Ryan - A House of Ghosts

Contents

For Ciara

T he sea was black as ink and the small fishing boat, travelling under a loose sail, moved slowly across its glass-flat calm. Ahead of them the island was barely visible through the early morning mist, but he could just about make out the cliffs that ringed its southern tip. Normally they were a hard grey, but thanks to the soft rain that clung to the sea mist they were darker still foreboding, even to someone who knew them well.

The tall man standing beside the wheelhouse knew the island, and the waters around it, well enough, even if it had been four years since hed last set eyes on the place, and he knew the skipper was right to be cautious. Many was the vessel that had come to grief on the hidden reefs and rocks that lurked underneath the mirrored waters over which they travelled.

The skipper corrected his course to avoid Wreckers Spine, the string of jagged rocks that reached out from the cliffs towards the mainland but was invisible when the tide was this high. The tall man glanced across at the skipper, who nodded.

I could take you round to the long beach, easy enough. Theres no one on the island as would see you at this time. None as you need worry about, anyway.

The Maidens Whisper is safest all the same.

Its a long climb and the rain will have turned to ice on the rocks. I wouldnt call it safe.

Ill manage.

The skipper cleared his throat and spat, and the tall man knew hed not mention it again.

A seals head broke the surface not twenty yards off the boats bow, causing the faintest of ripples. The seal looked directly at the tall man, its intelligent gaze making it seem almost human. The fishing boat slipped past and the seal, motionless, watched the man go.

Youll have to get your feet wet and push me off, the skipper said. It wont be too hard, not with the sea like this.

The tall man began to take off his boots, placing them in his pack, along with his socks and trousers. There was no point in getting wetter than he had to. After all, there was no certainty that the appointment would be kept that day, or even the next. He might have to rest up in the cave for a while and he wouldnt be able to light a fire. But he was used to cold and he would make do. He had biscuits and cheese to eat, as well as some chocolate, and the skippers wife had given him a thermos of tea before theyd left the harbour.

Thanks for all youve done for me.

The skipper nodded. Its the right thing to do.

Ahead of them the black sea lapped against the strip of grey pebbles the fishermen called the Maidens Whisper. He helped the skipper lift the boats keel as it drifted in, kissing the pebbles with a long, slow rattle.

Quick now. Id best be off before the mist clears.

The tall man took the skippers hand and felt the mans rough skin against his own smooth palm, not hardened much by the blood hed shed.

May God go with you, the skipper said. He pushed the sail over and the fishing boat moved slowly away.

Despite the freezing water that came up to his waist, the tall man stood and watched until the fishing boat disappeared into the fog. God would not be accompanying him on this journey. They had no time for each other now, God and he. He turned and made his way up the shore. There he dried himself with his spare shirt and dressed. He was cold, but would soon warm up.

It was only then, when he looked up at the cliffs and followed, with his eye, the narrow track that led up to the cave, that he shivered.

T he officer sitting in the small waiting room had papers in his pocket that announced him as Captain Robert Donovan, 1st Battalion, the Connaught Rangers. It was close enough to the truth.

He had returned from France that morning, landing at Dover at dawn and taking the train up to London. It had been a rough crossing and he was glad to be back on dry land. He was less glad to have been ordered to report directly to the man he worked for, but, examining the young woman opposite him, decided there must be a purpose to his presence. And hers, most likely.

She was attractive, with grey eyes, a long nose and a firm, slightly pointed chin. Her complexion was pale and clear, and the occasional glance she cast his way seemed to indicate intelligence, as well as annoyance. He supposed he was being rude, staring at her. It was hard, after France, to adjust to England and its conventions. After the trenches, the idea of politeness seemed more than a little absurd, but he supposed hed have to make an effort.

He looked down at the cigarette he had absentmindedly lit a few moments before, observing the slight tremor in his fingers with equanimity. Lighting it had probably been a mistake.

Do you mind? he said, as he exhaled a thin plume of smoke. He tried smiling, conscious of the unaccustomed strain it caused his cheek muscles.

Do I mind what?

Her voice was as he had expected. Educated. Serious. Definitely annoyed.

If I smoke?

Shouldnt you have asked that question ten minutes ago?

Donovan considered this. He looked at the low table between them and saw two butts in the ashtray. She might have a point.

Probably.

There was a loud bang and a flash, which momentarily lit up the room. The window rattled.

Maroon, Donovan said when he saw her flinch.

I beg your pardon?

A maroon.

And?

Its a type of signal rocket. Not a German bomb.

I didnt think it was.

A lot of people do.

A couple of air raids and the city was in a state of outraged terror. Apparently bombing, gassing and wholesale homicide had a time and a place in a war. It was good to know there were rules, he supposed.

Id introduce myself, he said, but its frowned on. He circled the cigarette in the air to indicate their surroundings. Very hush-hush sort of a place.

Her mouth pursed in irritation, before she glanced towards the door as though someone might be listening. Which they might well be. Then she lowered her head back down to the book she was reading.

He glanced at the title. It wasnt the sort of book hed have expected her to read and he found he liked her all the better for it.

Any good?

She looked up, seemingly surprised he had spoken to her again.

The book, he said.

Its diverting, she said, and turned another page.

I see. Diverting.

He blew three perfect smoke rings, which hung in the still air before curling in on themselves.

Two small red marks appeared on her perfectly pale cheeks. He wondered why she was there in the room, with him. It was almost certainly intentional. He had sat here a number of times and had never seen anyone else except Miss Wilkins, the secretary to the man hed been summoned by. That was the way it should be done, in his opinion.

So, if she was meant to be here, then the question was why. She seemed a little young for this line of work not much older than twenty-three, although her earnestness might make her seem a little older. To judge from the long, straight blue dress and the neat jacket, she might well work in one of the Whitehall offices, but surely not this one. He allowed his eyes to take in the initialled brown leather briefcase that rested beside her chair perhaps she was seeking employment here. It was possible.