Death of an Adept

On the following morning, while Ximena and Adam set about winding up Ximena's affairs in San Francisco, Philippa flew back to her home in New Hampshire - though only for long enough to make arrangements for an indefinite leave of absence before travelling on to Scotland. She set out on the evening of the twenty-eighth, fortified with luggage enough for an extended stay, arriving at Glasgow's Prestwick Airport early on the morning of the twenty-ninth. The redoubtable Humphrey was there to meet her, instantly familiar in his dark suit and black chauffeur's cap.

"Welcome home, Lady Sinclair," he said, as she came through into the arrivals hall, beckoning to the adoring attendant pushing her luggage trolley.

"Hello, Humphrey. What a relief to find you here waiting," she said, extending her hand in greeting. "Whenever I have to travel at short notice, I always worry that there'll be some last-minute glitch. How are you keeping?"

"Very well, indeed, milady," he told her, taking over the trolley and heading toward the exit. "It's good to have you back. Permit me to be the first to congratulate you on the happy turn of recent events."

Philippa acknowledged this oblique comment with a warm smile, for the faithful Humphrey belonged to the select handful of individuals on this side of the Atlantic who had been entrusted with the whole truth. The very soul of discretion, Humphrey had long ago perfected the art of presenting a stolid exterior to the world - though Philippa knew he was not nearly so impassive as he took pains to appear, particularly where his beloved employer's welfare was concerned. On this occasion, there was an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes that belied the sobriety of his outward manner.

"Thank you, Humphrey," she said. "And thank you for your circumspection. I shouldn't want any rumor of our little secret to leak out prematurely. On the contrary, I intend to avail myself of a few days' peace and quiet between now and Hogmanay. With any luck, our two lovebirds will be joining us in time to see in the new year."

Always noticeable by virtue of her willowy elegance and imperious bearing - and visually striking this morning in a crimson coat and hat - Philippa attracted not a few admiring and speculative glances as she and Humphrey sailed out of the terminal building. Adam's blue Bentley was parked just outside, in honor of her arrival. After handing the lady into the roomy comfort of the rear passenger seat, Humphrey proceeded to stow what he could of her luggage in the inadequate boot, stashing the rest in the back beside Philippa and in the front passenger seat.

Amongst those who took notice of this operation was a burly young man seated in one of the vehicles waiting at the adjoining taxi stand. As the Bentley pulled away from the curb, the young man shucked aside the magazine he had been pretending to read and pulled out of the taxi queue, transmitting a brief message over the radio on a frequency that was not normally within the broadcast capabilities of a taxicab operator.

The message, briskly relayed through trusted intermediary channels, was not slow in reaching the ears of its intended recipients.

"Sinclair's mother!" Angela Fitzgerald exclaimed, when she heard the news of Philippa's arrival. "What the devil is she doing back in Scotland?"

This question was addressed to Richter and Mallory. The three of them had been summoned to Raeburn's library for an updated briefing session, but Raeburn himself had not yet made an appearance. In the interim, Richter had provided the others with folders containing annotated reports on the movements of all suspected associates of the Hunting Lodge, including the McLeods, the Lovats, and the members of Adam Sinclair's domestic staff. It had been judged too risky to tap into the telephone system at Strathmourne itself, but Humphrey's early morning departure in the Bentley had alerted Richter's operatives that something of note was afoot; and an intercepted conversation on the car's mobile phone had confirmed Humphrey's intended destination as Prestwick Airport, to meet an incoming flight from Boston. With that information, it had been a simple task to have an operative stake out the airport, confirming the arrival of Philippa Sinclair.

"We don't yet know about the plans of Sinclair himself," Angela reminded her companions, "but doesn't it strike you as a trifle odd that this meddlesome old she-cat should be paying a visit to the family manor while her son is still absent in America? It makes me wonder if McLeod and Lovat might have stumbled onto something up at Callanish to arouse the suspicions of the Hunting Lodge. If Sinclair couldn't come himself, it makes sense that he might send her."

Richter's bland expression remained unchanged. "Then we shall have to watch her as closely as we are watching Sinclair's other associates."

"And just hope to get lucky?" Angela asked.