EPISODE SIXTEEN
687 Words
SIXTEEN
I watched it out of sight. The tiny crowd drifted away. For the first time ever, Onehouse seemed small, desolate, oppressive. I walked home, the pavements cleared, with the drifts piled in the gutter several feet high.
I had no intention of seeing Joanne at least not straight away, but as I walked, I realized I had not taken the shortest route home, that I was in fact passing the chemist's shop.
From the corner of my eye, I saw her behind the counter, and then a flash of her white coat as she ran to the door.
"Are you all right, darling?"
I stopped, hesitated, and turned. Joanne's face, eyes searching mine, seemed more beautiful, more desirable than ever before - now that she was out of reach.
I found my voice.
We had to shelter the night at the Coastguard Station. There was no way of getting back."
She shivered in the cold air. "Come inside, you look frozen. I am shutting the shop in ten minutes. We could lunch together. I'm cooking a big roast in the oven - far too much for one."
She turned and made back into the shop. I followed.
She was trying to show me sympathy.
"That's very nice of you, but..."
I inspected the floor, thinking of an excuse. The agony of being with her, just as a friend, became unthinkable.
"Yes?"
I could not tell her outright.
"You see, there's been another murder."
Joanne snatched in her breath.
"Who is it?"
"Someone called Corporal Turner. He was monitoring U-Boat activity for the Ministry of Defence, it happened, not far from where we stayed."
Joanne, eyes filled with shock, reached to the counter for support.
"I knew him. He's been here for a few years now."
I gave her an odd gaze.
"How did you know him?"
"I developed his films."
"Really?"
She slumped into the chair used by people waiting for their prescriptions to be made up.
"He always brought the images here for developing. I had to sign the Official Secrets Act of course, if any of the photographs showed anything significant."
"And did they?"
"Sometimes. But not much."
She shook her head.
"Poor man. How did he die?"
I turned aside, staring at the small showcase of developing and photographic equipment.
"Attacked in his bivouac. Multiple injuries. Bled to death, and he'd also been blinded."
Joanne shuddered and pulled her cardigan off the counter where it was lying and put it around her shoulders. Her face as white as a sheet.
"Any clues who are responsible for all this c*****e?"
Deep in thought, I only half heard her.
"No - not yet. Look Joanne, I must pop across to Roome. He is organizing a curfew and protection for the whole island. I'll come back in three-quarters of an hour - if that's all right with you."
She looked relieved.
"Oh good. I am glad you are staying. Roast beef for dinner, your favourite. All home-bred and home-grown on Onehouse, of course."
My throat tightened, making it difficult to speak.
"No second thoughts I suppose?"
A flicker of disquiet crossed her face.
"I can't. We have been through all this before. Please."
I nodded. When she did not add anything, he turned and reached for the door.
"Okay. Three quarters of an hour then."
She nodded, pulling her handkerchief from out of her sleeve. Dejected, I stood hoping she would continue to talk, but the door pushed with a tinkling of the bell against my hand.
I moved aside as a large woman struggle in, wrapped in a huge winter proof with a scarf around her frozen face, a dewdrop on the end of her nose.
"Ah, hello there, young man. What a terrible day it is. Morning, Miss Burton. Sorry to trouble you, but Doctor Walton handed me a prescription for Sammy. It is his back again. I told him not to shovel the snow, but he would not listen. Now he's doubled up and..."
I met Joanne's eyes as I closed the door. They stared back at me from a most unhappy face.
- Writer
