Free The Watcher in the Shadows by Carlos Ruiz Zafón Page A

Irene out of the blue.
    Ismael thought about it for a moment.
    ‘That’s a difficult question . . . I don’t know.’
    ‘What would you like to do? Follow in your uncle’s footsteps, own the boat?’
    ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea.’
    ‘Then what?’ she insisted.
    ‘I don’t know, I suppose this is stupid . . .’
    ‘What’s stupid?’
    Ismael fell silent. Irene waited patiently.
    ‘Radio series. I’d like to write series for the radio,’ said Ismael after a while.
    Irene smiled at him. ‘What sort of series?’
    Ismael looked at her for a moment. He hadn’t spoken about this to anyone and felt as if he was on shaky ground. Perhaps the best thing would be to beat a hasty retreat.
    ‘Mystery series,’ he replied at last, hesitantly.
    ‘I thought you didn’t believe in mysteries.’
    ‘You don’t have to believe in them to write about them,’ Ismael replied. ‘I’ve been collecting cuttings about a man called Orson Welles who has worked for the radio. Perhaps I could try to work with him . . .’
    ‘Orson Welles? Never heard of him, but I’m not sure it would be easy to contact him. Have you had any ideas?’
    Ismael nodded vaguely.
    ‘You must promise you’ll never tell anyone.’
    Irene raised her right hand solemnly. Ismael’s attitude seemed a little childish, but she was intrigued.
    ‘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