Lifeboat (14 page)

‘Thank you, doctor.'

I stood, holding out my hand. He took it and squeezed it firmly.

‘Now,' he said briskly, his expression lightening. ‘Do you realise there's no return ferry tonight?'

My expression of dismay made him laugh.

‘But don't worry,' he assured me. ‘I have a very comfortable guest room. You are welcome to stay the night – you'll be well looked after.'

‘But I must get back – no one knows I'm here,' I said, a slight note of panic in my voice, which he misconstrued.

‘Is that a problem? Please use the telephone and ring someone. And my housekeeper can stay here overnight, so you'll be well chaperoned.'

‘Oh no, it's not that,' I said, although I did feel uncomfortable at the idea of staying with a strange man, even if he was a doctor. And no one would be at the office now to take my call, so telephoning would be useless. ‘I haven't brought anything: clothes … a toothbrush—'

‘That's fine,' he interrupted. ‘I have everything. As coincidence would have it, I'm expecting a visitor any day now. The guestroom is ready and I took the precaution of getting in a few necessities, in case hers are worse for wear after the voyage. You can use those. And, if you will graciously accept my hospitality for this evening, I'll come with you tomorrow to meet your castaways.'

‘Really?'

‘Really. It sounds like we should get started straight away.'

‘That would be wonderful. Thank you so much.'

‘You gave me very little choice, but don't mention it. Now, if you will be so good as to follow me, I will show you to your room.'

The guestroom overlooked the bay. I sat on the bed, watching the swell break and dabble about the rocks at the foot of the cliff. An empty buoy bobbed in the water, fifty feet out. My view was fringed by the green of an immense fig tree, planted far too close to the house. I marvelled at its tenacity, seeming to grow out of the bare rock of the cliff top. Snug sounds of nesting birds floated in with the sea air, as dusk leant towards night.

In twenty-one years of life I had never been a guest in the home of a friend, or stranger, but there I was, invited by an interesting man, in a beautiful house by the sea.

The dark of evening spread out behind the moon, which rose into the night sky. In their rooms my castaways lay and waited.

I slipped my hand into my briefcase and retrieved the note she'd written to me the day before. I unfolded it carefully and read it again:

Dearest child, Please dine with us tonight, as our guest. We have missed you today. All our love, Yourfriends

I stared at the woman's distinctive, curling longhand, velvet black against the plain white office paper which had a luminous quality in the dwindling light. I held it briefly to my cheek, before refolding it carefully and slipping it into the pocket of my jacket. Tonight I would carry it with me for luck.

*

He set the dinner table on a verandah overlooking the garden.

‘I usually eat out here, weather permitting,' said the doctor, holding out a chair for me. ‘I'm a land lover, as I explained. For me, food and the restless ocean do not mix. Also, I like to view the garden from where the food has come.' He smiled and waved his hand with a flourish towards the vegetable patch.

‘Why do you live so close to the ocean then?'

‘I love the horizon, the emptiness, the storms. I am a voyeur of adventure from the safety of my analyst's chair. I take a perverse satisfaction in being up here, safe from it all.'

‘The house is very close to the cliff,' I said, wondering how safe he actually was. Surely one big storm would be all it took to topple it from its eyrie.

‘And has been for many years before I was here and, I hope, will still be for many years after.'

He poured some wine from a decanter.

‘Here's to our project,' he said, raising his glass in a toast. I clinked, although I baulked at his choice of words, but attributed it to professional detachment.

‘Do you like music?' he asked.

‘I do,' I replied, ‘though I have little experience of it.'

‘But you must have a good ear, given your skill with languages. Let me play you something.'

He disappeared into the house without waiting for an answer. I sat, sipping my wine, the garden quiet in my expectation. As I waited, I heard the ever-present sound of the sea, slipping softly past the house with the evening breeze, permeating the air about me. The first notes of music arrived on that same breeze, entwined with the sea sounds like a disturbance in the undercurrent too soft to notice. Then the notes rose like the tide, washing over me, swelling into waves. I closed my eyes and leant back in my chair, feeling each rushing chord pass through my body.

‘Beautiful, isn't it,' the doctor said as he resumed his seat quietly.

‘What's it called?'

‘
The Mouldau,
by a composer called Smetana. You've never heard of him?'

‘No.'

‘There was no music in your education?'

‘Church music,' I replied, pulling my mouth down.

