Death on a Shetland Isle

by Marsali Taylor

I sensed Alain coming up behind me, even before he spoke. ‘Shooting the sun.’ There was no need to answer that. ‘Your own sextant?’

  I nodded, feeling a pulse beating in my throat. He came up beside me, and held out his hand. ‘May I?’

  I made a note of the reading on the graduated arc, then passed it over, watching as he went through the routine of focusing the horizon, bringing down the sun and reading off the angle. The black metal fitted in the crook of his hand as it always had. ‘Nice instrument. Where did you get it?’

  ‘In a junk shop.’ I’d spotted the wooden box and opened it, curious, then become breathless with excitement when I’d recognised what it was. ‘In the Grassmarket, in Edinburgh, before it was gentrified.’ He gave a nod that suggested he’d barely heard of Edinburgh, and didn’t know any areas in it, gentrified or not. The memory kept unrolling in my mind. It had been one of those shops with bits of everything, overpriced junk and unexpected treasure. We’d been looking at sextants in chandleries, costing two hundred pounds upwards, way above what we could afford, and here was one for thirty-five pounds, lying casually on the table among a heap of binoculars and box cameras. If it worked, of course … I’d closed the box and strolled over to where Alain was immersed in old books, pausing on the way to lift this plaster figure, admire that piece of clothing. I’d touched his arm and breathed ‘Sextant’ at him. His bright glance showed me he’d heard, but he didn’t react, just read a bit more of his book, looked at another one, then took my arm and strolled with me towards the entry. We spent a good ten minutes trying every pair of binoculars and speculating about the age of the cameras before he opened the box, took the sextant out, as if he’d never seen one before, then asked the shopkeeper what it was. It had come from a navy man, the shopkeeper told us, and was supposed to be in working order, though of course he couldn’t guarantee that. We beat him down to twenty-nine pounds, and left triumphant, Alain carrying the box as if it held spun glass.

  It was Alain’s fingers that moved the arm round now. He finished taking the sightings, glanced at my scribbled figures, and checked them against the arc. ‘Same.’ He turned the sextant in his hands. ‘A lucky find.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, watching him. ‘We thought so, at the time.’

  His brows rose. ‘Your policeman’s a sailor, then?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘This was ten years ago. Another boyfriend.’ There was no sign of response. ‘He was a sailor, but he died.’

  His hand gestured, a fluid curve towards me. ‘I’m sorry.’ His eyes returned to the sextant. He bent down to replace it in its case. ‘So you kept it, in his memory.’

  I nodded. My throat was too choked for me to speak. Every time I’d used it since, I’d seen Alain’s hands lifting it out of its case, taking the sight, stowing it away, just as they were doing now, careful as a lover, making sure each lens was nestling exactly in the place created for it. He closed the lid, lifted the box and gave it back to me. ‘Thanks.’ His grin flashed out, not the charming smile he’d used on Laura, but a companionable grin, as if we were Alain and Cass again, on Marielle together. ‘Let’s see who can work the tables fastest.’

  ‘Slow and steady gets it right,’ I said austerely, and followed him into the nav shack.

  I was very conscious, as I went, of Agnetha’s eyes on our backs.

  I was back on duty for 16.00, and watched from the aft deck as my watch straggled out. I had the two older sailors on helm and standby. The Danish man had gone forward to lookout and Laura was standing by the nav shack, waiting for instructions. I gave her the safety round card. ‘Just follow this list. Look for smoke, and smell for it too, and gas. Anything unusual.’ I indicated the ship’s bell. ‘Your other job is to ring the bell, starting with eight bells to end the watch in—’ I checked the clock. ‘Four minutes. Then every half hour. Take your time from the clock in there. The first half hour is one bell, then a pair for the hour, then a pair and single for the hour and a half. Ding-ding for the hour, then ding for the half.’

  ‘And I do four double dings now, for the four hours of the last watch.’

  ‘Bang on.’

  She nodded, and I left her to get on with it. My helm was settled on the right course, legs braced, gloved hands firm on the wheel, eyes fixed on a mark ahead instead of anxiously glued to the wavering compass needle; I could leave him too. I checked that there were no other ships around, poured myself a cup of coffee from the thermos, and took up my station on the aft deck, looking out over the deck, up at the tiers of sails.

  ‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ Laura said, coming to stand beside me. She checked her card. ‘Report back, it says.’ She gave a mock salute. ‘I’ve done my round, sir. All’s well.’

  ‘Good work,’ I said.

  She leant against the rail beside me, face turned to the sun. Suddenly, with the antique tracery of rigging behind her, I saw what she reminded me of, with that smooth hair and English rose complexion. I’d seen her face looking out from Renaissance portraits, hair hidden under a coif, hands demure: an oval face looking at you directly with a world of secrets behind the eyes. Then she smiled, and the secretive impression dissolved. She had a wide, friendly smile, not charming like her brother’s, but honest and open. ‘This is wonderful. All the world washed away, just the sea and the sky.’

  Looking now I could see the strain Oliver had talked about, showing in fine lines around her eyes and a tired look to her skin. A car crash, he’d said; that would have been a shock. I didn’t see anything to cause me extra concern.

  ‘My parents would have loved this,’ she said suddenly. Her eyes filled with tears. She swallowed. ‘They died, on Hogmanay. I don’t quite believe it yet. I keep thinking, “I must phone Mum” and then I remember I can’t tell her anything any more.’ She paused, blinking furiously, then continued, ‘It was one of those stupid accidents. They don’t know what happened. There was no other car involved. They just went off the road, as if the steering had gone, or locked, or the brakes. The car was too burnt out to be able to tell.’ She brushed a hand across her eyes. ‘Dad was such a careful driver, and he looked after that car like … like …’ She stopped there, and turned abruptly away from me. ‘Time I did another round.’

  Oliver spoke from behind me. ‘Keeping the ship safe, Laura?’

  Laura jumped backwards, as if he’d tried to push her. Her face closed against us; she waved the card at him. ‘Next round.’

  Oliver turned to me, smiling easily, with his blue eyes watching for the effect he was making. If she was Elizabeth’s demure maid-of-honour, he was the roistering courtier, with a pearl drop in one ear, his head high on a stiffened lace ruff, one hand on his sword swirling back his velvet cloak, one white-stockinged leg elegantly crossed; one of Drake’s buccaneers, paying court to Gloriana. He shed his charm impartially, as if he couldn’t help it, but his sister was given his best smiles.

  I went down to do a deck round, and was just coming back again through the nav shack when I heard Petter say my name. He was leaning against the rail, with the big fireman, Berg, beside him, and they were tilted in towards each other, backs to me; it was only a freak of the wind that had blown my name to me. There was something so private, so conspiratorial, about the way they were standing that I stood in the shadow of the doorway for a moment, watching them. Petter was talking earnestly, hands gesturing, and Berg was alternately nodding and raising one large hand to slow him down. Then he asked a question, and his eyes went over to Alain. Petter shook his head, emphatically, and I saw his lips frame my name again. Berg shrugged and nodded. One hand came up to clap him on the shoulder, and then they both headed down to the main deck, ready for mustering, leaving me wondering what that had been about.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Friday 30th July, Lerwick

  Low water 03.00 BST (1.0m)

  High water 08.41 (2.6m)

  Low water 15.31 (0.9m)

  High water 21.10 (2.7m)

  Moonrise 01.41; sunrise 04.57; moonset 18.42; sunset 21.39


  Crescent moon

  I woke for my shift at half past three, dressed and headed up on deck, leaving Cat sleeping on my berth. The ship’s nav lights were still on, but now we were up in the north it was light on the water, with the low crescent moon casting only a faint glimmer across the wrinkled sea and on the white tiers of sails. Behind us, the two Fair Isle lights gave four white flashes every thirty seconds to the south, two every thirty seconds to the north. The island itself was a grey bulk on the horizon, only just darker than the clouds it was floating on, a faerie island which could only be seen at dawn. Only the lighthouses anchored it to reality.

  I took a long breath of salt air, then headed up to Nils. ‘Anything happening?’

  ‘There are a couple of oil vessels about.’ He pointed to them on the plotter. ‘Here and here – nothing we need to worry about. And a fishing vessel, headed for Peterhead. We’ll cross it at 04.47. Our course is 44 degrees.’

