Empty Nets and Promises by Denzil Meyrick Page B

policeman at her side. ‘She’s right bonnie, is she no’, Sandy?’
    â€˜Aye, bonnie, right enough,’ he said, feeling naked out in public without his skipper’s cap. He patted down his Brylcreemed hair, before searching in the pocket of his best suit for his pipe.
    â€˜Don’t you dare light up that smelly thing,’ said Marjorie with a scowl. ‘You know fine Duncan’s mother’s allergic tae pipe smoke on account o’ her asthma.’
    â€˜But we’re outside, woman. I can understand a body no happy wae smoke at closed quarters in the hoose, but whoot’s the problem when we’re oot here in the fresh air?’
    Marjorie fixed him with a stare, and the pipe remained in his pocket. ‘You’ve done a rare job running up that shawl, right enough. Does the job very well,’ remarked Hoynes.
    â€˜Be quiet, you!’ his wife hissed. ‘You’ve nae idea how much persuasion it took tae get her tae wear it in the first place. I’m surprised you noticed anything in the church, whoot wae they puppy-dog eyes you were making at Ina Blackstock.’
    â€˜Ina? Oh, I didna even see her.’
    â€˜Aye, right. You should be payin’ attention tae your daughter on her big day.’
    â€˜She’ll no’ be worried noo, anyhow. Now that the ring’s on her finger, she can let her arse grow, untrammelled. The way you did yoursel’, my love.’ Hoynes pursed his lips, missing the comfort of his pipe.
    â€˜See if this wisna the day it is, Alexander Hoynes, I’d belt you roon’ the lug good and proper. I hope you brought your wallet. They’ll be expecting tae get paid at the County.’
    â€˜They better serve up a better dram than they did the last time I was there.’
    â€˜Oh, I’m sure they’ll see to it the local celebrity only gets the best,’ said Marjorie. ‘I don’t know how many times I’ve been stopped in the street in the last week by folk telling me how brilliant my man was on the telly.’
    â€˜You’ve either got it, or you’ve no’. At any rate, they tell me that bloody plane’s away at the end o’ next week. That’s the power o’ the press for you. We’ll maybe get back tae some kind o’ normality at the fishin’ noo.’
    â€˜We better, Sandy, or you an’ me will be as poor as church mice, whoot wae this wedding an’ a’ . . .’
    They wedding party turned onto to Main Street, and were soon heading into the County Hotel for the reception.
    In the County Hotel, Hamish was savouring his first glass of whisky at the bar, when he was approached by two men. One was dressed in a red shirt with wide trousers and black boots; the other wore a smart dark uniform, adorned with brass buttons and gold braid. ‘How ye daein’?’ he said as they joined him. ‘It’s a fine day for a dram or two.’
    â€˜My friend, Hamish,’ said Pushkov, enveloping the fisherman in a bear hug. ‘I not recognise you with clothes you are wearing.’ He patted the sleeve of Hamish’s suit, a garment that had once belonged to his father, and was hopelessly old-fashioned, as well as being at least two sizes too big.
    â€˜I don’t get the opportunity tae get dressed up much,’ Hamish said, patting down the quiff that was now plastered to one side of his head. ‘Och, but I fair enjoy it when I get the chance. And how are you faring, Captain?’ he enquired, turning to the tall grey-haired man in uniform.
    â€˜I’m enjoying the company of a fellow sailor,’ Captain Walter P Rumsfeld replied. ‘In all these years, I’ve never met a Russian, but I have to say that Vladimir here is a good man. Here’s to friendship.’ Rumsfeld raised a small glass of whisky and clinked glasses with Hamish and Pushkov. ‘Here’s to friendship!’
    â€˜That’s the way it