EPISODE FOUR
987 Words
FOUR
I took a shower, realizing I would be late. But I had to cleanse myself of all that had gone before.
I turned up twenty minutes late at Joanne Burton's flat above the chemist's which she managed and worked as the dispenser.
I ran up the iron fire-escape at the side of the building, and pressed the bell marked:
'PRIVATE. J BURTON. EMERGENCY PRESCRIPTIONS ONLY'
I waited, looking down through the mesh steel floor to the ferns growing below. Before the war they would be illuminated by the red light passing through the enormous, old-fashioned chemist's bottle standing in the window.
But not now.
Not with a war on.
I could not see the ferns, but I knew where they were.
The door opened, Joanne Burton, dark wavy hair styled in the fashion of the day, clearly not happy, but even frowning, to me, breath-taking.
She gave a sniff.
"Where the hell have you been? I'm starving."
After the last few hours, her down to earth, if somewhat unromantic greeting seemed perfect. I took her in my arms and just hugged her for a moment, thinking of the number of times perhaps that another poor woman had been hugged. She smelt of musty, earthy flowers that made my blood race.
Joanne chuckled somewhere by my right ear.
"If you think you're going to get around me like this -- you're right."
She pulled back grinning and searched my face, her smile dying away.
"What's the matter?"
Thankful that Roome called me back as I departed his office.
"You can tell Joanne. A bit unreasonable for me to expect you not to. But do stress that now kept strictly to yourselves. I want to control the game as long as I can."
I thanked him -- uncertainly. But as I made my way meet her, I realized I would tell her why I appeared to be so subdued. Roome realized that as well
I forced a grin.
"Tell you after our meal."
She searched my face for a fraction of a second longer and broke into a relieved smile.
"Right."
She opened the small cupboard and took out her coat.
"Come on then. I've been looking forward to this all day."
We clattered down the iron steps and clung to each other as we made our way along the windy streets to the town's only hotel, The Onehouse Arms. Its Victorian entrance guarded by the double opaque glass doors that face the elements for over a hundred years.
Joanne waved to the girl sitting at the reception desk as we headed down the carpeted corridor from which rich appetizing smells floated. We hung our coats on the wall pegs and went through to the small banquet room at the back of the restaurant.
As I expected, the room happened to be packed with locals. Contrary to what summer visitors thought, often summed up by the phrase, 'Beautiful, but I wouldn't like to live here in the winter,' the local population were not dreary people living in a drab existence. The hotel always counted on a full dining room for the weekly dinner-dance.
Nearly all the eyes turned when we entered, and as we moved to our table, everyone greeted us as we passed. It amused me to know that a lot of the intense talking that ensued, heads fractionally closer, would be about us.
When I arrived at the isle through the time vortex, it did not take me long to meet Joanne. Time-travelling can leave you with side effects, mine are violent headaches, so once I visited the only doctor on Onehouse I visited the chemist's shop for my prescription.
I quickly discovered Joanne Burton possessed a will of her own. Although we became good friends, she became adamant that our relationship would not lead to marriage, as much as she liked me. The liking even extended to going to bed together, regularly at her place.
The islanders soon agog with the news when someone caught me leaving one morning.
I mused on the fact that because we were both liked, came from outside the community, our affair did not just be tolerated in what historically appeared to be a very chaste puritan society, but treated with a sort of inverted proud amusement.
Then they would drink their whisky, chased down with beer, puffing their pipes, and reflecting in the firelight to their own vigorous youth.
I accompanied Joanne to the table and sat down myself. After we ordered, and our usual bottle of wine been delivered and poured, Joanne looked at me.
"Now then, what's the mystery?"
The discomfort gripped hold of me, evaporating the struggling pleasantness that fragilely, grown since I met her.
I leaned forward and beckoned her to do the same. Puzzled, she complied.
"I played golf on my own this afternoon and..."
She smiled, comprehending my trouble with the game.
"... I found the mutilated body of a woman."
Joanne recoiled in horror, as though I slapped her face.
"What? Are you joking?"
I shook my head.
She said nothing for a moment before whispering, "God. How horrible. Did you recognize her?"
I lowered my voice and told her the rest, and why it was impossible for identification yet.
She shuddered.
"It's hard to believe. That type of thing doesn't occur here -- not on Onehouse."
I gave a groan.
"You believe it all right if you saw the body."
She sagged back into her chair.
"What's Roome doing about it?"
I told her about the sealing off the island, and about the call for Doctor Walton, the part-time police surgeon, having attended a Home Office forensic course in London."
She pulled her cardigan protectively around her.
"Do you think the murderer is still here?"
"If he lives here -- yes."
Joanne's face spasmed with disgust.
"That's not conceivable. I just won't believe it."
Their starters arrived, fortunately stopping further speculation.
- Writer
