‘I expect you’ll be glad to get back to your family.’
He pulled a little face. ‘Actually, it’s been rather peaceful here. We have three-year-old twin boys, and—’
I laughed. ‘You need say no more. In that case, I’m sure your wife will be delighted to see you again.’
‘She’s very capable, and seems to take the boys in her stride. She has brothers. I was an only child, and … well … it’s been lovely to have a tranquil interlude.’
‘Is there a large congregation here?’
‘Not bad, for a village church. There’s quite a lot going on, actually, but I’ve been fortunate to have help. A retired priest from America has been volunteering a good deal. He can’t actually take services, because of course he hasn’t been through the “safeguard” vetting procedure. But he’s been quite happy to act as a lay volunteer in all sorts of capacities. It’s freed up my time considerably.’
‘And Mr Abercrombie is a real asset to our church,’ said one of the ladies who had attended the service, as she finished putting the prayer books away. ‘We’re all hoping he’ll be able to get through the vetting quickly, because he wants to be able to assist the vicar here, as a real priest.’
‘He’s planning to stay here in Alderney, then?’ asked Alan.
‘Yes, he’s thinking of buying a house and making this his home. We all hope he will!’
I noticed another of the ladies, the one who had sat next to me and helped me find my place in the service, which was slightly different from the one we used back in Sherebury. We were standing just in front of the lectern, and she moved past me in the crowded space with a murmured apology. I noticed her expression, the frown, the pursed lips, and watched as she strode up the aisle and out of the church without a word to anyone.
Hmm.
‘Will you be in Alderney for long?’ asked Mr Lewison.
‘Two weeks,’ replied Alan. ‘We decided to give ourselves a real holiday.’
‘And it’s such a lovely place!’ I added. ‘I do love islands, and this one is amazing.’
‘Have you done any of the walks yet? My name is Sylvia, by the way, Sylvia Whiting. I volunteer at the Visitor Information Centre, and I’d be happy to help you find some of the points of interest.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Alan. ‘We only just got here yesterday, and we’ve been down to the harbour, but nowhere else. And we do enjoy walking.’
‘Well, then! Come to the centre any time. I’m going there now, but if you come when I’m not there, someone else will help.’
Alan and I looked at each other. ‘Sounds good to me,’ I said. ‘And the centre’s just down the street.’
‘Almost everything’s just down the street in Alderney, or up, as the case may be,’ said one of the other ladies, laughing. ‘Do enjoy yourselves.’
We left the church surrounded by goodwill.
There were, it turned out, seven planned walks in Alderney, designed to give visitors a good overview of the island and its more interesting features. It seemed there was plenty to see. Old fortifications from the time the islanders feared invasion from France, much newer ones built by the Germans when they occupied the Channel Islands during World War Two. Stunning views of the sea. Wildlife of all sorts, including rare sea birds and Alderney’s pride, the blonde hedgehog.
‘They’re extremely rare everywhere else in the world,’ said Sylvia, ‘but we have a large population. They’re not particularly shy, but you’ll probably not see them in the daytime. They like to come out to feed at night. In fact, on Thursday evening we have a Bats and Hedgehogs walk, and we can almost guarantee seeing some then.’
I’ve never been able to get enthusiastic about bats, but I did want to see the hedgehogs, so Alan and I signed up for that tour. ‘Now, for today, which walk would you recommend we start with?’
‘My favourite is the Zig-Zag,’ she said, pointing to one of the brochures. ‘There’s a steep bit, but you can always turn around and go back the way you came, and the views are delightful.’
The sun was shining. The cool breeze was bracing. I was feeling hale and hearty and ready for anything. ‘The Zig-Zag it is,’ I said with determination. ‘Alan, let’s go and get our sticks and boots, and we’re off.’
The first part of the walk, up to the top of Victoria Street and then into an area of homes, was easy if not particularly interesting. We passed the pub and off-licence where Alan had bought our bottle of wine the night before, and another pub or two. ‘Remarkably well-supplied with pubs for such a small place,’ I commented.
