Flotsam and Jetsam Read Free Page B

worth your while.’
    Alec pursed his lips. ‘That could be tricky. He’s a cantankerous old so and so. Maybe I could put a word in though. It would be a matter of picking my time.’
    ‘We are doing the show every night Monday to Friday this week and next,’ Chrissie said. She gave him one of her presenter smiles. ‘Is there anything that we could do to help you?’
    A sparkle came into Alec Anderson’s eye. Ever ready for a business opportunity he replied eagerly, ‘The wife and I are dab hands at supplying refreshments at public meetings. If you like, we could have tea, coffee, rolls and sweets for your audience. Just like at the cinema.’
    ‘No problem, Alec,’ said Fergie with a wink. ‘You scratch our backs and we’ll scratch yours. Just give Geordie Innes, our producer a ring.’ He pulled out a card from his breast pocket and wrote a number on top.
    ‘That’s fine; I’ll do that for you, Mr Ferguson. But maybe you could give me a day to sort it. He’ll have been watching us and he’ll be fair chuntering. He’s a suspicious so and so and I’ll need to let him get used to the idea.’
    ‘It would be great to get him on the show,’ Fergie went on. ‘Celebrated local artist and all that. Good for West Uist too.’ He produced a pair of sunglasses and put them on. ‘So you have my card. Phone Geordie to arrange your refreshments, thenGuthrie or you can phone me any time’
    ‘You’ve been a great help, Alec,’ said Chrissie, wrinkling her nose as she turned to go.
    Her gesture seemed to have the desired effect, for Alec blushed.
    He stood tapping the card against his teeth as he watched them get into the Mercedes and set off. He waved.
    ‘But I think you’ll be lucky to get Guthrie on TV,’ he mused to himself as they disappeared round the bend of the track.
    He pressed the intercom. ‘It’s Alec, Mr Lovat. I’ve brought your supplies and your post.’
    He went back to his van and started up the engine. Then he pressed the zapper that opened the gates and once they had swung free he set off up the zig-zag drive.
    ‘But who knows. Maybe the old goat would like to be a TV star. I think he would like that Chrissie.’
IV
    Bruce McNab never really liked taking more than two clients out on the river at a time. For one thing it was hard enough trying to teach two people the intricacies of fly-fishing. And for another it was potentially unsafe, according to the faceless wonders in Health and Safety who were forever trying to put a stranglehold on folk such as himself. It was a continual worry whether the insurance company would pay up if anything did go wrong. Yet his main reason for keeping his numbers so small was because he was not one known to hold his tongue. If he thought someone was acting like a fool he would tell them, no matter how rich, powerful or titled that person might be. In his mind he was the expert on all types of hunting and gamefishing and that was just the way it had to be. Give him three folk and he knew that there would be one clown among them.  
    In this trio of clients he just knew that there was an idiot of the first order. He just wasn’t sure which of them it was.  
    ‘The skill is in the way that you make your fly react,’ he said as he stood thigh deep in the waters of the Corlinspey River about fifty yards down from the Cauldron Pool. It was called that because the waters tumbled over a ledge at the edge of the Corlins into a foaming vortex before they cascaded down a series of mini rapids and the river meandered peacefully on. The three clients stood on the bank looking down at him each dressed in brand new sporting clothes and waders, with their rods at the ready.  
    ‘The trout is an intelligent fish. He has a good idea where he is going to get a tasty insect meal. He seems to know a real insect from a poorly disguised metal hook that is going to hoik him out of the water.’ He turned and thrust out his bearded jaw challengingly. ‘He will not be fooled