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‘Aye, that’s the lamp, that is. Wanted to get it to light up, too, but weren’t possible. Too fiddly.’
They all turned at the voice and regarded the weathered man who was leaning, elbows on the counter, watching them.
‘You know La Luz?’
‘Oh, aye.’
Aleksey wasn’t all that happy with Tim questioning this local. He had the sneaking suspicion that they were about to be treated to dark and foreboding hints of nefarious doings. That’s what weathered locals liked to do. Ben’s imagination was running wild enough; he didn’t need fuel to be added to that fire.
Tim, however, was a professor. Questioning people was probably automatic. ‘Have you been there?’
‘Oh, no. Private owned, see. An’ ‘e don’t open it up for visitors.’ He had a strong Cornish accent, which was only to be expected, but even so, Aleksey smirked inwardly at the inordinately long time it took the man to finish that last word, as if the whole point of his sentence was to conjure visions of rowboats with vast oars rolling down a wave: rolling your r’s took on a whole new meaning.
The man chuckled a little to himself and continued slyly, ‘’Cepting ‘is own family, course. Got a little history book here, if’n you’re interested. Got a few pages on La Luz. No boats go there, if that’s what you’ve come ‘ere to ask a timetable for. Nice trip to Tresco though? Little cruise to Benhar and a cream tea at the Slippery Slope? Right proper job they be.’
Aleksey took the proffered book and thumbed it. He couldn’t read a word without his glasses but they were back at the hotel. ‘How does its current owner get there then?’ Obviouslyhewas allowed to ask questions; it washisisland. Now.
The man eyed Aleksey for a moment, considering him. Aleksey had the distinct impression his wasn’t the only Russian accent the man had heard recently. The football owner should have tried for the Scillies, not France, he reflected with amusement—much safer. ‘He got them RAF chappies at ‘is beck and call, don’t ‘e? Likes of us mere mortals can’t fly helicopters ‘ere no more—not allowed, see? Don’t bother 'im none, course. Guess if your brother owns the rest of the bleeding place, you can do as you likes. But ‘e gets the RAF to fly ‘im in from Culdrose. Nice lads. They stay ‘ere inTre Huwtill he wants ‘em back, then they fly over an’ pick 'im up again. He’s there now. First time in too bloody long. Got us all speculating.’
Oh God. Aleksey was fairly sure the dire predictions would start.
Not to be dissuaded from his vocation, Tim enquired politely, ‘Have you lived on the Scillies for long?’
The man suddenly ducked beneath the counter, which slightly alarmed them all, but reappeared with a little box in one had and a pound coin in the other. He theatrically dropped the latter into the former. ‘Saving up for me pension. Every time a grockle calls it the Scillies, or the damn Scilly Isles I pops a pound in ‘ere and I’ll soon ‘ave enough to buy me own island. No offence taken at the grockle thing, I ‘opes.’
Tim was clearly speechless. His progressive credentials, which had wilted severely since he’d come to live on a Russian armaments billionaire’s largess had just been called into question: he’d misnamed something. Somewhat at a loss, because he obviously couldn’t work out what he was supposed to say, he just nodded vigorously and muttered, ‘Yes. Sorry.’
Aleksey flicked his head to Ben to indicate he wanted to leave, paid for the book, and strode out into the sunshine.
Ben’s next thought predictably went to food. He wanted an ice cream. The choice was bewildering, so they all ended up with cones the size of dunce’s caps stuffed with multi-coloured scoops covered in a wide variety of sprinkles with added sugar-spun candied shapes pressed in.
Slightly overwhelmed and anxious, they repaired to the harbour wall to perch and eat them. Aleksey was aware he was giving the other three some considerable amusement by eating ice cream sitting in the sun unconcerned what anyone passing would think, but he’d also concluded thatfat as ice creamsounded pretty acceptable too. He was considering switching to live entirely on this culinary perfection. After all, when you got to his advanced age, what did it really matter what you ate?
He was browsing through the little history book, looking at the pictures, which is all he could see without his glasses, when he apparently came to one ofhisisland.
‘That says La Luz. Is that our island? It’s a bit blurry.’
Ben was leaning over his shoulder, his chin almost touching him. They regarded the small black and white photo together. It had been taken from the sea and appeared to show trees and what might have been a small wooden pier.
‘What does the caption say?’
‘La Luz. Origin unknown, circa 1940. What does circa mean?’
Squeezy plucked the book from him and studied the picture. ‘That’ll be taken from a German U-boat then.’
Aleksey closed his eyes at Squeezy’s unsolicited input, but sighed and asked, ‘Why would you assume that? Of every single boat in the entire world it could have been, you assume a German U-boat? Why?’
‘Obvious, innit? You got a blurry black and white photo, weird angle low to the water looking up at the land, looks just like the ones theydidtake of all the islands in The Channel before the invasion in 1940. To plot the reefs and whatnot for the ships. What else would it be?’
Aleksey didn’t like this answer at all from someone he relied on to talk more crap than he did, and suggested that as they’d finished they get what they wanted from the shops and head out to see some of the recommended sights. He preferred morons living up to their name.
As they returned towards the cobbled street of shops, Ben dropped back and asked Squeezy, ‘What invasion?’
Aleksey allowed Ben to be mocked and ridiculed for this simple question. It took the heat off him.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Two
