Drink With the Devil by Jack Higgins Read Free Book Online

and climbed behind the wheel. He started the engine and Ryan said, “A great driver, this lad, make no mistake.” He patted Benny on the shoulder. “Away we go, Benny. Is the truck all right?”
    Benny nodded. “Oh, yes.”
    He turned into the main road and Ryan’s niece said, “What truck would that be?”
    “Later, girl, later. Just sit back and admire the scenery. Some of the best in England.”
     
     
    W HEN THEY REACHED the coast road it started to rain. Ryan said, “It does that a lot up here. I suppose it’s the mountains.”
    They lifted up on the right, a spectacular sight, the peaks covered by low cloud. On the left the sea was angry, rolling in fast, whitecaps everywhere, a heavy sea mist following.
    “The Isle of Man out there and then dear old Ireland,” Ryan told them.
    Keogh said, “I don’t know whether you’ve had a forward weather forecast for Friday, but one thing’s for sure. If it’s rough weather, that Siemens ferry is in for one hell of a ride.”
    “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” Ryan told him.
    About forty-five minutes out of Barrow they came to an area where there were marshes on their left stretching out to sea, vanishing into the mist. There was a sign up ahead and Ryan touched Benny on the shoulder.
    The big man slowed down and Ryan said, “Marsh End. Let’s take a quick look, Benny.”
    Benny turned down a track and drove slowly along a causeway through a landscape of total desolation, reeds marching into the mist. There was an old cottage to the right and then a jetty about one hundred yards long stretching out into the sea. Benny cut the engine.
    “So that’s it?” Keogh said.
    “That’s it.” Ryan nodded. “Only something like the Siemens with its shallow draught could get in.”
    “You can say that again. When the tide’s out, I’d say it’s nothing but marsh and mud flats.”
    Ryan tapped Benny on the shoulder. “Off we go, Benny,” and the big man nodded obediently and reversed.
     
     
    T OWARD THE UPPER end of Eskdale Valley, mountains rearing before them, Benny turned into a broad track and dropped down into a low gear. There were gray stone walls on either hand, sheep huddled together in the rain.
    “A desolate sort of place,” Keogh said.
    Ryan nodded. “A hard way to make a living.”
    They came to a wooden sign post that bore the legend
Folly’s End
. “And that just about sums it up,” Ryan observed.
    A moment later and they came to farm gates wide open, and beyond it the farm, two large barns, the farmhouse itself, all built in weathered gray stone. Benny turned off the engine and got out. As they followed, the front door opened and a black and white sheepdog bounded out. A moment later a woman appeared. She wore a heavy knitted sweater, men’s trousers, and green Wellington boots. Her hair was iron gray, the face strangely young looking. Ryan went forward as she held her arms open. They embraced warmly and he turned.
    “Here you are then, my cousin, Mary Power.”
     
     
    T HE BEAMED KITCHEN had a stone-flagged floor, a wood fire burning in an open hearth. She served them herself, ladling lamb and potato stew from a large pot, moving round the table, then sat at the end.
    “It’s good to see you, girl,” she said to Kathleen. “When you reach my age relatives are hard to come by.”
    “And it’s good to meet you,” Kathleen told her.
    “And you, Mr. Keogh, what would your speciality be?” Mary Power asked.
    “Well, I like to think I can turn my hand to most things.” Keogh spooned some stew to his mouth and smiled. “But I’ll never be the cook you are.”
    Ryan pushed his plate away. Mary Power said, “More?”
    He shook his head. “Tea would be fine.”
    She got up and started to clear the plates and Kathleen helped her. Keogh said, “Could we all know where we stand here?”
    “You mean where Mary stands?” Ryan said. “Simple. She’s backing me to the hilt on this. If things go well, she gets a hundred