September

Mrs. Ishak's long day was winding itself down. Her husband, having emptied the till of the day's takings, had disappeared into the stock-room, where each evening he totted up all the cash, and then locked it away in his safe. Mrs. Ishak had been around the shelves, replacing tins and goods, and filling up the gaps left by the day's customers. She was now busy with her broom, sweeping the floor.

When the door burst open so suddenly and with such force, she was a little startled. She looked up from her sweeping, her brows raised over her kohl-rimmed eyes, and was even more startled than ever when she saw who it was.

'Henree.'

He looked terrible, wearing a mud-stained tweed coat sizes too big for him, and with his socks falling down and his shoes covered with dirt. But Mrs. Ishak was less concerned by his clothes than the state of Henry himself. Gasping for breath, ashen-white, he stood there for a second, before slamming the door shut and setting his back against it.

'Henree.' Mrs. Ishak laid down her broom. 'What has happened?' But he had no breath for words. 'Why are you not at school?'.

His mouth worked. 'Edie's dead.' She could scarcely hear him. And then again, only this time he shouted it at her. 'Edie's dead.'

'But…'

Henry burst into tears. Mrs. Ishak held out her arms and Henry fled into them. She knelt to his height, holding him close to her silken breast, her hand cupped around the back of his head. 'No,' she murmured. 'No. It is not true.' And when he went on crying, hysterically asserting that it was, she tried to soothe him, speaking to him in katchi, that intimate and unwritable dialect that all the Ishak family used when they spoke among themselves. Henry had heard the soft sounds before, when Mrs. Ishak comforted Kedejah, or sat her on her knee to pet her. He could not understand a word but he was comforted too, and Mrs. Ishak smelt musky and delicious, and her lovely rose-pink tunic was cool against his face.

And yet he had to make her understand. He pulled away from her embrace and stared into her confused and troubled face.

'Edie is dead.'

'No, Henry.'

'Yes, she is.' He gave her a little thump on her shoulder, maddened that she was being so stupid.

'Why do you say this?'

'Lottie's in her house. She's killed her. She's stealing her cardigan.'

Mrs. Ishak stopped looking confused. Her face sharpened. She frowned.

'Did you see Lottie?'

'Yes. She's in Edie's bedroom, and…'

Mrs. Ishak got to her feet. 'Shamsh!' she called to her husband, and her voice was strong and urgent.

'What is it?'

'Come quickly.' He appeared. Mrs. Ishak, in a long stream of katchi, gave him instructions. He asked questions; she answered them.

He went back to his stock-room, and Henry heard the sound as he dialled a number on his telephone.

Mrs. Ishak fetched a chair and made Henry sit on it. She knelt beside him and held his hands.

She said, 'Henree, I do not know what you are doing here but you must listen to me. Mr. Ishak is telephoning the police now. They will come in a patrol car and fetch Lottie and take her back to hospital. They have been warned that she left the hospital without permission, and have been told to watch out for her. Now, do you understand that?'

'Yes, but Edie…'

With her gentle fingers, Mrs. Ishak wiped away the tears that dribbled down Henry's cheeks. With the end of her rose-pink chiffon scarf, which she wore draped around her shining black hair, she dabbed at his snivelling nose.

She told him, 'Edie is at Balnaid. She is staying there for the night. She is safe.'

Henry stared in silence at Mrs. Ishak, terrified that she was not telling him the truth.

'How do you know?' he asked her at last.

'Because on her way there, she dropped in to see me, to buy an evening newspaper. She told me that your granny, Mrs. Aird, had told her about Lottie, and also that Mrs. Aird did not want her to stay alone in her own cottage.'

'Vi was frightened for Lottie, too?'

'Not frightened. Mrs. Aird would not be frightened, 1 think. But concerned for your dear Edie. So you see, it is all right. You are safe.'

From the back of the shop, they could hear Mr. Ishak speaking on the telephone. Henry turned his head to listen, but could not catch the words. Then Mr. Ishak stopped speaking and rang off. Henry waited. Mr. Ishak came through the door.

'All right?' asked Mrs. Ishak.

'Yes. I have spoken to the police. They will send a patrol car. It should be in the village in about five minutes.'

'Do they know where to go?'

'Yes. They know.' He looked at Henry, and smiled reassuringly. 'Poor boy. You have had a bad fright. But it is over now.'

They were being very kind. Mrs. Ishak still knelt, holding Henry's hands, and he had stopped shaking. After a bit, he asked, 'Can I ring Edie up?'

'No. It is not possible to do that because your telephone at Balnaid is out of order. Edie reported it to Faults before she left her home, but they said that they could not attend to the matter before tomorrow morning. But we will wait a little, and I will make you a hot drink, and then I will walk with you to Balnaid and you will be with your Edie.'

It was only then that Henry was truly convinced that Edie was not dead. She was at Balnaid, waiting for him, and the knowledge that soon he would be with her was almost more than he could bear. He felt his mouth trembling like a baby's and the tears filling his eyes, but he was too tired to do anything about them. Mrs. Ishak said his name and once more gathered him into her silk and scented embrace and he wept for a long time.

Finally, it was all over, except for a few troublesome sobs. Mr. Ishak brought him a mug of hot chocolate, very sweet and brown and bubbly, and Mrs. Ishak made him a sandwich with jam in the middle.

'Tell me,' said Mrs. Ishak, when Henry was feeling much stronger and more composed, 'because you still have not answered my first question. Why are you here and not at school?'

Henry, with his fingers locked around the hot mug, gazed into her dark and liquid eyes.

'I didn't like it,' he told her. 'I ran away. I've come home.'

The clock on the mantelpiece stood at twenty to nine as Edmund walked into the drawing-room at Croy. He had expected to find it filled with people, but instead discovered Archie and an unknown man, who by the simple process of elimination, he assumed to be the Sad American, Conrad Tucker, and the root cause of Edmund's immediate disagreement with Virginia. Both men were resplendent in their evening gear, Archie looking better than Edmund had seen him look in years. They sat by the fire, companionably, glasses in their hands. Conrad Tucker occupied an armchair, and Archie perched, with his back to the fire, on the club fender. As the door opened, they stopped talking, looked up, saw Edmund, and got to their feet.

'Edmund.'

'We're late, I'm sorry. We've had dramas.'

'As you can see, not late at all. Nobody else, yet, has appeared. Where's Virginia?'

'Gone upstairs to shed her coat. And Alexa and Noel will be here in a moment. At the last minute Alexa decided to wash her hair, and she was still drying it when we left. God knows why she didn't think of doing it before.'

'They never do,' said Archie bleakly, speaking from years of experience. 'Edmund, you've not met Conrad Tucker.'

'No, I don't think I have. How do you do.'

They shook hands. The American was as tall as Edmund, and heftily built. His eyes, behind the heavy horn- rims, met Edmund's in a steady gaze, and Edmund found himself torn by an uncharacteristic uncertainty.