Eye of the Needle(61)

The man showed a trace of relief. “I thought I might have been blown back to the mainland.”

David pointed the man’s toes at the fire to warm his bare feet. “You were probably swept into the bay,” David said. “Things usually are. That’s how the beach was formed.”

Jo came in, bleary-eyed, trailing a one-armed panda as big as himself. When he saw the stranger he ran to Lucy and hid his face.

“I’ve frightened your little girl.” The man smiled.

“He’s a boy. I must cut his hair.” Lucy lifted Jo onto her lap.

“I’m sorry.” The stranger’s eyes closed again, and he swayed in his seat.

Lucky stood up, dumping Jo on the sofa. “We must put the poor man to bed, David.”

“Just a minute,” David said. He wheeled himself closer to the man. “Might there be any other survivors?” he asked.

The man’s face looked up. “I was alone,” he muttered. He was very nearly all in.

“David—” Lucy began.

“One more question: did you notify the coastguard of your route?”

“What does it matter?” Lucy said.

“It matters because, if he did, there may be men out there risking their lives looking for him, and we can let them know he’s safe.”

The man said slowly, “I…did not…”

“That’s enough,” Lucy told David. She knelt in front of the man. “Can you make it upstairs?”

He nodded and got slowly to his feet.

Lucy looped his arm over her shoulders and began to walk him out. “I’ll put him in Jo’s bed,” she said.

They took the stairs one at a time, pausing on each. When they reached the top, the little color that the fire had restored to the man’s face had drained away again. Lucy led him into the smaller bedroom. He collapsed onto the bed.

Lucy arranged the blankets over him, tucked him in and left the room, closing the door quietly.





RELIEF WASHED over Faber in a tidal wave. For the last few minutes, the effort of self-control had been superhuman. He felt limp, defeated and ill.

After the front door had opened, he had allowed himself to collapse for a while. The danger had come when the beautiful girl had started to undress him, and he had remembered the can of film taped to his chest. Dealing with that had restored his alertness for a while. He had also been afraid they might call for an ambulance, but that had not been mentioned; perhaps the island was too small to have a hospital. At least he was not on the mainland—there it would have been impossible to prevent the reporting of the shipwreck. However, the trend of the husband’s questions had indicated that no report would be made immediately.

Faber had no energy to speculate about problems farther ahead. He seemed to be safe for the time being, and that was as far as he could go. In the meantime he was warm and dry and alive, and the bed was soft.

He turned over, reconnoitering the room: door, window, chimney. The habit of caution survived everything but death itself. The walls were pink, as if the couple had hoped for a baby girl. There was a train set and a great many picture books on the floor. It was a safe, domestic place; a home. He was a wolf in a sheepfold. A lame wolf.

He closed his eyes. Despite his exhaustion, he had to force himself to relax, muscle by muscle. Gradually his head emptied of thought and he slept.





LUCY TASTED the porridge, and added another pinch of salt. They had got to like it the way Tom made it, the Scots way, without sugar. She would never go back to making sweet porridge, even when sugar became plentiful and unrationed again. It was funny how you got used to things when you had to: brown bread and margarine and salt porridge.

She ladled it out and the family sat down to breakfast. Jo had lots of milk to cool his. David ate vast quantities these days, without getting fat: it was the outdoor life. She looked at his hands on the table. They were rough and permanently brown, the hands of a manual worker. She had noticed the stranger’s hands—his fingers were long, the skin white under the blood and the bruising. He was unaccustomed to the abrasive work of crewing a boat.

“You won’t get much done today,” Lucy said. “The storm looks like it’s staying.”

“Makes no difference. Sheep still have to be cared for, whatever the weather.”

“Where will you be?”

“Tom’s end. I’ll go up there in the jeep.”

Jo said, “Can I come?”

“Not today,” Lucy told him. “It’s too wet and cold.”

“But I don’t like the man.”

Lucy smiled. “Don’t be silly. He won’t do us any harm. He’s almost too ill to move.”

“Who is he?”

“We don’t know his name. He’s been shipwrecked, and we have to look after him until he’s well enough to go back to the mainland. He’s a very nice man.”

“Is he my uncle?”

“Just a stranger, Jo. Eat up.”

Jo looked disappointed. He had met an uncle once. In his mind uncles were people who gave out candy, which he liked, and money, which he had no use for.

David finished his breakfast and put on his mackintosh, a tent-shaped garment with sleeves with a hole for his head, and that covered most of his wheelchair as well as him. He put a sou’wester on his head and tied it under his chin, kissed Jo, said good-bye to Lucy.