The housekeeper arrived and served dinner. The doctor seemed to have an informal relationship with his staff. She and her husband lived in a cottage nearby, he told me, but she had agreed to stay at the doctor's house for the night.

Dinner was a simple meal of fish and vegetables, traditional to the island. He apologised for not serving goat.

‘We serve a lovely goat casserole, given notice. However, I can promise you some fine home-made goat cheese later.'

‘You breed your goats for meat?' I asked, relieved to be missing out. I was no less suspicious of goats when dead.

‘Oh no,' he replied, shaking his head. ‘I'll occasionally trade one with a neighbour, but my goats are for milk.'

He felt some explanation was due: ‘I can't stomach the killing part, you see. But for special occasions, visitors and such, we will slaughter a beast. I've prepared one for my guest, whenever she arrives.'

‘When do you expect her?'

‘Any day this month. She's sailing here, so it's hard to say.'

‘Where's she coming from?'

‘I don't know,' he said, laughing to himself. ‘She didn't say. I suppose it sounds odd, but she was always that way.'

‘An old friend?' I asked, smiling politely but wondering at such a casual arrangement.

‘She was a patient of mine. I've heard nothing from her since I left the clinic.'

‘She knows you've retired?'

‘I don't know,' he said. ‘Not that it would make any difference to this woman, she's used to getting her own way.'

‘Oh,' I said, thinking that she sounded like rather an unpleasant houseguest.

‘But charming,' he said, catching my sour intonation and smiling. ‘And very interesting.'

‘Really?'

‘She had a tragic life. I treated her for quite a common condition caused by hormone imbalance after childbirth. That, and the trauma of losing her husband and her child to the war. She was regarded, unjustly, as psychologically unbalanced. We know so much more about such matters now.'

‘A quite common condition?' I asked, thinking of my own mother.

‘Yes. Luckily for her, she was wealthy enough to afford my clinic. So many other women with her problem were confined in public asylums, often against their will.'

‘You must have helped this woman; if she's coming to see you again.'

‘Thank you, you're very kind. But her letter was a surprise, although it's typical of her contrariness that she'd choose me, whether I'd helped her or not.'

‘You must have done something right; it can't be such a surprise.'

‘It was, or is. But so are you, and a very pleasant one. So let's drink to unexpected surprises.'

‘This fish is delicious,' I said, to cover my embarrassment.

‘Thank you.'

‘Where is your family?' I asked after a pause.

‘Let's see … I have some distant cousins here – you met one of them at the library. My parents died eleven years ago, and I lost my brother to the war. I think that's all.' His tone was light-hearted but it gave the impression that he would prefer not to answer questions on the subject.

‘You never married?'

‘You are very nosy for someone of your youth,' he answered, but took the sting from his words by smiling.

‘I beg your pardon.'

‘I was married, but, yet again, it was a casualty of war.'

‘She was killed?'

‘No, it was more like I was.' He gave a short dry laugh. ‘If you speak to anyone who survived, you'll find that there was damage done that can't be measured in injuries or repaired with stitches.

‘I worked very hard when I returned; I hoped to do good, to save someone. During the war I'd been in active service as a medical doctor and had managed to save some. I thought I could do the same with the injuries to people's minds. This seemed of paramount importance to me, like a calling if you will, more important than my marriage. My wife left and I wondered what I had been fighting for. That was the beginning of the end for my work as a psychiatrist.'

‘Oh, how sad,' I said, quite sorry for this man and all he'd lost.

‘Don't feel sorry for me. I fell into the classic trap of psychiatry: trying to avoid my own problems by fixing the problems of others. But I see you have your briefcase here. Have you any material you want me to look at?'

He stood and moved some dishes out of my way while I lifted my briefcase onto the table. I took out the files, and the novel the librarian's aunt had given me. He accepted the papers I handed to him, then reached for the book.

‘You know this author?' he asked.

‘No,' I replied, looking up from where I was flipping through pages, ‘not really. But we think he may be the female castaway's father.'

The doctor looked at me, his mouth slightly opened, as if he were frozen mid-sentence.

‘Oh my god,' he said quietly.

I stopped and frowned.

‘I'm sorry?' I said.

He shook his head.

‘What is it?' I asked.

‘This book,' said the doctor. ‘I know this book, I own a copy. It was written by the father of my friend – the friend who is sailing here to see me – the friend who has not turned up yet. It's her.'

‘Your friend … you know her?'

He nodded.

