Seated in the motor car, Faro related the details of Archie’s accident. Sven was shocked and said that he hoped this dreadful man would be caught and sent to prison. Since having any meaningful conversation travelling the rough cliff roads was impossible, there was no hope of Faro getting answers for the many questions he wished to put to Jack seated behind. However, in an uneven stretch of road, the ever-alert Sven detected a tremble in the accelerator unnoticed by his passengers, but meticulous about such things he apologised for the slight delay while he groped about knowledgeably inside the engine.
Faro and Jack disembarked, taking this chance to stretch their legs.
‘What did you conclude about this attack on Archie?’ Faro asked.
Jack shrugged. ‘Same as everyone else. Looking for selkies every night and this Lammastide legend just threw him over the edge. He stumbled and fell, hit his head, knocked himself out and imagined the rest.’
‘So you don’t believe anyone attacked him?’
‘No, I do not.’
However, Faro had a more important question unrelated to Archie’s so-called accident. ‘You haven’t been quite straight with me, Jack.’
Jack looked puzzled. ‘In what way?’
‘To start with, about the fraud case.’
Jack frowned. ‘I can’t tell you any more than I know. I had a telegraph, direct instructions from Edinburgh that I was to remain here on the pretext of a fraud case. That I might be needed.’
‘And that was all?’
‘Just as I told you. I have been in communication with Central Office and I gathered that their instructions came from a higher authority: His Majesty’s government, no less.’
Faro thought for a moment. ‘What about this man I am going to meet? Has he some connection? What do you know about him?’
Jack shook his head. ‘Nothing, except another message from Edinburgh saying there was someone who wanted to meet Inspector Faro and that he was to regard this as of the utmost importance.’ Frowning, he turned to his father-in-law. ‘May have something to do with your past police activities, but they certainly were not willing to share that information with me.’ He sounded slightly offended, considering his seniority in the Force.
‘We are ready to leave now, gentlemen.’ Sven was wiping his hands and donned his goggles.
With no opportunity for more speculation they reached Kirkwall, and Sven set them down outside the local hotel where a tall man, formally attired in what Faro guessed was from the regions of London’s Savile Row tailors, stood before a blazing fire in the cosily furnished parlour. Even in summer a fire was one of their attractions for mainland visitors who might find the wind or the unreliable weather troublesome.
Guessing ages was not one of Faro’s attributes and this man, immaculately attired from expensively shining boots to smoothly pomaded hair, could have been anywhere between fifty and a well-preserved sixty-five. A gentleman of substance, Faro decided, confirmed by the antique French watch with an elegant gold chain, consulted and held in a well-manicured right hand with a signet ring bearing the coat of arms of some noble house. And the final touch: as soon as he opened his mouth there issued forth the voice of authority. Clearly not a retired policeman wishing to shake the legendary inspector by the hand or a local resident with some minor or major problem and some confidence to be shared.
Jack gave a smart bow to the gentleman, who had introduced himself as Mr Smith, and his presence no longer required, he excused himself. He had some business, a few minor details to attend to before returning to Edinburgh. As he and Mr Smith were both staying overnight in the hotel, Jack suggested that they might have supper together. Mr Smith bowed. He would be delighted. And Jack turned to Faro. ‘Perhaps you would care to join us?’
Much as he enjoyed Jack’s company, Faro did not relish the prospects of supper shared with this stranger. With no idea of what the man had in mind, he wanted to get this interview over as quickly as possible and declined the invitation on the grounds that Sven would be waiting to take him back to Yesnaby. On the assumption that this meeting would be brief, giving his father-in-law a parting hug Jack departed, telling him to take care of himself, and to pass on warmest greetings to Imogen.
Faro took a seat. His observation having already taken in all the details, his mind was racing ahead. He would not be surprised to be told that the man sitting opposite was not really called Mr Smith, and taking in his immaculate appearance that it was neither Kirkwall nor Orkney matters, nor the desire to make the acquaintance of a once famous policeman, that had brought about this meeting.
