Ghost Walk Read Free Page B

saves all her prayer notes. Yes, that could be it. From some other Danny,’ she added consolingly.
    But I wasn’t convinced. ‘She recognised him in the photograph , pointed him out. She didn’t seem mistaken about that.’
    There was a note of hysteria in my voice and Sister Angela looked anxious.
    ‘If it was Danny then why hasn’t he got in touch with me?’
    She looked away, embarrassed. The ways of married peoplewere an unknown territory, far beyond her.
    I stood up swaying. I felt deadly sick.
    She took my arm. ‘Now, Mrs McQuinn, I know it’s all very upsetting, but remember what I’ve told you.’ And suddenly confidential : ‘It’s getting worse. Just last week even, she was absolutely certain that she had never met our parish priest before – and he comes every week to say Mass –’
    But I was no longer listening, deaf to these examples being trotted out for my benefit. I was aware of the overpowering smell of incense. I almost ran outside to breathe in the fresh air.
    ‘At least the rain has stopped,’ said Sister Angela, eagerly grasping normality again. ‘Have you far to go? You’re still looking very pale,’ she added regarding me anxiously.
    I straightened my shoulders with effort. ‘I’m fine. I have my bicycle. Over there by the wall. I live just half a mile away.’
    Regarding the machine with considerable trepidation she said, ‘Perhaps you should contact Father McQuinn. I’m sure we have his address somewhere. I can go and look for it,’ she added helpfully , ‘if you wait a moment.’
    Thanking her, but saying that wasn’t necessary, I was aware of her anxious expression as she watched me ride away, down past the stalls deserted after the rain.

Chapter Three
    The fresh air didn’t do much good. I still felt dreadful by the time I reached Solomon’s Tower. Dreadful – and angry too.
    If Danny McQuinn was alive, for heaven’s sake, why hadn’t he got in touch with me, his wife, first of all. Did I no longer matter? Was I less important than the orphanage who had brought him up?
    I told myself it couldn’t be true. There had to be a mistake otherwise the implications of the prayer note Sister Mary Michael had received were the stuff that nightmares are made of. And I was back in that constant dream made manifest by that renewed longing to see him again, the frail hope of the joy of opening the door and seeing his smiling face. He was taking me into his arms…
    And then I woke up.
    Now that fleeting moment of madness, of dream fulfilment, had been replaced by a sense of impending doom and I remembered the solemn pagan warning: Take care what you ask the Gods for. Their answer may not be quite what you expected or even find acceptable.
    Despite the now bright day, the Tower seemed suddenly brooding and desolate, and I realised why local people thought of it as a sinister haunted place. In no mood for empty echoing rooms I sat on the wooden bench outside making the most of the soothing comfort, the solace of warm sunshine.
    It was all I had. In a sudden orgy of self-pity I decided that when I needed tenderness and reassurance, a banishment of my fear, Jack Macmerry wasn’t there. No doubt he was busy tracking down criminals on Leith Walk. Even Thane had disappeared when I yearned for a friendly welcome.
    Should I tell Jack about my strange experience? I quickly decided against that, recalling tight lips and cold eyes at themention of Danny McQuinn.
    I closed my eyes and rested my head against the wall, letting the gentle scent of summer flowers and fresh cut grass drift over me.
    Oh Danny – it can’t possibly be true. You would have come to me first. Sent me a message before anyone.
    And that was the unkindest cut of all. I thought again of his life with Pinkerton’s Detective Agency and the Bureau of Indian Affairs, remembering his warning that there were plenty of hazards , for he had enemies, as he described it, in both camps. They were the unquestionable reason for his