by T A Williams
Sam repressed a shiver. ‘Which, if you and your island hadn’t intervened, would have been my next port of call in my kayak.’ This time she did shiver. ‘Or rather, more probably where my body would have washed up.’
Ann reached across and touched her hand. ‘All’s well that ends well. Come on. Follow Henry, he knows the way.’
The dog led them across the springy turf, laced with clumps of wild flowers, to a ruined stone building. From the thickness of the surviving pieces of wall, it was clear that it must have been a substantial structure. Now all that was left was a shell, the interior filled with weeds and brambles, although Sam could make out two or three stone steps leading down into the earth, presumably to a cellar beneath. Ann pointed out the disturbed earth in the far corner where the Labrador had unearthed the bone. Sam felt a charge of excitement. Who could tell what else might lie down there? She turned eagerly towards Ann.
‘It’s amazing. And it all looks as if it hasn’t been touched for years, maybe centuries.’
‘As far as I was told when I bought the place, the island had been in the same family since the late Middle Ages. The architect said he could find no traces of excavations around the abbey, so I imagine this place hasn’t been investigated either.’
If there had been any doubt before, Sam reflected that this was confirmation that Ann Cartwright was the owner of the island. She looked around at the ruins of this building and the fine old abbey in the distance beyond. ‘How on earth could people live in a historical wonder like this without being interested enough to investigate? I couldn’t. Could you?’
Ann shook her head ruefully. ‘That’s what I’ve been asking myself ever since Henry found the bone. It would be wonderful to start looking.’ She caught Sam’s eye. ‘It’s just this privacy thing. Snoopers and paparazzi have been making my life a misery over the past few months and it’s been invaluable to have this place as a secure bolt hole.’ She gave Sam a weary smile. ‘In my business, it’s not so easy to get away from it all. Especially when your ex-boyfriend has just taken up with a woman half your age.’
Sam vaguely remembered hearing something on the television about Ann Cartwright’s unhappy love life. She took a good look at her. She was amazingly beautiful, with a perfect complexion, but Sam could see she would need careful make-up to hide the worry lines at the corner of her eyes. Sam felt a sudden warmth towards her. She knew to her cost just how it felt to reach the end of a relationship. She did her best to cheer Ann up.
‘If it helps, you’re not the only person going through a break-up. I’m bang in the middle of one right now. But at least you’ve got this lovely Labrador to look after you and you live in such a super place. Just think; there might even be treasure buried here. You know there were smugglers and pirates around here right up to the Napoleonic times, don’t you? Maybe there’s a chest full of pirate booty or barrels of priceless old brandy? Who knows?’ Once again, Sam found herself reflecting that James Courtney would be the one to ask about that sort of thing.
‘That would be amazing. Don’t tempt me.’ Ann looked at her watch. ‘I’ve actually got loads of brandy in the house, but maybe a cup of tea and a piece of cake might be preferable at this time of the afternoon?’
‘I remember your cake from last time. Just a small piece, though, otherwise I’ll have to run twice as far tonight to work it off.’
‘Running? Is that your thing?’ As they walked back to the abbey, Sam found herself telling Ann Cartwright all about her Olympic dreams and disappointments. Ann looked and sounded impressed. Back in the lounge, Ann called one of the maids across. ‘Tracey, could you make us some tea and maybe find a slice of cake for Samantha?’ She caught Sam’s eye. ‘A small slice of cake, please.’
As the girl went off, Sam protested. ‘Just one piece of cake? Am I the only one having cake? Aren’t you having any?’
Ann shook her head. ‘In less than four weeks’ time I have to fit into a stainless steel bikini.’ Seeing the expression on Sam’s face, she explained. ‘My next film is called 2121 and it’s set in a post-apocalyptic future world. For some reason the director thinks my character would have worn a steel bikini.’ She wrinkled up her impeccable face. ‘I told him if he had to wear it, he might change his mind, but that’s Hollywood.’
‘So I suppose you have to be careful what you eat.’
Ann threw her head back and snorted. ‘Careful? You wouldn’t believe my diet if I told you. You know, Samantha, I have naughty dreams about cheese.’