The stranger spoke first: ‘You may be surprised to know that I am from the King’s yacht.’
That suspicion had already entered Faro’s mind as Mr Smith continued, ‘You may have observed the Victoria and Albert III anchored near Stromness.’ A slight pause and Faro observed the merest suggestion of a nervous twitch. Whatever this was about, whatever urgency had driven him to seek out the retired chief inspector, Mr Smith was not a happy man, and Faro decided to help him out.
‘The yacht is visible from our house at Yesnaby and we might have had our meeting there. You would have been most welcome and, of course, if there was anything you required …’ Faro added, thinking of the yacht’s small boat being rowed across the short distance, but Mr Smith shook his head and continued.
‘It was more convenient and would attract less attention from the local community to arrange this meeting in Kirkwall. I trust it has not put you to any unnecessary trouble. I gather you came by motor car.’
While Faro was mulling over the significance of attracting less attention, Mr Smith said: ‘I will not beat about the bush, Chief Inspector—’
‘It’s just Mr Faro now, I am retired, so if this is police business, I am afraid that I can no longer be of any assistance.’
Mr Smith shook his head vigorously. ‘This is a matter for private investigation. You have, I expect, already realised that it relates to HM’s yacht.’ He paused, breathed deeply before continuing. ‘Our cruise took us over to Norway, visiting personal friends, and on our return voyage when the approaching storm threatened, we were in sight of Orkney and decided to take refuge.’
Faro remembered Sven’s account of a party in progress and loud music. Hardly a refuge, as Mr Smith, biting his lip, said: ‘There was a most unfortunate accident, a member … of the company fell overboard.’
Most probably drank too much, Faro had already decided as Mr Smith went on, ‘Of course, we set to work immediately to try to rescue this … this person but despite all our efforts soon realised that it was beyond us.’
‘Did you not consider calling for the assistance of the lifeboat? They are always at the ready, on the alert and adept at dealing with such matters in all weathers.’
Imagination supplied the negative reasoning to that suggestion as Mr Smith made an impatient gesture. ‘Of course, of course. It was suggested, but the idea was speedily abandoned, I’m afraid. Such a decision would have led to the inevitable publicity raised in newspapers, and so forth.’ He paused and regarded Faro solemnly. ‘I am sure you understand, sir, that bringing such an unfortunate incident before the public eye would be very intensely displeasing should it reach His Majesty’s ears.’
Not so distressing or displeasing as the loss of a man’s life, thought Faro, who was beginning to like Mr Smith less and less as he continued: ‘So we have remained at anchor, taking shelter unobtrusively, hoping to sort it out with a happy conclusion before proceeding on our way.’ Pausing to sigh and shake his head, he went on, ‘Sadly nothing, no evidence of any sort came to light despite intensive searching and diving by members of the crew.’ He made a despairing gesture. ‘We can delay no longer: the yacht is scheduled for another cruise so we must return to London and face the consequences of a disastrous voyage.’
Again, he paused regarding Faro hopefully, whose mind was already confronting the next question. Who had commissioned this cruise to Norway without the King himself? Who
was so important in royal circles? Although he knew that Imogen could have answered that: some minor royal, someone high in government circles, or a person of considerable wealth wishing to impress and willing to pay dearly for it. Which of these categories, he wondered, fitted Mr Smith, whose intense gaze continued? But Faro shook his head; without further information there was no suitable or helpful comment he could think of, although listening closely to Mr Smith had revealed other facts.
Besides being fearful, Mr Smith was not English. The very slightest of accents had given him away and by his expression he had waited long enough to guess the once brilliant chief inspector – his last resort – was not going to be of the slightest help with his mysterious reason for this meeting.
He said, ‘I am sure you understand, sir, that it would be tragic, but quite necessary for us to return with some evidence.’ He coughed, paused a moment and asked: ‘Tell me, Mr Faro, what is the estimated time for a drowned body to be washed ashore?’
