“Like?” Puzzled. “Oh, yes…There was something odd about it. Yellow, old—as if it had been taken out of an old notebook.”
“Or as if it was an old note?” asked Dominic, and, almost at the same moment, “Good God!” said Julia. “Don’t you remember, Breckon, that time I had to go to New York, to Sir Charles? You weren’t well? You didn’t like my going? It was all miserable. I remember writing a note like that, from the airport—to Amanda. Just to make myself feel better. I suppose Uncle Paul must have got hold of it. Dear God…” She looked back with horror down the years of patient treachery.
“You did? That’s funny.”
“Why?” She hoped he was beginning to believe her, and could see that Dominic thought so too.
“Because I remember Paul saying how odd it was we hadn’t heard from you. He made a big thing about it, in a quiet way. I suppose that was when I started…” He was silent, gazing at her with a kind of horror.
“Wondering about me.” She finished it for him. “And I don’t blame you! I wrote you every day, Breckon. The note to Amanda was enclosed in one to you. From the airport.” She coloured, but went bravely on. “There wasn’t much time. I just said I loved you.”
“It would have been enough. Julia, believe me —I never had any of them.”
“I do believe you.” She was remembering, coldly, that the mail at La Rivière was all delivered, by prescriptive right, to Uncle Paul, who shared it out among the family. And why not? A loving family. His. “Why didn’t you say something when I got back?” she asked now.
“I didn’t like to. It…would have seemed like grumbling. Paul said—” He stopped. “God, what a fool I was. Do you remember, that day you were attacked. By the Cooper?”
“I should say!”
“Julia! You’ll have to forgive me!” He looked quickly from her to Dominic. “Did you never wonder why I was there? Not at Charleston?”
“Of course I did.”
“Well—” He plunged into it. “Uncle Paul said you were meeting someone. By the Cooper. On those morning walks of yours. He—half suggested it was something to do with Sir Charles. Oh—I was crazy even to think of believing him. But—I had to be sure. You oughtn’t to forgive me—not really.”
“I do,” she said. “We were their puppets, weren’t we?”
“Yes. Well—I loved Uncle Paul. If it’s any excuse. When that tramp was found dead, he said—Uncle Paul—that he must have been the man. The one you’d been meeting. Least said, soonest mended, he said. For your sake. Do you see?”
“Dear God, yes. Clever! I wonder who he was, poor man.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Breckon. “Some unlucky wretch from St. Helen’s, don’t you think? Laid on by Miss Andrews. If I’d only insisted on a proper investigation at the time…But do you see?”
“Uncle Paul made you think it would involve me?”
“Yes. He was so…so kind about it. And I let him fool me.”
“They’re quite a pair, Uncle Paul and his son Tarn.” For a moment, Julia forgot the threatening present in her relief at the past explained. “Uncle Paul fooled you. Tarn fooled me. I think we’ll just have to forgive each other, darling, don’t you? But, tell me. Later, after I’d moved into the hotel. Did you get my letters then?”
“I never had another letter from you, Julia. Only the ones from the lawyers about the divorce.”
“They terrify me,” said Julia. “All those years…All that wickedness.”
“And all our unhappiness,” he said. “All that wasted time.”
“Do kiss each other if you like,” said Dominic. “I don’t mind,” and was surprised and pleased to find himself simultaneously hugged by both parents, the shared gesture more satisfactory than any kiss.
But Breckon had been thinking about Julia’s story. “Tarn told you all this?” he asked now. “About Uncle Paul and Miss Andrews?”
“Yes.” They both knew it for their death sentence. “I think we’ll have to let Dominic try and swim for it,” she went on. “Don’t you?”
“Unless we can think of something else. And if he’s going in swimming at teatime, he’d better have some lunch now. Besides, I’m starving.”
“You look much better,” said Julia.
“I feel it. You’re sure I couldn’t get under that water gate, Dominic?”
“Quite sure.” It was curious, Julia thought, to be so certain this was the truth.
