silver. After a little thought I let it down smoothly over my shoulders and brushed it with Givenchy’s Le Dé. I had just finished this when a voice said: “Hey, Missus!”
I was no one’s Hey Missus now. I slipped on little kid slippers by Jourdain, and fastened my watch, that Byng gave me, in three colours of gold; by which time I had had three Hey Missuses more. Then heavy feet sounded on the deck over my cabin, there was a thud as someone jumped into the cockpit, and the same rough voice: “Are ye there, Mistress Rossi? I’ve word from Dr Kenneth at Rum!”
And at the same moment Lenny’s voice, damn him, said near at hand: “Now wait a bit. Let’s hear who you might be first . . . oh, it’s you, Tom.”
And the first voice, softening, said: “Aye, man. Tom McIver. I’ve a wee note for the lady. She’ll be in?”
I ran to open the door.
He was from the puffer. He had a Breton beret and a three-day beard, and he stank of kippers and coal dust. But he had a message from Kenneth. I looked Lenny straight in the eye, and Lenny grinned and said: “Tom McIver’s all right, ma’am. You’ll excuse me. I’m cleaning the cooker.” And he disappeared, tactfully, across the saloon and into the galley.
I asked McIver in, and said: “He’s here? Dr Holmes is in Crinan?”
Mercury cleared his throat. Under the bristle his big face was scarlet. “Na, na. He’s no on Rum either. You’ve maybe no heard of the Lysander’ s accident?”
“Of course I’ve heard.” If I was short, it was because I was cold with alarm. If he wasn’t on Rum, where the hell had he gone? Or did the idiot mean he was dead?
“Aye. Well.” The stupid man shifted from one great foot to the other. “He’s been moved from Rum to South Rona, Dr Kenneth, while they look into that business. The submarine was on trial off South Rona, ye’ll ken.”
Where the hell was South Rona? My face must have betrayed my exasperation and dismay, for the man added quickly: “It’s not far away: it’s a wee island next to Raasay, ye ken.” And as my face remained blank: “Just over from Portree, Skye. There’s nothing on it but a few wee huts where the sub. crew and the scientists stay. Well, he’s there now; and he canna get to Rum, and I was to seek you out, mistress, and gie ye this.”
I snatched it. It was an old OHMS envelope, sealed over with sticky tape, with a scrap of paper inside. On that were a few words only in Kenneth’s big, personal writing. “Don’t come now. Don’t come ever – it isn’t safe. Goodbye. I love you.” There was no signature and no need of one. It was Kenneth, I knew.
I looked at it for a long time, and I smiled as I looked. Oh, he was still afraid for me, still protecting me. He was giving me the chance to retreat. But he must know perfectly well that he had also now given me an address where I could reach him in privacy far more easily than before. For South Rona was only a short sail from Portree. And in three days’ time, I should be in Portree on the Dolly, on the race’s last call before Rum.
I touched my friend’s kippery arm and said: “Thank you for bringing this. I know you won’t speak of it to anyone else . . . Did you see Dr Kenneth when he gave you this? Is he well?”
My friend had removed his beret, at last. He cleared his throat. “Oh, well enough. Aye. They’re all a bit pressed, ye ken, since the accident.” He paused, and then said: “Would there be a reply?”
I hadn’t dreamed a reply would be possible. Now I realised that this puffer was probably taking regular supplies to South Rona for both lighthouse and base. With the mellow evening sunlight all about me, and the convivial sounds from the concourse, the lap of water and the distant Niagara of the locks, the cry of gulls and the sundown song of the land birds, with all the saltwater togetherness going on all around me, I thought of a dead man swinging slowly in a cupboard in Rose Street and said: “Yes,
I was no one’s Hey Missus now. I slipped on little kid slippers by Jourdain, and fastened my watch, that Byng gave me, in three colours of gold; by which time I had had three Hey Missuses more. Then heavy feet sounded on the deck over my cabin, there was a thud as someone jumped into the cockpit, and the same rough voice: “Are ye there, Mistress Rossi? I’ve word from Dr Kenneth at Rum!”
And at the same moment Lenny’s voice, damn him, said near at hand: “Now wait a bit. Let’s hear who you might be first . . . oh, it’s you, Tom.”
And the first voice, softening, said: “Aye, man. Tom McIver. I’ve a wee note for the lady. She’ll be in?”
I ran to open the door.
He was from the puffer. He had a Breton beret and a three-day beard, and he stank of kippers and coal dust. But he had a message from Kenneth. I looked Lenny straight in the eye, and Lenny grinned and said: “Tom McIver’s all right, ma’am. You’ll excuse me. I’m cleaning the cooker.” And he disappeared, tactfully, across the saloon and into the galley.
I asked McIver in, and said: “He’s here? Dr Holmes is in Crinan?”
Mercury cleared his throat. Under the bristle his big face was scarlet. “Na, na. He’s no on Rum either. You’ve maybe no heard of the Lysander’ s accident?”
“Of course I’ve heard.” If I was short, it was because I was cold with alarm. If he wasn’t on Rum, where the hell had he gone? Or did the idiot mean he was dead?
“Aye. Well.” The stupid man shifted from one great foot to the other. “He’s been moved from Rum to South Rona, Dr Kenneth, while they look into that business. The submarine was on trial off South Rona, ye’ll ken.”
Where the hell was South Rona? My face must have betrayed my exasperation and dismay, for the man added quickly: “It’s not far away: it’s a wee island next to Raasay, ye ken.” And as my face remained blank: “Just over from Portree, Skye. There’s nothing on it but a few wee huts where the sub. crew and the scientists stay. Well, he’s there now; and he canna get to Rum, and I was to seek you out, mistress, and gie ye this.”
I snatched it. It was an old OHMS envelope, sealed over with sticky tape, with a scrap of paper inside. On that were a few words only in Kenneth’s big, personal writing. “Don’t come now. Don’t come ever – it isn’t safe. Goodbye. I love you.” There was no signature and no need of one. It was Kenneth, I knew.
I looked at it for a long time, and I smiled as I looked. Oh, he was still afraid for me, still protecting me. He was giving me the chance to retreat. But he must know perfectly well that he had also now given me an address where I could reach him in privacy far more easily than before. For South Rona was only a short sail from Portree. And in three days’ time, I should be in Portree on the Dolly, on the race’s last call before Rum.
I touched my friend’s kippery arm and said: “Thank you for bringing this. I know you won’t speak of it to anyone else . . . Did you see Dr Kenneth when he gave you this? Is he well?”
My friend had removed his beret, at last. He cleared his throat. “Oh, well enough. Aye. They’re all a bit pressed, ye ken, since the accident.” He paused, and then said: “Would there be a reply?”
I hadn’t dreamed a reply would be possible. Now I realised that this puffer was probably taking regular supplies to South Rona for both lighthouse and base. With the mellow evening sunlight all about me, and the convivial sounds from the concourse, the lap of water and the distant Niagara of the locks, the cry of gulls and the sundown song of the land birds, with all the saltwater togetherness going on all around me, I thought of a dead man swinging slowly in a cupboard in Rose Street and said: “Yes,
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