A Place of Hiding

“We’ve come across something that you might be able to identify,” and he removed from his pocket the handkerchief in which he’d wrapped the ring that Deborah had plucked from among the boulders. He unfolded the linen and offered the ring first to Valerie and then to Kevin Duffy. Neither reacted to the sight of it.

“It looks like something from the war, that,” Kevin Duffy said. “From the Occupation. Some sort of Nazi ring, I expect. Skull and crossed bones. I’ve seen ’em before.”

“Rings like this one?” Deborah asked.

“I meant the skull and crossed bones,” Kevin replied. He shot his wife a look. “D’you know anyone who has one, Val?”

She shook her head as she studied the ring where it lay in St. James’s palm. “It’s a memento, isn’t it,” she said to her husband, and then to St. James or Deborah, “There’s ever so much of that sort of thing round the island. It could’ve come from anywhere.”

“Such as?” St. James asked.

“Military antiques shop, for one,” Valerie said. “Someone’s private collection, perhaps.”

“Or some yob’s hand,” Kevin Duffy pointed out. “The skull and crossed bones? Just the bit a National Front yobbo might like to show off to his mates. Make him feel the real man, you know. But it’s a bit too big and when he’s not aware, it falls off.”

“Anywhere else it might have come from?” St. James asked. The Duffys considered this. Another look passed between them. Valerie was the one to say slowly and as if with some thought, “No place at all that I can think of.”

Frank Ouseley felt an asthma attack coming on the moment he swung his car into Fort Road. This was no great distance from Le Reposoir, and as he’d actually been exposed to nothing that might have bothered his bronchial tubes on the route, he had to conclude he was reacting in advance to the conversation he was about to have. This wasn’t even a necessary dialogue. How Guy Brouard had intended his money to be distributed in the event of his death wasn’t Frank’s responsibility, as Guy had never sought his advice in the matter. So he didn’t actually have to be the bearer of bad tidings to anyone since in a few days the whole of the will would undoubtedly become public knowledge, island gossip being island gossip. But he still felt a loyalty that had its roots in his years as a teacher. He wasn’t enthusiastic about doing what needed to be done, however, which was what his tightening chest was telling him. When he pulled up to the house on Fort Road, he took his inhaler from the glove compartment and used it. He waited for a moment till the tightness eased and during this moment he saw that on the middle of the green across the street from where he sat, a tall thin man and two small boys were kicking a football round the grass. Not one of them was very good at it.

Frank climbed out of the car into a light cold wind. He struggled into his overcoat and then crossed over to the green. The trees that edged its far side were quite bare of leaves in this higher, more exposed spot on the island. Against the grey sky their branches moved like the arms of supplicants, and birds huddled in them as if watching the ball players down below.

Frank tried to prepare his opening remarks as he approached Bertrand Debiere and his sons. Nobby didn’t see him at first, which was just as well, because Frank knew that his face was probably communicating what his tongue was reluctant to reveal.

The two little boys were crowing with pleasure at having their father’s undivided attention. Nobby’s face, so often pinched with anxiety, was momentarily relaxed as he played with them, kicking the ball gently in their direction and calling out encouragement as they tried to kick it back. The elder boy, Frank knew, was six years old and would be tall like his father and probably as ungainly. The younger was only four and joyful, running about in circles and flapping his arms when the ball was directed towards his brother. They were called Bertrand Junior and Norman, probably not the best names for boys in this day and age, but they wouldn’t be aware of that till they learned it at school and started praying for nicknames that signaled more acceptance than that which their father had received at the hands of his own schoolmates.