Alan grinned. ‘Alderney has a reputation. Unfounded, I’m sure.’
Then we left the town proper and approached the airport (rather a grand name for a very small facility), and set out into proper country. A signpost directed us to the Zig-Zag.
In America we call such a path a switchback. A series of not-too-steep tracks took us gradually down toward the sea. The cliff itself was very steep, but the pathway made it easy, and Sylvia had been absolutely accurate about the views. She hadn’t mentioned the wildflowers and the butterflies, but I kept having to stop and admire them. ‘There are so many of those adorable little blue ones!’ I enthused.
‘My dear, they’re all over our garden in summer.’
‘I know, but they’re unknown in America, at least where I lived, and I still can’t get used to them. Oh, and there’s a red admiral! I do know those; we have them in Indiana, too.’
We encountered several people as we went on down the narrow path: a couple of obvious husband/wife pairs, then one lone man in a natty green-and-white jogging suit (‘A dedicated walker,’ I whispered to Alan). Then there were three giggling teenagers who sounded like Americans or Canadians.
‘Ah, to be young again!’ I said. ‘Look how easily they climb. But then I never was any good at anything athletic, even when I was their age.’
Diplomatically, Alan made no comment. He didn’t even glance at the bulges of flab that I tried to hide with loose-fitting shirts.
I cleared my throat. ‘Yes. Onward.’
We reached the bottom of the cliff and walked along a paved road for a bit, then Alan stopped and considered the leaflet guide. ‘I think the walk goes this way,’ he said dubiously, and pointed.
I was certain he was wrong. There did seem to be something resembling a path, or a track, leading up the cliff, but it must have been made by goats. It was so narrow it didn’t seem as if it would accommodate two feet side by side, and it appeared to me to lead straight up.
‘Alan, that can’t be right.’
He looked back at the guide. ‘It is, though. Look.’
He pointed to the contour lines printed on the little map. I hadn’t noticed them before, and wouldn’t have thought about their meaning if I had.
In case you’ve never followed a map with this kind of detail, let me explain. Contour lines mark elevation. They will curve around from one point to another that is at the same elevation. That is, if a given point is at an elevation of, say, a hundred feet above sea level, the line will run from that point to the next that is also at a hundred feet, and so on. Then the points that are, say, ten feet higher will have another line. In a flat area, the contour lines will be far apart. In an area that is steeply pitched …
‘Oh, good grief!’ The lines on the map of this path were so close together they almost touched. ‘Alan, I can’t possibly climb that!’
‘We could go back,’ he said, sounding somewhat wistful.
He was pining to climb that hill. That mountain.
I took a deep breath. ‘Well, my stick has a spike on it, and maybe the hill isn’t as bad as it looks. These jeans are good and sturdy. I could always get down on hands and knees if I have to.’
‘I’m sure it’s doable, or the walk wouldn’t go this way. Suppose I stay behind you, just in case you slip.’
‘And send both of us rolling down into the sea? No, you go ahead. That way you can give me a hand if I get stuck.’
The first few feet were hard, but then there was a stretch that wasn’t quite so steep, though it was studded with rocks that could make me lose my footing. My sturdy boots helped, and Alan found small detours around the worst bits. I’d begun to lose my fear of the adventure and was scrambling up with some confidence when Alan stopped so suddenly I bumped my nose on the heel of his boot, and my hat fell off.
‘Ow! You might have warned me. What did you find?’
‘Dorothy, do you think you can manage to get back down to the road?’
Uh-oh. ‘What is it? Are you ill?’
‘No, I’m fine. But this chap isn’t.’
He moved aside just enough for me to see the man lying on the path. His head was just beyond Alan’s hand, lying in a patch of weeds. There was quite a lot of blood on the ground, and the man wasn’t breathing.
THREE
I sat down. On a thistle, or something that was very uncomfortable. It didn’t matter.
‘Alan, I can’t go down. I’d never make it. I’ll be okay here, as long as you’re here. He’s dead, isn’t he?’
