Spirit of the Island

by Joan Fleming

  Although the tap on the window was gentle, it nonetheless made her start. She turned, her entire body alert, to see a smiling face barely a foot away from her. He–it was a man–moved back from the car, no doubt so that she could see him more clearly in the strip of moonlight. He held up his right hand, palm turned towards her.

  ‘I come in peace,’ he said, loud enough for Kirsty to hear.

  Checking again to make sure the car doors were locked, she wound down her window just enough for him to hear her.

  ‘Who are you? And what are you doing here? Is this your vehicle?’

  ‘Whoa! One question at a time, please. Who am I? Finn Ericson. What am I doing here? Looking for accommodation. And what was your third question?’ His eyes crinkled as he spoke. Was he enjoying this exchange?

  ‘I asked if this is your vehicle.’ Kirsty tried to insert some firmness into her tone, but the appearance of the man–Finn Ericson–simply made her want to laugh. His tousled blond hair was sticking out in all directions; his checked shirt was buttoned up wrongly, giving him a lopsided look, as if he might overbalance any minute. Rolled-up sleeves revealed brown muscled arms covered in fine blond hair. Had he a beard, he might have been a Viking warrior, come to plunder. But his face only sported designer stubble. His feet were bare.

  ‘Yes, it’s mine,’ he answered. ‘Not very well parked, is it? Sorry. I can see now I’ve blocked your… your…’

  ‘Parking area?’

  ‘Sorry,’ he repeated, although he looked anything but apologetic. Smiling, he shrugged his shoulders. ‘You see, when I arrived…’

  ‘Why don’t you cut to the chase and move your car?’

  ‘I… er… I would be happy to do that, but… you’re actually blocking me in. And my car won’t start. I’ll need daylight to see what’s wrong.’

  There was something about his smile that robbed Kirsty of the justifiable anger she knew she should be feeling. After all, his presence was keeping her from the comfortable bed waiting for her in Lochside. That was to take no account of the anxiety of finding his vehicle there in the first place. And now, she had to move her car before he could re-position his. Once he fixed it.

  ‘Unless, of course, you want to ask me in for a cup of coffee?’ he added with a hopeful grin. ‘Before I go back to my makeshift bed in the car?’

  The audacity of the man! Not content with the trouble he’d put her to, he now wanted coffee. She was too surprised to reply.

  ‘Maybe not…’ he said, turning to walk back to his vehicle.

  ‘Oh, all right. Come in and have a cup of coffee.’

  What made her invite him in, she had no idea. She knew nothing about him. He could have been a criminal on the run from the police. Or a thief. Or even… But she didn’t seriously consider any of these possibilities. Was it that smile again? She suspected he could charm his way out of any situation.

  ‘Thank you. That would be great,’ he said. Standing back a little, he examined the position of her car. ‘I think you should move your car forward a bit first, though.’

  In a strange way, as he directed her, she felt someone else was at the wheel of her car, following his instructions. This was almost a role-reversal situation, where he was in charge,–as if he owned the place–and she was responding to his every command.

  Once she had inched her car forward into a safer position, she stepped out and stood for a moment before accepting the young man’s outstretched hand.

  ‘Finn Ericson,’ he introduced himself formally this time, with a slight nod of his head. ‘I’m really sorry about…’

  ‘You’ve said sorry already–you don’t need to keep repeating it. I’m Kirsty. Let’s get inside. I think it’s going to rain.’

  Chapter 15

  Normally, Amy had no need to set her alarm. She regarded herself as a morning person–she had no difficulty getting out of bed when she woke, and was at her most alert in the hours before lunchtime. With a pile of work to do, however, she had decided to set the alarm on her mobile to wake her earlier than usual, giving her a long morning to make progress. Now that she was self-employed, she was building her client base, although she had little control over the ups and downs of the volume of work that came her way. A sudden surge in the number of commissions recently, albeit welcome, meant her in-tray was full for some considerable time to come.

  Switching off the alarm, she saw she had a text from Kirsty. At seven o’clock in the morning? A closer look, though, revealed that it had been sent at midnight.

  A bolt of fear shot through Amy when she read the text:

  Call me on my mobile as soon as you get this.

