Flotsam and Jetsam Read Free Page A

radio-controlled iron gates that barred entry to the long drive. It zigzagged up through sand dunes to a large two-storeyed building that seemed to be more windows than brickwork. And all of them were covered with net curtains or blinds. He screwed his eyes up and pointed. ‘Look,in that bay window. I’m sure he’s sitting there watching us.’
    ‘Maybe he only talks to people he recognizes?’ she suggested.
    He stared at her as if she had said something outrageous. ‘In which case he’s bound to recognize us, isn’t he? Fergie and Chrissie from Flotsam & Jetsam. Half of Scotland watches us every night.’
    ‘Maybe he’s part of the other half of Scotland, my love.’
    Despite himself he grinned at her. When Chrissie smiled like that men fell in love with her. When she smiled like that at him, he wanted to make love to her. He raised an eyebrow and flicked his eyes in the direction of the countless sand dunes that ran the length of the coast.
    She immediately recognized the expression on his handsome, deeply tanned face and giggled. ‘This is business, Fergie. Behave yourself. Now try again. They told us that he’s just about a recluse and that we’d be lucky to get him to let us in.’
    Fergie sighed and bent down to jab a well-manicured finger on the intercom button.
    ‘Hi there,’ he intoned in his jingle-jangle Scottish TV voice. ‘This is Fergie and Chrissie here from Flotsam & Jetsam . We’d like to have a chat with you, maybe do a bit of business and invite you on to our TV show.’
    ‘Maybe he’s deaf, Fergie? Or maybe he’s just not interested.’
    ‘You look into the camera, darling. Maybe a sight of you will get him to open up.’
    Chrissie gently barged him aside and smiled at the lens. But before she could say anything the intercom crackled and a distant tinny voice rang out.
    ‘No hawkers, sales-folk or onion Johnnies, thank you.’
    Fergie stared in disbelief. ‘Hawkers! Onion Johnnies!Doesn’t he know—?’
    The intercom crackled again. ‘Please move on or I’ll be telephoning the police.’
    Fergie scowled and jabbed the button again. ‘Now look here! I am Fergie Ferguson from the Scottish TV program Flotsam & Jetsam and I have—’
    The voice from the intercom interrupted. ‘Please move on. I do not like my privacy being invaded. I am phoning the police now.’
    ‘Come on, Fergie,’ said Chrissie, pointing to their parked Mercedes.
    A motor engine sounded and they looked round to see a cream and blue mobile shop van that was also emblazoned with the logo of the Royal Mail appear round the bend of the rough track. It drew to a halt beside their car and a postman got out. He was a wiry fellow with a shaven head that made prominent ears stand out even more. He was wearing shorts and trainers and was almost as tanned as Fergie.
    ‘Hello, folks,’ he said with a grin. ‘Are you trying to get to see our famous artist-cum-beachcomber? I have to say you’ll be lucky.’ Then his jaw dropped as he recognized the duo.
    ‘Crikey! You are – er – Thingy and Chrissie, aren’t you?’ He snapped his fingers with embarrassment. ‘I mean Fergie and Chrissie. The wife and I are planning to come and see the show tonight.’
    ‘That’s excellent,’ Fergie replied with a show-biz smile that completely hid the chagrin he felt at being called Thingy . ‘And we are trying to see Guthrie Lovat.’
    ‘Without luck,’ added Chrissie.
    ‘He only really lets me and my wife in these days,’ the newcomer explained. ‘I am Alec Anderson, by the way. I am the local postie and mobile-shop proprietor. You’ll see metootling all over the island at some stage or another.’
    ‘Alec, do you think you could do us a favour?’ Fergie asked, with an ingratiating grin. ‘Could you get us in to see the old boy? We wondered if we could entice him on to the show, or maybe let us feature some of his work. It could be good for his business.’
    Chrissie put a hand on Alec’s arm. ‘We could make it