‘Cheese?’
‘Yes, and crème brulée.’ Ann rolled her eyes and groaned theatrically. Then a thought struck her. ‘By the way, Samantha, there’s just one thing I would like to ask of you. Do you think you could possibly keep my presence here a secret? Everybody who works on the island has been sworn to secrecy and so far it’s working, and if you could do the same I’d be so grateful. Is that all right with you? I’m terrified of those bloody paparazzi.’
‘Of course. I promise I won’t breathe a word to anyone.’
Chapter 14
‘So, how did it go with Ryan at the party the other night?’
Samantha and Becky were running along the footpath beside the river. Becky hadn’t appeared at work at all on Monday and she was still looking like death when she finally put in an appearance on Tuesday morning. It soon emerged that this was a self-inflicted wound. Overindulgence in Miles Vernon’s excellent champagne had been the cause and a stinking hangover the result. In her weakened state, she hadn’t been able to come up with a convincing reason why she shouldn’t join Sam for a gentle jog that Tuesday evening and it looked to Sam as if she were regretting it. Becky was bathed in sweat and breathing hard. The sun was still shining brightly and the temperature, even at six o’clock in the evening, was still in the twenties.
‘How do you think it went? He did nothing but bumble about and apologise all night.’ Becky snorted, partly out of annoyance, partly because of the pace Samantha was setting. ‘I mean, he’s very sweet and everything, but he’s just such a clueless clot. He even brought me a present from Turkey. Look.’ She waved her wrist in the air.
‘Is that thing real?’ Samantha was no connoisseur of watches, but she thought she recognised this one as expensive.
Becky laughed breathlessly. ‘You must be joking. He told me he bought this and a whopping great blingy thing for himself for less than the price of a good meal.’ She took a few quick breaths. ‘Could we slow down a bit, please? I must have drunk a couple of bottles of champagne the other night.’
Sam throttled back and repeated her question. ‘So, you were saying? A present shows commitment. Go, Ryan, I say.’
Becky breathed deep. ‘He’s a lovely boy, Sam, but he’s scared stiff of me. Now, Miles on the other hand…’
‘Miles Vernon’s a sleaze ball. Take it from me. I know one when I see one.’
‘You’re just saying that because you’re pissed off with your relationship and you’re going through a hate-all-men phase. I actually think Miles is rather hot.’
‘For crying out loud, Becs, the man looks like he came out of a catalogue.’ If she thought this would put her friend off, she was wrong.
‘Yes, I know. He’s just perfect, isn’t he?’
‘And the new man from Cambridge?’
‘Well, he’s good-looking, I’ll give you that, but he looks so pissed off all the time. I want somebody with a bit of spark, a bit of excitement. The Cambridge man just spent all evening talking about medieval history.’ She glanced across at Sam. ‘Mind you, Miles started it by quizzing him. Somehow, I don’t think he and Miles are going to get along.’
‘Professional pride, do you mean? Or just because they are two good-looking men on the same turf?’
‘I thought they were a bit like two dogs, sniffing each other before a fight.’
‘That’s it, I suppose as Miles Vernon is new, he’s trying to establish himself as top dog.’
Becky grinned. ‘But, whatever the reason,
James Whatsit just talked shop all night. Can you imagine being stuck with somebody like that? I can hear the conversation now. “Hello, darling, that’s some sexy new underwear you’re wearing and, by the way, did you know that most women in the Middle Ages didn’t wear knickers?” There’s a limit to the amount of shop we’re supposed to talk, you know. No, I’d take Miles any time. I think he’s wonderful.’ Becky wasn’t going to be budged.
‘Mind out, obstacle ahead.’
As they skirted carefully round a battered pram full of junk, parked beside a large woman drinking out of a two litre bottle of cider, Sam reflected upon the litany of poor decisions Becky had been making in her love life for as long as she had known her. She sighed inwardly. Beside her, Becky was not so much sighing as panting.
‘Sorry, Sam, I’ve got to stop. I’ve got a stitch.’ A bench appeared on their right and Samantha helped Becky down onto it, pushing her head between her legs. It was a full minute before Becky could talk coherently again.