‘She is a small woman?' I asked. ‘Fine, but strong, with wild, wild hair and big eyes, green, heavy lidded.'

‘Yes,' he said, smiling broadly.

‘Her hands, they're fine, with long fingers, which she uses when she speaks, like a sculptor uses tools. And she speaks quickly, but melodiously, with a voice too big to come from such a tiny frame. And when she sits, she draws her legs up, so,' I said, demonstrating.

‘Yes,' he cried with satisfaction. ‘My friend is your castaway.'

The doctor sat down carefully, as if afraid he might fall. He ran his hand across his hair.

‘My goodness,' he whispered. ‘Just imagine.'

Then he leapt from his seat and moved quickly towards me, hands outstretched.

‘This is amazing,' he said and embraced me. I rose to meet him and returned his embrace with heartfelt joy.

‘Where is she – tell me again?' he asked, resuming his seat. ‘But please, take your time; tell me when you are ready. Here, drink some water.'

He poured me a glass and pushed it across the table. I gulped a few mouthfuls, spilling some down my shirtfront.

‘Oh!' I laughed and flicked the water away. Then frowned, remembering how I had left them. ‘They're being held in custody, in hospital last I saw. Both are under arrest. He is still unconscious. I fear for what might happen to them if I can't prove their innocence.'

‘What must have happened to her?' he asked himself. ‘Shipwrecked, lost. And who is he? Not her husband, we know: he's dead.'

‘But she said he was.'

‘I thought you said they didn't know each other?'

‘That was at first. Then, when they arrested him, she claimed to be his wife.'

‘But I know her husband is dead and I don't think she would have remarried. It could be that he is a pirate, as they said, simply taking advantage of her situation.

‘Or that she had no choice: if a lifeboat were the only means of survival, one would share it with a tiger, if necessary.'

EXPLOSION

There was an explosion. It jemmied open her mouth, forcing its way into her body with a noise that numbed her consciousness. Then, uncontainable in the body's fragile frame, it cracked back out through her pores, shattering her like china. She fell in a pile upon the deck. Her mind, lost like the content of a jar flung against a brick wall, escaped unseen, dove down into the deep-sea peace, or maybe flew off into the black sky.

On deck, the man scrabbled for her body, gathered it up with his cupped hands like his last drink of water and leapt into the thirsty sea.

DAY TWELVE

I awoke in the quiet of dawn. My abdomen cramped, driving me from the comfortable bed; the storm drew nearer.

After climbing into yesterday's clothes I followed the smell of coffee and found the kitchen, where the doctor was making breakfast.

‘Good morning, how did you sleep?' he asked, turning briefly from the stove, a large wood burner, more common in the cold homes of Englishmen than this warm isle.

‘Very well, thank you.'

‘Do help yourself to coffee,' he said, nodding to the pot, percolating on the stovetop.

After breakfast, the doctor excused himself to make ready for the business of the day. I waited in the study. Looking at the horizon, I allowed myself to imagine future visits to this house, in the company of friends.

A rumble of pain in my abdomen interrupted my daydreams. The storm would hit today, but I judged that the doctor and I would be safe in the main harbour well before it arrived. All the same, I was glad that the first ferry left early.

‘How do I look?' he asked. He wore a tweed jacket, tailored brown trousers, a shirt, tie and polished brown leather shoes. His tattoo was well hidden. I laughed.

‘Something wrong?' he asked anxiously, peering down at himself.

‘No – it's perfect. Very respectable.'

‘I'll assume that's a good thing,' he said, smiling as he placed a felt hat upon his head and picked up a well-worn briefcase. ‘Shall we go?'

I took his outstretched arm, saying a silent farewell to the bay, and hoping there might be a future greeting.

I enjoyed the return ferry trip, a brisk breeze notwithstanding. I loved this kind of weather, even though I knew it was a precursor to something much bigger. I tipped my head into the wind and smiled, enjoying the occasional salt spray on my face. I would look a mess for work, but today I didn't care.

By the time we reached my office a hard, dirty breeze had sprung up, oddly cool under the warm mid-morning sun. Even I was glad to be on dry land. I clutched my jacket about me and squinted to prevent grit blowing into my eyes. It was a relief to reach the office vestibule, but no calm awaited us there.

As I walked through the door of my section, a wave of voices broke over me and every face turned towards me. Colleagues, who usually greeted my daily arrival with no more than a nod, were standing, crowding about me. I felt like I was stuck amongst the goats again, and looked back to the doctor for help. He stood in the passageway, stranded by this strange tide of concern.

