as squint as a Chinaman's, it would be clear to you. I've never seen anything so ugly in all my life.'

Suki pointed to the clock on the wall in the ten past twelve position. ‘Look at clock.'

‘What about it?'

‘It's stopped.'

‘And?'

‘You make clock stop. Yo' face so very ugly. Poor clock give up ghost. Now he stopped.'

Sam departed in the huff. Rachel doubled up with laughter.

Suki spoke in a strong Harris accent. ‘If it's a crime for me to sell twenty Regal tipped to a lad who's under sixteen years of age, why isn't it a crime for that arsehole to be on the streets without supervision?'

‘I don't . . . I don't know. Oh, did you see his face?' Rachel composed herself. ‘Rachel MacKinnon, Room 5.'

‘Room 5. Weren't there two of you?'

‘Yes, at first . . . but he slept in the van.'

‘A rude, fat butterball, very drunk . . . Is that the one?'

‘That's Murdo.'

‘He's the guy who hit on me in the bar last night, swaggering like John Wayne, and asked me a question.' She lowered her voice and spoke in a nasal drawl.

‘ “Hey, honey, can I buy you . . . a tractor?” '

‘That's the kind of thing he'd say when he's drunk.'

‘Tell him not to wear that jacket if he ever comes in here during the day.'

‘Why?'

‘The young guys'll cut it up and smoke it.' Suki consulted a book. ‘Ah, you're leaving us today, is that right?'

‘Well, I wanted to talk to you about that . . . That is, if you've got a minute.'

‘It would be a pleasure, young woman.' Suki placed her elbows on the counter and leaned forward in conspiratorial fashion. ‘Since I've got shot of Sam the Scam, there's nothing I'd like better than a little chat with someone like yourself.'

‘Sam the –'

‘An arrogant braggart. He's made the odd programme for the Beeb. They're all crap. He's also terribly mean. He'd steal the worm from a blind hen.'

‘What a despicable miser!'

‘That's the word we're looking for. He wants to buy this place. But he's constantly cutting the price. My biggest fear is that he'll get to Nigel – that's my husband – and he'll be tempted by a very large sum of ready cash.' She looked at Rachel seriously. ‘What did you want to talk about, Rachel?'

‘Uh, well, I, I was looking for some . . . advice. I mean . . .'

‘Advice! You've come to the right place, haven't you? All the wisdom of the East just pours out of me.'

‘Was it from China this wisdom came?'

‘Kyles Scalpay. That's where my granny on my father's side came from. “Shanghai's Wife” she was known as. My grandfather was a river pilot in Shanghai once upon a time and he was the one who brought all this furniture home.'

‘Well, I thought . . . I mean . . .'

‘That I had more than a drop of Chinese blood in me? No, though my skin is a tad yellow, but there's folk on Scott Road far darker than me. No, I'm as Heilan' as peat. Oh, I like to have the things my grandfather
collected round about me. The Tartan Pagoda is a kind of shrine to my granny.'

‘Oh, I get it.'

‘But what are you going to do about Murdo?'

‘I don't know. I've given him an ultimatum: unless he comes up with money, I'm off on the ferry this afternoon and I'm leaving him here.'

‘Good decision, Rachel. That'll keep him on his toes . . . that is, if he's really fond of you.' She paused for a moment. ‘So, what's all this talk of yours about money?'

‘It's . . . it's to do with Murdo as well.'

‘Everything seems to revolve around him.'

‘Yeah, it does, doesn't it?'

‘Now,' Suki said, ‘shall I make up your bill?'

‘As the old guy from Barra said, “I'm in a quadrangle”.'

‘Won't you tell me?'

‘I can pay for last night's lodgings and still have just enough to get home, or I can stay another night – with Murdo.'

‘Give me both hands, Rachel.' Suki held Rachel's hands lightly.

‘What is it we're doing?' Rachel said.

‘Let us pray.'

Rachel rapidly took her hands away. ‘Uh, I don't think so, if it's all the same to you.'

‘Don't be silly. You're not going to be praying to the Lord God Almighty. You're just going to be putting some questions to yourself.'

‘No,' Rachel said. ‘Look, I don't want to hurt your feelings. It's a matter of indifference to me what religion other people believe in, just so long as they don't try to put iron horseshoes on my feet.'

‘You're not listening to me, Rachel.' Suki seized Rachel's hands in her own once more. ‘All I'm trying to do is teach you how you can have a conversation between yourself and the Rachel that's deep inside you.'

‘So that I can talk to myself?'

‘That's it,' Suki said. ‘So that you can draw upon the huge amount of power and love you hold inside.'

‘God be round about me! If I start talking to myself in public, guys will be on the phone saying “Check all mental hospitals for empty beds”!'

‘Have you heard of yin and yang?' Suki said.

‘No. I'd hazard a guess they had something to do with pornography.'

‘Yang is like fire. If the fire is too hot, you'll burn the cabbage. Yin is like water. If you have too much water in the pot, the cabbage will rot.'

Rachel stared at her in horror. ‘You've already turned my head into broth, lady.'

‘Do you trust me enough to do as I tell you – with the result that you'll change your life forever?'

There was a short pause. Finally Rachel said, ‘Okay. What do I have to do?'

‘Firstly, close your eyes.'

Rachel closed her eyes. ‘What now?'

‘Allow your mind to drift with the wind . . . slowly, flowingly . . . just as the morning dew departs from the greensward at sunrise . . .'

‘Mmmm.'

‘Repeat after me: Where would you have me go?'