Faro regarded him wide-eyed. That was a question to which no one could give a reliable or comforting answer. He said: ‘The curious tides and any number of factors make its probable destination unpredictable. It could be washed up, drifted by the vagaries of the tide on to any of the islands. Some bodies remain for weeks; some are never recovered.’ He did not add, many beyond recognition, broken up, made limbless by savage waves beating a corpse upon the rocks.
Mr Smith nodded. ‘I understand. And I realise from this information that there is little reason to hope that by delaying our return voyage south’ – he frowned – ‘we might be in possession of a body.’
There was a slight pause before Faro asked the question that had been troubling him. ‘How did you think I might be able to help you?’
Mr Smith looked vague and uncomfortable as Faro added: ‘I am puzzled to know who suggested that you should contact me in this matter, especially as my visit had been arranged at short notice. It was for a family funeral.’
Mr Smith shook his head. ‘I can say only that information reached me by way of reliable sources, so I took the liberty of getting in touch with you. Of course, I had heard of your remarkable career and we met once at an embassy reception in Edinburgh. It was a long time ago, back in the ’80s so I don’t expect you remember.’ A slight smile. ‘However, I have a good memory for faces and thought I recognised you in a rowing boat near the yacht with some young people. A passing remark and all things seemed in my favour, particularly with the remarkable coincidence that you happened to be staying in the vicinity.’
Remarkable, indeed, Faro thought, as one who did not believe in coincidences. Words, he realised from his long experience, often used to veil very sinister plots. Furthermore, he had not the slightest recollection, even with his own excellent memory, of any earlier meeting with Mr Smith, or whatever his real name had been.
He said: ‘Whilst I accept what you have told me and the difficulties involved, I fail to see how I can be of any assistance, especially if I am to be kept in ignorance of the identity of the person involved: the man overboard?’
Mr Smith rose to his feet, he seemed considerably agitated. ‘Then we must leave the matter where it stands. My only hope was that you might have some helpful advice. I see that I was wrong and that I made a mistake.’ He gave a slight, rather foreign bow as he added: ‘I will delay you no longer, Mr Faro, and can only offer apologies for taking up your valuable time.’
Sven was hovering, seated near the door, intently reading a newspaper. Faro wondered if his curiosity had been aroused and how much of their conversation he had overheard as he asked Mr Smith: ‘How do you get back?’
‘The river pilot will return me to the yacht. He has been instructed to collect me in the morning. We sail on the afternoon tide.’
As they shook hands, Faro was aware of the man’s despair and desperation, frustrated and a little angry that he had learnt nothing of Mr Smith’s motives behind a meeting that had been for both of them a waste of time – time now so precious to him, that he might have spent with his family, and Rose in particular. They never seemed to get enough hours together, with so much missing, so much information to be gathered and gaps to be filled from the years they had spent apart.
He wondered if Rose with her intuition might hazard a guess at Mr Smith’s motives for the meeting. If only she could have been present she would no doubt have contributed vital questions that had not occurred to him, and he would now be brooding on more than a wasted few hours.
Sven was waiting. ‘Sir, there is a problem with the motor car. There was something wrong with the engine on our way here, as you may remember. The garage will sort it out but have warned me that it might take some hours to correct. I must wait, but they are providing you with transport.’ Pointing to the waiting motor car he said, ‘I am so sorry for all this inconvenience, sir. Please convey my apologies to Mrs Yesnaby.’
CHAPTER TEN
The hired car, with a driver as silent as any in Edinburgh, put him down at Yesnaby. Still brooding angrily over his wasted evening with Mr Smith, he expected Rose to be sympathetic and suggest some reasons for what seemed an extraordinary interview. But all she contributed was, ‘Poor Pa. That’s the price of fame!’ and went on to tell him that, in his absence, she had been trying to get some sensible facts about Archie’s mysterious attack.
Millie had arrived shortly after Jack and Faro departed. Her neighbour next door had promised to keep an eye on Archie while she went to apologise to Mrs Yesnaby, knowing how greatly she was needed, and ignoring Mary Faro’s sniff of disapproval or disbelief, when there were so many people to cook and clean for as well as this Aberdeen cousin, who Emily had warned her might walk in unannounced any minute.
