Chapter 35
Roger had left some of his things in the houseboat. A towel, toothbrush, flannel, soap, shaving brush and razor. Rowan was sure it was an accident. He had left them to pack at the last minute, and then taken his departure – a more dignified one that Rowan thought she could have managed in his place. Nevertheless, it was somehow reassuring. Rowan suspected that she wouldn't sleep that night.
She fell asleep almost immediately but awoke later in the darkness. She lay listening to the noises of the tiny wavelets lapping against the houseboat, missing the tawny owl that had hooted occasional near her window at the Dixon's. There was a brief quack. Was it that close to dawn already? Apparently not, because the quack was not repeated. Did ducks quack in their sleep in the way that dog's sometimes yelped and twitch their paws while they dreamt? And the sudden vivid picture of Tessa asleep in the warmth of the kitchen brought an unexpected wave of homesickness, so strong that she must have missed the slight bump of a boat coming alongside. She didn't miss the sound of someone tripping and falling heavily on the deck though, nor the muffled exclamation. It sounded like no curse she knew, either mild or stronger, but an oath was an oath in any language. Rowan flung the blanket of the bed and reached out for her jersey, ducking into it as she continued to listen. There were footsteps, then the sound of metal on metal. It sounded as though someone was trying to pick the lock.
Once, before the war when Great Uncle Lawrence had been alive and she had been quite small, she had seen a terrier take a rat at Trennels. She had been impressed, fascinated and horrified in equal measures: not by the fierceness of the terrier – that was expected- but by the fierceness of the rat. Later – in the same summer she thought – she had seen the same terrier confront Mrs Bertie's cat, Charlie, when the cat had tried to help himself from the dog's food. There has been sound and fury on both sides but no actual fighting and after a few seconds, Charlie had suddenly remembered urgent business elsewhere.
"Sensible dog. Much better to let the vanquished foe escape." Great Uncle Lawrence had remarked.
Rowan wasn't sure about her ability to achieve any actual vanquishing, but letting her opponent escape before he actually became an opponent suddenly seemed like a very good thing.
"Oy, who's there?" Her voice came out more highly pitched than she had expected or intended, but at least she hadn't drop the torch when she grabbed at it and switched it on.
"I beg your pardon. I have the wrong boat. I do apologise."
Footsteps. A descent into a boat, less stealthy this time. Some rather splashy rowing. Silence – apart from the occasional quack.