  The note of urgency was unmistakable and Amy had no more than a moment’s hesitation. Stabbing the reply button, it took only a few seconds for her to hear Kirsty’s voice.

  ‘Oh hello, Amy. You did get my text then? I thought it hadn’t gone. Sorry to disturb you. Thanks so much for replying. I had a bit of a problem here last night. But I think it’s okay now.’

  ‘I’m still in bed, Kirsty. But I can come over as soon as I’m dressed.’

  ‘I’m all right, Amy. No need to come. I’ll explain later,’ Kirsty said.

  She doesn’t sound like a woman in trouble, Amy thought. But there must be some reason she texted at midnight.

  ‘I’m coming over,’ Amy said. She needed to be sure.

  ‘Okay, thanks, Amy. I’ll do breakfast for you,’ Kirsty said.

  Leaping out of bed, Amy wondered what on earth could have happened. She dressed quickly, throwing on jeans and a t-shirt, then ran downstairs. Relieved to see her car keys on their own hook in the kitchen–not always the case, especially when she’d arrived home late the evening before–she walked out into the morning air.

  She usually dallied in front of her cottage, savouring the view over the water to Iona, and breathing in the crisp, clean air with its scent of the sea, reminding herself how fortunate she was to live in this magic spot on her beloved Isle of Mull. Today, there was no time for that. The haste with which she jumped into her car and sped off towards Lochside Inn took her right back to her years earning her living in Glasgow, joining the throng that made their way to work at rush-hour on a weekday morning.

  Amy didn’t recognise the car parked in front of the inn. There was nothing unusual in that–Lochside Inn hosted guests from all over the world. During her brief car journey, however, she had remembered that Elsa and Charlie were in Oban for an appointment with a specialist investigating Charlie’s asthma. Elsa had told Amy that they had taken no bookings for the period they would be away from home.

  Which meant that Kirsty was on her own in the inn. At least, that had been the plan. Did the urgent text have anything to do with the owner of this vehicle?

  Taking a deep breath, Amy tried to prepare herself for whatever she would find when she entered the Inn. She’d taken the precaution of arming herself with a heavy hammer, which she’d stowed in the deep pocket of her jacket. The door was slightly ajar–left like that as a possible escape route?–and Amy pushed it open, shouting in an overloud voice.

  ‘Hello, Kirsty! It’s Amy.’

  ‘Through here, Amy. In the dining room.’

  Still apprehensive about what she would find, Amy approached with caution. Perhaps Kirsty was being held there against her will? Was she tied up? If she was free to move around, why hadn’t she come to meet her when she heard Amy’s voice?

  The picture that presented itself to Amy was in no way dramatic. It was almost one of domestic togetherness: Kirsty and a young man sitting opposite each other, having had a substantial breakfast, to judge by the used crockery on the table.

  A surge of irritation ran through Amy. Why on earth had Kirsty sent her that alarming text? Before either of the two women had the chance to say anything, the young man leapt to his feet and strode towards Amy, offering his hand. His bulk seemed to fill the room.

  ‘How do you do,’ he said. ‘You must be Amy. I’m Finn Ericson.’

&nbs
p; Still bewildered, Amy shook hands with him.

  ‘I should explain what I’m doing here–I think I gave Kirsty quite a fright last night.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ Kirsty said. ‘I was terrified out of my mind.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, giving both women a smile that lit up the room. Oh, he was good-looking; small wonder Kirsty was sitting hanging onto his every word. There was something hypnotic about his eyes: were they blue or green? Maybe she would call them greenish blue, like the sea. Whatever the description of the colour, the effect on Amy was devastating, chasing all annoyance from her mind. She also became conscious of her own appearance; she had thrown on the first garments that came to hand, and hadn’t stopped to shower or brush her hair in her rush to reach Lochside. To her annoyance, she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Why should she care what this stranger thought of her?

  ‘So what are you doing here?’ she asked, finding her voice at last.

  ‘I came here about eight o’clock yesterday evening, hoping I’d be able to find a room for the night. I’d already phoned, but there was no reply. It was obvious there was no-one here, so I decided to drive around a bit to see if there was anywhere else I could stay.’

