Island-in-Waiting (21 page)

“It's yourself, then,” she said quietly in greeting. “We've been expecting you.”

Her mother was in the huge rocking-chair as before. She nodded across to me, her beady black eyes avidly scanning my face. Did she remember giving me a feather from St Catherine's Hen, sixty years of her lifetime ago? It was impossible to guess.

“You've not had your midday meal, I'm thinking,” Kirree said matter-of-factly, and I realized with embarrassment that my arrival had coincided with lunch time. She brushed my polite protests aside and laid a place for me on the scrubbed table-top. A sizzling from the old stove in the corner and the richly appetizing smell unmistakably identified the meal as herrings. I knew that this fish had been the staple diet of the Manx for generations, and wondered how many over the centuries had sat in this little room to eat them. Martha'd told me that the Deemster's oath ended with the promise to administer justice ‘so indifferently as the herring backbone doth lie in the middle of the fish'.

The meal was eaten in a comfortable silence, the fish being accompanied by bread and unsalted butter and cups of sweet strong tea. When we'd all had sufficient Kirree quickly cleared the table and old Granny, her eyes for the moment unclouded, held out her tiny claw.

“There's something you've brought me, I'm thinking, that might answer your questions.”

Hesitantly I unbuttoned the neck of my dress and withdrew the lighter, warm from my flesh.

“There now. Let's be after seeing what it can tell us.”

She took it in her brown, gnarled hands and a far-away look came over her wizened little face. “Sure, and a frightened man it was held this,” she said after a moment.

“Ray?”

“No, not himself, rest his bones. A clever man, tall and fair, knowing what he wants and meaning to get it. But there's violence there too, ugly, driving him on.”

“No!” I whispered involuntarily.

“Sure, 'tis not his fault entirely. Didn't I tell the boy his mischief-making would rebound on him?”

“But he'd never have hurt Ray!” I insisted desperately.

“You know the one I speak of?” The sharp old eyes softened. “'Tis terrible hard, child, but I can't be changing what is done.”

Blocking off that avenue, I asked instead, “Mrs Clegg, where is Ray?”

Her gaze shifted, took on another dimension. “Not far away, dearie. Beneath the coloured stars.”

Hadn't she once said much the same to Ray himself?

“I don't understand,” I said plaintively. “I want to find him.”

“Sure and you will, child, you will.” A sudden spasm shook her little body and the lighter clattered on to the table.

I reached out and retrieved it, my fingers closing round it protectively. Behind me Kirree laid a warning hand on my shoulder and when I looked up she nodded towards her mother. The old woman was muttering incoherently and as the rigidity which held her melted away she began to rock gently backwards and forwards. The steady, repetitive movement had a disturbingly hypnotic effect and I remembered hearing that mental patients kept up this same mindless rocking, perhaps instinctively striving to correct their own imperfect rhythms.

“What the hell do you want?”

The voice was Ray's and I leapt out of my chair, sending it skidding across the floor. Again I felt the pressure, more insistent this time, of Kirree's hand as she righted the chair and eased me back on to it. Incredibly there were still only the three of us in the small, shadowed room. With the breath knotting in my throat I gazed fearfully at the upturned, in-looking old face across the table.

“What are you doing here?” Ray again, with a note of unease apparent now. The old woman's head was cocked as though she listened to the reply. Though her lips barely moved, the voice came over unspeakably spine-chilling, riveting myself and Kirree to mesmerized immobility.

“Oh, for God's sake! You didn't really think I'd say anything? As if it matters to me where your inclinations lie!” And then, on a note of sharp fear: “What are you doing? Look, I'm not alone, you know. Chloe's here. She'll be back any minute now the mist's coming down. For God's sake man, be reasonable! I won't say a thing – I swear it! Get back, you bloody fool! Are you insane?” And then the urgent cry which had echoed in my head to rouse me from sleep. “Chloe!”

