Page 76 of Boomerville at Ballymegille

‘It’s Bill,’ she said, as Harry, wearing boxers and a crumpled T-shirt, knelt down beside her. ‘He seems to be out cold and I think he’s bleeding, there’s blood on the ground.’ Hattie touched her knees; her fingers were sticky.

‘Is he dead?’ Jo whispered.

‘Let me see.’ Harry took Bill’s wrist. ‘No, he’s alive, but his pulse is very faint.’ Harry stared at Bill. ‘Where’s the blood coming from?’

Hattie pulled her sweatshirt off and bundled it into a ball. ‘It’s here; he’s got a bad cut on the side of his neck.’ She placed the sweatshirt over the cut and pressed hard.

Alf reached into his pocket for his mobile. He dialled the emergency services. ‘Ambulance, please.’ Ness, who’d raced behind her master, sat at his feet. ‘Help is on the way,’ Alf said. He picked Teddy up and placed the bouncing puppy under his arm.

‘Try not to disturb anything.’ Harry looked around at the area where Bill lay.

‘Do you think he’s been attacked?’ Jo sounded anxious.

‘Difficult to say.’

Hattie’s knees had cramped and as she shuffled about she knelt on something sharp. ‘Ouch!’ she cried out and with her free hand groped along the ground. Her hand fell on something hard and jagged. ‘What the devil is this?’

‘Let me see.’ Harry took the object and as he felt the husky surface, he shook his head. ‘It’s a shattered piece of coconut,’ he said, ‘and its covered in blood.’

‘Bill must have slipped and fallen onto it.’

‘Keep back,’ Harry said and motioned to Jo and Alf. ‘Go and get blankets.’ He touched Bill’s cold body and to his surprise discovered that Bill’s trouser were soaked. ‘We need to keep him warm until the ambulance arrives.’

Placing his fingers back on Bill’s wrist, Harry held his breath.

There was a very faint beat.

‘Keep pressing on the wound,’ Harry said to Hattie, ‘you’re doing a great job.’ He patted her leg. Despite the mugginess of the night, her skin was cold.

‘Don’t worry about me, I can keep this up for as long as it takes,’ Hattie whispered. ‘Just do everything you can to keep Bill alive.’ She nodded towards the motionless body.

Harry leaned in, his mouth almost touching the injured man’s ear. ‘Listen to me, my friend, I’m here to help. I’m not going to let you go, don’t give in to the voices in your head. Keep fighting, old son.’

* * *

Malcolm leaned heavilyagainst the tiled wall of the shower cubicle as water sprayed against his skin. Taking a bar of soap, he rubbed it against his body and scrubbed.

What a bloody stupid waste of a trip, he thought to himself and as his tense muscles eased and his body began to relax, he thought of Melissa.

He’d trailed after her for hours, enduring the ridiculous event that she’d come all this way to be a part of, but at no point did he have an opportunity to get her on her own. All day, she’d been in the company of others, whether fooling about on the stalls or sitting with a crowd watching the entertainment. There hadn’t been a moment when he could speak to her and break the news that he knew would keep her in their marriage.

He unhooked the shower head and held it to his throbbing ankle, turning the water so it ran ice-cold for several minutes. The pain was intense but he hoped that it was only a sprain and not a break.

Now, as Malcolm hobbled out of the shower and began to towel his body, he felt angry. His plans had been scuppered and he would need to rethink. If only that idiotic little man hadn’t appeared on the lawn! Malcolm would have been able to slip the latch on the French windows at the back of the hotel, and sneak into the building. He’d soon have found the Peacock room and picked the lock. With Melissa terrified out of her wits at the intrusion, he would have told her his intentions, then packed her case and got her out of the manor.

But as things had turned out, he’d achieved none of that and now, there was every possibility that he’d killed a man.

As Malcolm began to dress, he went through the events that had happened hours earlier. He felt certain that no one had seen him, neither during the day, nor at night. He’d been cautious when following Melissa and had had no interaction with anyone. Even the barman wouldn’t remember him in the pub, there’d been far too many people buying drinks. He was sure too that no one had seen him return to the manor and creep about the garden before hastily leaving, even though his injury had meant progress to his car had been slow, each step painful.

Malcolm had travelled to Ireland on a false passport, one of many that he held in different names. He’d used a different identity when he checked in the hotel and another to hire the car. Now, he needed to pray that the creepy little man was dead. God forbid that he make a recovery, for there was every chance he’d remember Malcolm’s face and he’d be charged with a vicious assault.

He needed to get out of the country. Fast. Once back in Spain, he’d get an alibi from his housekeeper. She’d do anything for the large amount of money that he paid her, and more than once had turned a blind eye to Malcolm’s wrong doings.

Malcolm dug into a hidden section of his suitcase. His fingers groped for a tin and he flicked it open. Taking the last two tablets, he placed them on his tongue and reached for a glass of water.

Morphine. Daddy’s little helper.

It had come in useful on more than one occasion when he’d needed to quieten Allegra and now he was thankful that the strong drug would help him overcome the pain in his ankle, and enable him to get onto a plane. If only he had more to get him through the journey.

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