‘Feeling better now?’
‘Yes, thanks. But I don’t think I’m going to do any more running for a bit. You go on. I know you want to get your miles in.’
Sam sat back and stretched her legs. ‘That’s all right. I’ve got the whole week before me. So, like I was saying, what’s the problem with Ryan? All right, he’s a bit shy, but that’s just because he fancies you rotten. He’s perfectly normal with me, but that’s because he doesn’t fancy me.’
Becky looked up and shook her head. ‘That’s a first. You know what they say about men and blondes. You look like a film star when you’re all dolled up and,’ she grunted accusingly, ‘you’ve got the best bum in the university. They all fall for you as soon as they see you. Normally you seem to be swatting them off while I’m waiting for any crusts to fall off the table.’ Samantha had a sudden image of the neighbour’s cat, stalking around her kitchen floor. There was no way he would be satisfied with crusts. She offered support.
‘Don’t be so silly. You’re a very attractive and intelligent girl and, like I say, Ryan thinks you’re gorgeous. That’s the word he used, honest. Our problem is that we work in an environment where there aren’t so many opportunities for meeting men. You’ve said it yourself often enough. If you were, say, in the police force, you’d have loads of constables queuing up to assist you with your enquiries.’
Becky grinned in spite of herself. ‘Anything you say may be taken down and held against you. Like your knickers for instance.’
‘That’s the spirit. Anyway, I reckon Ryan’s perfect for you. Forget slimy old Miles. By the way, did Miles say where all his money’s come from? No shortage there, from what I could see.’
Becky looked a bit more animated. ‘It wasn’t the sort of thing I could ask him, but you’re right. You should have seen inside his house!’
‘You mean, like in his bedroom for instance?’ Sam was grinning. Becky wasn’t. She looked disappointed.
‘No, Sam, just in the lounge. I rather hoped I might get a look in his bedroom when he invited me in to show me his collection of artefacts.’
Samantha giggled. ‘So is that what they’re calling it nowadays?’
Becky shook her head ruefully. ‘No such luck. I’m afraid that’s exactly what it was he wanted to show me. A whopping great glass-fronted cabinet containing all manner of stuff, from stone arrow heads to Elizabethan drinking cups.’ She caught Sam’s eye. ‘And some of his stuff is a hell of a lot nicer than anything I’ve ever found. Some real treasures.’
‘There’s no way he can have found all that. He probably just bought it.’ Becky’s use of the word, ‘treasure’ reminded Sam of her visit to Rock Island the previous day. She had come away very satisfied. This was both at the prospect of a possible dig on the island if Ann changed her mind, and at having had the chance to talk to the film star – who had turned out to be surprisingly grounded and normal. If things had been different, Sam felt sure the two of them could easily have become good friends, particularly with Ann’s love of all things historical. Sam had decided not to mention her return to the island to anybody, not even Becky.
As for Neil, she hadn’t seen him for two days. He had muttered something about a rugby tour, but she had noticed his boots still on the window ledge. Earlier that evening, Sam had finally summoned up the courage to phone her mother and tell her about the way things were going with Neil. To Sam’s relief, her mum’s response had been much better than she had expected. Now all Sam had to do was to sit down face to face with him and tell him it was over.
After another five minutes, Becky recovered enough to be able to stand up again. ‘Gentle jog back?’
Samantha nodded and they set off at a very sedate pace. They had already passed the lady with the pram and the cider before Becky pointed out the obvious. ‘Anyway, it’s you he’s interested in; Miles that is. He kept on and on asking about you. And, well, you see, I did drink quite a lot of champagne.’ She was sounding apologetic now. Samantha wondered what was coming next. She didn’t have long to wait. ‘You see, Sam, in the end I think I may have given him your mobile number.’
‘Oh, Becs, how could you?’
‘Sorry, Sam.’