‘Yes. It looks as though he fell and fractured his skull on a rock.’ He pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched in 999.
The sun was growing warmer and warmer. There were flies buzzing around the poor man’s head.
‘… on the Zig-Zag walk. Not on the Zig-Zag itself, but on the rather steep path back up the cliff, a bit farther on. Yes. Less than halfway up. We’ll wait.’
There was nothing else for us to do, really, I thought as Alan ended the call. Even if we could, in conscience, leave the poor man, we couldn’t get past him to go on up, and I, at least, could not go down.
‘How are they going to get him out of here?’ I asked. ‘Surely no one could handle a stretcher here.’
‘They’ll have cliff-side rescue equipment, ropes and such.’
I became aware of my discomfort. ‘Give me a hand, will you? I need to stand up.’ It wasn’t just the thistle or whatever I was sitting on; I couldn’t bear watching the flies. ‘Do you have a handkerchief?’ I asked when I’d achieved a rather tottery stance. ‘I forgot to put tissues in my pocket, and I want to cover his head. All right, I know it’s irrational. He isn’t worried about the flies. But I am.’
‘Perfectly natural, love.’ He produced a large square and spread it over the man’s head, first shooing away the flies. ‘Better?’
‘Much.’ I found a flat rock to sit on. It was too low, and I’d have an awful time getting back up, but I felt more secure in solid contact with terra firma. ‘How long do you suppose they’ll be?’
‘They’re here.’ Alan, sitting a little higher than I, had been able to see beyond me to the sturdy form of a black-clad policeman toiling up the hill.
Alan stood. ‘We’re very glad to see you, sir.’
‘You’re the chap who reported the accident?’
‘Yes. Alan Nesbitt, late of the Belleshire Constabulary. I’m happy to assist you in any way I can, but is it possible that someone could help my wife to get back to our B & B? She doesn’t especially care for heights, and this matter has distressed her somewhat.’
‘That shouldn’t be a problem. The rescue squad can help her get down.’
‘I don’t think I can go down,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry, but the very thought makes me dizzy.’
‘Not to worry, madam. These chaps are quite competent. They’ll not let you fall.’ He made a quick call, and then turned back to me. ‘American, are you?’
‘Expat. I’ve lived in England for quite some time, but I never seem to have lost the accent.’
‘Ah. And I imagine this is your hat?’
‘Yes, it fell off when Alan stopped suddenly and I bumped into him. Thank you. That sun’s getting hot.’
He handed it back to me with a courteous little half-bow. ‘And you, sir, you say you were with the police?’
‘Retired for a few years, now, but yes.’
I piped up. ‘He won’t tell you, so I will: Alan was chief constable of Belleshire.’
The policeman said, ‘Ah,’ again, but with a different tone in his voice. Alan and I both recognized it. Since he’s retired, he’s often met with a somewhat bemused attitude when dealing with other police officers, an unspoken blend of ‘I do hope you’re not going to interfere’ with ‘I wonder if we could use your expertise.’
Before this man could make up his mind about his reaction, Alan said, ‘I do assure you, I have no desire to become involved in this matter, except to help you in any way I can.’
‘Yes, sir, quite. Do you have any reason to believe there is a “matter” to become involved in?’
‘Only in the sense that any accidental death must be investigated to some extent – as of course you know. I’ve seen nothing to indicate that this was not an accident. It looks to me as though the man may have been coming down this path, somewhat unwisely, I’d have thought, and tripped and fell. Fractured skull and loss of blood, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Looks that way. You’ve seen no one else in the area?’
We both shook our heads. ‘Nobody in particular. There were a few people climbing up the Zig-Zag as we were going down.’
‘Yes, a lot of walkers like that path, especially on a fine day. Well, the rescue squad will tell us more about the cause of death, I imagine. I believe I hear them up top. As soon as they get here, ma’am, one of them will escort you down. I requested a man for just that purpose, and frankly, I’ll be happy to have a little more room for them to work here.’
‘I’ll get out of the way, too,’ said Alan, ‘unless you’d like me to stay.’
