Stracandra Island

by Graham R Swift

  “I don’t see why not if that is what he wants to do. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason,” Isobel replied, closing the door behind her.

  The first droplets of rain began to run down the corridor windows as she accompanied Sister Murray to the recreation room where through the small glass pane in the door she could see Will sat watching the deteriorating weather conditions.

  “Before you go in to see him there is something I must tell you. I think he has been having bad dreams since his operation, he may well tell you about them, but on the other hand he may not so I wouldn’t say anything unless he brings the subject up. What you could do is maybe ask him during your conversation if he has been sleeping alright and see what his reaction is.”

  “Okay Sister.”

  Pushing the door open she had decided earlier to take a softly, softly, approach at their first meeting. Walking over she laid a hand gently on his shoulder and kissed him tenderly on the cheek but was more than surprised at how he responded to her tenderness.

  “I’m sure you can do better than that,” he said, smiling broadly.

  Removing her storm jacket she sat down next to him. “Yes, I’m sure I can,” she replied, leaning across and kissing him fully on the lips.

  “That’s better,” he grinned, squeezing her hand.

  “So how are you feeling?” she asked, hoping her affectionate tone would encourage him to open up to her as Sister Murray had asked.

  “I am a bit sore but I’ll get there,” he answered, as he thought of the uncomfortable night’s sleep since the operation.

  Isobel could tell from his expression that there was something he was not telling her so decided to try another tact. “Sister Murray seems very nice?”

  “Yes, she is. But she does get rather cross with me when I call her Evelyn, especially in front of the junior nurses,” Will laughed.

  “I’m not surprised, a Sister is quite a senior grade in a hospital, Will.”

  “I know,” he grinned, mischievously.

  “And what about the nurses?”

  “There is one that is a bit stuffy, Imogen, we can’t get any rapport going with her, but the rest of them are okay. One of them knows you!”

  “Oh! And who might that be?” Isobel asked suspiciously.

  He decided to take on a vacant stare. “I can’t remember her name offhand,” he teased.

  “Yes, you do. Come on tell me her name or I’ll not visit you anymore.”

  Will grinned. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do!”

  “Her name is Morag.”

  Isobel thought for a few moments until the name came to mind. “Not Morag Sinclair?”

  “Yes, I think that is her last name,” he replied, easing himself into a more comfortable position.

  “I didn’t know she was back in Melruish.”

  “She has not been back long, only a couple of weeks or so; she told me you grew up together and that you were a right little tearaway when you were younger, chasing all the boys at school, kissing them behind the bike shed, a crafty cigarette now and then! I got all the lowdown on you Isobel Hamilton, whatever would your mother say if she knew?” he said, keeping a straight face.

  “It’s not true, none of it… Wait until I see Morag Sinclair, she will get a piece of my mind, spreading rumours like that, I never did anything like that,” Isobel answered crossly.

  Will couldn’t contain himself any longer and burst out laughing. “Your face then, Isobel, was a picture when I said those things! Rest assured, Morag never said anything detrimental about you, all she said was that she lived near you and you went to school together.”

  “You can be very irritating at times Will Madden,” she said, lightly smacking his arm before leaning back in the chair.

  “Now, now, no hitting the patients, it’s not allowed.”

  The arrival of the refreshment trolley brought about normality and after getting two cups of tea Isobel thought she might try and broach the subject about the bad dreams he had been having.

  “So how have you been sleeping since your operation?” she asked casually.

  Will stared at the rain soaked garden a few moments before answering. “Not very well. I have been having a lot of dreams of late.”

  “What kind of dreams?”

  He went quiet as he reflected back to the earlier encounter with the Reaper. “They are bad dreams Isobel.”

  “What! Nightmares?”

  “Yes, that kind of thing.”

  “When did you last have one?”

  “Just before you arrived; the strange thing is, it is always the same dream,” he said, smiling weakly before going on to narrate the frightening event.

  “Have you told the doctor or the Sister about them Will?”

  “No, I haven’t said anything to anybody yet, but I think the Sister has an idea that something is going on, she caught me a bit wild-eyed this afternoon.”

  Isobel took hold of his hand. “I think you should tell someone Will, do you want me to mention it to Sister Murray before I go?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll have a word with her when I see her. So how are the rest of the family, and has Dave been keeping out of trouble?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Mum and Dad are fine and send their love. David has been out twice while you’ve been in hospital but they have had no problems, thank God.”

  Will nodded. “Glad to hear it,” he replied, but deliberately keeping off the subject of HSL 120’s encounter with the Ju 88.

  “He has been seeing a lot of Catriona of late, they seem to be getting on quite well together.”

  “Well, she is an attractive girl, nearly as good as his sister is,” he said, winking.

  Isobel felt a little embarrassed but pleased by Will’s remark and leaned towards him. “We were so worried when David told us that you had been hurt and that you were undergoing immediate surgery; we could see by the look on his face how anxious he was when he told us. You know Will, he values your friendship above everything else, but he probably wouldn’t admit that if you asked him.”

  “I didn’t realise that.”

