Read Online Stormy Petrel by Mary Stewart - Free Book Online

She must just have got off, and she was probably watching me from somewhere high above the distant sea. I turned my back on the lochan and walked a dozen paces away from the edge before heading back towards the road.
    A sound from overhead made me look up. The diver went over, high. I reached the road, picked up my groceries, and left her in peace.
    I did not see Mrs McDougall that evening. There was a girl in charge of the place, a child of perhaps twelve, who told me that her name was Morag, and that her auntie had stepped out on a visit, but had said the young lady from Camus na Dobhrain might be there to use the telephone, and please to go through.
    For what it was worth I asked her if she knew of a Ewen Mackay who might once have lived at Otters’ Bay, but she shook her head.
    â€˜No.’ She spoke with an accent so soft that it sounded as if an h was attached to each consonant. ‘Not at all. There was a Mr and Mrs Mackay living there, yes, but they moved away, right to the mainland. My auntie would know. Alastair he was called, though, Alastair Mackay, that was gardener to old Mrs Hamilton at the big house.’
    â€˜Did they have any children?’
    She hesitated, then nodded, but doubtfully. There had been – yes, she was sure there had been a boy, a long time ago, that would be. She had heard tell of him, but it was when she was very small, and she did not remember him. He would be a grown man now. She did not remember his name. Ewen? It might have been Ewen. Her auntie would know . . .
    I supposed that it did endorse part of Ewen Mackay’s story. Not, of course, that it mattered . . . I would ask Mrs McDougall next time I was here.
    On which fine piece of mental self-deceit I thanked Morag and went to the telephone.
    I got straight through to my brother at the number Ruth gave me, of the hospital in Carlisle.
    â€˜What’s this about another X-ray?’ I asked him. ‘Have you had the result? Is it really only a sprain?’
    â€˜That’s all, but it was – still is – badly swollen, and they insisted, quite rightly, on sending me here to have another look taken at it. The first X-ray showed what might have been a crack. But it’s all clear. No crack. They’ve given me an elbow crutch, and I can make the journey perfectly well now, if I thought the blasted train would stay on the lines, but there’s not much I could do once I got to Moila, is there, if I can’t walk? What’s it like?’
    â€˜I think it’s lovely. The cottage is tiny, but it’s got all we need, and there’s just enough island to explore without transport. I’m afraid there’s none of that – transport, I mean – except Archie McLaren’s Land Rover, the one that carries you from the harbour. You’d be a bit stuck. But would it matter? You’d be away from the job and the telephone, and you’d be resting. Unless – do you have to go back to a hospital with it, or anything?’
    â€˜No, no. There’s nothing I can’t deal with myself.’
    â€˜Well, Archie has a boat, and he says he can take us out to the bird islands, and I’m sure we could get him to take you somewhere in the Land Rover where you can fish. Of course, if it’s really painful, forget it. I’ll be fine, and I’m writing, and if it gets a bit unlively I could perhaps find somewhere else—’
    â€˜No, why should you? I was only doubtful because of spoiling your holiday. I can manage perfectly well, and I’d hate to miss Moila.’
    â€˜It would spoil my holiday far more if you didn’t come,’ I said. ‘So risk the train, will you? And do you want me to ring the Oban hotel and tell them what’s happened and change the booking? You have? That’s great . . . It really is lovely here, and – well, I didn’t want to over-persuade you, but I found a red-throated diver’s