‘So this is your room, Father,’ said Margaret, glancing around it. ‘It’s quite a good one, but I’d rather stick to the chalet, and I’m not at all sorry Aunt Eliza is not here to greet us. We shall be thoroughly acclimatised by the time she comes back. There’s nothing like being the man on the spot. What time do you want us to come along for dinner, Father?’
‘There will be nothing much to do after dinner,’ said Marius, ‘so we may as well have it later rather than sooner. I think perhaps eight o’clock will be a suitable hour. I shall turn in early. It has been a fatiguing day.’
‘Disappointing, too, for the poor old buster,’ said Sebastian. ‘This partnership business has hit him where it hurts. He can say what he likes about underlings, but I wouldn’t be surprised if that rather poisonous little female at the desk holds pretty good cards and knows most of the answers.’
‘I do wish now that I’d told him about the partnership,’ said Margaret.
‘Well, we know why you didn’t, and I still think you were right. Having known about it since November, you couldn’t suddenly spring it on him at the end of April. If he wants to scheme for Aunt Eliza’s money, that’s his affair and it isn’t your fault. He’s been hoist with his own petard, so let’s leave it at that.’
chapter four
Lizzie’s Island
‘And in their courses make that round
In meadows and in marshes found.
Of them so called the Fairy Ground,
Of which they have the keeping.’
Michael Drayton
« ^ »
The landing-beach at which the boat had put in stretched northwards for upwards of a mile. Surveying it from the cliff-top on the following morning, Sebastian, who had a towel round his neck and his swim-trunks on under his flannel trousers, remarked to his sister, who was similarly clad except that she wore a bikini top under her sweater, that he was not impressed by the facilities which the greyish shore afforded.
‘I don’t think I want to bathe here,’ he said ‘and then there’s that awful grind up the hill to get back. My legs always feel like jelly after I’ve been swimming.’
‘Well, let’s walk about a bit,’ suggested Margaret. ‘Breakfast isn’t until eight. We’ve heaps of time.’ They walked to the tip of the island. From there, the mainland, which at first had been discernable through the early morning haze, was out of sight and all that faced the holiday-makers was a vast expanse of sea. They rounded a headland, glanced back at the south-east lighthouse of the island and then found themselves looking down on a tiny cove. ‘That might do,’ Margaret went on. ‘Let’s find a way down.’
‘It still looks rather mucky,’ objected Sebastian. ‘I hate bathing from shale and pebbles. Besides, the sea looks pretty rough and there are rocks.’
‘There’s somebody swimming, anyway.’
The descent to the beach was precipitous, but there were steps cuts here and there, and at the back of the cove they found a large cave with a rocky ledge on which were the clothes presumably belonging to the swimmer. They shed their own outer lendings and picked their way painfully over sharp pebbles and precariously over bright-green slippery rocks to get into the water. It was shallow and clear, except for dark strands of seaweed, and it struck cold at that hour of the morning. Margaret crouched in the shallow sea on what appeared to be a shelf of rock and then, using her hands, lifted herself sufficiently to be able to propel her body forwards towards the dark green billows. The rocky shelf ended with some abruptness, and she found herself submerged in six feet of water. She surfaced and began to swim. Sebastian followed suit and the next moment they were hailed by the other swimmer, who came threshing towards them on a clean, crisp stroke which made their own quite adequate efforts look puerile and clumsy.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Just thought I’d better tip you off to stay pretty well inshore. Out there is the race they call Dead Man’s Day. Once you get caught in that, you’ve had it.’ She turned and threshed away. Five minutes later she was on the rocky shelf and was wading purposefully towards the cave.
‘That’s her,’ said Margaret, floating and allowing the waves to carry her slightly shorewards.
‘That’s who?’ asked Sebastian, pushing the long hair away from his eyes.
‘The woman we saw yesterday. Gavin. She waved to us from outside that house.’
‘Wonder how long she’ll take to dress? I shall soon have had enough of this. It’s damn’ cold and I want my breakfast.’
‘Oh, dear, yes, it is cold, isn’t it?’
‘Well, there’s nothing to stop you going ashore. I’ll have to wait until she’s through, though, I suppose.’ He turned and swam along level with the coast, mindful of the warning about Dead Man’s Day. Margaret watched his somewhat laboured stroke and contrasted it with the human torpedo who had come in to speak to them, then she turned in the direction of the shore, swam as fast as she could, hoisted herself on to the ledge and staggered ungracefully over stones towards the cave.
The woman, who seemed to be as energetic out of the water as in it, was just pulling a sweater on over a towelling shirt. Having done this, she unconcernedly dried her magnificent legs, shook back her damp hair, which appeared to have received a vigorous preliminary rubbing, and said, as she pulled on her trousers,
‘Hope you didn’t mind my butting in.’
‘Of course not. Very good of you, although my brother and I are pretty careful in strange waters.’
‘Good for you. Staying here long?’
‘A month. Your name—my brother spotted it on your luggage…’
‘Gavin. Laura to my friends.’
‘Our name is Lovelaine. I’m Margaret, my brother is Sebastian. We’re staying here with my father. The hotel belongs to my aunt.’
‘Oh, yes? Well, I hope I’ll see you again.’ She pulled on a pair of rope-soled shoes and added, ‘Wouldn’t your brother like to dress now? I’m just off.’
‘Yes, I expect he’s feeling cold,’ said Margaret. ‘I’ll signal him.’ She stepped out of the cave and waved and beckoned. Sebastian thankfully waded ashore, but, when he reached his sister, he said,
‘Oh, dear! I thought you meant the cave would be vacant, but she’s still in there, isn’t she?’
‘I’ll get your towel,’ said Margaret. ‘You can begin to dry yourself out here.’
‘This wind is chilly. Why did you wave if she isn’t ready?’
‘She said she was.’ Margaret went into the cave. There was no sign of Laura. She and the wet swimsuit which she had flung down were both gone. Bewildered, the girl returned to her brother. ‘The cave’s all yours,’ she said. ‘Laura Gavin seems to have done a disappearing trick. Hurry up and get dressed. I want my breakfast.’
‘She can’t have disappeared,’ said Sebastian. ‘She certainly didn’t leave the cave while I was coming out of the water. I’d have seen her.’
‘I suppose you would. Anyway, she isn’t in there now.’
Sebastian entered the cave, dried himself and dressed and then said, ‘I think I’ve got it. This cave must have been a smugglers’ hole. That means there’s another way up to the top of the cliffs from the back of it. I’ve heard of such things before. There must be a natural fault in the rock. Let’s find it.’
This proved to be a simple operation. Not only was there a natural fissure in the back of the cave, but rough steps had been chopped out to make a steep ascent and a short cut to the cliff-top.’