The Sunday Philosophy Club

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a cause for alarm. But she was feeling fear, and she could not suppress it. It was fear which made her go into the kitchen and turn on all the lights, and then move from room to room on the ground floor and light them. There was nothing to see, of course, and by the time she went upstairs, she was prepared to turn these lights out again. But going into her study to check her answering machine, she saw the small red light winking at her, which meant that there were messages. She hesitated for a moment, and then decided to listen to the messages. There was only one.

Isabel, it’s Minty Auchterlonie here. I wonder if we could meet up to have another talk. I hope that you didn’t think I was rude this evening. I’ll give you my number. Call me to arrange coffee or lunch or whatever. Thank you.

Isabel was surprised, but reassured by the message, and she noted the number on a piece of paper and slipped it into her pocket. Then she left the study, turning out the light behind her.

She was no longer afraid; slightly uneasy, perhaps, and still puzzled as to why Minty should wish to speak to her again.

She went into her bedroom, which was at the front of the house. It was a large room, with an unusual bay window and window seat off to one side. She had left the curtains pulled to, and the room was in complete darkness. She turned on the bedside lamp, a small reading light that made a tiny pool of light in the large, shadowy room. Isabel did not bother with the main light; she would lie on her bed, she thought, reading for fifteen minutes or so, before she prepared for bed. Her mind was active, and it was too early to turn in.

Isabel slipped off her shoes, picked up a book from her dressing table, and lay down on her bed. She was reading an account of a trip to Ecuador, an amusing story of misunderstandings and dangers. She was enjoying it, but her mind kept returning to her 2 2 6

A l e x a n d e r M c C a l l S m i t h conversation with Johnny Sanderson. He had been so helpful and reassuring, and he had told her that she could telephone him at any time. Anytime before midnight. It was clear to her that Minty had tried to put her off any further enquiries by suggesting that it was Johnny who was the insider trader. That was clearly outrageous, and she would not mention it to him. Or should she? If he knew that, then would his view of the situation differ? It is possible that he might revise his view if he knew that Minty was actively trying to discourage Isabel. She could phone Johnny now and talk to him about it; otherwise she would lie there and not get to sleep thinking of it.

Isabel reached over and picked up the telephone beside her bed. Johnny’s card was protruding from the pages of her pocket address book. She took the card out and looked at it in the dim light of the bedside lamp. Then she picked up the telephone receiver and keyed in the number.

There was a moment’s delay. Then she heard it: a distinctive, high-pitched ringing tone, coming from somewhere just outside her bedroom.

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - F I V E

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ISABEL FELT PARALYSED, lying in the bed, the telephone receiver in her hand. Because the large room was in semidark-ness, with only her small bedside lamp illuminated, there were shadows—from cupboards, curtains, the small dressing room off to the side. When she recovered her power to move, it might have been to lunge for the light switch, but it was not. She half leapt, half tumbled from her bed, the telephone falling to the floor behind her, and in one or two bounds she reached the door.

Then, holding the thick wooden banister to steady herself, she half threw herself down the stairs. She could have fallen, but did not; nor did she slip when she raced across the downstairs hallway and clutched at the door that separated the inner and outer halls. It yielded, and she flung it back upon its hinges, shattering the stained- glass panel which it contained. With the sound of falling glass, she screamed involuntarily, and a hand was laid upon her arm.

“Isabel?”

She spun round. She had a light on in the kitchen, and it shone through to the hall, making it possible for her to see that it was Johnny Sanderson standing in the hall beside her.

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A l e x a n d e r M c C a l l S m i t h

“Isabel. Have I frightened you? I’m terribly sorry.”

Isabel stared at him. The hand was tight about her arm, almost painful.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice sounded cracked, and she cleared her throat without thinking.

“Calm down,” said Johnny. “I’m terribly sorry if I gave you a fright. I had come to see you and I found the door open. I was a little bit concerned, as the house was in darkness. So I came in and checked that everything was all right. Then I went out into the garden, just to look round. I thought that there might have been an intruder.”

Isabel thought quickly. What Johnny said was just possibly true. If one found a house with an open door, and with no sign of the owner about, then it might well be that one would look about the place to check that all was in order. But what had his mobile phone been doing upstairs?

“Your telephone,” said Isabel, moving over to the light switch to turn it on. “I dialled it and it rang.”

Johnny looked at her curiously. “But it’s in my pocket,” he said. “Look.” He reached into the pocket of the jacket he was wearing, and then stopped. “Or at least it was there.”

Isabel took a deep breath. “You must have dropped it.”

“So it seems,” said Johnny. He smiled. “That must have given you a dreadful fright.”

“It did.”

“Well, yes, I suppose it would. Again, I’m sorry.”

Isabel pulled herself away from Johnny’s grip, which was dropped. She looked down at the broken stained glass; it had por-trayed the harbour at Kirkcudbright, the hull of the fishing boat tiny shards now. As she looked down, the thought came to her, a thought which overthrew all her assumptions: Minty was right.

T H E S U N D A Y P H I L O S O P H Y C L U B