Stormy Petrel (22 page)

This time no one spoke. He took a sip of brandy.

‘That island, the seal island, you called it. There's a romantic little spot if there ever was one, history, nature, good beach, nice harbour, the lot. But it would take a rhinoceros to want to sunbathe on those beaches, and you can't tell me you didn't know it. What the hell are they?'

‘Midges,' said Neil. ‘Argyll variety.' He set his glass down. The colour had begun to come back into his face. He spoke soberly. ‘Mr Bagshaw – Hart – I owe you an apology. We all do. I feel ashamed about today, and I've no right to be thanked for it. It was a – well, it was a conspiracy to make you hate the place. It was also stupid of us to think you wouldn't see it. And to leave you deliberately – yes, of course it was deliberate – on the island at the time when the midges are worst . . . That was childish, a rotten thing to do. The only excuse is that you . . . you seemed so keen, and I honestly did think I would be held to it. And you took it all so well. You make me feel ashamed, and I beg your pardon. I hope you'll forgive me.'

‘And me,' I said. ‘You've been sweet, Mr Bagshaw, and I'm sorry.'

‘For what? Giving me my favourite supper? Forget it. You –' this to Neil – ‘are a very lucky man.'

Neil looked blank. I felt myself go scarlet. Crispin smiled into his brandy glass.

Mr Bagshaw pushed his chair back. ‘And now I'd better be going. Neil, you and I can talk on the way back in the boat. And don't feel bad about it. As far as I'm concerned, there's plenty of good fish in the sea still, and I'll find some place where I won't be doing Mother Whosit's chickens out of a roost, and where I can get the john mended the same day. I'll say goodnight, then, Miss Rose, and thanks again and no hard feelings. Crispin—'

My brother was on his feet. ‘I'll see you to the boat. Leave the dishes till I get back, Rose.'

He went out with Mr Bagshaw, the latter waiting to help him carefully down the steps to the path. Neil smiled at me. The tired look had dropped away.

‘I ought to make a speech, too. Thank you for today, and I really mean that. It's been quite a day, and I don't know where I'd have been without you. Shall I see you again soon?'

‘I'll be here. The ivory tower is mine for another six days.'

‘For as long as you like, and rent-free at that,' said my landlord. ‘Crispin's missed a whole week as it is, so why not stay over and make it up? I'll fix it for you with the agents. Now I really must go. I'm just hoping that the lawyers or the police won't drag me straight back to Glasgow, but I'll be round with the boat just as soon as I can make it. So – see you soon. And in any case—'

‘Yes?'

‘See you next term,' he said, and went.

The sound of the boat's engine died. Crispin came back to help with the dishes, and then he went up to bed while I set the place tidy for the night. Before I locked the door I went outside, and down the steps to the edge of the beach. Crispin's light was out already. My own tiredness had gone, but I welcomed the silence and the solitude.

It closed me round, the blessed silence, made up of all the peaceful sounds of night; the whisper of sea on the shingle, the breeze in the bracken, the rustle of some creature in the grass, a splash from the tide's edge, and a movement among the rise and fall of the sea-tangle, dark in the dark.

‘Good night,' I whispered, and went indoors to bed.

I was just falling asleep when, from somewhere just outside the bay, I heard a boat's engine mutter softly past.

‘See you next term,' I said, and smiled into my pillow.

I believe I was still smiling when I fell asleep.

About the Author

Mary Stewart, one of the most popular novelists, was born in Sunderland, County Durham and lives in the West Highlands. Her first novel,
Madam, Will You Talk?
was published in 1955 and marked the beginning of a long and acclaimed writing career. All her novels have been bestsellers on both sides of the Atlantic. She was made a Doctor of Literature by Durham University in 2009.

Madam, Will You Talk?

Wildfire at Midnight

Thunder on the Right

Nine Coaches Waiting

My Brother Michael

The Ivy Tree

The Moonspinners

This Rough Magic

Airs Above the Ground

The Gabriel Hounds

Touch Not the Cat

Thornyhold

Rose Cottage

The Crystal Cave

The Hollow Hills

The Last Enchantment

The Wicked Day

The Prince and the Pilgrim

Frost on the Window

The Little Broomstick

Ludo and the Star Horse

A Walk in Wolf Wood