Isvik (21 page)

Iris had got to her feet. ‘Let him go.' Her voice sounded slurred and she was tugging at Ward's arm. She made an effort and pulled herself together, drawing away from them and saying with great dignity and a careful enunciation of her words, ‘You must not q-quarrel, you two. We shall be a long time in
Isvik
. We will be living together in a very small space. You must be friends.'

‘He's comin' with us then?' Ward was looking, not at her, but at Gómez again. ‘Is that right? Ye're comin' with us?' And when Gómez did not answer, he swung round on her and said, ‘Does that mean he knows where the ship is?'

She stared at him, her eyes gone vacant again.

‘Does he, or does he not know where the ship is?' He said it slowly as though talking to a child.

‘He thinks he can take us there.'

Ward stared at her a moment. By then I was on my feet and I could see her face, the cheeks marked by the slaps he had given her, the eyes showing signs of intelligence again. She seemed to have pulled herself together, but she didn't answer him.

Ward's head swung back to Gómez. He looked like a bull about to charge. But then he restrained himself and said in a quiet voice, ‘Know anythin' about sailin'?'

‘Some.'

‘And ye've seen this ship we're goin' to look fur?'

There was a moment's hesitation, then he nodded. ‘I think so. There was low cloud, white drifts of mist close down on the ice. But yes, I think I see it.'

‘And ye pin-pointed the position?'

‘Yes, I have the position.'

‘Have ye given Mrs Sunderby the co-ordinates?'

Gómez did not answer, and Iris Sunderby said, ‘No. He refuses to say.' And she added, cheeks suddenly a-flush and her voice wild, ‘I tried very hard to get it out of him. Didn't I, Ángel?' She pronounced Ángel with a short ‘A'. ‘I do everything you want, but you don't tell me, do you? I crawl, I kiss your arse, do everything –' She had worked herself up into a state of almost incoherent fury, like a child in a tantrum, tears streaming down her face and her whole body shaking in a sort of passion as she suddenly flew at him, clawing with her nails.

He held her off, quite easily, standing there, smiling, and the look on his face was one of pleasure. He was a powerful, very fit-looking man, and he was obviously enjoying the mental distress he had caused and the fact that he held her powerless in his hands.

‘Ye bastard!' Ward's voice was a harsh mixture of anger and contempt.

Gómez, still smiling, still holding Iris Sunderby at bay, said over the top of her head, ‘That's one thing I am not.' He said it with extraordinary force, his face reddening below the dark skin and the eyes gone black again with anger.

Ward looked at him then with intense interest. ‘Ye don't like bein' called a bastard?'

‘No. Nobody likes being called that.'

‘Och, that's not altogether true. There's some it doesn't upset the way it does ye. It's even a term of endearment to some people.' He gave a little laugh. He was suddenly relaxed, his voice almost casual. ‘So yer mother and father were married, right?'

‘Of course they were married.' The angry flush was still there on his face. ‘So don't call me a bastard.'

‘Ah'm sorry. My apologies.' Ward was smiling. He was enjoying himself so much he almost bowed. ‘Very vulgar of me. Or perhaps Ah should say very stupid. Ah seem to remember it is all there, in that book by Luiz Rodriguez. Yer father married a nightclub singer. Then, when the family heard of it, they packed him off to Ireland, arranged fur the marriage to be annulled, and he married the Connor girl.'

‘This is nothing to concern you.' Gómez began to turn away, but Ward stopped him.

‘No, of course not. Ah was only makin' certain Rodriguez had got it right. A very tightly written little thumbnail sketch. If Ah remember rightly, he says the Gómez family already had Irish connections, so it was fairly simple fur them to find an impoverished landowner with a beautiful daughter goin' spare. That's where the Connor side of the name comes from, isn't it?'

Gómez nodded.

‘All done in a hell of a hurry, with yer grandfather, Eduardo Gómez, obtainin' a special dispensation, or whatever ye call it, from the Pope.'

Gómez nodded again, waiting and watching, his eyes intent.

‘And they were married in Ireland, at Rathdrum in County Wicklow, right?'

‘Yes, but they returned to Argentina almost immediately.'

‘So who is yer mother? Wasn't she the nightclub singer, Rosalli?'

‘No, of course not. I am half Irish.'