We waited, motionless, and an obscene gargling sound issued from the wrinkled old throat, followed by total silence. As the force that had held her withdrew the old woman slumped forward, her hard, knobbly little chin on her flat black bosom, and a moment later, while we still stared, she began to snore.

“She'll sleep for some time now,” Kirree said in her down-to-earth voice. “It always takes her like this.”

I wrenched my eyes away from the emptied face to the calm, plain one with its wildly improbable eyes. “He's dead, isn't he?”

“There's little doubt of it at all.”

It was no surprise. I'd known, even before I'd returned to the deserted canvas. But to have had his last words played back so accurately – and I didn't doubt their accuracy – that was gruesome indeed. To whom had he been speaking? To a tall, ambitious man who was potentially violent? My fingers clenched on the lighter and I slipped it back into its hiding place. Now I had to go and meet Neil.

Awkwardly I opened my handbag, but Kirree reached forward and snapped it shut. “No, no, don't think of it. Mother was fond of the boy. If she's helped you, that's enough.”

I came out of the cottage into the sunshine of Peel Harbour as if emerging from a lifetime of underground darkness. ‘Are you insane?' Ray had cried, and of course the answer must be ‘Yes'. Temporarily, perhaps, but undeniably, at that particular moment, insane. The coldness spreading inside me was untouched by the sun, locked away beyond the reach of warmth and light in a desolate prison of fear.

“Chloe! What on earth are you doing here?”

I spun round to see Vivian Quayle smiling at me. Her eyes went to the door of the cottage I'd just left. “Been having your fortune told? I thought you could do that for yourself!”

“Not really.” I made a supreme effort to pull myself together. “What about you? You're not going there, are you?”

She laughed. “Good gracious, no! In any case, my future's looking a whole lot brighter all at once. No, I was on my way back from Castletown and thought I'd take some kippers home.” She nodded towards the old smoke houses.

“Incredible about Ray Kittering, isn't it?” she added conversationally. “We've not had so much excitement in a long while. That's what I get for saying island life is dull! Can I give you a lift home?”

“No thanks, I have the car.”

“I'll be on my way, then. Hope your fortune was a good one!” And she clicked away along the quayside in her high-heeled shoes.

I was becoming used to the necessity of keeping my mind blank. I watched the white rise of the road in front of me, the colours of the trees overhead, the grey stone walls on either side. As I reached the gates of St Olaf's I saw that Neil was already waiting for me.

“Chloe, what is it? You look as though you've seen a ghost!”

I'd heard one, at any rate. When I did not reply he added, “Drive along here for a hundred yards or so and you can turn into one of these farm tracks. I don't suppose anyone will be along for a few minutes.”

For seconds longer as I followed his suggestion I was able to keep my mind on the car, my hands on the wheel. Then, as the engine died into silence, no further delay was possible. I must do what I had to.

Groping towards some desperate, unformed prayer, I retrieved the lighter, warm to my cold fingers. Without a word I handed it to Neil.

“Good Lord, where did you find this? I'd almost given up hope of getting it back! It was a twenty-first present from my brother.” He turned towards me, smiling, but at the sight of my frozen face exclaimed urgently, “Darling, what is this? What's happened?”

I didn't allow myself to register the involuntary endearment. “When did you realize you'd lost it?”

“About ten days ago, I suppose. Why?”

“
Ten days
My head snapped round to face him.

“It must be quite that. I put a notice on the board about it last week.”

Deep inside me the ice was beginning to melt. I said tremulously, “Neil, you are sure? All that time ago?”

“Of course.” And as he continued to stare at me in bewilderment, I weakly leaned my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. Thank you, thank you, thank you. His arm came tightly round me.

“Sweetheart, I don't begin to understand what all this is about. Why is the lighter so important?”

I took a deep breath. “I found it on the hill, under Ray's palette.”

There was a long, measureless silence. Then: “Are you telling me what I think you are?”

“Probably.”

“Chloe, look at me! When did you find it? Not later than Sunday, because the area was cordoned off. Why didn't you tell me before?”