“Dominic,” she said. “If you get to the island and can’t make the boat start, you’ll hide there, won’t you? Not swim back?”
“I’ll scout around. I might find help.” It was not quite an answer, and they all knew it.
Lunch was breakfast all over again, except that the rolls were dryer and the water warm and brackish. And—it finished the supplies.
“I wonder if there’s a well on the island,” said Breckon.
“You mean—they might just leave us here?”
“Well—it would look a kind of accident, wouldn’t it? If the water gate had jammed.”
“No boat,” said Dominic.
“And what about Sir Charles? Didn’t you say he’d come galloping to the rescue, Julia? How much does my cousin Tarn know about him, by the way?”
“Too much by a half.” But Julia’s heart had leapt at the casual reference to Sir Charles. “The only good thing is he doesn’t know I cabled him—and that’s only because I never had the chance to tell him—” Fury at her own gullibility curled her voice, “Anyway, I think he might easily have worked out that I would. Just the same, let’s see if we can find a well.” They all knew that it would be better to be doing something than just sitting and waiting for dusk.
There was no well. They had none of them expected to find one. Julia looked at her watch. “I think Dominic should rest up for that swim.”
They lay in the sun, Dominic in the middle, not talking, not sleeping, very content to be together. Only, whenever they heard the sound of a plane to the north where the airport was, a kind of shiver of hope ran through all three of them.
At last a finger of shadow fell across Julia’s hand. “Do you think—”
“Yes,” said Breckon. “It gets dark so fast. You’re sure, Dominic?”
“Quite sure. I’ll be careful, I promise I will. Think what a lot I have to be careful for.”
“Come on, then.” Breckon swung him up on to his shoulders for the walk across the island, and Julia felt a swift, shameful pang of jealousy.
But when they got to the inlet that ran down to the water gate, Dominic turned to her for help with the zip of his red windbreaker. “You won’t be too cold?” She was helping him out of the shirt that had been specially designed to help support his weak arm.
“Of course not. I’ve been swimming since April Fool’s Day, haven’t I, Father?” He was wriggling out of his jeans as he spoke and now stood ready in scarlet underpants. “Wish me luck.” He reached up to kiss first Julia, then Breckon. “You’ll wait here?”
“Yes. And you’ll give us a call when you’re safe under the gate. And—”
“Be careful,” interrupted Dominic. He gave them a mischievous grin and dived, shallow and smooth, into the water. The few strokes that took him down to the water gate showed Julia that he was indeed a strong swimmer in an extraordinary, triangular way. Now, for a moment, he trod water, waved his good hand at them, smiled that brilliant smile of his, and duck-dived neatly under the gate.
It was very quiet on the island. They were holding hands, watching ripples spread where the child had been. “Should we have let him?” asked Breckon.
“Yes. Whatever happens, it’s better. You don’t know your cousin Tarn. He’s going to enjoy this.” Her hand clenched in his. “Listen!”
“Hello,” came the child’s cry from the far side of the gate. “Can you hear me? I’m holding onto the gate, but I can’t reach the bolt. The island looks quite near. I think I’ll start now. Wish me luck.”
And, “Good luck, Do
minic,” they called in unison, then turned to stare at each other strangely, still hand-fast, and then, at last, after all the years, to kiss.
Chapter Eleven
“NO!” Breckon lifted his head from hers. “We can’t. Not while he’s—”
“I know. Breckon, what can we do? Something, please or I think I’ll go mad.”
It earned her a reluctant laugh. “Not you too, love. I’m counting on you for the sanity of my family. Our family,” he corrected himself. “And be damned to Uncle Paul and his ‘taint.’ “
“When you meet Cousin Tarn,” said Julia sombrely,
“you may find yourself believing in that taint all over again.”
“Maybe I will. But you’re not Matron Andrews, thank God. And, besides, look at Dominic. The world can’t have too many like him. We’ve got to save him, Julia.”
“It rather looks as if he has to save us.”
“I wish I knew how far it really is to that island.”