Ward laughed. ‘So yer mother was that Irish girl, Sheila Connor. Is that what ye're sayin?'

‘Of course. I tell you …' But he stopped there, realising suddenly what that would mean.

‘Sheila Connor – Mrs Juan Gómez – is also Iris Sunderby's mother.' Ward said it very quietly. ‘That makes ye and Iris brother and sister. Ye realise that?'

Silence, and Ward turned to Iris Sunderby with a smile that was very near to a smirk. ‘Ah just like to know the company Ah'll be keepin' down there in the Southern Ocean.'

Her face had paled. Hadn't she realised that her infatuation for the man was incestuous?

‘Mother of God!' Ward was looking from one to the other. ‘The tae of ye will need somethin' more than a dispensation from the Pope, Ah would think, if ye go on like this.' He turned back to Gómez, his head thrust forward. ‘But perhaps ye have made a mistake and it is really the Sicilian woman …' He let it go at that, smiling to himself as he suggested to Iris Sunderby that she go up to her room and put her things together. ‘We'll be leavin' just as soon as Ah've had a final word with our friend here. Ye go with her,' he said to me. ‘Give her a hand with her packin'. It's wearin' off, but she's still a wee bit confused.'

She was more than a wee bit confused. I think, if I hadn't been there, she'd have gone to sleep right away. ‘The bastard!' She said that several times, walking round the room. I wasn't sure whether she was referring to her brother or to Ward. Then suddenly she flung herself down on the bed and closed her eyes.

‘Where's your suitcase?' I asked her as I began opening drawers to see how much had to be packed.

‘Under the bed. Where do you think?' I had to kneel on the floor to reach it and her fingers fastened in my hair. ‘You don't approve, do you?'

‘What?' I had got hold of the suitcase and with the other hand I unclasped her fingers from my hair.

‘How else was I to try and get the location out of him?'

‘And did you?'

But now she had gone to sleep, or into a coma, I wasn't sure which. I put the suitcase down on the other bed and began packing the contents of the drawers into it. It was mostly warm-weather gear, light cotton and silk dresses, blouses, skirts, jeans, tights, panties, bras, the whole lot smelling of her, a mixture of scent, talc, perspiration and her own peculiar body odour. By the time I had packed the things from the wardrobe and stuffed her toilet things on the top I could barely shut the case. I dumped it outside the door with her anorak and a crimson and gold coat on top. Shoes! I had left out her shoes. And when I had put these into a plastic bag that I found lying beside them under the dressing-table, I put my hand on her shoulder, about to shake her. Instead, I found myself staring down at her, remembering that moment alongside the
Cutty Sark
when our eyes had first met.

She looked so peaceful and relaxed, lying there with her eyes closed and no expression on her face, just the good bone formation and the smooth flesh with the bloom of healthy, slightly darkened skin, like a madonna, very beautiful. It seemed a pity to wake her. She was breathing so quietly I could hardly see the rise and fall of her breasts, and those lips of hers looking fuller than I remembered, the mouth wider, and the line of the teeth just showing very white. ‘Mrs Sunderby …! Iris!' I shook her gently. The eyelids flickered and the lips moved slightly. ‘We're leaving,' I said.

‘No.' The eyes were suddenly open, strongly blue and very wide. But no expression in them – just wide, and the blue very deep, almost violet. ‘Not unless he comes.' She spoke slowly and with some difficulty.

‘Come along,' I said, tightening my grip on her shoulder.

Her lips moved again and I bent down to her. ‘What was that?'

‘I said – he is not – my brother.'

I shook my head. ‘I don't follow you.'

‘That's what you think, isn't it?' She was suddenly sitting bolt upright, staring at me. ‘You and that Iain Ward. I tell you, he is not my brother. He says he is, but he's not. I know that. I feel it – here.' She pressed her hand to her stomach. ‘In my guts.'

I didn't know what to say. ‘According to Rodriguez …'

‘To hell with Rodriguez. I know. When I am lying with him, and he is inside me – that is the moment I know for sure.' She swung her feet off the bed. ‘Now, let's get going, yes.' She lifted her feet, waggling her toes at me. ‘My shoes. I'm not walking barefoot.'

