The Eye of Horus, Excerpt One: Garlieston
Grace had told him on the telephone that when he had the front of Galloway House fully in view he should turn right onto a road that stayed well clear of it. After following this into a wood and past the walled garden he would find Broom Cottage on his right.
The cottage was made of stone and, on this warm and sunny June day, it looked as if it had come straight off a postcard, with a window on either side of the blue front door and two dormer windows set into the grey slate roof. The left-hand end was partly covered by a strong growth of pink climbing roses and there was a small stone-walled garden between it and the road.
Adrian Somerset felt oddly nervous as he brought the borrowed vehicle to a halt. There was no reason why he should. Since he was old enough to notice them, girls and then women had always found him extremely attractive. His physical presence, blue eyes, blond hair and dashing moustache worked strongly in his favour. Add the uniform of an RAF flight lieutenant, a pair of pilot’s wings and a ribbon showing he had been awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross and his amorous advances were seldom rejected. As often as not he found himself able to pick and choose amongst the women who pursued him.
Yet Grace Sullivan wasn’t like any of the women he’d known before. With red shoulder-length curly hair, freckles and piercing green eyes, she had an assured presence that unsettled him. He’d got off to a bad start with her. When she’d come into the consulting room to look at the swelling on the side of his head caused when he’d ducked into rather than away from a swiftly bowled cricket ball, he’d asked how long the doctor would be.
Grace had simply stood and looked at him as if he were a specimen in a petri dish until he belatedly realised the implications of her white coat and the stethoscope around her neck. His embarrassment and apologies were genuine and the smile she rewarded him with lit up the room.
She’d said that Adrian needed to spend the night at Galloway House, under observation, to ensure he wasn't suffering from concussion. She arranged to have him placed in a private room rather than in one of the men’s wards on the hospital’s ground floor.
Adrian had assumed this was because of his status as an officer. That night he discovered that Dr Grace Sullivan had put him in a private room for an altogether different reason and that her idea of ‘observation’ was probably not normally recognised as best practice in medical textbooks.
That had been the previous Saturday night and there had been no sign of Grace when Adrian awoke the next morning. It had been a different doctor, the squadron leader who served as the medical officer at RAF Wigtown and explained that he helped out at Galloway House, who had seen him on the Sunday. The squadron leader discharged him and arranged for him to be driven back to the airfield.
Adrian had telephoned Galloway House on the Monday and again on the Wednesday, asking to speak to Dr Sullivan. He was beginning to wonder if the bang on his head had caused him to imagine the whole encounter and was relieved to find that she was on duty the second time he rang.
He asked if he could see her again and was delighted to hear her soft Irish voice suggesting they might go for lunch in Garlieston together. He agreed to pick her up on the Friday, two days later, when they would both be off duty.
Adrian opened the garden gate as Grace came out of the cottage, closing the door behind herself. She was wearing a plain green summer dress that set off her red hair beautifully and her smile was enough to remove any doubt in Adrian’s mind about the reality of what had happened between them the previous Saturday night.
‘You’re looking beautiful,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ said Grace. ‘And you are looking very handsome. I’m pleased you spared no expense when selecting our carriage.’
Adrian laughed. ‘Grace, I’d like you to meet Tilly. I’d have picked something more sporty for the occasion but this Standard 12 utility vehicle, known to everyone as Tilly, was all I could get my hands on.’
The vehicle combined the bonnet and front seats of the car it was based on with a canvas-hooded back end. It was painted in RAF blue grey. As far as Adrian knew, the utility vehicles found fulfilling bridesmaids’ roles on just about every British military base were always called Tilly, whatever car they were originally based on, a name not very imaginatively derived from ‘utility’.
Adrian walked round and opened the passenger side door for Grace, who kissed him on the cheek as she got in.
‘There’s a lane that leads directly past the stables and into the village,’ she said. ‘Sadly the gate at the bottom, where it comes out onto the road round to the harbour, is closed to vehicles as part of the security cordon there. It’s still the best way to walk into the village but as we’re driving we’ll have to return the way you came in.’
Adrian found his way back through the estate and they drove into Garlieston from the west.
‘I’m new in these parts,’ said Adrian. ‘Where’s the best place for lunch?’
‘Just about the only place is the Galloway Arms Hotel. Turn right when we get to the sea. The hotel is on South Crescent.’