‘Where would you have me go?'

After a brief pause, Suki spoke again. ‘What would you have me do?'

‘What would you have me do?'

A second or two went by.

‘What would you have me say, and to whom?'

‘What would you have me say, and to whom?'

There was a long delay. Suki released her grip and looked expectantly at Rachel. ‘Well?'

‘Well, what?'

‘Are you going or are you staying?'

‘I'll stay another night – if the room's still vacant.'

‘You're more than welcome,' Suki said. ‘I won't charge you for the room tonight. Just give me twelve pounds.'

‘Thank you. That's terrific.'

‘Come on, aren't you formal, young lady! You can be informal with me. Just call me Suki. That's my correct name anyway . . . Suki Morrison.' Suki looked closely at Rachel. ‘What are you going to do about him?'

‘That's up to him. If he gets the money . . .'

‘What'll the pair of you do?'

‘Well . . . I suppose we'll have a night of mad, passionate love.'

‘I hope he makes it.'

‘Me too,' Rachel said.

‘Not for his sake, but for yours . . .'

‘But if he doesn't get what he owes me, and if he doesn't stay sober . . . well, he'll be sitting on the chair all night with his legs crossed.'

‘If it's your destiny to sleep with him tonight, ask your heart what you ought to do.' Suki paused. ‘What size are you?'

‘Pardon?'

‘What size do you take in clothes?'

‘Ten. Why?'

‘Couldn't be better,' Suki said. ‘You'll knock everybody out with the cheongsam.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘Wear the beautiful silk dress I've got for you and every man in the place will have the hots for you.' She paused. ‘Including Murdo.'

‘What if he's not seduced by the dress?'

‘Find somebody who will be.'

‘Hey, Suki,' Rachel said, ‘I'm very fond of Murdo. I don't want anyone else.'

‘If you look nice for him, well, you'll be doing him a favour. Listen, I don't care if it works out between you and Murdo or not. Either you'll sleep with him or you'll not. All I want is to see you in that Chinese dress.'

‘Then I'll ask you just one question,' Rachel said.

‘Go ahead.'

‘Why are you so keen on me putting on this dress?'

Suki brandished a statue of the boxer/Saviour. ‘Look, I'm married to a dunderhead who doesn't know the difference between Frank Bruno and our Saviour. Amn't I entitled to a little romance?'

Both women broke into laughter.

‘Okay,' Rachel said, ‘but we'll have to be quick.'

‘What's your hurry?'

‘I want to find out how Murdo got on.'

They parted. Suki went into the office. Rachel ran upstairs with her bags.

Murdo was crouched by the bed, methodically going through suitcases and trunks, discarding wigs, dresses, Highland dress, Wellington boots etc. – all the props needed by a two-handed theatrical company on tour. When he had finished selecting items of clothing he went into his trouser pocket and slowly and carefully took out the small jewellery box. ‘Oh, ya beauty!' he said.

He closed the box, reverently almost, and placed it in the inside pocket of a beat-up old jacket. Quickly Murdo moved to a pre-selected pile of clothing and donned a wrinkled flannel shirt with a Salsa Grenade tie, an over-large Harris tweed jacket, shapeless lilac cords and steel-toed boots. Heavy framed spectacles with milk-bottle lenses completed the ensemble. He stood before a mirror and combed his hair from back to front. Satisfied, he moved over to the bed and assembled his handwritten papers. He patted the pockets of his jacket, producing a rattle that sounded as if he might be carrying lots of little bottles. He took a deep breath and read the words in the manner of an opera singer at rehearsal. ‘Zsa, zsa-zsa, zsa,
zsa-zsa, zsa-zsa . . . A MUZZLE ON THEE . . . zsa-zsa . . . MY SANITY . . .'

Murdo strutted and shook his head and hands at length, occasionally taking the box out, slowly raising it to eye level and gazing at it adoringly. Eventually he slumped on the bed and read his script in silence.

Rachel, dressed in the scarlet cheongsam, split from knee to waist, glided in on stiletto heels. Raising her arms to pat her dark hair which was done up in a chignon, she vamped it up as she approached Murdo. He gazed at her, open-mouthed.

‘Hello, sailor,' Rachel said.

‘It's me, Rachel!'

‘I know it's you, fool. What's with the get-up? Go over to the mirror there and take a swatch at how awful you look.'

‘I've done that already. It's okay. It's all part of the plan.'

‘What plan?'

‘I'm resorting to deceit and cunning,' Murdo said, ‘to get the dough.'

‘Haven't you sold the van yet? What have you been doing all morning?'

‘I'm not selling the van.'

Rachel dug the fingers of both hands under her hair at the scalp line, threw her head back and looked Murdo straight in the eye. ‘Oh, aren't you?'

‘No, I'm going to sell something else. Look, I've worked everything out in fine detail.'

Murdo handed her the script. Rachel glanced at the first page only. ‘What's this supposed to be?'

‘Read it.'

‘Well, well, well. What a busy little pumpkin you've been!'

‘Busy enough,' Murdo said. ‘This'll work. I've pulled strokes like this before. Did I tell you about the time I sold my mother's cow to Duncan Macdonald? I asked him for the head and I stuck it in the peat bog?'

‘And when the poor old soul realised the cow was missing,' Rachel said in tired tones, ‘you showed her the head and told her the beast must have drowned.'

‘I'm telling you, if we follow this script all our problems will be solved.'

Rachel put both palms down flat on the bottom of the bed, stiffened her arms, leaned forward and said, ‘But where's the cow going to come from this time?'