Secrets of the Lighthouse by Santa Montefiore Page A

speaking out loud.
Why did you die, Caitlin? Who was
the person rowing away in the middle of the night? Why was he there? What were you doing on the island in the first place? What did you do there, Caitlin? Tell me, what were you doing all alone in
a deserted lighthouse?
    ‘Where is she now, Johnny?’ Ellen asks softly.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I mean, where is she? Do you think she’s here?’
    Johnny is a man who believes in life and death as two distinct states, as separate as night and day. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts, if that’s what you mean. She’s with the
Lord now, Ellen,’ he replies.
    But Ellen stares boldly into my eyes and feels my presence beyond the oils and canvas.
I’m not so sure,
she thinks, and I know then that my hope of communication now rests with
her.

Chapter 5
    Ellen joined Joe outside. He was hunched in the cold, inhaling the last few drags of a cigarette. When he saw her he blew smoke out of the side of his mouth and shook his head.
‘That portrait gives me the creeps,’ he said. ‘Want a smoke?’ He pulled the packet out of his pocket.
    She hesitated a moment, then relented. ‘Just one.’
    ‘What do you think?’
    ‘I think she was very beautiful,’ Ellen replied. She placed the cigarette between her lips and lit it with the glowing butt that Joe held out for her.
    ‘She was a bit witchy, if you want to know what I really think. Dad won’t hear a word against her, as you can see.’
    ‘So what do you think
really
happened on the island that night?’
    Joe lowered his voice and glanced uneasily at the door. ‘I don’t think Mr Macausland killed her, but he certainly drove her to her death one way or another.’
    ‘How do you mean?’
    ‘They were at each other’s throats, as far as I could tell. She used to yell at him and he’d yell back. Mr Macausland has quite a temper on him.’ He exhaled a cloud of
smoke. ‘Put it this way, if he hadn’t been on the island that night, she’d still be alive today.’
    They both fell silent as Johnny emerged from the castle and locked the door behind him. ‘Besides the painting there’s not much to look at inside,’ he said, joining them on the
gravel.
    ‘I’ve seen enough,’ said Ellen.
    ‘Don’t blame you. It’s haunted in there.’ Joe tossed his cigarette onto the ground and squashed it beneath his boot. ‘Jaysus, it sends the shivers down me looking
at that portrait.’
    ‘Don’t be a sap!’ Johnny chuckled.
    Joe turned to Ellen. ‘She looked like she was about to step out of the fecking painting.’ He laughed nervously.
    ‘I agree with you, Joe. I’ve never seen a more realistic portrait in my life. She was looking right at me.’
    ‘Let’s go and have a jar,’ Johnny suggested. ‘Let’s introduce Ellen to the Pot of Gold. We can have a good old blather out of the cold.’
    The three of them climbed into the front seat of Johnny’s red truck. ‘It’s a shame no one’s living in the castle now,’ Ellen mused as Johnny drove beneath the
latticed arch of burr oaks.
    ‘It was a grand place before we stripped it bare,’ Johnny agreed.
    ‘Will they ever move back?’
    ‘Doubtful,’ said Joe. ‘Too many memories for Mr Macausland, I imagine.’
    ‘You think he’ll sell it in the end?’
    ‘No, he’ll pass it on to his boy, Finbar, when he’s old enough to live there,’ said Johnny.
    ‘Poor children,’ Ellen murmured. ‘They lost their mother
and
their home.’
    She gazed out at the wintry landscape that was now bathed in sunlight. Rugged fields stretched out to the left and right, divided by low stone walls, crumbling in parts from neglect. A flock of
shiny black crows fought over the carcass of some unfortunate creature, their loud caws cutting into the air like shards of ice. There was something ominous about the sight of them, as if death
pervaded the castle grounds. As the truck pulled out into the lane, Ellen was pleased to be leaving.
    ‘So, do you think you got some