A Terrible Beauty

'You can see the girl standing by the side of the road, hitching a lift?'

He nodded vigorously.

'She's got long blond hair, hasn't she? But what's she wearing? Jeans, perhaps.'

'That's right, jeans. And a coat with like green patches on it, you know? And she's carrying a rucksack.'

'That's her. Well done, Ricky. Now, can you remember which way the car drove off? Did it go off to the left, or straight on, or did it branch off right toward Blarney?'

'It goes off to the right. No doubt about it. I can see it now, in me head, clear as day.'

'That's very good. Is there anything else you can see?'

'It's getting dark. It's starting to rain, like. It's hard to see anything very clear.'

'You can't make out the license plate?'

'The license plate, no. It's much too muddy. The whole back of the car, it's thick brown with mud.'

'Now, tell me about the headlights. Which one isn't working, left or right?'

'Sure I don't know. I can't see it from here.'

'I don't understand. Didn't you tell me before that it had only one headlight?'

'It does, yeah. But I can't see it this time. I can only see it when it comes back.'

'It cameback?'

Ricky cautiously opened his eyes. 'That's right. About twenty minutes later, like.'

'You're sure? You're sure it was the same car?'

'It was right outside the window there. I wouldn't have noticed it but old Joe was pulling out of the car park rather slow, like, and the Merc was coming down the road here and he blew his horn at him, like he was really in a hurry, you know?'

'And that's when you saw that one of the headlights was out?'

'The offside, that's right.'

'You still didn't see the driver?'

'No. I'd be lying to you if I did, and I wouldn't want to lie to you just for the sake of pleasing you.'

'But you're absolutely certain that it was the same car?'

'I wouldn't swear my mother's life on it, but it looked like the same car, and in any case my mother died three years ago, God rest her soul.'

She drove slowly along the winding road toward Blarney. It was dark now, and the wind had risen, so that blizzards of leaves danced in front of her headlights. She turned down every side road and entrance, following it as far as it went, looking for a muddy track with an isolated cottage or a barn at the end of it.

If Ricky Looney had been right, and the same car had driven back past The Angler's Rest only twenty minutes after Fiona had been picked up, then she couldn't have been held very far away from here. The driver would have had to reach his destination, overpower her, take her out of the car, and restrain her. That wouldn't have left him more than four or five minutes to drive from The Angler's Rest to wherever he had hidden her.

One track about two miles along the road began to look promising. It twisted and turned, up and downhill, and the mud was so thick that she could hear it drumming against her wheel arches. When she reached the end, however, she found nothing more than a dilapidated shed, heaped in ivy, with its doors and windows missing. She took her flashlight and walked around it, but there was nothing inside it except a kitchen chair, entangled with creeper. She stood still and listened. The evening was almost totally silent, except for the discontented stirring of the fallen leaves, and the surreptitious pattering of rain.

She drove back to the main road and tried the next entrance, but this led only to a large house with heavily chained gates, which looked as if it had been closed down for the winter. She went farther still, and found a narrow metalled road that led her up a steep hill and then down again. She imagined that if she followed it all the way, it would eventually connect up with the main Kanturk Road, off to the west. Driving very slowly, she followed it for nearly three quarters of a mile, while it shrank narrower and narrower, and its edges began to crumble.

Suddenly her headlights caught something tilting and wavering right in front of her. She jammed on her brakes and the Mondeo crunched into the gravel at the side of the road. She heard a hectic clattering sound, and a cry of'shite!'followed by silence.

She climbed out. She had almost collided with a skinny old cyclist in a brown tweed coat. He had fallen off his push-bike into the middle of the road, and he was crouched in front of her car on his hands and knees.

'Oh God, I'm so sorry,' she said, helping him up. 'You're not hurt, are you?'

'What do you think you're doing,whooshingaround like that?' he asked her, more perplexed than angry. 'Look at the condition of me, mud all over. You could have killed me,whooshingaround like that.'

'I'm sorry, but you'd be very much safer if you bought some lights.'

'What? What would I be needing lights for? I know the way.'

'Well, that's more than I do. I think I'm lost. Does this lead to the Kanturk Road?'

'No.'

'Where does it lead then?'