He murmured, ‘What do you think,min skat?’
Ben’s hand tucked into his waistband. Always a good sign. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if I should just go with the flow. Instead of thinkingoh Godevery time you announce you’ve been thinking, or that you have an idea, I should just sayyup, whatever,it keeps things interesting.’
‘Good idea.’
‘I’m weighing that up with thinkingfucking hell, he’s done it to me again—made a unilateral decision about me and mine without actually consulting me, or even thinking to warn me before it smacks me in the face.’
‘I am the main admirer of your face, Ben, so if there was someone about to damage it I would kill them.’
‘Ah, that’s reassuring to know.’
Harry was waiting politely for them at a junction in the path, so Ben removed his hand. Aleksey took the lead, and they headed straight to the garden.
When they entered, they all paused on the threshold, surveying the large enclosure. Entirely sheltered by high redbrick walls, the place might once have fed the entire household with fruits and vegetables, and possibly supplied flowers for cutting to decorate Guillemot. The raised beds were all still present and some of them still had their plants. The walls supported fruit trees. But the greenhouse only contained death and ruin and was a sad reminder of how live things caged rarely thrive unless tended with great care. The glass, however, was all in good repair, if dirty. Harry nodded to himself, presumably at the challenge ahead of any potential gardener. ‘Have you been to Greenway House, Mr Rider-Mikkelsen? Agatha Christie’s Devon home on the Dart? Dittisham way? We popped in for a quick visit on our trip here. This is identical to the vinery there. Same era, I should say. Fascinating.’
He went forwards, touching and testing plants as he went. He strode into the glasshouse with no apparent anxiety. Similarly, he was able to examine the shed without his wobblies affecting him. Aleksey cast his mind back to the wonky little structure at Topsham where the old man had tried to help a dying veteran, and wondered how and when these problems affected him.
Harry emerged from the shed and they continued their tour. He seemed fascinated by the pond, glanced knowledgably at the little medieval stone arch and asked, ‘Have you seen Fountains Abbey? Now, there’s a tribute to the unknowable worth beholding.’
When they came to Kittiwake, Aleksey told him, ‘This would be yours, if you take the job. It needs quite a bit of work.’ Harry stood regarding the little cottage. Now, he was clearly hesitant to enter. Watching his expression, Aleksey toed the ground for a moment then offered quietly, ‘Coming back to life is extremely painful. It is like being broken open and physically reborn, and everything is too bright and it hurts. But on the other side of that pain can be…all this.’
Harry glanced back at him and then his gaze flicked over to Ben, who was at the edge of the flame-coloured woods, squatting, rubbing Snodgrass’s ears and trying to get him to chase a stick, apparently oblivious to the little drama going on between the other two. Aleksey swallowed and continued, ‘I intend to ask Michael to help with the renovations—he’s already become annoyingly adept at spending my money, so I think the job will suit him. He would need…guidance though, a steadying hand at the helm.’
Harry closed his eyes for a moment, nodded, and stepped into the cottage.
* * *
Chapter Nine
They assumed that Kittiwake had once housed all the staff required to run Guillemot for royalty, and yet seemed to their modern expectations barely large enough to accommodate one elderly man and his dog (who on his best days couldn’t be described as imposing).
Still in the old-fashioned style of small, separate rooms, it had a kitchen, dining room and sitting room downstairs with two bedrooms up a rickety flight of stairs off a tiny landing. There was no indoor plumbing, although the kitchen led to a coal scullery and there was a toilet off that.
Aleksey watched Harry’s face as he examined one or two things. ‘No need to decide now. Come and see the lighthouse.’
Harry’s face cracked into a smile. ‘I saw it as we sailed past in that little blow. What a beauty. I’m partial to a sturdy lighthouse. The tales it must have to tell.’
Aleksey agreed, and told him one as they walked along. Harry was as puzzled as he and Ben and Phillipa were by Billy’s story. ‘And you say he lit the light for you one night?’
Aleksey glanced back to see if Ben was listening, which he wasn’t, so lied, ‘We’d gone for a night swim and become disorientated, but then we saw the light, yes.’
Harry nodded sagely. ‘Well, that would suggest then that he was brought up with the keepers. It’s no small task to light the lamp in a lighthouse—not something someone, especially a lad with difficulties, could work out how to do on his own. If I wanted to enquire about his welfare, son, I’d start with locating the old keepers.’
This had genuinely not occurred to Aleksey, but it made perfect sense. Although he wasn’t about to admit it, he knew nothing about lighthouse lamps or the lighting of them, so if put to the task would probably fail miserably. But Billy had seemed entirely at home with the whole process.
‘He has not been back, so he must be living somewhere else, and yet he only had a tiny dinghy. I find it hard to believe he could sail or navigate such a thing between the islands.’
‘Ah, that’s harsh, son. Ancient man used to travel vast oceans in little more than a hide shell held together by straw and prayer. One such journey, oh, it must have been in the fourth century, if I remember my history lessons, went from Ireland to Iceland, and possibly even to the New World. No, sailing and exploration are in an Englishman’s blood. And Scilly waters are forgiving if you know the reefs.’
Aleksey thought back to his own childhood and smiled privately. If he’d been given his wayfarer here, in these enchanting islands, he’d probably still be out exploring. They came to Ben’s Bottom and began to climb the slope. Snodgrass apparently smelt the rabbits and was off like a puff of smoke—one minute he was there, and the next minute he was nothing but a distant yip of glee.
Aleksey said a little anxiously, ‘The cliffs?’
Harry laughed. ‘We walked the South West Coast Path last year, son. Snodgrass is well named—he has a good head for heights.’
The old man desperately wanted to enter the lighthouse when they got there. Aleksey could see the longing on his face, the desire to reach the top and survey his natural realm, gaze out over the placid ocean stretching in all directions. But he couldn’t. When they opened the door, the darkness inside, perhaps the tiny narrow confinement of the spiral stairs, appeared to overwhelm him, and he bowed his head as if in submission to its power over him and walked away to stand on the cliff edge to admire the sea stacks instead. He stood braced, legs wide, hands clasped behind his back, and Aleksey wondered whether, if life had worked out differently for this old man, he would be standing thus inspecting the fleet as it sailed past.
Ben, who always wanted to climb to the top, folded his arms and studied the rigid back. After a moment, he jumped off the base and went over to him. Aleksey watched them chatting for a while. When Ben swung away and started back down the slope, he went to join Harry.
