Cry of the Hunter Read Online Free PDF Page A

the rain. Behind him the girl busied herself at the cooker. After a while he turned round and said, ‘He was the finest man I ever knew.’
    There was ash on her hands from the grate. When she pushed back a loose tendril of her fair hair she smudged her forehead. ‘He thought quite a bit about you, too, Mr. Fallon.’ She turned to the sink and rinsed her hands under the tap.
    Fallon sat down in a chair by the table. ‘How did you know who I was?’ he asked.
    ‘That scar,’ she said. ‘You staggered into my father’s flat in Belfast one night about ten years ago with your face laid open to the bone. He stitched it for you because you couldn’t go to a doctor.’ She turned towards him, a towel in her hand, and examined the scar. ‘He didn’t make a very good job of it, did he?’
    ‘Good enough,’ Fallon said. ‘It kept me out of the hands of the police.’
    She nodded. ‘You and Philip Stuart were students together at Queen’s before the war, weren’t you?’
    Fallon started in surprise. ‘You know Phil Stuart?’
    She smiled slightly as she put cups on the table. ‘He drops in now and then. He only lives a couple of streets away. He’s the County Inspector here, you know.’
    Fallon slumped back in his chair with an audible sigh. ‘No, I didn’t know.’
    As she poured tea out she went on, ‘My father used to say he found it rather ironical that Stuart joined the Constabulary and you the other lot. He once told me that in you two he could see the whole history of Ireland.’
    Fallon offered her a cigarette and smiled sadly. ‘How right he was.’ He stared into space, back into the past, and said slowly, ‘He was a remarkable man. He used to shelter me when I was on the run and spend the night trying to make me see the error of my ways.’ He straightened up in his chair and laughed lightly. ‘Still, he used to see a lot of Stuart, as well. Poor Phil – if only he’d realized what was going on under his nose.’
    Anne Murray sipped her tea and said quietly, ‘What did you want with my father this time?’
    Fallon shrugged. ‘For once, nothing – except a chat. I hadn’t seen him for several years, you know.’
    ‘Yes, he wasn’t even sure you were still alive. He thought you would have written to him if you had been.’
    Fallon shook his head and explained. ‘I’ve been buried in the wilds of Cavan,’ he said. He grinned suddenly and poured himself another cup of tea. ‘To tell you the truth I decided to change my ways. I’ve kept body and soul together by doing a bit of hack writing. I have a cottage about half a mile from the border. It’s been most restful.’
    She chuckled, deep down in her throat. ‘I’m sure it has. But what did you find to take the place of the other thing?’
    A sudden unease moved inside him and he forced a laugh. ‘What other thing?’
    ‘The thing that made you what you were; that made you live the kind of life you did for all those years.’
    He stood up and paced restlessly about the room. The girl was getting too near the truth for comfort. After a few moments he swung round and said brightly, ‘Anyway, what are you doing here? I hadn’t realized you were so grown up. Didn’t your father pack you off to some aunt in England after your mother died?’
    ‘He did,’ she said. ‘Then I went to a boarding school. After that, Guy’s Hospital in London. I’m a nurse,’ she added simply.
    He nodded. ‘You came home for the funeral?’
    She shook her head. ‘I was here for a few days before he died. I’ve only stayed on to sell up. A lot of the furniture has gone already.’ She shivered suddenly. ‘I don’t want any of it. I just want to get rid of everything and go away.’
    For the first time grief showed starkly in her eyes and he put a hand on her shoulder. For a few moments they stayed together, tied by some mystical bond of sympathy, and then she moved slightly and he took his hand away. She looked up into his face and said quietly.