  The deck was quiet. The outgoing watch members were sitting drowsily by the banjer or leaning against the rail, gazing out, bodies swaying easily to the ship’s motion. I looked for Daniel among them, and couldn’t see him at first, then a movement past the main deckhouse caught my eye. He was standing behind it, out of sight, but he’d just ducked his head around the corner, as if he was looking for someone, then whisked it back and waited there: I could still see his navy and charcoal arm.

  I hadn’t forgotten my uneasy feeling about Daniel and Oliver. If they were going to meet on the quiet, now was their time. I stayed at the rail, head up, waiting.

  The first comers of my watch were straggling up on deck, yawning and stretching their arms, then heading for the side to see if there was anything new in sight. Laura was among them; she disappeared forward to the heads, and as her footsteps padded along the side deck, Daniel’s protruding arm slid behind the deckhouse. She paused and turned her head as she passed; I saw her lips move a ‘Good morning’ then she continued forwards.

  I kept watching until the physicals came to change over. Nils settled my helm, while I instructed my safety watch – Erling, the older boy. Laura’s voice rose gaily from below me: ‘I told him he wouldn’t wake up. Does he get keel-hauled in front of everyone?’

  ‘I’ll go,’ Mona replied.

  I glanced away from Erling, and saw Daniel slipping into his watch line. By the time I was able to look properly, he and Oliver were facing each other across the deck, Daniel meek as mice, Oliver still struggling his arms into his jacket. If they’d meant to meet, Oliver hadn’t been as worried about it as Daniel had.

  ‘All set?’ Nils asked at exactly 04.00. ‘I give you the ship.’

  ‘I have the ship,’ I replied formally, and he nodded, ran a hand round the back of his neck, took off his cap, and headed below.

  I checked the helm was steady on course then went aft to look at Fair Isle, insubstantial on its layer of cloud. The idea of a vanishing island was ringing a bell in my head. An island that came and went … then I remembered. It was Eynhallow, Orkney’s island of the Finns, a race of magician folk who could hide their island from mortals.

  More recently, there’d been a queer thing happened on Eynhallow, and I knew about that from an Orkney man I’d met through our youth sailing. It had been back in 1990. The Orkney Heritage Society and RSPB had organised their annual joint trip over to the island, which was a bird reserve, so normally there was no access to it. He’d been one of the crew of the boat, and helped count the folk on board. ‘Eighty-eight, we’d counted,’ he assured me, ‘but when we got them all back, there were only eighty-six of them. Well, we called the coastguard, and there was a massive land and sea search, but nobody was found, or any sign of them, and in the end we just had to agree that we’d miscounted in the first place.’ He grimaced. ‘Well, I suppose maybe we did. But we hadn’t thought so at the time. We knew they’d scatter all over the place, which was why we’d counted at all, to make sure we left nobody. And there was this dark man.’ He frowned, remembering, and went into yarn mode. ‘He was there and he wasn’t there, somehow. A seaman, he was, short and dark-avised, with a gold ring glinting in one ear. I could see him clearly out of the corner of my eye, but when I tried to look straight on at him, somehow I couldn’t grasp his face. Well, I thought nothing of that at the time, I was busy steering to the shore, but afterwards, I wondered … When we were counting the passengers, on board ship, well, he wasn’t there among them.’ He shrugged the mood off. ‘There’re queerer things happen than we can explain. A Finn returning to his old home, likely.’

  It was Fetlar, where we were going tomorrow, that was Shetland’s island of the Finns.

  It was a quiet shift. I did my three-point fixes, as per instructions, and noted them in the log. I let my watch have an hour to wake up, gently tying knots and practising splices as we jolted over the Fair Isle roost, then we trimmed the sails and set the t’gallants on each mast, which took us to 05.45. Battleship-grey clouds blew like smoke over the eastern horizon, blotting the sun to a grey disc, then parted at last to let it dazzle like fire on the water. Above it, the mares’ tails were lit brilliant white, and mackerel stripes were spread across the high blue sky; wind coming.

  Agnetha came up to join me just after six. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’ She glanced up at the fretted sky. ‘Wind coming.’

  I nodded. ‘We’ll get the forecast at seven.’

  ‘A clear run under sail up your channel, to see this island – Mousa, was it?’

  ‘Where the broch is. It’s incredibly impressive – you’ll see.’

