‘Follow me.’
Ismael led her back down to the lighthouse keeper’s cottage, then he walked over to a chest that stood in one of the corners. His eyes were shining with excitement.
‘The first time I came here I went snorkelling. I discovered the wreckage of a boat – the one used by that woman who is supposed to have drowned twenty years ago. You remember the story I told you?’
‘The September lights. The mysterious woman who disappeared during a storm . . .’ Irene recited.
‘Exactly. Guess what I found among the wreckage?’
‘What?’
Ismael put his hand into the chest and pulled out a small leather-bound book that was protected by a metal box no larger than a cigarette case.
‘The water has affected some of the pages, but quite a few of the fragments are still legible.’
‘It’s a book?’ asked Irene, fascinated.
‘It’s no ordinary book,’ he explained. ‘It’s a diary. Her diary.’
The Kyaneos sailed back to Seaview just before nightfall as the blood-red sphere of the sun slowly sank into the horizon. Irene observed Ismael quietly as he steered the sailing boat. He smiled at her, then turned his attention back to the sails, tracking the direction of the wind which was starting to blow from the west.
Before Ismael, Irene had kissed only two other boys. The first, the brother of one of her school friends, was more of an experiment than anything. She had wanted to know what it felt like. The second one, Gerard, was even more frightened than she was, and the experience hadn’t dissipated her fears on the matter. Kissing Ismael had been different. When their lips met she had felt a sort of electric current running through her body. His touch was different too. His smell was different. Everything about him was different.
?
??What’s on your mind?’ Ismael asked, noticing her thoughtful expression.
Irene tried to look secretive, raising an eyebrow.
He shrugged and continued steering the boat towards the headland. A flock of birds escorted them as far as the jetty. The lights from the house danced on the waters of the small cove.
‘It’s almost dark,’ said Irene, sounding slightly worried. ‘You’ll be all right, won’t you?’
Ismael smiled. ‘The Kyaneos knows her own way back. I’ll be fine.’
The boat berthed gently alongside the jetty. The cries of the birds echoed from the cliffs. A dark-blue strip was now visible above the horizon, and the moon had appeared between the clouds.
‘Well . . . it’s getting late,’ said Irene.
‘Yes . . .’
She jumped ashore.
‘I’ll take the diary with me. I promise I’ll look after it.’
Ismael nodded in response. Irene gave a nervous giggle.
‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, Irene.’
Ismael began to cast off. ‘I was planning to go to the lagoon tomorrow. If you want to come . . .’
She nodded as the boat edged away.
‘I’ll pick you up here . . .’
Irene stayed there, watching Ismael leave, until the night had swallowed him and the Kyaneos completely. Then, floating on air, she hurried back to Seaview. Her mother was waiting for her on the porch. You didn’t need to be a fortune-teller to guess that Simone had seen the whole episode on the jetty.