  “Well, he does. In all his letters home when you were flying together your name would crop up somewhere; you must remember Will, he was only nineteen when he volunteered for aircrew and it was all a new adventure, but he soon came to realise it wasn’t; we could tell that by the tone of his early letters. Then you befriended him and with your experience it brought out an inner strength in him which I don’t think he knew he had. He was really disappointed when you were made up to Warrant Officer and had to move to the officer’s quarters, but please don’t tell him I told you any of this, will you?”

  Taking hold of her hand he smiled at her reassuringly. “I’ll not say anything.”

  “Thanks! So do you think you will keep doing these occasional sorties when you get back to Tiree, or have you had enough of flying?” Isobel queried hoping that the latter would be the answer.

  “I will never get tired of flying, there is something about it that gets in your system. You have heard seamen say, ‘once the sea gets in your blood’ – it’s the same with me with flying. The take-off is always exhilarating, that’s when you really come alive, then there is the reassuring drone of the engines and the ever-changing sky. I just love it Isobel.”

  “Even when you know there is a good chance you could be shot down and killed or drowned in the freezing sea, you still want to go back and do more, don’t you think you’ve done enough?” she said, a little agitated by his remark.

  Will could see the anxiety on her face and the realisation suddenly hit him that she was showing signs of having feelings towards him, something he had never known before. “Does my flying worry you so much?” he asked, holding her gaze.

  “What do you think? I’d be heartless if it didn’t. At least with David we know he has a fairly good chance of coming back, being on the boats, but with you, hundreds of miles out over the sea in all kin
ds of weather, anything could happen. David has told us that several Met aircraft have never come back, disappeared without trace with their crews due to the weather or mechanical failure, is that true?”

  “Yes, they have lost one or two,” he answered solemnly.

  Isobel shook her head angrily. “And by all accounts from what mum was telling me you want to keep doing it after the war has finished.”

  “I’ve got nothing else to turn to Isobel, no qualifications or trade so I might as well stay in the Air Force if they will have me and do what I like doing best, flying! Anyway, why all the concern about me all of a sudden, I thought you had a downer on RAF types at the moment?” he chuckled.

  Isobel gave him a condescending look. “A girl can change her mind if she wants to, can’t she?” she answered coyly.

  Chapter Fifteen

  GRISELDA heard the car approaching behind her before she actually saw it and with the lane not being over-wide decided the grass verge offered her safer protection as the vehicle passed. It had taken her a little by surprise as it drew level with her and came to a halt and the figure of a rather distinguished looking gentlemen leaned across and opened the passenger door.

  “Are you the lady whose car has broken down and is trying to get to Chester?” a voice asked in a refined accent.

  “Yes, I am!” Griselda answered, crouching slightly to look in and seeing what looked like a doctor’s bag on the passenger seat.

  “Stan told me all about it back at the crossing. Hop in, I’ll drop you in the centre, it’s on my way to the hospital, just got to pop in to see a patient of mine there. So the old jalopy’s broken down has it? Bad show when they do that on you, especially out in the sticks somewhere.”

  “Yes, it is,” Griselda responded as she settled herself into the passenger seat.

  “I’m Doctor Roland Freeman, Roly to all the blighters that know me,” he laughed.

  “Valerie Turner,” Griselda lied.

  “So do you work in Chester?” Freeman asked, changing gear rather noisily. “Damn gearbox, can’t get the spare parts these days to get it fixed.”

  Griselda knew she would have to be on her guard and pick her words carefully when she answered. “No! I’m just going up to stay with my sister in Manchester for a few days; it seems an age since I saw her last, what with the war and the petrol rationing.”

  “Yes, it has made things rather difficult but I think our chaps will win the day eventually, don’t you?” he smiled.

  Although it annoyed her, she couldn’t do anything but agree, “I hope so!”

  “So what do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Oh! Nothing too exciting, I work in an office in the aircraft industry but that’s as much as I can say about it,” hoping her explanation would deter the doctor from probing further.

  “I quite understand,” Freeman replied, nodding.

  “So you know the gatekeeper back there at the crossing quite well?”

  “Stan! Yes, him and his wife are both patients of mine, we always pass the time of day together if I’m going into Chester. You wouldn’t know it to look at him now but he was quite highly decorated in the First World War, took out a Hun machine gun post single-handed while badly wounded, salt of the earth old Stanley.”

  “Brave man,” Griselda answered quietly, as she thought of the death of her father fighting on the Western Front against the British.

  “Yes, he was. So where would you like me to drop you, the railway or bus station?” Freeman asked, as they began to enter Chester’s outer suburbs.

  “The bus station will be fine as long as it’s not taking you out of your way.”

  “No, not at all, glad to be of help.”

