’t make out what he saw in this girl, but of one thing he was sure: he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
‘We’re heading for the lighthouse,’ he announced.
A few seconds later, riding on the current and with the invisible hand of the wind behind it, the Kyaneos slid like an arrow over the reef. Ismael felt Irene clutch his hand. The sailing boat flew along, as if barely skimming the water, leaving behind a chain of white foam. Irene glanced at Ismael and noticed that he was looking at her too. For an instant his eyes were lost in hers and Irene felt him press her hand gently. The world had never seemed so far away.
It was around mid-morning when Simone Sauvelle walked through the double doors of Lazarus Jann’s personal library, which occupied a grandiose oval room at the heart of Cravenmoore. A whole universe of books rose in a imposing ornate spiral towards a tinted glass skylight. For a few seconds, Simone stood spellbound. Then, suddenly, she realised she wasn’t alone.
A figure, neatly dressed in a suit, sat at a desk directly below the skylight. When he heard her footsteps, Lazarus turned, closed the book he was consulting – an ancient volume bound in black leather – and smiled kindly at her. It was a warm, contagious smile.
‘Ah, Madame Sauvelle. Welcome to my refuge,’ he said, standing up.
‘I didn’t mean to interrupt . . .’
‘On the contrary, I’m glad you did,’ he continued, ‘I wanted to talk to you about some books I need to order from Arthur Feldmar . . .’
‘Arthur Feldmar in London?’
Lazarus’s face lit up.
‘You know the company?’
‘My husband used to buy books there when he travelled. It’s in Burlington Arcade.’
‘I knew I couldn’t have chosen a more suitable person for this job,’ said Lazarus, making Simone blush. ‘Why don’t we talk about it over a cup of coffee?’
Simone nodded shyly. Lazarus smiled again and put the thick volume he was holding back in its place, among hundreds of similar books. As he did so, Simone couldn’t help noticing the title, embossed on the spine. A single word, and one she was not familiar with: Doppelgänger.
Shortly before noon, Irene sighted the island straight ahead of them. Ismael decided to sail round it in order to berth the boat in a small, sheltered inlet. Thanks to Ismael’s explanations, Irene was now more familiar with the art of navigation and the elemental physics of the wind. She was able to follow his instructions, and between them they managed to overcome the power of the current and slide the boat through the craggy passage that led to the old jetty.
The island was barely more than a single mass of rock emerging from the waters of the bay. A considerable colony of seagulls nested on it, and some of them eyed the intruders with curiosity. As they sailed in, Irene noticed some old wooden huts ravaged by decades of storms and neglect. The lighthouse itself was a slender tower crowned by a lantern room surrounded by glass prisms. It stood above a small, single-storey building, the former home of the lighthouse keeper.
‘Apart from me, the seagulls and a crab or two, no one has been here for years,’ said Ismael.
‘Don’t forget the pirate ghost ship,’ joked Irene.
Ismael steered the boat towards the jetty and jumped ashore to secure the bow line. Irene followed. As soon he’d finished mooring the Kyaneos, Ismael pulled out a picnic basket prepared for him by his aunt, who was convinced that it was impossible to get to know a young lady on an empty stomach.
‘Come with me. If you like ghost stories, this will interest you . . .’
Ismael opened the door of the cottage and gestured to Irene to go in. As she entered the old house, Irene felt as if she’d suddenly stepped back in time. Everything was veiled in a misty film caused by years of damp. Dozens of books, a variety of objects and pieces of furniture sat exactly as they had been left, as if a phantom had snatched the lighthouse keeper in the middle of the night. Irene looked at Ismael, fascinated.
‘Wait till you see the lighthouse.’
He took her hand and led her to the staircase that spiralled up into the tower. Irene felt like an intruder, disturbing this world suspended in time.
‘What happened to the lighthouse keeper?’
Ismael paused a moment before replying.
‘One night he got on his boat and left the island. He didn’t even bother to collect his things.’
‘Why would he do something like that?’
‘He never said,’ Ismael answered.
‘Why do you think he did it?’
‘Because he was scared.’