Island-in-Waiting

by Anthea Fraser

  “The mist began to thin and I saw the figure of a man turning towards me.”

  “You’re not trying to tell me you dreamed it was Mr Sheppard coming to the rescue?” Inspector Quiggin’s voice was heavy with disbelief.

  “No, in the dream the figure was part of the threat – the man I’d been running from.”

  It was Martha’s indrawn breath that made me realize what I’d said. For long minutes the clock ticked remorselessly into the pool of silence. Then the inspector cleared his throat and stood up. Automatically I too rose to my feet.

  “Right, Miss Winter, I think that will do for the moment. If you remember anything else, however vague, you can reach me at this number day or night.” He handed me a small white card but the writing on it was a blur. As Hugo went with him to the front door, Martha put a tentative hand on my arm.

  “Chloe, love –”

  “I’ll pour her a drink,” Hugo said tightly, coming back into the room. “I think we could all do with one. Sit down, Chloe.” I tried to obey him but my knees were locked rigid and would not bend. I went on staring sightlessly at the card, its edges cutting into my fingers.

  The drink shocked me out of my temporary paralysis and I heard myself start to laugh. “They can’t really imagine Neil had anything to do with it! It’s too ludicrous for words!” Without warning my eyes were full of rushing tears. I dropped the glass on the table with a clatter and ran from the room.

  For a long time, incapable of stemming the streaming tears, I stood at the uncurtained window while my double, superimposed on the dark garden beyond, wept with me. Whether I cried for Ray or Neil or myself, I had no idea.

  At last I turned away and started to splash water on my swollen face. The cataclysm had calmed me and although my breath still came in long, gasping sobs, my mind was beginning to function again. Wearily I started to undress, and as I opened the wardrobe door my eyes fell on the tartan skirt hanging inside. With a sigh I ran my fingers down its soft folds, stopping abruptly as they encountered something small and hard. Memory clawed at me as I fumbled for the pocket and withdrew the silver lighter I had found beneath Ray’s palette. The numbing events that had followed its discovery had completely driven it from my mind.

  So I had unwittingly removed something from the ‘scene of the crime’ after all. In the morning I should have to phone the inspector and confess. Not that I imagined one small lighter could throw any light on the mysteries surrounding Ray’s disappearance.

  I turned it over in my hand and my eyes focused on an inscription on the back of it. With nothing more than mild curiosity I moved under the light to read it. In small neat lettering was engraved: Neil from Daniel. 11.2.1970.

  Seventeen

  I slept that night with the lighter under my pillow and it permeated all my brief, tormented dreams. I shouldn’t after all be phoning Inspector Quiggin; not, at least, until I had spoken to Neil. He would be able to explain how the lighter came to be on the hilltop, I assured myself endlessly, and closed my ears to the echo of his voice: I can think of at least six people who would cheerfully slit his throat. I could myself.

  “Chloe, I’m sorry,” Martha said at breakfast, “I have to go into college this morning. Ray’s A-level class is at nine o’clock. Would you like to come?”

  “I don’t think so.” What I had to say to Neil couldn’t be said at college. “You’ll be needing your car, then.”

  “Were you wanting it?”

  “I just thought I’d like to get out of the house for a while.”

  “All right, I’ll go in with Hugo. I should be able to persuade him to run me home at break.”

  “You will be careful, won’t you?” Hugo said anxiously.

  “We may very well have a murderer in our midst and if he suspects that you were with Ray he might be afraid you could identify him, mist or no.”

  Against my breast the little lighter lay like a lump of lead. “I’ll be careful,” I said woodenly.

  As soon as the car had turned out of the gate I hurried to the phone and looked up the number of Staff House. I should just be in time to catch Neil.

  “Chloe – has something happened?”

  To my over-sensitive ears his voice sounded raw with strain.

  “In a way. I have to speak to you. How soon can you manage it?”

  “Hell, I’ve a very full timetable today. You’re not coming in with the others?”

  “No, I – I’d rather we didn’t talk at college.”

  “Can’t it wait till this evening?”

  “Not really.” Every minute could be of vital importance, to my peace of mind if nothing else. Also, I should eventually have to explain to the inspector why I hadn’t contacted him at once.

  “I might be able to slip out for ten minutes during the Fourth Form lesson if I set them some work, but that’s not till three-thirty. I honestly can’t make it any sooner; I’m even coaching in the lunch-hour.”

  “That’ll have to do, then. I’ll wait for you at the gates.”

  “Are you all right? You sound a little strained.”

  “I’m all right,” I said steadily, and hoped it was true.

  For once my eyes were dulled to the beauty of the scenery as I drove down the country lanes. I turned in the direction of Andreas, principally because it was new to me and held no memories either of Neil or Ray. Memories were dangerous things that day. I met no other traffic on the road. It was almost as though the island respected my need for solitude, and the loneliest place of all was the bleak, northernmost tip of land at Point of Ayr.

  I parked the car by the lighthouse and walked across the springy turf to the cliffs, where I stood gazing out across the sea to Scotland only sixteen miles away. The strong wind brought tears to my eyes and over my head the inevitable gulls dipped and soared as they had above my ledge three short days ago. But the empty spaces offered after all no escape from the doubts and fears I was trying to resolve and I returned dejectedly to the car.

  I don’t know at what stage I realized that I was heading for Peel and Granny Clegg. By the time it filtered through to my consciousness the decision was fully formed. Granny would help me. She had been fond of Ray and tried to warn him with her strange riddles. Begun in September, done ere November – and Ray had disappeared on the thirtieth of October! Could there be some solution here? What was it he had begun in September?

  It was exactly one week since I had come this way with Ray. I jolted over the uneven cobbles and came to a halt outside the remembered doorway. Kirree Clegg was waiting there, her face grave, her beautiful eyes transparently troubled.

  “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 m
y 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!”