Cry of the Hunter - Jack Higgins [55]
He began to think about Anne Murray. Hannah had been right, of course. Anything that had happened to the girl was entirely his fault. He should never have gone back to her house on that fatal night. When he considered things logically everything that had happened was his fault because everything could be traced back to Rogan and he was the one who had set Rogan free. He realized one thing very clearly. Anne Murray would have to go. The only trouble would be in persuading her that such a course was sensible. He sighed and closed his eyes and his sigh merged with the breeze and the soughing of the heather and the rattle of the water over the stones and he slept.
When he opened his eyes Anne Murray was sitting by his side gazing pensively into the stream, lost in some dream world of her own. He lay quietly watching her for a while and suddenly, with a sense of wonder, he realized that she was beautiful. He stirred and sat up. She turned quickly and a smile appeared on her face. She glowed as if a lamp had been turned on inside her. ‘How do you feel?’ she said.
He smiled gravely. ‘Not so bad. How long have you been here?’
She shrugged. ‘About half an hour. You haven’t been sleeping for very long. Hannah told me you’d come up this way. She said she thought you needed me.’
He nodded slowly. ‘I see. That was considerate of her.’
‘Don’t be bitter,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t suit you. She’s a good woman. I like her and what’s more, she likes you – very much.’
‘They always do,’ he said. ‘Even my mother thought I was the darlin’ boy.’ He took out his cigarettes and offered her one and she shook her head.
‘What’s got into you?’ she asked. ‘There’s a bitterness in you at the moment. That’s something I haven’t noticed before.’
He smiled apologetically. ‘Wormwood and gall. I’m not very proud of myself at the moment.’
‘I see.’ She nodded slowly. ‘Any particular reason?’
He shrugged. ‘Lots of reasons. Nearly everything that’s happened during the last few days is my fault.’
‘Rogan’s!’ she interrupted.
He shook his head. ‘Mine! After all, I was the one that set him free.’
She laughed in a peculiar way and shook her head. ‘And I thought you were intelligent.’
A tiny flicker of anger moved in him. ‘Don’t you think I am now?’
She shrugged and said warmly, ‘Then start thinking like an intelligent person. You’re blaming yourself for what Rogan’s done. All right – you set him free. I’ll grant you that, but where does anything begin? Do you know? I’m sure I don’t. What made Rogan what he was? What started him along his chosen path? Are you to blame for that?’ She shook her head and said slowly, ‘If it comes to that, what started you off in this game?’
He threw pebbles into the stream in an abstracted manner as he replied. ‘Something deep down in the depths of childhood. A bright dream. Banners and heroes and the old tales. Charles Stuart Parnell and Wolfe Tone.’ He sighed. ‘Most men grow out of things like that – I never did, that’s all.’
She shook her head. ‘No, it’s something more than that. Something that’s inherent in the Gael. A sort of agonized eternal struggle inside that moves him towards self-destruction.’
For a moment he remained sitting on the ground staring into the stream thinking about what she had said and then he jumped up and laughed gaily. ‘For God’s sake let’s forget about it all, for an hour or two at least.’ He reached out a hand and pulled her up. ‘Look around you at the hills and the sun and the heather. It’s a perfect day and it’s ours to do with as we please.’
The colour swept into her cheeks and she laughed and pushed back her hair, blown by the wind. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘What shall we do?’
‘Climb to the top of the mountain,’ he said. ‘We’ve just got time before dinner.’ He grabbed her hand and they started to scramble up the glen side.
It was not a very high mountain but when they came out on top of it she caught her breath and gave a deep sigh of contentment. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said.