‘Assuming these chaps let us through,’ said Adrian, pulling to a halt at a checkpoint on the edge of the village manned by three men wearing khaki uniforms and carrying rifles.
The man who looked at Adrian’s identification returned it, then stepped back and saluted. A second man who had gone around the other side of the vehicle smiled when he saw Grace and declined her offered identity card.
‘You seem to know the right people,’ said Adrian as he eased the vehicle back into motion.
‘I encountered that young man professionally last week,’ said Grace. ‘I’ll spare you the details but he was referred to the hospital at Galloway House for treatment of a minor but embarrassing ailment so I think he felt we were well enough acquainted to wave me through.’
‘Why are they here?’ asked Adrian. ‘You talked about a security cordon. What is there to protect in what seems a very sleepy backwater that’s about as far from the action as it’s possible to be?’
‘I suspect that’s the point,’ said Grace. ‘It’s all very hush-hush. No one is saying anything but military activity and associated security has been getting increasingly intense. The harbour at the far end of the village has been a focal point but the whole of the coastline from here down to Cairn Head and the Isle of Whithorn has been taken over by army engineers supported by the Royal Navy. When you came in with that bump on your head saying you’d only just arrived in Scotland I assumed the RAF was playing its part in whatever is going on.’
‘Not as far as I know,’ said Adrian. ‘I’m a flight commander on 175 Squadron and we’re currently getting to grips with a new aircraft type. I’m leading the advance party setting up a training deployment at RAF Wigtown that we and our sister 174 Squadron can rotate pilots through to help with that process. Both squadrons are based in southern England and there’s a real benefit to being able to train up here without having to constantly watch out for enemy aircraft. Maybe the army and navy have the same idea?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Grace. ‘Though I didn’t know they were quite so open about what they’re doing as they appear to be today.’
They had reached a T-junction formed by the road into the village and one running along the seafront. As Adrian turned right he saw that Grace was pointing to their left, towards a large vessel in the bay.
‘I think that’s a tank landing craft,’ he said. ‘More importantly, I’m assuming that they serve good lunches at the Galloway Arms?’
‘The best in the area,’ said Grace. ‘It’s the favourite haunt of local farmers and as a result the place never seems to be short of anything. You’d hardly believe there was a war on if it wasn’t for what we’ve been discussing.’
Adrian parked just beyond the hotel. The front door was open and three men were standing on the opposite side of the road, by a low stone wall. One wore a shirt and tie while the other two were dressed as farmers and carried part-filled pint glasses.
‘It appears the navy has an audience,’ he said. ‘Should we take a look at what’s going on?’ He saw a look of doubt on Grace’s face. ‘Come on, Grace. If anyone asks I’ve got the uniform and the RAF vehicle.’
He led the way across the road and stood a little distance away from the three men. Grace stood close beside him but he quelled the instinct to put his arm around her waist, worried that it might not be what she wanted. Beyond the stone wall was a muddy and partly seaweed-covered beach that looked as if it was submerged by the sea at high tide. The water was a little way out but Adrian had no way of knowing if the tide was coming in or going out.
The tank landing craft was some distance away, in the northern corner of the bay, so he and Grace were looking at it side-on. There were two smaller boats in attendance. The landing craft had come to a halt some way offshore and its large bow door had been lowered into the sea.
What was extraordinary was that a narrow strip of what appeared to be slatted roadway extended from the front of the landing craft across the water in front of it and then across the muddy sand as far as a fringe of greenery where a group of khaki-clad figures were standing. As Adrian watched, a lorry was driven out of the landing craft and onto the roadway. Even at this distance, it was possible to see parts of the roadway sink into the sea as the lorry crossed each segment, only to recover when it had passed. At the landward end, the lorry drove up onto the shore, then did a multi-point turn and began the return journey back to the landing craft.
This didn’t go so well. Activity at the rear of the landing craft suggested something had gone wrong and the vessel moved slowly towards the beach as the lorry neared it, sinking segments of the roadway ever more deeply into the sea as the vehicle crossed over them. When the lorry was perhaps thirty yards from the landing craft it became obvious that it was sinking, taking part of the roadway with it. One of the small boats came alongside the lorry and Adrian was relieved to see the driver climb out of his cab and get aboard.
‘I think the show’s over,’ said a voice from behind them.
Adrian turned to see the man in the shirt and tie looking at him.
‘I hope the driver of the lorry is all right,’ said Grace.