  ‘Then he discovered his car wouldn’t start,’ Kirsty put in.

  In spite of Kirsty’s intervention, Amy still didn’t take her eyes off Finn. He picked up the thread of the explanation.

  ‘The light was beginning to fade, so I thought it best to bed down for the night in my car. I took it for granted that the inn would be empty for the night.’

  ‘Then I arrived back…’ Kirsty said.

  ‘…and nearly drove into my car…’

  ‘…which I didn’t expect to be there…’

  ‘Easy, easy. One at a time. Can we please sit down? And Kirsty, what about that breakfast you promised me?’

  ‘Yes, sorry, Amy. Bacon and egg?’

  ‘Lovely, thanks.’

  Left alone in the dining room with Finn for a short time, Amy heard the rest of the story. He had been on a course at the Lochaline Dive Centre, a short ferry ride from the other end of the island, and decided to pay a visit–his first–to Iona.

  ‘I’m hoping to cross today,’ he said, ‘but I’ll have to investigate the problem with my car first. It may be something I can fix myself. In fact, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and have a look at it right now.’

  Amy watched as he made his way to the door. His movements were slow, languorous almost, as if he was slipping through the air in the same way he would progress through water. Under his t-shirt, she could see the muscles of his back rippling with every move he made. I wonder what he looks like from the front, she found herself thinking. As if he read her mind, he turned, one hand on the handle of the door. Amy was not disappointed with what she saw, barely hearing his ‘Perhaps see you later’ as he left.

  For a few minutes, Amy sat daydreaming about this impressive specimen of manhood who had surfaced into their quiet corner of the island. As Kirsty came back into the dining room with her breakfast, Amy gave herself a shake. What was she doing sitting fantasising about a complete stranger, albeit a most attractive one, when she should have been considering how she would respond to Sandy’s proposal?

  ‘Quite a looker, isn’t he?’ Kirsty said, sitting opposite Amy at the table.

  ‘Yes, I agree, but exactly what’s been happening here? Why send me an SOS at midnight when you–’

  ‘If you’re about to suggest he spent the night in the Inn, you’re wrong. He slept in his car, I dozed in my room. I was really scared last night–that’s when I sent you the text–but he looked harmless enough this morning. A bit pathetic, really.’

  Amy sniffed. ‘Crooks can be good actors. You were here alone. You could have been in danger.’

  ‘That’s why I sent the text, although I didn’t think it had gone through. Then, this morning, I felt I’d over-reacted… But he doesn’t seem dangerous, does he?’

  ‘Hard to tell at this stage but, as you say, he’s quite a looker. I’ll stay here with you till he leaves, though,’ Amy said.

  An hour later, with his car operational once more, Finn said goodbye to the two women.

  ‘Well, that was a turn-up for the books,’ Kirsty said. ‘I came home last night, planning to go straight to bed. Bed? That’s a joke.’

  ‘But he seemed to be a genuine chap. A real lady-killer, I suspect,’ Amy said.

  ‘With those looks and that build, I think you’re right. I don’t know much about the Dive Centre. Do you?’

  ‘Not a lot. I know where it is. When I’ve come to Mull via Lochaline, I remember seeing signs to it. I can’t say it’s a hobby that attracts me, but there must be sufficient interest to keep it going. Why do they do it, do you think?’

  ‘For a variety of reasons, according to Finn. To look at wildlife–fish, etc. And also to dive onto wrecks.’

  ‘Wrecks? Here around Mull?’ Amy asked, surprised. ‘Does that mean they’re treasure-hunting?’

  ‘He didn’t say that, although I suppose they must be searching for something on a wreck. Maybe they want to be the first to find an object of historical interest, like a log book or something from the cargo… Who knows? Finn seems really enthusiastic about it, anyway,’ Kirsty said, stifling a yawn.

  ‘Why don’t you go to bed for a couple of hours, see if you can catch up on your sleep? I’m going to make my way back to Columb Cottage. I’ve a pile of work to do today.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Amy. Dragging you out of bed at such an hour…’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I’m glad it was nothing more serious than cooking breakfast for a handsome diver.’