Chapter 15
‘It’s no good. We’re going to have to get onto the island and lie in wait for her. We’ll never get any decent shots from the bloody boat.’ The two paparazzi were sitting in the beer garden of the Smugglers Arms with the remains of steak and kidney pie and chips before them. Giancarlo’s plate held a few unwanted pieces of crust. Beppe’s plate was licked clean. Around them, almost all the tables were packed with holidaymakers, gratefully enjoying a warm, dry evening after the worst summer in England since records began. In front of Giancarlo was a half-empty glass of water. In front of Beppe was an empty pint glass. Alongside it on the table was his camera. He had been reviewing the shots he had taken that morning and he was snorting with disgust and frustration.
‘Not a damn thing. For once we find somebody to photograph on the jetty and all it turns out to be is a maid with a big bust. That’s pathetic for a day’s effort.’ That day, like previous days, they had circumnavigated the island so many times that both of them already knew just where the seals liked to bask, where the cormorants fished and, occasionally, where dolphins would join them and swim alongside their boat.
‘Let’s have a look at that maid again.’ Reluctantly, Beppe passed the camera across. ‘Not bad at all.’ Giancarlo looked up and caught the eye of Lorna from behind the bar. She smiled and he smiled back at her. She was looking a bit tired. Mind you, he thought to himself, so she should. She got a lot of exercise last night, after all. He smiled again at the thought and finished his beer. ‘So, how do we get onto the island, then?’
‘It isn’t going to be easy. Just about every time we go past that little harbour area, there’s somebody there. The sign says No Entry, so we can hardly pretend we don’t know.’ Beppe was thinking hard.
‘We are stupid foreigners, mind you. Couldn’t we just turn up and try to bluff it out in Italian?’
‘I can’t see how that would help us. We’d never get close enough, unless by some miracle Ann Cartwright happened to be on the jetty at the time, but that isn’t going to happen. Anyway, the place is more like a fortress than a monastery. How the hell would we get inside, even if we aren’t spotted at the jetty?’ He snorted again.
‘Wait for a very calm day, go out to the other side, out of sight of the abbey and drop anchor. Then we swim in.’ They had been round the island often enough without seeing any other landing place.
‘With a few thousand euros’ worth of photographic equipment on our heads?’ Beppe gave him a look of exasperation. ‘Giancarlo, be reasonable. Think, boy, think.’
‘Or try to land there at night?’
‘I did consider that. The problem, apart from finding our way in, is still the same. The only access we can see from the pontoon to the abbey is the lift. I would lay big money on it being key or code operated. No, we nee
d another way in.’
At that moment, Lorna the barmaid came over, ostensibly to collect the plates.
‘Hello, handsome.’ She glanced round and then ducked down and kissed Giancarlo. She stood up again, her eyes shining. Beppe glanced across at Giancarlo with a sense of envy. The younger man turned on the charm.
‘Ciao bella.’ He knew she loved it when he spoke Italian to her. ‘You are looking bellissima. Will I see you tonight, my little puffin?’ He had discovered the previous night that she bore the tattoo of a seabird on her lower abdomen. As his ornithological knowledge was far from extensive, he had enquired as to its species. She had explained, and he had now adopted puffin as his pet name for her.
‘Of course. I finish at eleven.’ She fluttered her eyelids. ‘Will you be waiting for me?’
‘You know I will.’ He ran his fingers up her arm and gave her a big wink.
His flirtation was interrupted by the fat man. ‘I’ve just had an idea, Giancarlo. Why don’t you ask your girlfriend if she knows a way to get onto the island? She’s a local, isn’t she?’
Giancarlo nodded. ‘Lorna, if my friend and I wanted to get out to the island without being seen, is there a way?’ He had told her they were wildlife photographers. As Beppe had agreed, it was partially true. If Ann Cartwright realised they were paparazzi, she would go wild. ‘You see, there are some birds there we would like to photograph, but it is all private property.’
Lorna didn’t seem in the least perturbed by the fact that they wanted to trespass on the island. She wrinkled up her face as she hunted for a solution. Finally she came up with a suggestion.
‘My cousin Dave’s a fisherman. Before they made it all a nature reserve, he used to go out fishing round the island all the time. I’ll ask him this afternoon when he gets back. He might know a way.’