Cry of the Hunter - Jack Higgins [57]
Anne turned to Fallon, an eager smile on her face, and Johnny Murphy jumped up enthusiastically. ‘It’s a grand idea, Mr. Fallon. Let’s go.’
For a moment Fallon hesitated and then he remembered that quiet moment on the mountain when he had realized that this day was to be the only one and he slammed his hand down on the table. ‘All right then, what are we waiting for?’
Twenty minutes later they were striding up the glen away from the farmhouse, cutting deep into the hills. It was the happiest afternoon Fallon could ever remember. Murphy and Charlie walked together, leading the way, and he and Anne brought up the rear. The air was like wine and the sun was warm on their backs. When they reached the top of the mountain it was as though they were on top of the world and all the fear and the violence of the past few days was left behind them.
They had their sandwiches in the shooting hut that Charlie had mentioned and then carried on across a wide moor, purple with heather and sweet smelling. In the late afternoon they came back over the mountain and stood on the top looking down over the valley for the last time. A faint breeze lifted over the hills and in the east the sky was beginning to darken. Fallon stood gazing down into the little glen and it was so still he could just hear the sound of the water as it splashed over the stones in the stream bed. Anne Murray stirred beside him and said in a voice that was infinitely sad, ‘I wish this day could go on for ever.’
He wanted to make some suitable reply, but there was nothing he could say. Nothing that would give her the comfort she needed. He gently took her hand in his and squeezed it and they moved down the hillside, back towards the farm.
The rain came later that evening when Fallon strolled alone through the farmyard after supper. The air was heavy and still and the rain started with a sudden heavy rush as if it wanted to take everyone by surprise. He ran quickly to the old barn that stood nearby and wrenched open the door. There was a ladder that slanted up to a loft and he climbed it and sat in the sweet-smelling hay next to a round window and stared out into the rain. There was a slight creaking as someone came up the ladder and then a form moved through the darkness and sat down opposite him. ‘I saw you run in here,’ Anne Murray said. ‘I’ve brought you your raincoat.’
He reached out through the darkness and took the coat from her. Their fingers touched. For a moment they sat there breathless and waiting in the darkness and then she lurched forward into his arms. ‘Oh, Martin. I love you. I love you so very much.’ She repeated his name over and over again, breathlessly.
He held her close, her head pillowed against his breast, and after a while he said sadly, ‘This might have meant something to me a long time ago.’
Then why not now?’ she demanded fiercely.
He smiled. ‘Because I’m too old – and I don’t mean just in years. Because I destroyed myself a long time ago.’ He pushed her away from him and gripped her arms savagely. ‘Can’t you see that I’m just a dead man walking? I have been since the day I joined the Organization.’
She pushed her arms about his neck and kissed him; fierce bruising kisses that burned down into his very being and sent his senses reeling. For a moment he gave in. His arms crushed her and he returned her kisses avidly, but there was still that small core of reason burning within him that told him it was useless.
He pushed her away from him and said urgently, ‘There’s no hope for us – can’t you understand that? No hope at all.’
She went very still. After a while she said, ‘But what about your cottage across