‘There has to be a room ready for her. We must do our best to make her welcome.’
There would be no help from Millie now, the shocking accident to poor Archie was the last straw. Emily tried to be comforting, assuring her of everyone’s concern about Archie and that they would do their best to manage without her for the present.
Rose decided she would walk back to Hopescarth with Millie, an offer that was received gratefully but from Rose’s point of view for entirely the wrong reason. She wasn’t sure, as certain as the others, nor as ready to accept that Archie had fallen and had an attack of imagination. She wanted to walk along the shore and ask Millie to show her where she had found him.
Millie was more than willing to lead her to the exact spot. ‘There, among the sand dunes, Mrs Macmerry.’ The place where he had lain all night was flattened and a closer look revealed nothing sharp to indicate that was where he struck his head when he fell. As they moved on, away from the bruised grasses, while Millie chattered on tearfully reliving the drama once again, Rose stooped, picked up a stone. A smudge that could have been a bloodstain: was this the weapon? she wondered, putting it in her pocket.
Someone needed to talk to Archie, hear his story again, especially as he was much recovered from the head injury but still very confused. Where her father had failed earlier in the day, a sympathetic woman used to consoling words for distressed clients might succeed. She needed only to convince Millie.
‘Of course you can see him, Mrs Rose. He is much better now and I am sure just longing to tell someone else about it all. He is weary of telling me and I am weary of listening to the same story. Poor peedie bairn,’ she added with a deep sigh.
It was what Rose had hoped for. Archie was no longer in bed but sitting up in an Orkney chair by the window.
Millie said: ‘This is Mrs Yesnaby’s sister come to see you.’
Turning, he greeted her with a smile, held out his hand. In that handshake Rose felt she was seeing a perfectly normal young lad, whose good looks might have set the Orkney lasses hearts a-fluttering. Under that bandaged head, curling fair hair and bright hazel eyes. In that first moment of meeting there seemed little to connect him with the wild-eyed creature Faro had encountered.
She sat down in the chair opposite. ‘I a
m glad to see that you have recovered. We were all sorry to hear about your nasty accident.’
He regarded her solemnly for a moment. ‘It was not an accident, Mrs Macmerry. A man hit me, tried to kill me.’ His voice was firm and steady.
‘How dreadful.’ Rose said the words expected of her. ‘What was he like, this man? Can you describe him?’
‘I can that. I thought he’d come back for me this morning,’ he said with a frenzied glance at his mother. His voice raised petulantly: ‘I was seeing him again, like I told you—’
‘Archie, please …’ his mother interrupted. Laying a restraining hand on his arm, she turned to Rose. ‘I do apologise, Mrs Macmerry, the poor lad wasn’t in his right mind,’ she added in a whisper. ‘Just confused. The man he thought hit him must have looked like Mr Faro.’
‘He was a gentleman; I know a gentleman when I see one,’ Archie shouted and Rose interrupted what she guessed was going to be a long story. ‘Just tell me about him.’
Archie sighed, closed his eyes for a moment as if in the effort of remembering. ‘I will tell you all about it, if you will listen.’ A sharp glance in his mother’s direction, who was standing by the window, looking apprehensively at him. ‘She’s been told and doesn’t want to hear any more. She doesn’t believe me.’ And looking at Rose, obviously consoled by this pretty woman with her gentle smile, he stretched out his hand and touched hers. ‘But you are different from the others, I think you will believe that I am telling the truth, that a man tried to kill me. He wanted to steal my selkie, and she was coming, I knew, any minute.’ His eyes darkened, ‘I looked round. There was this man who had been walking on the shore; I couldn’t see him now but the next moment, I felt a thud on my head.’ His hand reached up and touched the bandage, trembling. ‘I saw stars. Then everything went black. Next thing I knew, it was day, Ma was bending over me crying, there was a policeman and my head was bleeding.’
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