The Valley of the Shadow Read Free

The air was so still that there were no whitecaps, just an edging of creamy froth along the base of the cliff. The dark green swells rolled in with soothing regularity.
    “ The Isle of the Dead, ” said Nick.
    “What?” exclaimed Megan, startled.
    “Rachmaninoff. The opening describes the sea’s present motion perfectly, restless yet monotonous. But he was writing music about a painting, so I don’t see quite how I can reverse the process…” He was momentarily silent, occupied with an inner vision. “Damn! I was hoping for waves crashing against the sheer headland over there in sheets of spray. I should have checked the tide. Or maybe it’s just that we haven’t had much wind recently. Oh well, it’ll have to do.”
    They walked on until the path petered out into terraces and steps of slate. The abrupt edge was two or three feet above the smooth tops of the swells that surged onward to meet the stream in swirls of foam. Clumps of thrift, the flowerheads brown now, clung in crevices here and there. A grey-and-white herring gull launched itself into the air and joined its fellows circling overhead, their raucous screams cutting through the constant yet ever-changing sounds of moving water. High above floated a buzzard.
    “Gorgeous,” said Megan.
    “Good enough.” Nick fiddled with his camera’s settings, peered through, and fiddled some more.
    Megan jumped down a slate step. Eleanor sat on it, the sun warm on her back.
    “What’s that?” Nick lowered the camera and pointed.
    Eleanor peered, wishing she had brought binoculars. Something dark bobbed in the water. “A seal?”
    “No.” Megan’s voice rang harsh. “It’s a man. And if he’s not already dead, he soon will be.”

TWO
    How the hell was she to get the poor bugger out? Megan took a rapid inventory of her resources.
    “Hang on, we’re coming!” Nick bellowed through cupped hands.
    A good start. “Aunt Nell, go for help.” As she spoke, she untied the bow of her skirt. “Doctor, ambulance, rope, rugs, hot drinks, anything else you can think of.”
    Her aunt hurried away up the path, white curls bobbing, Teazle at her heels. Megan turned to find that Nick had already stripped off his shirt.
    “Good job I’m in long trousers.” He knotted Teazle’s lead together with one sleeve of the shirt.
    Megan tossed her skirt to him. “On the diagonal.”
    As he tied the other sleeve of his shirt to one corner of the skirt, she slipped out of her shoes and ripped off her blouse, buttons flying, glad she was wearing a black bra and knickers. Just like a bikini, she assured herself.
    “No need for that,” Nick protested, tightening the knots. “I’m going in.”
    Megan shook her head firmly. “I’m a certified lifeguard. I’ll need your weight and your reach to pull us out, if I manage to get him.” Without further words, she leapt down the shelves of slate and, mindful of hidden rocks underwater, did a shallow racing dive towards the floating figure.
    With a shock of cold, the sea enveloped her.
    Surfacing in a trough, she swam to meet the next swell. From the crest she couldn’t see the body. Had it been a seal after all? She glanced back at Nick, who waved and pointed.
    Thank heaven he had his wits about him. She corrected her course slightly and ploughed on.
    Down and up, and down and up … Was she actually moving forward, or was a current stalling her in one place while the swells passed beneath her, lifting, dropping, lifting? But the current was moving her target, too. Towards the rocks? She must be getting closer.
    There he was! A brown-skinned man, limp, floating on his back. Dead men float facedown after first sinking. The dark patch she had taken for hair was his face, unshaven, eyes closed. He was alive!
    “I’m coming!”
    Opening black eyes, he turned his head to look at her. As though the effort exhausted his last reserve of strength, he started to sink.
    Megan would have said she was swimming as fast as she was able,