  ‘Looking forward to it,’ Agnetha agreed. Her lips tightened, and she took a long breath, looking determinedly out to sea. I knew that feeling; morning sickness. She’d kept her baby. A pang of envy shot through me.

  She saw me noticing, and her mouth drew down, rueful. ‘I haven’t told anyone but you. I still …’ She drew another long breath, gazing outwards at the shining sea. ‘I can’t bear to leave this, but I can’t bear to get rid of all I have of Mike. I’m torn, but I know I have to decide soon.’ She held up a hand. ‘Don’t say anything. I have to decide by myself.’

  I put my hand over hers, and grasped it. Her fingers clung to mine. She flushed. ‘I’ve even been envious of you, not having to make the choice any more … I’m sorry.’

  That fall down the steps had lost me my baby, only a day after I’d known it was there, a tiny scrap of flesh and bones that had dissolved into blood. A part of me was still grieving. She had no need to be envious; if I could, I’d risk my life at sea to have it back, curled and growing inside me. I shook my head. ‘I’ll have to make the choice too, soon enough.’

  She nodded at that. ‘Your Gavin’s conventional.’ Her head straightened; she shot a quick glance around us. Her voice softened to a murmur. ‘I ran a check on Rafael Martin.’

  I didn’t ask what she’d found; that was confidential.

  ‘He’s conventional too. Nautical college, a variety of ships after that. A clean record spanning back ten years.’

  Ten years.

  ‘If he sowed wild oats before then, he’s left them behind him.’ She turned her head to look at Fair Isle receding behind us. ‘Like you said, people sometimes just want to move on. Forget the past.’ She held up her hands in an I’m not saying any more gesture, and looked out towards the horizon.

  Nautical college, a variety of ships. A clean record. But why had he left me worrying all these years? Didn’t he know I thought I’d killed him? Or was it his punishment to me, for having tried? And why should he change his name, anyway? He wasn’t linked to any criminal enterprise. He’d bought Marielle for a song because she’d needed so much doing to her, and we’d worked on her together, scraping together money for new rigging, re-cut sails, wood, varnish. Oh, sure, there might have been drugs worth a million on board, but if they had been, I couldn’t think where, for I’d crawled into or baled out every locker, every bilge space on board. Even while I was snorting derisively at the idea, I remembered his g
un. He couldn’t have bought that in Scotland, nor brought it into the country legally; handguns had been banned here for over twenty years. He must have known someone …

  I turned to look at Agnetha. I wasn’t sure what to say. I spread my hands, and managed, ‘It was more than ten years. When I knew him.’

  Her hand came up on my shoulder. ‘Your Gavin’s a good bloke.’

  I nodded. ‘I don’t want fireworks any more.’

  ‘No.’ Her hand gripped, then let go. ‘But sometimes fireworks won’t be told. Keep talking to me.’ She turned and went below before I could think of an answer to that.

  I sent Johan for morning coffee all round, and leant back against the rail, face turned to the sun. The gold light dazzled off the varnish of the ship’s boat, dangling from its davits beside me, and glinted on the polished brass. I’d see Gavin this evening. The sails were tiered above me, our beautiful ship swayed on the waves, and the sun warmed my face. The world felt good.

  There was a movement beside me. I knew it was Alain even before I turned my head. He leant against the rail beside me, facing backwards as I was, his arm almost touching mine. ‘A beautiful morning.’ He turned to give the ship a swift, comprehensive glance. ‘You’ve added more sail. Only the royals still to go.’

  I looked at him standing there, head tilted back, cap at a rakish angle, somehow more vividly alive than any of the rest of us, and felt that rush of gladness again. He was alive, and I wasn’t a murderer. Then, with it, came anger. I was tired of trying to pretend everything was normal. Whatever he was doing under this alias of Rafael Martin, I wanted him to admit who he was. I wanted him to forgive me.

  I knew it could be dangerous. Sparks being struck, Agnetha had said. Fireworks. We hadn’t got bored of each other and drifted apart; we’d loved and fought and made up in Edinburgh, across the Atlantic, in Boston, and been torn apart halfway home. For years afterwards I’d still felt I was Alain’s girlfriend. Now, at last, I’d broken free of his ghost, and begun a new life. I didn’t want to go back to explosions. I just wanted closure.