Island-in-Waiting by Anthea Fraser

baron they commemorated. “And we have our own Atlantis lying out there somewhere,” he added. “Fishermen say it rises up sometimes in the morning mist. It was once an island as big as Man, inhabited by a three-legged race who came across here on raids. Do you know the motto of the three legs, by the way?
    â€˜Whichever way you throw me, I stand’. Very appropriate, wouldn’t you say, since the island’s been tossed about between the Scots, the Vikings and the English and still retains its independence.”
    We turned back to the car and I knew there was a question I had to ask in spite of myself. “Isn’t there a legend about Lugh the Harpist?”
    He glanced at me sharply. “Back to Uncle Tom?”
    â€œWhen he put us into the trance he played something he called Lugh’s Sleeping Tune.”
    â€œThat’s right. Lugh of the Long Arm was the son of Kian, who ruled Erin, and was sent over here to be educated with Mannanan’s sons. He became a great harpist and played three wonderful tunes, the Laughing Tune, the Sleeping Tune and the Weeping Tune. I’d have to check the details with Granny Clegg, but I think his country was invaded and he went back to defend it, armed with Mannanan’s sword The Answerer.”
    â€œIt’s a pity he didn’t have a Waking Tune,” I said ruefully.
    We were silent as we drove back past Port St Mary clustering round its little bay and on to the ancient capital of Castletown. Something about the brooding castle and dark, narrow streets depressed me and suddenly I was longing for the warmth of Hugo’s fire and curtains drawn against the approach of darkness.
    â€œHadn’t we better be making our way back?” I asked tentatively. “It’ll be getting dark soon and we shan’t be able to see much anyway.”
    â€œI’d thought we could have dinner somewhere.”
    â€œMartha’s expecting me for a meal and I am rather tired.”
    â€œJust as you like. By the way, I meant what I said about painting you. Out on the hills somewhere. I have a place in mind, not far from Ballacarrick.”
    â€œHow long would it take?”
    â€œTwo or three sittings, perhaps, a couple of hours at a time. I’ve a feeling it could be the best thing I’ve done.”
    â€œBut I’ll only be here for another week.” As I spoke my mind went unbidden to Neil.
    â€œDo you never listen to what I tell you? Didn’t I say the day we met you’d be here a long time? Don’t be thinking you’ll escape me that easily!”
    An apprehensive shiver ran down my spine. “You can say what you like,” I declared roundly, “but one more week is my limit. After that I must go back and decide how I’m going to set about earning my living.”
    â€œI’ll not argue with you. I’ve a free day every second Tuesday and it falls next week. Shall we make a start then, weather permitting?”
    I hesitated. The thought of being alone with Ray on a deserted hilltop was not enticing but a numb kind of acceptance was closing over my mind and somehow I felt that this had to be and it was useless to try to avoid it.
    â€œAll right,” I said, “provided Annette St Cyr is well enough to do the lunch by then.”
    We drove up the mountain road, dropped down into Ramsey and so through Sulby to Ballacarrick. The shadow of the hills crept closer as evening approached. Winter was coming too, I thought with a touch of sadness. There were drifts of leaves lying in the gutters like spendthrift gold and by the corner of the old school house two small boys were trundling a grotesque-looking guy in a wheelbarrow. Tonight the clocks would go back an hour. The long-drawn-out concession to summer was coming to an end.
    â€œWhen will I see you?” Ray asked as we drew up outside the cottage.
    â€œTuesday will be quite soon enough.” I reached for the door handle but he