  Griselda waved half-heartedly as she watched the doctor drive away while hoping around the next corner he would be involved in a serious collision. The bus station was moderately quiet, but before crossing the road she ran a careful eye over the proceedings; satisfied that everything looked normal she made her way to the information booth to enquire about the coach times to Manchester. After purchasing a ticket and with an hour to wait, she strolled across to a cafe that lay opposite the bus station which had a good view of the coaches as they arrived. Sipping on her tea she wondered what Guntram was doing or where he was, which brought on a sudden feeling of apprehension. Could he be following her? She had told him about her early days in Manchester and working with the Warners; would he put two and two together and come up with the right answer? She knew he was cunning and ruthless and enjoyed killing, would he come after her for revenge for running out on him? Panic set in for a few moments which made her reach for her bag. Unzipping it she felt the smooth lines of the Walther which gave her a feeling of calm. If she had to use it to kill her lover, then so be it.

  The coach was full to capacity when it left and with frequent stops to let off and pick up passengers the journey seemed endless before it eventually arrived in Manchester’s central coach station. Griselda knew she would have to be careful how she contacted the Warners; making contact with other agents was strictly against the rules when on operations unless authorised by headquarters. Alighting from the coach she made for the waiting room and after lighting a cigarette turned over in her mind what her options were. The easiest choice was to ring but for some reason she felt a little uneasy about doing that. One thing her relationship with Guntram had taught her was never to throw caution to the wind, check and double check before you make a move – that way you’ll live longer, he had told her. Knowing Manchester well, she picked the appropriate tram that would take her to Warwick Road close to where the Warners lived. Their modest house lay at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac and surrounded by high trees it was the ideal property to carry out their clandestine operations, if they were still there. She suddenly remembered as she walked the short distance from the tram stop that the large Victorian house on the corner of the road where the Warners resided had been turned into an hotel. She let out a small sigh of relief when she saw the name board was still there, if not a little worse for wear, standing defiantly against the garden wall and hanging in the window a ‘Vacancy’ sign. The gate was ajar, so making her way to the large ornate door she had just been about to ring the bell when the door opened and a rather good looking man appeared who Griselda estimated was in his late thirties.

  “Can I be of help?” he asked, flashing a smile at her.

  “I hope so!” she answered seductively, “I saw your vacancy sign and would like a room for one or maybe two nights please.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I can find you a nice room where you will be comfortable, would you like a single, or a double room, they come a little bit more expensive?” he asked, guiding her with his arm towards the reception desk.

  “What do you recommend?”

  “Would you like to be at the back or the front of the house?”

  “Definitely the front!” she replied, going through the motions of filling in the visitor’s book using again the false name of Valerie Turner.

  “Well, I would recommend room 2 at the front, it’s a double, but it's a very nice spacious room.”

  “Room 2 it is then. Would you like me to pay now?” she asked, conscious that he was running a wanton eye over her full figure.

  “In certain cases I do ask for the tariff to be paid up front, but in your case you look very trustworthy, so the morning you leave will be fine,” he grinned, reaching for the key. “Have you any luggage?” he queried holding her gaze.

  Griselda had to think fast for an answer. “No, I haven’t, all done in a bit of a hurry this trip, but I’m sure I’ll manage for a couple of days,” she smiled, hoping her explanation would suffice.

  “Okay! If you would like to follow me I’ll take you up to your room.”

  Griselda was both mildly surprised by the size of the room and pleased that it also gave a good view from the bow window of the road below and the entrance to the Warners’ driveway.

  “Is this room satisfactory f
or you?” the proprietor asked.

  “Yes! It’s very nice thank you,” she replied, as she was handed the keys.

  “Breakfast is from 7:00 until 9:30, and I lock the front door at eleven; if you are out after that time you will require a pass key from the reception desk to let yourself in.”

  “Okay!” she answered, sitting down on the bed and crossing her legs to reveal their shapely form as she watched him make for the door where he paused before opening it.

  “My name is Matthew, or Matt if you prefer. If there is anything, and I mean anything you require, you know where to find me. There is also an internal phone on the reception desk with a number on it to ring me after eleven if there’s something you may need,” he told her, smiling.

  Griselda knew exactly what he meant – she had seen that look in men’s eyes before and in truth it did excite her a little knowing a man was behaving alluringly towards her. “I’ll remember that Matt,” she said, taking out her cigarettes. “Do you by any chance have a bar here?” she enquired.

  “Yes, there is a small bar in the lounge which is open all evening to the guests only.”

  “It sounds very nice and cosy. I’m sorry, would you like one?” she suggested, offering him a cigarette.

  “Not just at the moment, but I would love to partake in one over a drink in the bar with you later if you are there,” he suggested.

  Griselda took a long draw on her cigarette and slowly uncrossed her legs and reached for the ashtray. “Oh, I’ll definitely be there Matthew, you can count on that,” she replied huskily.

  *

  She ate in a small café, a fifteen minute walk from the hotel and after calling in at a particularly noisy public house to buy cigarettes and have a drink she arrived back at the hotel by nine. Griselda noted there were five others in the bar as she entered who greeted her with the customary “Good evening” as she crossed the room and slipped provocatively onto the vacant bar stool at the end of the bar. She felt a twinge of pleasant anticipation as Matt finished serving and came over to her bringing his drink with him and quietly asked her what she would like to drink?