The Watcher in the Shadows (Niebla 3)

Hannah showed her a beautiful pendant hanging round her neck on a gold chain: a sun setting on the sea.

‘It’s a gift from Ismael . . .’

‘It’s gorgeous,’ said Irene, studying the pendant carefully.

Hannah stood up and gave a yell that catapulted the flock of blue birds to the other end of the beach. Moments later, the distant figure at the helm waved and the vessel headed for the beach.

‘Whatever you do, don’t ask him about his boat,’ Hannah warned her. ‘And if he brings it up, don’t ask him how he made it. He’ll spend hours talking about it non-stop.’

‘It must run in the family . . .’

Hannah threw her a furious look.

‘I think I’ll leave you here on the beach, at the mercy of the crabs.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Apology accepted. But if you think I talk a lot, wait till you meet my godmother. The rest of the family seem dumb by comparison.’

‘I’ll be delighted to meet her.’

‘Hah,’ replied Hannah, unable to suppress a mocking smile.

Ismael’s boat cut cleanly through the breaking waves and the keel sliced into the sand like a blade. The boy hurriedly eased the halyard and lowered the sail to the base of the mast in just a few seconds. He was obviously not lacking in practice. As he jumped ashore, his gaze was drawn towards Irene, examining her from head to toe with the same confidence he displayed in his sailing skills. Hannah rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue, then proceeded to introduce them.

‘Ismael, this is my friend Irene,’ she announced. ‘But there’s no need to eat her alive.’

The boy nudged his cousin with his elbow and stretched out a hand to Irene.

‘Hello . . .’

His brief salutation came with a timid, but sincere smile. Irene shook his hand.

‘Don’t worry, he’s not stupid; that’s just his way of saying he’s pleased to meet you,’ Hannah explained.

‘My cousin talks so much that sometimes I think she’s going to use up the entire dictionary,’ Ismael joked. ‘I suppose she’s already warned you not to ask me about my boat . . .’

‘Actually, she hasn’t,’ Irene replied cautiously.

‘Of course not. Hannah thinks that’s the only subject I can talk about.’

‘You’re not bad on fishing nets and rigging either, but when it comes to your boat, cousin, you’re on overdrive!’

Irene was amused by the banter between the two cousins. There didn’t seem to be any malice in it, just a bit of spice.

‘I hear you’ve moved into Seaview,’ said Ismael.

Irene fixed her eyes on the boy and drew her own portrait. Sure enough, he was about sixteen; his skin and hair showed the effects of all the time spent at sea. His strong physique was the result of hard work in the docks, and his arms and hands were marked with small scars – something she didn’t often see on the boys in Paris. One scar, longer and more pronounced than the others, extended down his right leg, from above the knee to the ankle. Irene wondered where he’d picked up such a trophy. Finally, she lingered over his eyes, the only feature that struck her as being out of the ordinary. Large and pale, Ismael’s eyes seemed to mask secrets behind their intense and somewhat melancholy expression. Irene remembered the same look in the eyes of the nameless soldiers with whom she’d shared a brief dance in time to a fourth-rate band – a look that concealed fear, sorrow or bitterness.

‘Have you gone into a trance?’ Hannah interrupted her reverie.

‘I was just thinking it’s getting late. My mothe

r will be worried.’

‘Your mother will be delighted to be left in peace for a few hours. But it’s up to you,’ said Hannah.

‘I can take you home on my boat,’ Ismael offered. ‘Seaview has a small jetty down by the rocks.’