“I forgot about it. I found it when I went back to the painting site in the mist. I thought Ray had dropped it, so I slipped it into my pocket and with everything else that happened I forgot all about it.”

“Until?”

“Last night. That was when I saw the inscription.”

“And you wondered whether I'd killed Ray?” There was an odd note in his voice and I didn't meet his eyes.

“Not really. I just – had to see you.”

“Have you reported this to the police?”

I did look up then. “Oh Neil, how could I?”

“You stupid, trusting little fool!” he said roughly. “Don't you realize the risk you were taking?”

“There's something else I must tell you,” I broke in quickly. “I've just been to see Granny Clegg. She's a medium of some sort – Ray took me there last week.” Haltingly I related how she'd interpreted the vibrations from the lighter and the terrifying reproduction of Ray's last few minutes.

Neil took hold of both of my hands and held them very tightly. I could feel his trembling. “There are times when you frighten the life out of me, do you know that? You go waltzing off to all kinds of dubious places, gathering heaven knows what lethal information, and all the time there's somebody not too far away who knows for a fact that you were with Ray on Saturday and who may be very worried indeed that you could identify him. Hell's teeth, it could easily have been me! But no, you come trustingly to me and hand over that damn lighter for all the world as though we were at some vicarage tea-party! Don't you see how irresponsibly you're behaving? When I think what might have happened –”

He released my hands and pulled me closer. “What am I going to do about you? You're not safe to be out alone! Heaven help me, I may have only known you – what? – two weeks, but if anything happened to you

He kissed me bruisingly. “Look, will you promise me something? Go straight home, looking neither to left nor right, and phone the police immediately. Lord knows what they'll make of all the airy-fairy stuff, but give them the facts about the lighter. You'd better keep it for now, they're sure to want it. Then stay in that house and don't so much as open the front door unless Hugo or Martha is with you – preferably both of them. That ought to keep you safe for the moment. After that –” He looked down at me with a smile. “I'm probably rushing my fences, but why not? These last few days have made me only too aware of the way I feel. It's obvious I shan't have any peace of mind until I can look after you myself, so as soon as all this ghastly mess is cleared up I intend to marry you, my girl. If you'll have me, that is, and there'd better be a damn good reason if you're thinking of turning me down!”

“I wasn't!” I said meekly.

After a few breathless minutes he looked at his watch. “Hell and damnation – Lower Sixth Greek in five minutes! Darling, I'll have to go. It's anybody's guess what those boys will be taught this afternoon! Promise me faithfully that you'll take care. I'll be round about five and perhaps we'll be able to discuss things more calmly then.”

I backed Martha's little car out of the farm track and drove the few yards to the college gates. Then, having dropped Neil, I turned in the direction of Ballacarrick, my mind such a jumble of joy and fear that I gave up all attempt at logical thought. Which was probably why, seeing the telephone kiosk opposite the village school, I decided not to waste a moment longer in contacting Inspector Quiggin with my report about the lighter. In any case, it would be easier to explain without Martha listening in the background, full of questions.

It was after four by now, and the school was emptying rapidly, children hurrying out of the yard and along the road in search of tea and the telly. Two minutes later I was speaking over the wires to the inspector.

“Mr Sheppard's lighter, you say?”

“Yes, but he lost it ten days ago. He can prove that – there was a notice on the board about it. I just assumed it was Ray's, but now that I think of it he always used matches. And, Inspector, there's something else. I'm not sure if you'll believe me. Perhaps, as a Manxman, you just might.”

“Another of your warning dreams, is it?”

“No, not this time. I can't really explain over the phone.” Standing in my bright little capsule, I was suddenly aware of the swift approach of darkness, the now deserted school looming on my left. Belatedly I remembered my promise to go straight home.

“Very well, Miss Winter, if you think it's important I'll be with you in about twenty minutes.” The phone clicked in my ear. I put down the receiver and pushed my way out of the kiosk. Alongside me, hardly distinguishable in the deep shadow thrown by the school wall, the guy still lolled in his barrow, patiently awaiting his conflagration.