‘I’m sure he will be, miss. This is the third time this week they’ve tried that, each time with different unsuccessful results. I think the landing craft pulled its anchors free this time, which removed the tension from the stretched-out Swiss Roll and allowed it to sink under the weight of the lorry. The tide’s on its way out so they’ll recover the lorry and roll up the roadway and doubtless try again in a day or two.’
‘Come on Adrian,’ said Grace. ‘You promised me lunch.’
The man in the shirt and tie smiled. ‘Ah, customers! I can guarantee you’ll not be disappointed.’
The food was excellent but Adrian found Grace hard work. She was happy to talk about the area and her work in the auxiliary hospital at Galloway House, but she deflected his attempts to find out more about her as a woman. She also sidestepped his efforts to agree on ways of furthering their sexual relationship, though in the quiet dining room where he had the sense they might easily be overheard by the few other customers, these had to be very subtle.
After lunch, they emerged from the relative darkness of the Galloway Arms into a beautifully warm and startlingly bright afternoon.
Grace looked at her watch. ‘It’s been lovely, Adrian, but I need to get back to the cottage.’
He put on his most winning smile. ‘Are you going to invite me in when we get back?’
‘I’m sorry, Adrian. I hope you don’t think I’ve been leading you on, but I share Broom Cottage with my mother, who’s had a stroke and spends quite a lot of time in bed. When I’m not looking after other people at the hospital I spend most of my time looking after her at the cottage. It was wonderful to spend Saturday night with you at the hospital, and I’m flattered that you wanted to see me again. But I don’t think I’m the right person for you at the moment.’
Adrian smiled, though rejection wasn’t something he was used to. ‘Perhaps I could spend more time with you if I found other ways of getting sent to the hospital?’
Grace frowned. ‘You’re a pilot, Adrian. Please don’t even joke about that.’
After Adrian had turned the utility vehicle around, they drove in silence back along the road alongside the shore. As they approached the junction where they needed to turn inland, an army Jeep coming the other way pulled across the road ahead of them, blocking it. It was driven by a sergeant who got out and ran over to Grace’s side of the vehicle.
‘Are you Dr Sullivan? I was told you were in the village.’
‘Yes, I am,’ said Grace. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Would you mind following me, ma’am?’
Adrian saw Grace look at him and he shrugged. The sergeant turned the Jeep in the road and Adrian followed it around the bay to where the strip of roadway from the landing craft came to an end. More of the roadway was now on sand or mud that had been exposed by the receding tide and the far end had been detached from the landing craft, which had moved further out into the bay.
A group of men in khaki were gathered a little way out, just beyond the reach of the gently lapping waves and on the far side of the roadway.
Grace got out as soon as Adrian brought the Tilly to a halt behind the Jeep.
‘It’s this way, ma’am,’ said the sergeant, who then turned and hurried down a grassy slope and onto the muddy sand.
‘I’m not walking on that in these shoes,’ said Grace. She bent down to take them off then threw her shoes into the front passenger footwell before following the sergeant in bare feet.
After a moment’s indecision, Adrian went after her, more slowly and carefully to try to preserve his service shoes. As he approached the gathering on the beach he saw her crouching down beside a body lying on its back.
Adrian stood a little way away for a few minutes but didn’t feel he belonged there. He turned and walked back to the Tilly and got in, then lit a cigarette. He only got back out when he saw Grace returning.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.‘I am, but that poor bastard isn’t,’ she said. ‘This never gets any easier. Have you got a cigarette?’
Adrian offered Grace one and lit it for her before lighting another for himself. Then he retrieved her shoes and offered her a blanket to dry her feet. He’d put this in the back of the vehicle earlier, with an altogether different use in mind.
‘Is it the lorry driver?’ he asked.
‘No, I hope he’s fine. It’s a man in an army uniform. He looks like he’s been in the water for a couple of days. They found him snagged on the side of the roadway when the tide went out. It’s difficult to be sure after his time in the water but I think he was strangled with a cord of some sort.’
‘He’s been murdered? God, I’m sorry you had to deal with that, Grace. And you’ve got mud on your lovely dress. Can I run you back to the cottage?’
‘No, thank you, Adrian. The military police are on the way and they’ll want to talk to me. Don’t worry, someone will give me a lift back. I think you should cut your losses and go back to RAF Wigtown.’ She smiled. ‘For what it’s worth I did enjoy lunch and I’m sorry the afternoon hasn’t ended in the way you had in mind.’