Killing Cousins Read Online Free PDF Page B

have been a considerable handicap to his advancement.
    Later he learned that after his departure from Orkney, Inga seemed to change her mind about leaving the island. His mother and the neighbours presumed that she had followed the handsome young policeman. Shaking their heads, they smiled indulgently. The next news would be of a wedding in Edinburgh, mark their words.
    But Inga returned alone at Lammastide with the seals barking on the shore as if in a delirious chorus of welcome. Where had she been all that spring and summer, demanded the curious? But smiling, so happy to be home, she evaded all their questions, merely shaking her head as if bewildered, puzzled to know what all the fuss was about. Until at last they began to feel foolish, for it was as if she had been away on an errand to the mainland and absent for only a day and a night.
    Faro was aware of Vince's hand on his arm. 'Look, Stepfather.'
    Faro blinked against the rain. A girl was hurrying down the drive to meet them, shouting a greeting. His heart thudded in recognition, for it was as if his thoughts had uncannily conjured up Inga St Ola exactly as he had last seen her. Miraculously unchanged from his youth, tall, slim, she now stood before him.
    He felt a sudden sickness, a feeling of doom at the pit of his stomach.
    'Jeremy? Jeremy Faro, I thought it was yourself. The years have been good to you.' She laughed, pushing back long black hair unstreaked with grey. It was a gesture he remembered. Staring at him, hands on hips, her mouth and eyes wide open as if this was a huge joke, he noticed that her teeth, small and even, were still excellent.
    She held out her hands. Here was a difference. These were not a young girl's hands, silken and thin-boned. These hands were no strangers to hard work, aged with toil, heavily veined, rough and calloused, freckled with what his mother called 'the flowers of death'.
    But, apart from those work-worn hands, time had passed her by. While he stammered heaven only knew what platitudes and took in every detail of Inga St Ola, Faro was acutely aware of Vince's silent, somehow accusing presence at his elbow.
    Inga was forty-two years old. Unlike the normal island wives who became shawled old women in their thirties, sea-wrinkled, bent with continual child-bearing and a bitter struggle against the elements, Inga with her long black hair unbound seemed little more than a girl.
    Later Vince told him, 'Her youthful appearance goes against her too. All it does is add to her strange and sinister reputation. Envy, malice, the women hate her for it, especially those of her own age who have worn less well: this island woman has no right to be still beautiful past forty - unless she has sold her immortal soul to the Dark One.'
    Added to physical beauty, Faro was aware of a swift-moving animal grace, still unfettered by time's passing. Did she still swim naked in the sea, he wondered, laughing at those who talked of seal people? He was curious, wanting to know what her life had been. Had she ever married? If not, then had she known many lovers?
    While they mouthed trivialities at one another, his mind was burning with questions unasked. He was suddenly aware that the rain had steadily increased and with it Vince's hand impatient on his arm, urging him towards the front door.
    Another delighted smile. Their ways parted with a promise to meet again and a bewildered Faro followed his stepson into the hall.
    From the shadows Mary Faro emerged, drying her hands on her apron, and clasped her only son to her heart, rapturous at his unexpected appearance.
    'Oh, son, I can hardly believe it's you. You never told me,' she reproached Vince.
    'He wanted to surprise you.'
    'And you did that, all right.' And linking arms with both of them she said, 'Well, I'm glad. I'm glad. Even if it is a melancholy time for you to come to this house.' And, standing on tiptoe, she kissed him again. 'You can have a room of your own, next to Vince. It's all very grand -