“And what he’ll find there. Breckon, do you think there is anything here we could use as a weapon? Just in case.”
“It will be something to do,” said Breckon. Which just about summed it up.
It was a rather random search, since one of them stayed, all the time close to the water gate. But, taking it in turns, they finally equipped themselves with a one-tined pitchfork, found by Julia under the straw in the shed, and a rusty but solid iron bar, which Breckon unearthed near the now well-trodden path up the hill. “There’s something queer about that hill,” he told her, returning with the bar. “I don’t like this island a bit.”
She could not help laughing, just out of the happiness of being with him again. “It’s a funny thing,” she said, “but I don’t either.” And then, with a quick, anxious glance at her watch: “Breckon, it will be dark soon. Do you think he had time enough?”
“He was the only judge,” said Breckon. “And if I know him, which I should”—his hand, pressing hers, took away the sting of it—”he was right. But—we’ve been fools, Julia. He may need light—to find his way back, if he can start the boat.”
“If he’s got there.” But already she was working beside him, gathering last year’s deadwood into a high pile. “I hope you’re a Boy Scout,” she said at last. “Or at least carry matches.”
He felt in his pockets. “Damn. They’ve taken my lighter. But Dominic always has matches. He’s rather clever at lighting them. They’ll be in the inside pocket of his windbreaker.”
Handling the small garment, she felt the tears come at last, and let them. Dominic had saved his matches rather than use them against the dark he feared. She held them out to Breckon. “It should be visible from the Torcello boats. Someone may come to investigate.”
“You never know your luck.” He lit a handful of dried leaves. “Don’t cry, love. Whatever happens, this will have been worth it.”
“I’m not crying,” she lied, and added an armful of wood to the swiftly crackling fire. “Or not so much about us. It’s Dominic. It seems such a waste.” Why were they both assuming the worst? She picked up the windbreaker again. “Talking of weapons”—she felt in the cluttered pocket—”I’d clean forgotten Dominic’s penknife. It’s a good one. He said so. He said you always give good presents. You’d better have it. Just in case…”
“Thanks.” He tucked it in the right-hand pocket of his corduroys. “I remember—it’s got a switch-blade. He promised never to use it. And—at least it will have the element of surprise. I think the fire’s going well enough now, don’t you? We don’t want to be extravagant with our fuel.”
“No.” It was beginning to get dark. “I wish to God we’d thought of it sooner.”
“Stupid,” he agreed. “But it would be stupider still to turn an ankle trying to collect wood in the dark. We may need to be mobile.”
“Yes. I wish we knew how far that island was.” She kept coming back to it, to Dominic.
“Try not to fret, love. He may be busy trying to get the boat started. He’s driven mine often enough, but it might so easily be different. Something he couldn’t handle. I chose mine specially…to suit him. But it still seemed worth the try.”
“Better than this waiting.”
“For him. Perhaps best if he doesn’t make it back.”
“Yes.” He moved away as she spoke, prowling around the circumference of the fire’s light in search of more wood. “Do be careful.” She could hardly see him as he moved into the undergrowth at the far side of the fire.
“I am careful.” They were both thinking of Dominic. Then, suddenly, “Good lord! Julia, come here.”
She threw a handful of small wood on the fire to give an extra burst of light and hurried towards him.
“How did we miss it this afternoon?” He was holding what looked like a small tree. “I was looking for dead wood and it just came away. It’s been cut and put back.”
“To mask a path. How many matches have we, Breckon?”
“Almost a full box, God bless Dominic. Keep an eye on the fire, love. I’m going to see where this goes. Straight into the hill, by the look of it. Not far,” he reassured her, lighting a match and moving slowly away into the darkness, which was made more absolute by the light of the fire. The match flared and went out and she heard him swear to himself, then “Yes, it’s a tunnel!” he exclaimed. “With a door. I did wonder…Back in a second.”