‘I don’t think we need you at this point, sir, though we may need to speak with you later. Would you also like some help getting down the hill?’
‘I think I can make it.’
Going down was, in a word, terrifying. Alan went first, to catch me if I fell, but even with him there I couldn’t possibly have done it without the policeman’s help. Where the path was very steep, I had to turn around and face it, feeling for footholds. All the time there was a strong arm to support me and encouragement to keep me going.
I was a wreck by the time we got to the bottom, hot, sweating, covered in dust and burrs, and trembling.
A police car was standing by the side of the road. Alan addressed the policeman who had helped us. ‘Do you think, Mr … I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’
‘Gering, sir. PC John Gering,’
‘Mr Gering, do you think you could take my wife back to our B & B? I’m not sure she’s up to walking.’
‘Certainly, sir, and you, too.’
So we were driven back in comfort. Alan gave Mr Gering one of his cards, in case the police needed more information from us, and then I collapsed onto the bed.
‘I’m going out to get you something cold to drink. And what about some food? It’s nearly lunchtime. I think part of your trouble is hunger.’
I didn’t feel hungry, just hot and tired and shaky, but … ‘You’re probably right. Low blood sugar. I don’t want to go out, though. Just get something we can eat here.’
While he was gone I mustered enough energy to strip off my filthy clothes and take a shower. Clad only in my nightgown I felt much cooler and considerably refreshed, but I fretted. I fear I’m rather an accomplished fretter. At the front of my mind was concern about the poor man on the cliff. I hoped they’d get him off soon. Not that it mattered to him now. I did know that, with my intellect, but my emotions wanted him to be out of the sun, away from the flies, to a place where he could rest in peace. Which was idiotic, so I turned to the concern at the back of my mind, which was laundry.
We hadn’t been able to pack very many clothes, because of the weight limit for baggage on that tiny plane. And as I had no idea what laundry facilities might be available on the island, I’d carefully chosen shirts and pants that could be made to work, in various combinations, for two weeks. Now one of those outfits was out of the loop on the
very first day. There was no question of rinsing out either garment in the bathroom basin. The dirt was ground in.
Well, that worry was idiotic, too, now that I thought about it. I’d just have to find a laundromat somewhere. Doing laundry wasn’t the way I’d planned to spend my holiday, but needs must.
I had reached that conclusion when Alan came back with a couple of pasties from the bakery, along with lots of fruit and two cold bottles of orange juice. ‘And,’ he said triumphantly, holding up a plastic-wrapped package, ‘dessert.’
‘Ooh! Looks lovely.’ I took it from him. ‘Lemon drizzle cake? Is that from the bakery, too?’
‘No, from a small stand on the street. Up a few yards from here there’s a wicker basket sitting on a little table, with several sorts of baked goods and a jam jar for the money. Two pounds, this was, and I’d say a great bargain, if it tastes as good as it smells.’
It did. Everything was wonderful, and I ate far too much, but I felt considerably better when I’d finished.
‘There’s enough cheese and fruit and cake left for our supper, if we don’t want to go out.’ I found an empty drawer where we could stash our food. ‘It’s cool enough that everything will keep.’
‘I was thinking we might like to try the Indian restaurant up the street. Nellie Gray’s, it’s called. I had a look in the window and it seems pleasant.’
‘Funny name for an Indian place, though. I wonder—’
Alan’s mobile rang.
He answered and mouthed at me, ‘Police.’ The conversation was very brief and for me, listening only to Alan’s end, not very informative. Alan clicked off and said, ‘That was PC Partridge, the man we saw first. He wants to come up and talk to us. He’s only a few minutes away, so you’d best hustle into some clothes, love.’
It doesn’t take long to get into jeans and a tee. Alan and I went down to the little lounge to meet the constable.
He had some disquieting news for us.
‘It seems, Mrs Martin, that the accident victim was an American. There are very few American visitors on Alderney just now. Well, at any time, really. Most of our tourists come from France or the UK. So I wonder if you might have any connection with him.’
Smile and be a Villain Page 2