I got her a pair of tough brogues from the plastic bag and all the time I was putting them on her she was looking at me with a vacant stare, her eyes still very wide, the pupils enormous. I took her things out to the Toyota. No sign of Ward, but I could hear the murmur of voices from the direction of the stable block. I called out that we were ready, but there was no answer, and when I returned to the bedroom I found her lying back full length on the bed, her eyes open and gazing up at the ceiling with that same vacant stare. ‘You all right?' But I might have been speaking to a corpse, she was so pale and still and silent.

Somewhere somebody was playing a pipe, a sad fluting lament in the hot air. I pushed the sliding glass of the door to the patio further back to listen. There was no tune, but the notes had a pattern nevertheless that was very compelling. The primitive sound of it stirred something deep inside me as though it were Pan himself, not some Indian labourer, playing those haunting notes on that rude instrument.

I looked at Iris, wondering whether she could hear it. But she hadn't moved and I began thinking about how I was going to get her out to our vehicle.

The piping stopped abruptly and a horse neighed. I went out through the glass doors to the edge of the little patio. It was the same horse, the Indian holding its head and Gómez just swinging up into the saddle, Ward standing in the stable doorway. Gómez said something, smiling, his teeth white in the broad, handsome face. He looked young and carefree, almost like a boy.

A lift of his hand and then he had picked up the reins and, with a quick dig of his heels, went straight into a canter. Ward watched him, without any expression on his face, as he rode out through the arch, turned right and was lost to view behind the outbuildings that formed a part of the square courtyard. He turned then and came across to me. ‘How's our little skipper?' He sounded in a jocular mood, no sign of tiredness.

‘Come and see for yourself.' I said. ‘We'll probably have to carry her.' And I added, ‘How did you get on with Gómez?'

‘Connor-Gómez. Please!' He was almost grinning. ‘We understand each other now.' And then he said something that struck me as rather strange: ‘He's made up his mind now. He's comin' with us. He's suddenly quite determined about it.'

‘Why?'

‘Ah. Ye tell me that, laddie, and it'd save me an awful lot of time.' We were back in the bedroom then and he stood for a moment looking down at her. ‘Ye're right.' Her eyes were still wide open, a blind stare that was without any expression of intelligence. ‘It's not speed,' he said. ‘It must be crack. That's the worst way to cut the damned stuff. Ah wonder where he got the paraldehyde?'

‘Is that what you mix it with to get crack?'

He nodded. ‘Like cocaine it has anaesthetic qualities. Ye only need about three goes of crack and ye've got yerself an addiction problem. Och, well, we'll know soon enough.'

We picked her up then and carried her out, dumping her, limp as a sailbag, on the back seat. ‘Where are we going?' I asked as he began fixing the rear safety straps so that she wouldn't roll off the seat if he had to brake suddenly.

‘Back down south.' He was fussing over her, arranging a sleeping bag under her head as a cushion. ‘Accordin' to our hero, there's another road back to the coast by way of Cajabamba and Huamachuco. It's passable, he says, and it leads direct to Trujillo. We'll spend the night there, and then, if she's recovered, we'll go on in the morning through Lima to Tacna in the south of Peru. We pick up the plane for Punta Arenas at Arica, just across the Chilean border.'

He had it all worked out and he wasn't wasting any time. ‘Ye drive,' he said and got into the passenger seat.

‘Where's Gómez gone?' I asked as I started the engine.

‘Doin' the rounds of his estate.'

‘As long as he's not fixing for another of his boys to play around with this alternative route through the mountains,' I said.

‘No, he won't try that again.'

‘So what's the hurry?'

He was silent a moment and I thought he wasn't going to answer that. But then he said, ‘Ah don't know. Just a feelin' that the sooner we're on board
Isvik
the better. Once he's joined us it'll probably be okay, but till then …' He paused. ‘Ah'd just like to check her over, make sure nobody starts playin' silly buggers with the engine or the seacocks, somethin' like that. A fire on board …' He turned to the back seat as I swung under the arch and headed towards the Baños del Inca. ‘Ah wonder if she has any idea what it is all about. Did ye ask her?'

‘Ask her what?' I was trying to memorise the road.

‘She comes up here, throws herself at a man who may or may not be her brother, but who is undoubtedly mixed up in a very unsavoury episode in his country's history, lets him persuade her to fool around with a very dangerous drug … Why? And why should he go to such pains to stop us comin' up here?'