Death in the West Wind Read Online Free PDF Page A

a moment or two he just sat silently where he was, waiting till the illusion was gone. Fortunately Emilia noticed nothing, whirling about on the cliff tops like a dancer.
    “I shall remember this day as long as I live,” she said joyfully, but even that happy statement brought John no comfort.

    *   *   *

    Again he woke early and was instantly restless. It was the dark hour before dawn and, as he had on the previous day, the Apothecary rose silently and went down to the beach. The fishermen were setting out, splashing off into the darkness, taking advantage of the tide. He could hear their voices conversing in low tones and envied them their day at sea, men alone with the elements. Not, he thought, that those would be giving them much trouble today. The water was as flat and calm as the proverbial millpond and there seemed not a breath of wind anywhere. The small sails would be hard put to it to pick up any breeze and John imagined that the oars, kept for emergencies, might be forced into greater use than usual.
    “Good luck,” he called out, he didn’t know why. But nobody heard him, the only reply a distant murmur as the fishermen called to one another from smack to smack.
    The same odd mood was still upon him and John had to make a conscious effort to shake it off and not spoil Emilia’s enjoyment. For she was up and dressed and clearly ready for adventure when he joined her at the hearty but basic breakfast table.
    “Shall we take a repast to the beach?” she asked, looking delightful in cool muslin.
    “If we do am I allowed to swim? Or will you act like a mother hen and make remarks about catching cold?”
    She looked contrite. “Is that what I’m like? An old broody?”
    “Just.”
    “How can you be so cruel?”
    But she was laughing and John thought that he had never seen her look so well or so happy. Despite the fact that she protected her angel’s face beneath a shady hat, yesterday’s sunshine had penetrated the barrier and there was a becoming glow about her skin. He took Emilia’s hand.
    “I’m making it up. You look absolutely lovely,” he said.
    “More beautiful than Juliana van Guylder?”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Because I noticed you observing her at dinner the other afternoon.”
    “Emilia, I am an observer,” he answered. “Mr. John Fielding taught me how to be one, though even before I met him I was very taken with the art of scrutiny. I was looking at Juliana and thinking that here was a great beauty marred by some inner unrest. There is a woeful secret in the background of that girl’s life.”
    “I thought her rude and bumptious.”
    “I know you did. But take my word for it, there is a reason for her acting the way she does.”
    “I’ll take your word,” Emilia answered slowly. “But I’m afraid I am yet to be convinced.”
    But they could not argue, nor even discuss, on such a day as this. As they stepped outside they saw that the sea and the sky had met one another in a great arc of blue, making it almost impossible to locate the horizon. It seemed that hardly a ripple disturbed the vast expanse of water that lay before them.
    “It’s like being inside a bowl,” said Emilia as they walked down to the beach, Tom in front of them carrying a basket of bread, cheese and apples, stored throughout the winter in some sweet-smelling loft.
    “A bowl called paradise,” John answered poetically.
    Indeed it was as if they were alone in some seashore Garden of Eden. No one else walked the sands and as far as the eye could see not another human being stirred.
    Catching the mood, Irish Tom said, Til be off, Sir, to do a little sunbathing meself, that is if you have no further need of me. But should you do so I’ll be round the bend in the cliffs.”
    And he set off, walking barefoot through the shallows, the sun gleaming on his copper head and large frame, looking every inch a latter day Brian Boramha, the great Irish chieftan come back to life.
    “Swimming,” said