‘Where have you been?' they asked.

Hands reached out to touch and pat me. Then the circle parted and my boss arrived, as immaculate as ever in white, but hurrying most uncharacteristically. When she reached me, she took both my shoulders in her hands and hugged me to her chest.

‘Thank god you're safe,' she said. I couldn't say a word, pressed to her as I was. ‘Thank you, everybody,' she called over the top of my head. ‘Back to work, please.'

The crowd about us fell away. She let go her embrace, only to take me firmly by the arm and march me towards her office. I looked behind, gesturing frantically to the doctor that he should follow, which he did, unnoticed until my boss tried to close the door in his face. He put out a hand and stepped forward.

‘How do you do?' he said, smiling. She looked surprised, but shook his hand.

‘Very well, thank you. Who are you?'

‘I brought him. He's a psychiatrist,' I said.

‘Well, that explains everything,' she replied dryly. ‘We may need him yet.'

She waved the doctor in and closed the door.

‘Now tell me, please,' she said, as she strode back to her desk. ‘Where have you been and what the hell has been going on?'

She sat down behind her desk. ‘You've been missing since yesterday. We assumed the worst.'

‘I went to see the doctor,' I said.

‘You were gone all night.'

‘I'm sorry,' I said, a sick feeling rising up from my feet. ‘I checked at the hospital before I went. I thought I could make the trip to the doctor's and back in time but the ferry timetable was wrong. I had to spend the night at his house.'

My boss looked like she'd been awake half the night.

‘We were so worried. We thought they'd taken you with them.'

‘Sorry?' I asked, the sick feeling reaching my throat. ‘Who?'

‘Your precious castaways, that's who. We thought they'd kidnapped you, or worse. They've escaped.'

Nothing made sense.

‘What? Why?'

‘Why did they escape? Because we found out who they are. Or who he is, anyway. We're assuming she is some sort of collaborator. We thought they'd taken you as leverage. They are very dangerous criminals and you would probably not have been the first hostage they've taken.'

‘Excuse me, please,' said the doctor. ‘I think there must have been a mistake.'

My boss looked at him coldly. I was reminded of my mother superior.

‘And why is that?'

‘I can vouch for the woman – that's what I'm here for. I know her.'

She sat back in her chair, expressionless.

‘Go on,' she said.

‘She was a patient of mine. I have been expecting her arrival here daily. And I can assure you, madam, that she is not a dangerous criminal.'

‘I'm sorry, sir, but the man has been positively identified as a wanted criminal. If, and this will have to be proved, she is your ex-patient, I am afraid she has fallen into bad company since you last knew her.'

Then before the doctor could argue she rounded upon me.

‘Didn't you get the message from security yesterday?'

‘No, I didn't. I had to see the doctor as soon as possible. It was urgent.'

‘Not as urgent as this,' she snapped, pressing her long fingernail into the desk as if she hoped to drill through it. ‘Since their arrest your castaway has been identified by two other sailors from the same boat, one of whom witnessed him strangle a man and throw the body overboard. He fits the description of a pirate captain, wanted in most neighbouring countries. We are still awaiting Interpol identification. I don't have to tell you how serious this is.'

She paused.

‘Firstly, why weren't all the appropriate checks made with the police department, if not Interpol? Secondly, why was this man allowed out at night? Unguarded.'

I shook my head, but could not look her in the eyes.

‘This man is a killer and you have been treating him like your favourite uncle. I hear you had them to stay in your home for the weekend. Do you realise the danger you were putting yourself in? Not to mention the reputation of this department. I had no idea. Give me their file, please.'

She held out her hand, clicking her fingers. I bent down and fumbled in my briefcase, glad of the distraction. As I passed the file to my boss the doctor stepped forward and put a firm hand upon my shoulder.

‘I cannot vouch for the man,' he said. ‘I have no idea who he is. However, she is a respected member of society, which can be confirmed with one telephone call, if you will not take my word for it. I can only think that her male companion has coerced her in some way.'

‘No,' I cried, ignoring the warning squeeze he gave my shoulder. ‘No, that is not true. He wouldn't do that.'

My boss looked up from the file. ‘It seems he has duped you too, then. There is nothing in here. Have you nothing on them?'

She pushed the file away and frowned at me.

‘No, they have amnesia, remember?'

‘Or say they have. A convenient malady.'

