The Castle and The Redhead (Pt. 7)
Setting: an island off the west coast of Scotland.
Here are: Part 1: Part 2 Pt: 3 Pt: 4 Pt: 5 Pt: 6
By 8.30 a.m., MacAlistair was winding up the rotors of the helicopter as Gibbings made himself comfortable in the back, binoculars hanging around his neck. The only time he’d been in a machine like this was on his first day when he was brought from the mainland. Aline was standing two hundred feet away on the turret balcony. As the helicopter lifted off the ground, Aline waved, her black, shining hair blown wild, and saw a brief wave back from her brother as he dipped the nose of the helicopter and swung away over the waters. Aline decided to finish her coffee on the terrace and take in the morning air when Hambleton appeared in a timely fashion with a fresh pot.
“May I?” Miss Aline,” he asked, hovering the pot over her cup.
“Thank you, David,” she said.
Hambleton poured the coffee and asked, “No news on the young lady’s whereabouts, Miss Aline?”
“I’m afraid not. I’m very concerned. Thomas feels confident she’s still somewhere on the island. He and Gibbings have gone off to check on the far side of the point. It’s terribly steep and dangerous over there.”
“I understand. I’m sure Mr. MacAlistair will return with good news.”
“Thank you, David,” she said, sipping fresh coffee.
When Hambleton left her, Aline sat back in her chair, thinking about how all this had happened. She immediately felt tension in her neck and didn’t know if it was a concern for the missing woman or the cool breeze coming in off the North Sea. She decided to take her coffee inside, into the library, and pulling her cardigan tightly about her, she picked up her coffee and came inside.
In the kitchen, Hambleton and Mrs. Simms were gossiping. “All I know is it’s a queer happening, Mr. Hambleton. A woman is shipwrecked, then rows a boat to this island, and without a goodbye or leave, she vanishes after Miss Aline had cared for her, even made her a place at the dinner table, and all the thanks she gets is to worry about where the woman is. It’ll be a damn nerve, if you ask my mind, Mr. Hambleton.”
“Well, Doris, I’ve been fed the barest bones of the incident. Let’s just hope she’s not hurt. I’m sure Mr. MacAlistair will find the answer to the mystery.”
Aline was about to settle with a magazine and finish her coffee when she heard the drone of an engine. Her immediate thought was that her brother was back, and so quickly, which was good news, but then the sound changed, came closer. Aline sitting in a plush, red leather chair, fingering through the pages of a magazine, rose and went to the window.
It was no good, the sound was out of sight on this side. She left the library, returningup through the Mural Passage, climbed the four stone steps and turned right toward the terrace. Aline picked up the binoculars and looked out in the direction of the drumming sound approaching. It was a speed boat, a big one, maybe half a mile away, but why was it coming this way? As the focus improved the mystery was cleared up. It was a police boat.
Aline knew it wasn’t a courtesy visit; of course, it would be about the boat that sunk. Ten minutes later, down to the kitchen, where she knew Hambleton would be.
“David, we have visitors arriving. It’s the police, I’m afraid. I’m sure it will be in connection with last night’s incident. I’m going out to meet them. Will you prepare the conference room, I’m sure they’ll want to talk to me.”
“Of course, Miss Aline, right away,” Hambleton replied, immediately heading for the conference room.
“Mrs. Simms, I may ask for refreshments.”
“That won’t be a problem, Miss. Aline, just give me the word.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Simms,” Aline said, walking from the kitchen down the cobbled slope toward the boat deck.
MacAlistair’s Nordhavn 60 is tied up alongside, leaving only twelve feet of dock to secure the police boat.
As the sun began to find its heat, the police boat came alongside. Aline felt a sense of unease, knowing that the police were here to investigate a boat sinking. As the police boat docked, two officers disembarked, their expressions stern and professional as they made their way up the wooden ramp to where Aline was waiting. Aline’s features reflect curiosity and apprehension as the first officer approaches.
“Good morning. I’m police sergeant Reynolds from the Orkney Islands Police Division. This is constable Hawthorn,” Reynolds said, turning to the officer standing behind. The young officer nodded. We are here to ask a few questions. I wonder if we could talk inside.”
“Of course, please follow me,” Aline responded.
On the far side of the island, Gibbings, with binoculars hard to his eye sockets, searches the coastline below. The island terrain is covered in dense vegetation and flourishing greenery, creating a lush but difficult environment for footing. Lower, rocky terrain, with steep cliffs and jutting landscape is scenic without being hospitable.
The only point of access onto the island from this side of the island is a sandy beach, ninety yards long. This side of the island is deserted but would indeed be a good place for anyone not wanting to be found.
MacAlistair was beginning to feel a little concerned as the flight over this side of the island was producing no evidence of anyone being down there, not even a footprint in the sands.
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Read this beautiful piece of work and admire the poetic language of a skilled craftsman.
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