Eye of the Needle - Ken Follett [104]
“And you seem quite fit for a pen-pusher.”
“I ride a bicycle.”
“You must be quite tough, to have survived that wreck.”
“Thank you.”
“You don’t look too old to be in the army either.”
Faber turned to look at David. “What are you driving at?” he asked calmly.
“We’re there,” David said.
Faber looked out of the windshield and saw a cottage very similar to Lucy’s, with stone walls, a slate roof and small windows. It stood at the top of a hill, the only hill Faber had seen on the island, and not much of a hill at that. The house had a squat, resilient look about it. Climbing up to it, the jeep skirted a small stand of pine and fir trees. Faber wondered why the cottage had not been built in the shelter of the trees.
Beside the house was a hawthorn tree in bedraggled blossom. David stopped the car. Faber watched him unfold the wheelchair and ease himself out of the driving seat into the chair; he would have resented an offer of help.
They entered the house by a plank door with no lock. They were greeted in the hall by a black-and-white collie—a small broad-headed dog who wagged his tail but did not bark. The layout of the cottage was identical with that of Lucy’s, but the atmosphere was different: this place was bare, cheerless and none too clean.
David led the way into the kitchen, where old Tom, the shepherd, sat by an old-fashioned wood-burning kitchen range, warming his hands. He stood up.
“This is Tom McAvity,” David said.
“Pleased to meet you,” Tom said formally.
Faber shook his hand. Tom was a short man, and broad, with a face like an old tan suitcase. He was wearing a cloth cap and smoking a very large briar pipe with a lid. His grip was firm and the skin of his hand felt like sandpaper. He had a very big nose. Faber had to concentrate hard to understand what he was saying; his Scots accent was very broad.
“I hope I’m not going to be in the way,” Faber said. “I only came along for the ride.”
David wheeled himself up to the table. “I don’t suppose we’ll do much this morning, Tom—just take a look around.”
“Aye. We’ll have some tay before we go, though.”
Tom poured strong tea into three mugs and added a shot of whisky to each. The three men sat and sipped it in silence, David smoking a cigarette and Tom drawing gently at his huge pipe, and Faber felt certain that the other two spent a great deal of time together in this way, smoking and warming their hands and saying nothing.
When they had finished their tea Tom put the mugs in the shallow stone sink and they went out to the jeep. Faber sat in the back. David drove slowly this time, and the dog, which was called Bob, loped alongside, keeping pace without apparent effort. It was obvious that David knew the terrain very well as he steered confidently across the open grassland without once getting bogged down in swampy ground. The sheep looked very sorry for themselves. With their fleece sopping wet, they huddled in hollows, or close to bramble bushes, or on the leeward slopes, too dispirited to graze. Even the lambs were subdued, hiding beneath their mothers.
Faber was watching the dog when it stopped, listened for a moment, and then raced off at a tangent.
Tom had been watching too. “Bob’s found something,” he said.
The jeep followed the dog for a quarter of a mile. When they stopped Faber could hear the sea; they were close to the island’s northern edge. The dog was standing at the brink of a small gully. When the men got out of the car they could hear what the dog had heard, the bleating of a sheep in distress, and they went to the edge of the gully and looked down.
The animal lay on its side about twenty feet down, balanced precariously on the steeply sloping bank, one foreleg at an awkward angle. Tom went down to it, treading cautiously, and examined the leg.
“Mutton tonight,” he called.
David got the gun from the jeep and slid it down to him. Tom put the sheep out of its misery.
“Do you want to rope it up?” David called.
“Aye—unless our visitor here wants to come and give me a hand.”
“Surely,” Faber said. He picked his way down to where Tom stood.