Another match showed for a moment, then vanished. She was biting her nails again. They tasted of smoke. She picked up the tree that had concealed the path and saw that it was an evergreen of some kind. That was why they had failed to notice it when they searched the island that afternoon. She began systematically pulling off branches and feeding them to the fire, which crackled and flared up merrily. The tree must have been cut for some time. Once again, she felt the cold finger of terror as she thought how systematically they had been prepared for. Breckon had found a tunnel. Was it their grave?
“Just what I thought.” His voice came reassuringly out of the darkness. “The whole hill’s artificial.” He was nearer now. “An ammunition dump from the first world war, I should think.” He emerged into the firelight. “Totally overgrown, maybe forgotten even.”
“I hope it’s empty. I suppose you couldn’t see…”
“No. I didn’t want to use too many matches. It felt huge in there.”
“Breckon, do you think—”
“Probably. I just don’t quite see how it’s going to work. Because they’ve got to find our bodies or they can’t inherit.”
“Your body. Dominic and I don’t count.”
“You count to me, my darling.” His arm was warm around her. “I wish I understood. I wish we could plan…”
“We’ll just have to play it by ear. At least, we’re together. I almost wish we hadn’t let Dominic—”
“Hush!”
She could hear it, too. The sound of a powerboat, driven fast. Coming towards the island? Now, for the first time, she regretted their fire, which made it impossible to see any other light.
“Coming here, I think,” said Breckon. “There will be a moment, whoever it is, while they get the gate open. We must challenge them; find out. Here.” He handed her the pitchfork. “If it’s them, remember, they mean to kill us. In a way, “we can’t lose.” He hefted the metal bar. “I’m going to start with this and keep Dominic’s penknife as a last resort. Remember not to let yourself get silhouetted against the fire, love. It’s part of our element of surprise. And, it may bring help.”
“This may be help.” Once again, she wondered why they were both so pessimistic, then remembered all the evidence of careful, expensive, long-term planning. They were right to expect the worst.
The boat’s engine roared, then cut out. In the silence that followed, she could hear the fire crackling, and then a thud as the boat hit the water gate. “Hello,” said Dominic’s cheerful voice. “Here we are.”
“We?” Breckon took Julia’s hand to lead her away from the fire a
nd take up position on the decrepit landing stage.
“Yes. I got help.” And then, in Italian, “Can you manage, Lucia?”
“The bolt is very stiff. There! There it comes.”
Breckon’s hand on Julia’s was hard. “Lucia Capella,” he whispered. “What in the name of—” The firelight showed the water gate slowly opening. “For God’s sake, be careful.”
“I am careful,” whispered Julia. And then, loud and cheerful: “Dominic, darling, you made it!”
“Sure I did.” The boat was nosing its way slowly up the channel to the landing stage. “And, see, I got help. They’d marooned poor Lucia on that island. She couldn’t manage the boat,” he explained, as it bumped the landing stage. “Well, nor could I, by myself. But together, here we are!”
“It’s wonderful.” There was an odd note in Breckon’s voice. “Here! Out you come. Get your clothes on quick, Dom, you must be frozen. And let’s get away from here.” He made the mooring rope fast to the dock and held out a hand to Lucia. “Come and get warm by our fire while you wait.”
“I may as well stay in the boat.” Her English was fluent, though heavily accented.
“No.” He reached down a firm hand and pulled her ashore. “Come and tell us how you got to be left on that island. I thought you’d gone home.”
“I did.” The girl held out shaking hands to the fire, her face pale in its light. “I got a message. A note.” She spoke slowly, as if having trouble with her English. “About Dominic. It said he needed me. To tell no one, but take the train in to Venice. I’d be picked up at the bridge by the station.”
“You didn’t tell the police?”
“It said not to. That they’d…hurt Dominic. So I went.”
“That was very brave of you,” said Breckon. “What happened?”
“A water taxi picked me up. When we were well out in the lagoon, something happened; I don’t know. I woke up and found myself alone on that island.”
“Very odd indeed,” said Breckon. “Are you two ready, Julia?”
One Way to Venice Page 15
