Island-in-Waiting by Anthea Fraser

Author:Anthea Fraser [Fraser, Anthea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781471310263
Publisher: AudioGO

Eleven

I was not looking forward to my sitting with Ray and found myself regretting the challenge I had so recklessly issued. Whether it was he or the unwitting Tom Kelly who had subjected me to the terrors of Slieu Whallian, I suspected that the more I saw of him, the more readily would those indeterminate barriers go down and I should slip with increasing ease into other dimensions.

To add to my wretchedness my pride was urging me to cancel the dinner date with Neil. The probability that I owed it to Hugo still rankled but the fact remained that with a concentrated day of Ray ahead I needed the thought of Neil to steady me, even if our evening together would be a contrived arrangement.

When Ray called for me I saw at once that there was a bandage on his hand and felt a stab of fear before I realized why. “What have you done to your hand?”

“Nothing serious, it’s just a nuisance. My penknife slipped and there’s quite a deep gash round the base of the thumb. Matron insisted I went for an anti-tetanus jab.”

My own hand throbbed briefly, stopping as my will-power clamped down on it. I said on a high note, “I wasn’t sure what you wanted me to wear.”

“I brought some things with me.” He handed over a large paper bag. “I hope they fit.”

I opened the bag and drew out a long woollen skirt and matching stole in soft blue and green plaid. “Ray, they’re lovely! Whose are they?”

“My sister’s. She doesn’t mind. Go and try them on. That white blouse you wore the other day should go with them.”

In my bedroom I changed hurriedly and found that the plaid skirt fitted to perfection. I draped the stole round my shoulders and turned to survey my reflection in the full-length mirror. There was no denying that the ensemble was very flattering and my pleasure in it helped to smooth away at least some of the constraint between us.

Ray gave a sigh of satisfaction. “Perfect. It’s the Manx tartan, you see; traditionally made up of the blue of the sky, the green of the hills, the purple of the heather and the gold of the gorse. Sure now, it could have been designed for you.”

The sun was shining as we drove out of the lane and turned left for Ballaugh. Outside the school gates the stuffed guy, his face hidden by the wide-brimmed hat, lolled grotesquely in his barrow.

“Poor Guy Fawkes, what a death sentence!” I said lightly. “To be burned every fifth of November till the end of time!”

“I’ve always felt sorry for him myself, but then it wasn’t my parliament he tried to blow up. I suppose the ‘come-overs’ from the mainland brought the custom with them at some stage. Hallows’ E’en isn’t imported, though. Witches are part of our own history, as you found out yourself.”

Beneath his casual tone lay a deliberate reminder of his power over me and of the challenge given and accepted.

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