and fired the strobe again.
“Will you stop that! Are you trying to blind me?” he shouted.
Liz had the chef’s knife, now, the one with the twelve-inch blade. She stepped in front of him, knife at the ready, and fired the strobe again, while shutting her eyes tightly. “Maybe I’m trying to blind you,” she said, her voice shaking with anger, “and maybe I’ll do worse with this knife. What are you doing in my house?”
“Christ, all I wanted was a beer,” he said, rubbing at his eyes. “It’s even my beer. I put it in the icebox before you came.” “All right, so it’s your beer; it’s
my house,
and I didn’t invite you.”
“Just take it easy,” he said, shielding his eyes from another possible burst of light. “I didn’t mean to disturb you; I thought you were out.”
“I’m not out, I’m here!” she said, nearly shouting, “but even if I were out, it’s
my house!”
“I’m sorry I invaded your privacy. Let me tell you who I am.”
“I know who you are,” she said. “You’re Keir Drummond.” Her own eyes had adjusted better to the dim light, and she could see now that he was not naked, merely wearing the loincloth she had seen him in before. She walked to the door and switched on the light. “Have a seat,” she said, indicating the far end of the table with her knife.
“Thanks,” he replied. He sat down again and picked up his beer, but he kept his eye on the knife. “So you’re Liz Barwick,” he said.
She went to the fridge and got a beer of her own. She didn’t want it, but somehow she felt at a disadvantage because she didn’t have one. “That’s right,” she said, drawing up a chair to the opposite end of the table. “Why have you been coming into my house?”
“It’s just that my present quarters are without an icebox and a coffeepot,” he said.
“And where are your present quarters?”
“So you’re a photographer,” he said, ignoring her question.
“That’s right. And I expect you know why I’m here.”
“I know what you’ve told the others.” For a moment she had the feeling that he could see into her, that he knew not just why she was here, but everything else about her since the day she was born. She shook it off. “Then you know why I’m here,” she said tartly. She had known they were identical, of course, but still, she was amazed at how perfectly like Hamish he was—in appearance, anyway. There was something beneath the surface that was different. “That brings us to the question of why
you’re
here,” she said, anxious to get the ball back into his court.
“I told you. I wanted a beer.”
“Here on the island.”
“This is my home. Why shouldn’t I be here?”
“Why don’t your sister and your brother know you’re here?”
“I don’t have a brother,” he said mildly. “I’ll see Germaine soon enough.”
“What about your grandfather?”
“He’s the reason I’m here. He’s going to die soon.”
She felt somehow that this was more than a general prediction of the health of a man in his nineties. “I met him today,” she said. “I liked him.”
“And he liked you.”
“So you’ve seen him?”
“No.”
“Then why do you think he likes me?”
“Grandpapa would like a girl who would come after an intruder with a flashgun and a kitchen knife.”
“What was I supposed to do, call the cops? And I’m not a girl, I’m a woman.” He laughed. “I’ll take your word for it.”
She was taken by the warmth that radiated from him when he laughed. He seemed suddenly at ease, carefree, and boyish.
“So where do you live, what do you do?”
“I live wherever I like; I do whatever I please,” he said teasingly.
“That’s no answer.”
“It’s a truer answer than you know. As you get to know me better, you’ll find that I’m a teller of the truth, though it’s not always to my advantage.”
“Oh? Am I to get to know you better? Will you be creeping into my kitchen every night, frightening
“Will you stop that! Are you trying to blind me?” he shouted.
Liz had the chef’s knife, now, the one with the twelve-inch blade. She stepped in front of him, knife at the ready, and fired the strobe again, while shutting her eyes tightly. “Maybe I’m trying to blind you,” she said, her voice shaking with anger, “and maybe I’ll do worse with this knife. What are you doing in my house?”
“Christ, all I wanted was a beer,” he said, rubbing at his eyes. “It’s even my beer. I put it in the icebox before you came.” “All right, so it’s your beer; it’s
my house,
and I didn’t invite you.”
“Just take it easy,” he said, shielding his eyes from another possible burst of light. “I didn’t mean to disturb you; I thought you were out.”
“I’m not out, I’m here!” she said, nearly shouting, “but even if I were out, it’s
my house!”
“I’m sorry I invaded your privacy. Let me tell you who I am.”
“I know who you are,” she said. “You’re Keir Drummond.” Her own eyes had adjusted better to the dim light, and she could see now that he was not naked, merely wearing the loincloth she had seen him in before. She walked to the door and switched on the light. “Have a seat,” she said, indicating the far end of the table with her knife.
“Thanks,” he replied. He sat down again and picked up his beer, but he kept his eye on the knife. “So you’re Liz Barwick,” he said.
She went to the fridge and got a beer of her own. She didn’t want it, but somehow she felt at a disadvantage because she didn’t have one. “That’s right,” she said, drawing up a chair to the opposite end of the table. “Why have you been coming into my house?”
“It’s just that my present quarters are without an icebox and a coffeepot,” he said.
“And where are your present quarters?”
“So you’re a photographer,” he said, ignoring her question.
“That’s right. And I expect you know why I’m here.”
“I know what you’ve told the others.” For a moment she had the feeling that he could see into her, that he knew not just why she was here, but everything else about her since the day she was born. She shook it off. “Then you know why I’m here,” she said tartly. She had known they were identical, of course, but still, she was amazed at how perfectly like Hamish he was—in appearance, anyway. There was something beneath the surface that was different. “That brings us to the question of why
you’re
here,” she said, anxious to get the ball back into his court.
“I told you. I wanted a beer.”
“Here on the island.”
“This is my home. Why shouldn’t I be here?”
“Why don’t your sister and your brother know you’re here?”
“I don’t have a brother,” he said mildly. “I’ll see Germaine soon enough.”
“What about your grandfather?”
“He’s the reason I’m here. He’s going to die soon.”
She felt somehow that this was more than a general prediction of the health of a man in his nineties. “I met him today,” she said. “I liked him.”
“And he liked you.”
“So you’ve seen him?”
“No.”
“Then why do you think he likes me?”
“Grandpapa would like a girl who would come after an intruder with a flashgun and a kitchen knife.”
“What was I supposed to do, call the cops? And I’m not a girl, I’m a woman.” He laughed. “I’ll take your word for it.”
She was taken by the warmth that radiated from him when he laughed. He seemed suddenly at ease, carefree, and boyish.
“So where do you live, what do you do?”
“I live wherever I like; I do whatever I please,” he said teasingly.
“That’s no answer.”
“It’s a truer answer than you know. As you get to know me better, you’ll find that I’m a teller of the truth, though it’s not always to my advantage.”
“Oh? Am I to get to know you better? Will you be creeping into my kitchen every night, frightening
Similar Books
