‘Man overboard!’ the cry went up.
‘Justin! Justin!’ screeched Max.
The crew risked their lives in leaning over the edge of the boat to find him in the swirling water, and the skipper turned on a searchlight, but there was nothing. Only the deafening howl of the wind, and the thundering waves. They searched for over an hour, before the skipper accepted that he was dead.
At midnight William saw the old mail-boat cruising into the harbour. The coastguards had been informed of a man overboard, but had been unable to launch a rescue craft. When the old boat dropped anchor, there was no mistaking the despair of the crew over the recent loss. William searched for Max. He was sobbing, but safe, being helped down the gangplank on to the jetty. His relief was short-lived however— ‘Where’s Justin?’ he called, running towards Max.
Max’s teeth were chattering, his whole body shaking, as he stammered. ‘Overboard!’
William sagged. He didn’t want to hear this. It couldn’t be true.
The sun rose, an amber globe that turned into a deep crimson ball and seemed to come up from the sea-bed to send shimmering rays across the now quiet waters. William was on his way back to the island. All the way he scanned the ocean with his binoculars. As they passed the two jagged rocks, he looked up at Suicide Point, hoping to see Justin, but no one was there.
The coastguards had been searching, and reported that no body had been found. With the storm at its height when he went overboard, he might have been swept for miles down the coast. They continued their search, in small coves and inlets, but they knew there was no hope of finding him alive after twenty-four hours.
William left the boat and went up to the house for breakfast. He had not eaten for hours, and he wolfed down the food, though he tasted nothing. As the perfect day took hold news spread round the island. William saw huddles of gardeners whispering. One man, older than the others, was squatting on his heels, sobbing loudly. The boat-boys sat side by side, their legs dangling over the jetty, arms around each other. They had loved him too. Everyone here had loved Justin. He was there in every blade of grass, in every secret path, even in the air, perfumed by the blooms he had chosen.
As William was about to enter Laura’s room, Dahlia appeared and drew him aside, inching the door shut behind her. They walked a short distance before she spoke. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said.
‘Have you told Laura?’ William asked.
She shook her head. ‘On the night of the storm, she woke up. It was about ten o’clock. She seemed frantic. Then...’ Dahlia started to sob. Eventually she blew her nose and her face puckered. ‘She turned to me and said, “Justin has gone now. He’s never coming back.” I tried to calm her and said everything was all right, but she said, “No, Dahlia, Justin isn’t ever coming back.” How did she know?’ William could say nothing to comfort her. As she gradually became calmer, she wiped her eyes. ‘I said I would sit with her, and she thanked me. She didn’t cry, Sir William, it was the most heartbreaking thing I have ever experienced. She said she didn’t need me as he was with her, Justin was taking care of her.’
William entered the room and looked down at Laura. He was as mesmerized by her as he had been from the first moment he saw her portrait in his bedroom. Her silken hair was loose around her shoulders, her eyes were clear, the helpless look had gone. Her face, devoid of make-up, had a luminous quality.
‘Hello, Laura.’ His voice was a hoarse croak.
‘Hello, Willy,’ she said, patting the bed for him to sit beside her and reaching for his hand.
He was unsure of what to say. ‘How did you know?’ he asked.
‘That he’d gone? Well, how could I not?’ Her voice didn’t waver. ‘We have always read each other’s minds. Since we were children.’
‘I loved him,’ William said, head bent.
‘I know you did. He couldn’t believe you meant it. You see, Justin always believed he could control everyone. But when you grew to love him, he didn’t know how to handle it and then... you said something to him. You killed him,’ she said.
William gasped. ‘No — no! I never wanted him to leave.’
‘Ssh.’ She put a finger to his lips. ‘You couldn’t have understood. You told him you wanted to be like a father to him. Isn’t that what you said?’
‘But — but I...’
She lay back on her pillows. ‘Our Father who art in Heaven... If he had stayed, Justin would have had to kill you, Willy, because a father figure represented evil to him. A father would control him, punish him, as our father did. You see, whenever we needed the strength to...’ she couldn’t bring herself to say ‘murder’ ‘...we would just remember our father and what he did to us. Then we could do whatever we wanted. It made it all right.’
William bowed his head. His eyes brimmed with tears.
‘But he would never have wanted to hurt you, Willy, not you. He knew you would take care of me so it meant he was free. I have been a burden to him, I know that.’
William could say nothing.
‘He didn’t hurt Max, though, did he?’ She smiled.
‘No. Max is back in London now.’
Her face twisted and then she unfurled her fingers. ‘Good. No harm done. And with no one finding Justin, he can’t be buried, can he?’ she asked, puzzled.
‘I can arrange a memorial service.’ William gulped.
‘No, this island is memory enough. And he’s here, William, he won’t ever leave. I don’t want any service, he only loved me, you and this island.’
Laura drew him into her arms as if he was a child.
‘Marta will be here today,’ he said.
‘Marta will like it here. She will take good care of us.’
William’s heart leaped as she said ‘us’. ‘Will you stay on?’
‘I would like to stay here always,’ she said, without any hesitation.
‘I will never let you down, Laura. Please believe that, without him, you are now the most important person in my life.’
‘Thank you,’ she said.
Marta arrived late in the afternoon. William was waiting for her and held her tightly as she cried. He gestured for the boys to carry her luggage to the waiting golf cart, and hooked his arm through hers. Later she sat with William on the veranda, sipping a glass of chilled champagne. ‘You can feel him here,’ she said, ‘in the plants, on the breeze.’
William nodded: he believed it. In some ways it had eased his grief. Marta’s eyes filled with tears, and when she patted her pocket for a handkerchief, William handed her his.
‘Thank you,’ she said, and dabbed her eyes. She asked if he had noticed how often Laura said that phrase.
‘I have. It’s very endearing.’
Marta folded and refolded the handkerchief on her lap. ‘It isn’t. It’s heartbreaking. If you were to rape her or to brand her with a red-hot iron, she would thank you.’ Marta sighed. ‘They were both forced to say it after whatever they had been subjected to. Justin used to say it as much as Laura. Once he stole some money from my purse, just some loose change, but I was angry. I smacked his hand and he looked at me and said, “Thank you.” When he brought Laura home from the asylum, I used to watch him looking at her as she repeated over and over: “Thank you, thank you for the pain.”’
‘I am in such pain now, Marta,’ he said bleakly.
‘You are not to blame,’ she said kindly.
‘I am, Marta. I said I wanted to be a father to him. I know now it was the worst thing I could have said to him and, anyway, it was a lie. I was incapable of admitting to him, and to myself, that I wanted him to be...’ he swallowed, unable to admit even now that he had wanted Justin in every way a man can love another man. He was still ashamed to acknowledge his feelings.