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‘But …’ the boy protested.
‘When you’ve finished, go and find your friends and bring them here,’ the old man continued. ‘We have a lot to talk about.’
*
That morning, at thirty-four minutes past eleven, Maximilian Carver phoned from the hospital to give his children the latest news. Irina was continuing to make progress, albeit slowly, but the doctors still couldn’t assure them that she was out of danger. Alicia noticed that her father’s voice seemed fairly calm so she guessed that the worst was over.
Five minutes later, the telephone rang again. This time it was Roland, calling from a café in town. They would meet at noon by the lighthouse. When Alicia put down the phone, she remembered the way Roland had looked at her, entranced, the night before on the beach. Smiling to herself, she went out to the porch to give Max the news. She recognised the outline of her brother, sitting on the beach, gazing out at the sea. Over the horizon, the first sparks of an e
lectric storm crackled across the sky like a string of bright lights. Alicia walked down to the shore and sat next to Max. It was a cold morning and there was a bite in the air – she wished she’d brought a jumper with her.
‘Roland called,’ she said. ‘His grandfather wants to see us.’
Max didn’t reply, his eyes still fixed on the sea. A flash of lightning tore through the sky.
‘You like Roland, don’t you?’ Max asked, playing with a handful of sand, letting it trickle through his fingers.
Alicia considered her brother’s question.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘And I think he likes me too. Why do you ask, Max?’
Max shrugged and threw the handful of sand towards the water’s edge.
‘I don’t know. I was thinking about what Roland said, about the war and all that. That he might be called up after the summer … It doesn’t matter. I suppose it’s none of my business.’
Alicia turned to her younger brother and tried to look him in the eye. He raised his eyebrows the same way Maximilian Carver did, and she saw the reflections in his grey eyes, the bundle of nerves buried just beneath the surface of his skin.
Alicia put her arm round Max and kissed him on the cheek.
‘Let’s go in,’ she said, shaking off the sand that had stuck to her dress. ‘It’s cold out here.’
9
BY THE TIME THEY REACHED THE PATH THAT led up to the lighthouse, Max felt as if his legs had turned to butter. Before setting off, Alicia had offered to take the other bicycle that lay sleeping among the shadows of the garden shed, but Max had rejected the idea: he would take her on his bike just as Roland had done the day before. A kilometre on, he was already regretting his decision.
As if he’d guessed how painfully difficult the long ride would be, Roland was waiting with his bicycle at the foot of the path. When he saw him, Max stopped pedalling and let his sister off. He took a deep breath and rubbed his muscles, which were in agony.
‘You look like you’ve shrunk a few centimetres, city boy,’ said Roland.
Max decided not to waste his breath responding to the joke. Without saying a word, Alicia climbed onto Roland’s bike and they started up the hill. Max waited a few seconds before pushing off. He knew what he was going to spend his first salary on: a motorbike.
*
The small dining room in the lighthouse cottage smelled of freshly brewed coffee and pipe tobacco. The floor and the walls were lined with dark wood and, apart from a very large bookcase and a few nautical objects that Max was unable to identify, there was barely any other decoration. A wood-burning stove and a table covered with a dark velvet cloth, surrounded by old armchairs of faded leather, were the only luxuries Victor Kray had allowed himself.
Roland asked his friends to sit in the armchairs while he sat on a wooden chair between them. They waited for about five minutes, hardly speaking, listening to the old man’s footsteps on the floor above.
At last, the lighthouse keeper made his appearance. He wasn’t as Max had imagined him. Victor Kray was a man of average height, with pale skin and a generous head of silvery hair crowning a face that did not reflect his real age.
His green, penetrating eyes slowly scanned the faces of the brother and sister, as if he were trying to read their thoughts. Max smiled nervously and Victor Kray smiled back at him, a kind smile that lit up his face.
‘You’re the first visitors I’ve had in years,’ said the lighthouse keeper, taking a seat on one of the armchairs. ‘You’ll have to forgive my manners. Anyhow, when I was a child, I thought all this business about the polite way of doing things was a lot of nonsense. I still do.’
‘We’re not children, Granddad,’ said Roland.
‘Anyone younger than me is a baby,’ replied Victor Kray. ‘You must be Alicia. And you’re Max. You don’t need much of a brain to work that out.’
Alicia smiled warmly. She’d only known the old man for a couple of minutes, but already she was charmed by the way he put them at ease. Max, meanwhile, was studying Victor’s face and trying to imagine him shut away in that lighthouse for decades, guarding the secret of the Orpheus.
