‘If only the dead could tell their tales.’
Bronty turns to see a redheaded woman in a yellow anorak and black waterproofs studying him. ‘I’m Geraldine Brummer.’ She puts out a hand. ‘And I’m guessing you’re Mr Tomlinson, from the National Trust?’
‘No. No I’m not.’ Bronty shakes her hand anyway. ‘Jon Bronty. I’m — err — just an American visiting the island.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. My mistake. I’m from Natural England. We manage the marine conservation and I’ve come out for the diving.’
‘I guess if you’re a diver then the rain doesn’t bother you.’
‘Actually, I love the rain. Makes me feel more alive.’
Bronty’s phone rings. ‘Excuse me for a minute?’
‘Sure.’ She smiles understandingly. ‘You’re lucky to get a signal.’
He smiles back and turns away to take the call. ‘Hello?’
‘It’s Eleonora. Can you speak?’
‘Hang on.’ He walks away from the woman. ‘Go on.’
‘Mitzi’s children have been abducted.’
‘What?’
‘They were taken from their aunt’s home in San Mateo. I’ll go into everything afterwards. Right now, I need you to give me a full brief on her case, everything you and she found and anything you think might help us.’
128
Mitzi almost loses it when Myrddin appears barely a yard from here. ‘Hellfire, Mervin, where did you come from? You shouldn’t go creeping around like that.’
The old man approaches her, his face full of kindness. ‘I have come to give you strength.’
‘Excuse me?’
He takes both of her hands before she can back away. Holds them as intensely as he holds her stare.
She feels a strange sensation in her fingers. It rises into her arms and chest like a deep bass note. Mitzi tries to remove her hands from his, but they’re locked there, as heavy and immovable as her feet were in the garden. A deep warmth spreads through her.
‘Close your eyes for me.’
Normally a guy would get a crack for a line like that, but Mitzi doesn’t feel as though she can stop herself doing as he asks.
‘Slip back in time. Think of the moment you gave birth to your daughters. Remember how in your weakest physical time you created the greatest of all things. Remember their first breaths and cries. How they felt when you held them. How you felt, when you kissed their faces and touched their skin. Remember that magic.’
Myrddin takes her hands and places them behind her back as though they are cuffed together. ‘See your children. See them as newborns entering the light of the earth for the first time, being carried towards you, about to be placed in your arms for the first time.’
Mitzi wants to speak but she can’t. Her mind is flooded with the exaltation of motherhood.
He puts his leathery hands on her shoulders. ‘Kneel.’
Her legs bend and the cold, hard floor touches her knees.
‘The ground gives you strength. It renews you, absorbs your fears and from it you grow.’ He pushes a little harder on her shoulders. ‘Lie.’
Mitzi slumps the rest of the way, conscious now of the floor, of the cold against her side and face.
‘The ground gives you energy and protection. It feeds you when there is no food and hides you when there is nowhere for you to be hidden. Those looking at you will see only your physical form. Your spirit will be below ground, protected and nourished like the roots of a thousand-year-old tree.’
Mitzi feels like she’s having an out-of-body experience. She knows she’s being subjected to some form of hypnotism but at the same time it feels so empowering she has no urge to fight it.
‘When you get up you will be strong. So strong that no man alive will ever be able to cut you down. When you stand and hear your name, you will not remember that you spoke to me or even recall that I was here. But when the time comes, when you are bound or pained, you will remember your power. Now unclasp your hands. Feel the ground. Thank it for becoming your friend. Kneel on it and worship it. Stand proudly upon it, as the greatest tree in a forest stands, and then open your eyes.’
129
A white flag with the red cross of St George flutters against the blue-grey rain-soaked sky. Beneath the square stone tower upon which it stands is St Helena’s church and at the foot of it, the forlorn figure of Jon Bronty.
The former priest has just finished briefing Eleonora and is trying to get through to Mitzi. All his calls are tripping to her voicemail. An economical recording tells him for the third time, ‘It’s Mitzi; leave a message and a number and I’ll get back to you, thanks.’
‘Hi, it’s Bronty. I just heard the news. I’m so terribly sorry. I’m going to finish up here and get back to the mainland as quickly as possible, but I don’t think the next ferry is until tomorrow. I wish you much strength and I shall pray for you and your girls.’
He hangs up and slips inside the church to deliver on his promise.
The church is much grander and more impressive than the grey slate and harsh stone exterior had hinted at. The warm red brick of the interior and old dark wood pews feel familiar and welcoming to him.
There’s a quaint chancel with a transept vestry to one side, Purbeck marble colonnettes with alabaster carvings depicting the Last Supper. In front of him is a large lectern carved from wood in the shape of an eagle, an old stone pulpit and square baptism font. A modest red-clothed altar stands near a stained-glass centre window depicting the crucifixion. He walks over and kneels before the god he walked out on. It wasn’t a loss of faith in the Supreme Being that saw him quit, but a lack of belief in himself and his worthiness to wear the cloth.
He prays that Mitzi’s children will be safe and quickly reunited with their mother, that the experiences will leave none of them scarred and that she and all her family will have the strength and belief to get through the ordeal without any lasting damage.
It’s a lot to ask for.
He opens his eyes, looks up at the gleaming brass crucifix on the red altar cloth and feels at home. The church. The island. The people. Everything feels right to him. He could live here. This tiny land, of apparently so little, offers so much more than people can easily see.
As he gets to his feet and turns around to leave, he sees Geraldine Brummer praying quietly at the back. For a moment, he realizes he came to Lundy with a head full of questions and he’s going to leave with answers — but maybe not the ones he was looking for.
130
Owain returns with his wife and Lance Beaucoup. To his surprise, Mitzi is stood trance-like by the far window.
‘Lieutenant.’ He raises his voice to get her attention. ‘This is my wife, Jennifer, and my colleague Lance.’
She comes alive. ‘I’m sorry, I was miles away.’ She takes Lady Gwyn’s hand. ‘Mitzi Fallon.’
Jennifer adds a reassuring hand to the one being shaken by the detective. ‘You must be worried sick; let’s sit together and talk awhile.’
Owain drifts towards the door as his wife comforts Mitzi. ‘Please forgive me; I have a call in the office that I have to take.’
The ambassador returns to his study where George Dalton is on the phone, talking to Gareth Madoc in New York.