She shrugged. ‘I couldn’t walk out and leave him. Uncle Paddy won’t last much longer, not at the rate he’s drinking and what would happen to Brendan then? An institution?’
‘So you’re the only one who knows where Colum’s staying? Your uncle wouldn’t like that.’
She chuckled. ‘He’s tried following me a time or two and so has Morgan, but it didn’t get them anywhere.’
‘You sound as if you’ve been enjoying yourself?’
‘I suppose I have.’ She frowned as if trying to explain it to herself and concentrated on the road. ‘In a strange way, I’ve been in a sort of limbo, drifting aimlessly ever since I was released from prison and came to Scardale to live. A year of days passing, the rain falling, snow on the mountains, and somewhere else a world that I had cut myself out of.’
‘Surgery is always painful,’ he said. ‘Some people never get over it.’
She smiled tightly. ‘Anyway, like I said yesterday, what else could I have done? There was nowhere else to go. I was in this thing up to my neck whether I liked it or not.’
From Ambleside, they followed the lake to Winder-mere, then took the road through Staveley to Kendal. There was very little traffic about and the mist, if anything, was a little heavier. In Kendal itself, it was raining heavily and they passed through a thin scatteiing of traffic and drove out of the town again.
She pointed out the site of the Roman fort of Alavna as solemnly as if he had been any ordinary tourist. ‘The Romans never landed in Ireland, did they?’
‘They knew better,’ Rogan said and a wide grin split across his face.
She glanced at him briefly, a sudden light in her eyes. ‘That’s the first time you’ve laughed properly since I’ve met you. I was beginning to think you didn’t know how.’
He smiled again. ‘Give me time, Hannah. That’s all I need.’
For a brief moment, the intimacy between them was almost physical and they were both aware of the fact. He groped for the right words, but before he could find them, they topped a small rise of the narrow country road and he saw Rigg Station in the hollow below.
She stopped the shooting brake on the edge of a small parking space covered with gravel and Rogan lit a cigarette and wound down the window. The small, single-storeyed building had a roof of red tiles and was constructed of large square blocks of granite. There was an arched entrance, a large clock above it and a scale map of the district was displayed in a glass case pinned to the wall. At the other end was the loading bay, double-doors giving access to the station.
‘Let’s take a closer look,’ Rogan said.
They got out of the brake and crossed the patch of gravel to the entrance. Inside, there was a narrow hall, a barrier and a ticket window which was closed by a
wooden shutter. The door to the platform stood open and they could hear cheerful whistling. When Rogan peered cautiously round, he could see an oldish white-haired man sweeping the platform at the far end.
‘Keep him talking,’ Rogan said to Hannah. ‘Ask him if you can still catch the London train from here, anything you like, but keep him on the platform. I’ll take a look round.’
She nodded briefly and moved out through the door. The old man didn’t see her until she was almost upon him and he leaned on the broom and smiled. As the murmur of their voices started to echo through the quiet station, Rogan moved quickly to the door markedStationmaster and opened it.
Inside he found the usual cluttered office. There was a desk, a couple of wooden filing cabinets and two or three yellowing calendars on the walls. There were two other doors. One gave access to a small washroom, the other to a narrow arched baggage hall which cut through the building from front to rear linking the platform with the loading bay. He moved out on to the concrete bay, jumped to the ground and went back to the car.