She turned to the doctor. ‘I'd be prepared to give some credence to your story, if it were not for the woman's own behaviour.'

‘What do you mean?' I asked.

She reached forward and retrieved a file from her in-tray.

‘It's here in black and white, translated by yourself. By her own admission she is his wife.'

‘That's impossible,' the doctor said. ‘Her husband is dead.'

‘People remarry, sir.'

‘Not this woman.'

‘Well,' my boss said, ‘it seems that the male detainee agrees with you. It says here that he denied being the woman's husband. If this is so, it would go a long way to explaining her disappearance.'

‘Why is that?' asked the doctor.

‘The man broke out of the hospital room where he was being held. She could not have assisted him because, apart from the obvious difficulties, she was still under heavy sedation.'

‘What did you do to her?' the doctor demanded.

‘Only what was necessary for her safety, I assure you,' said my boss coldly. ‘Your friend here obviously hasn't told you what she did to the face of our chief of security. Despite that, she was taken to hospital to be cared for, but disappeared from there at the same time as the man. When we couldn't find you,' she nodded at me, ‘we assumed they'd taken you hostage. But perhaps it's she who is the hostage, although that doesn't explain why she tried to defend him.'

‘Perhaps,' said the doctor, ‘if they don't know who they are, it is possible that she has formed a bond with this man, and he's taking advantage of her.'

‘That's impossible,' I said, finding my voice at last, dismayed by the doctor's attitude. ‘He really doesn't know who he is – he isn't lying.'

‘A clever ruse,' said my boss. ‘I see in your notes that she regained consciousness after him whilst aboard the lifeboat. It could have been he who rendered her unconscious to begin with.

‘Do not underestimate this man. He's responsible for the deaths of dozens of people. And now he's at large somewhere on this island. It's very worrying.'

‘But you don't know it's him,' I said. ‘You have no proof that he is this criminal.'

‘And you have no proof that he is not. Your assumption of his innocence has been quite injudicious. Dangerous, in fact, to you and the whole department.'

She paused a moment, before continuing, her voice less severe. She may have seen the tears, which were now streaming down my cheeks.

‘And if he is not guilty, why has he broken out of jail? Isn't this tantamount to an admission of guilt?'

‘That is not guilt – that is fear,' I said.

‘He has nothing to be scared of if he simply tells the truth,' she said, closing the file.

‘How can you say that? He is a stranger, he doesn't speak the language, he doesn't know where he is or who he is. He has no family, no friends, no support. And then you bring police and lock him away, threaten him, tell him he has done all these things that he can't remember doing. Of course he tried to escape. What would you do? It's quite predictable,' I said, raising my voice, standing, leaning forward over her desk.

Her face flushed red and she pushed her chair back to stand. She was much taller than I.

‘If you had been there yesterday, as requested, you could have judged for yourself.'

She was right. If I had been there yesterday, where I should have been, none of this would have happened. They had needed a friend and I hadn't been there.

‘But you're safe,' she continued. ‘And we can leave everything else in the hands of the police. Although I'm afraid your friend may be in danger,' she added, to the doctor.

‘How so?' he asked.

‘The police are assuming that he will have armed himself by now and are responding accordingly. If cornered … let us say that he doesn't have a reputation as a negotiator.'

I looked at her in disbelief.

‘May I go home?' I asked.

‘Home? Why?' asked my boss.

‘I don't feel very well.'

‘I'm not sure if it's safe …'

‘The doctor will be with me.'

She looked from me to him. ‘I suppose so then; you certainly don't look well.'

‘I'll look after her,' said the doctor. He picked up my briefcase and led me to the door.

‘Please take care,' called my boss. ‘It's not safe whilst they are at large.'

I almost laughed, for I wanted nothing more than to see them.

We walked back through the office, aware of furtive looks and whispers around us. A few colleagues caught my eye and smiled or waved. I felt grateful for their concern, but did not want to linger. I needed to get home and speak with the doctor in private, for despite the seamen's identification, despite the supposed facts, I still did not believe that my castaway was a ruthless killer.

*

Outside felt gloomy, strangely dark despite the shining sun, as if the shadows were straining from their domain. I remembered the storm – it would be upon us soon. Then I realised where the castaways had run.

‘Oh no,' I whispered, bending over, hands on knees like an exhausted runner. The doctor knelt down beside me.

‘Are you alright?'

I took a few deep breaths, holding my midriff, unable to tell whether it was the storm or the realisation of the castaways' plight that was hurting me.