  ‘By the way, Amy, about last week with Sandy…’ Kirsty said.

  ‘Say no more about it. I was the one who was over-reacting,’ Amy replied.

  ‘I can understand what it must have looked like.’

  ‘Shh. Forget the whole thing,’ she said, giving Kirsty’s hand a squeeze before making her way to the front hall.

  Kirsty followed her, still chatting, but showing obvious signs of fatigue. Amy was about to walk out of the front door, which was open to welcome in the fresh morning air, when she suddenly turned on her heel.

  ‘The whisky!’ she shouted. ‘Where’s the whisky?’

  Alarmed at Amy’s tone, Kirsty stepped over and joined her. ‘Charlie’s whisky,’ she said. ‘His pride and joy. It’s gone.’

  Both women stared at the space in the cabinet where the two precious bottles of whisky should have been on display behind the locked door of the glass cupboard.

  ‘I’d better come back in,’ Amy said.

  ‘Amy, I know these two bottles of whisky are special to Charlie. He said he’d tell me the story, but with all that’s been happening here, he didn’t get round to it. I assumed they must be very old and very rare,’ Kirsty said.

  ‘Have you never heard the story of the Politician? The boat, carrying whisky that sank off the coast of the Island of Eriskay? There was a book… and they made a film about it,’ Amy said.

  ‘Yes, sure, I know that much. I saw the film–a comedy about how the islanders rushed down to the sinking boat and stole the whisky she was carrying as cargo. They wanted to unload it before the authorities took over. But what has that to do with Mull? It wasn’t close to this island that the boat foundered.’

  ‘You’re right. But two bottles of the Politician’s whisky found their way to Lochside Inn. Haven’t you noticed? Charlie gives the cabinet a little pat every time he passes.’

  ‘Are they genuine? I’ve never really looked closely. Even if I did, I wouldn’t have associated two bottles of whisky with the wreck of the Politician. How did they get here?’

  ‘That’s another story, but in the meantime, I think we should be concentrating on where they are now.’

  The two women stared at each other, both jumping to the same conclusion. It was Amy who found her voice first.

  ‘Do you think your young diver h
ad anything to do with this?’

  ‘How would I know, Amy? I’ve told you how he came to be here. Charlie’ll go mad…’ Kirsty looked as if she was about to burst into tears.

  ‘Let’s not jump to conclusions,’ Amy said, trying to soothe her friend. ‘Perhaps Elsa locked them away somewhere for safe-keeping–there’s no sign of a break-in.’

  ‘I can’t believe Finn would pull a stunt like that,’ Kirsty said, a quiver in her voice.

  ‘I don’t think thieves appear with the word burglar written across their brow,’ Amy said. ‘But I agree with you–he didn’t look the type. We’ll have to contact Elsa to find out if the bottles were there in the first place. When are they due back?’

  ‘Tomorrow. I’m not sure which ferry they’ll take. We’d best try to raise her on her mobile.’

  Kirsty cast her eyes about the room, searching for her mobile. ‘Damn. Where have I left it this time?’

  ‘Here, use mine,’ Amy said. ‘It has Elsa’s number in the memory.’

  They waited while the number rang out, but there was no answer and no invitation to leave a message on voicemail.

  ‘Elsa’s gone to ground,’ Kirsty said. ‘She clearly doesn’t want to be contacted at the moment.’

  ‘So what do we do now? If Finn had anything to do with the disappearance of those two bottles of whisky, the sooner we find out the better. Before he leaves the island.’

  Chapter 16

  Once Amy was back in Columb Cottage, she tried to settle down to work, but found her thoughts straying back to the events of the morning. It felt as if the whole experience might have happened to someone else: a gorgeous diver who appeared out of the blue; the missing whisky; not to mention Kirsty’s reaction to the stranger who had unexpectedly crossed her path. Clearly responding to Finn’s admiring glances, Kirsty’s self-esteem seemed to have risen dramatically since Amy had last spoken to her. Amy was pleased for her; the aftermath of the accident could not have been easy to deal with. And it wasn’t over, Amy felt sure; her friend still had a hard furrow to plough.