Phil stared. The whole scene froze like a waxworks display at Madame Tussaud's.
"I said, I'd rather you didn't touch that!". The voice was calm but cold.
"We meant no harm." Phil raised his hands to show they were empty and edged away from the boat. "There's no need to be hasty here. We haven't done anything to your boat."
"What do you want?" there was a marked tremble in the voice.
"Nothing." Reuben felt his throat going dry as he spoke. "We were just surprised to find it here. It's a beautiful boat." he added lamely.
"Why are you here?"
"We're camping just over the hill."
"Where's the other one?"
"What do you mean?" Phil asked.
"You know who I mean. There are three of you aren't there?"
"He stayed near the camp. He's an artist, doing watercolours at the moment." Reuben plucked up courage. "Do you have to point that at us? We won't try anything I promise."
She lowered the gun a little. "You haven't come to find me then?"
"We didn't think there was anyone on the island, and that's the truth." Phil pleaded. "We just came for a few days. Our canoes are just over the hill.
"I know." she replied. "You're quite good on that guitar, aren't you!"
"Thanks!" He didn't know whether to be flattered or flabbergasted. He pointed to the gun. "Now do we really need that thing?"
"Oh, don't worry, it isn't loaded. I don't think they make ammunition for these any more." She let the butt of the gun fall to the floor and leaned on it smiling.
"That isn't funny!" Reuben was cross. "What gives you the right to scare us half to death, spy on us and goodness knows what else! Anybody would have thought you owned the place!"
"No harm meant. I just had to be sure you weren't out to get me. A girl's got to be careful you know." She paused. "And technically I do." she added.
"What?" they spoke together.
"I said technically this whole island does indeed belong to me."
Reuben was struck with a mixture of relief and puzzlement. Bemused, he looked across at Phil. His friend was calm and curious.
"You said 'technically'. What to you mean by that?"
"It belonged to my Grandfather. His father built the cottage as a holiday retreat, used to be a big noise in the city. Grandpa loved it so much that when he got married he made it their home. It was he who built the extension and dug out the well."
"So how did it come to be in that state?", Reuben asked.
"Grandpa was killed in the war. When he died it was too much for Grandma to look after. She was expecting my mother so she went to stay with relatives in the city. She never talked about the place. Hadn't got over Grandpa's death I suppose. It wasn't until she died two years ago that we found the papers in her desk."
"Did the boat belong to him too?". Phil looked at the immaculate wooden hull and then back at the young girl in her tatty old clothes. She could not have been older than fifteen or so, although it was so difficult to tell.
"Oh no!" she laughed. "This is my dad's pride and joy. I think he spent more time working on this than talking to my mum! At least that was what she was always telling him."
She glanced up at her two listeners. Reuben could sense the thoughts wrestling in her head. She appeared to come to a decision. Turning to walk back through the tunnel she called over her shoulder. "Fancy a cup of tea then?"
They followed her back through the 'tunnel'. Drawing near to the house they noticed that the door they had previously tried was now ajar. Stepping inside the girl reached in an old canvas bag for a battered primus stove. Placing it on an upturned packing case she pumped it up and lit it, balancing a kettle precariously on top.
"I'm sorry, I don't know your names. Mine's Tracy."
They introduced themselves. "Oh, and our budding Picasso is Arthur." Phil added. "He's here on an assignment." He explained about the visit, about college and about the rooms back at Mrs Trimbles. She listened attentively as they sat on the floor and drank from chipped enamel mugs.
"Forgive me for asking." Reuben hesitated, "and please tell me to mind my own business if you want, but aren't you a little young to be out here on your own. Does anyone know you are here?".
For a fleeting second a look of uncertainty crossed her face. She looked down into her mug, turning it in her hands so that the remaining tea, about a third, washed the sides of the mug, almost spilling over the edge, but perfectly controlled.
"I'm not too young to look after myself." she said quietly, staring into the brown liquid. "I've managed for a few weeks now, it's quite fun when you get the hang of it." There was a tone in her voice that didn't quite endorse that remark. She looked tired and worried. "And no one knows I'm missing anyway. At least ,not yet."
"You've been here a few weeks?" Reuben stared around the bare room. The cardboard boxes were still neatly stacked at one side, but apart from the packing case table there was no furniture to speak of. The canvas bag was hung on a peg fixed to the back of the door, from which also hung a nylon bag. From its shape he recognised it was a sleeping bag. "and no one knows you're missing." He turned to her in disbelief.
"It's a long story." A smile came to her lips at the look of incredulity on the faces of her guests.
"What are you having for lunch?" Phil asked.
"I've got plenty of food. Look." Putting down her mug she went over to the boxes. Opening one she picked up a tin of beans and another of corned beef. "Not exactly cordon bleu, but wholesome nourishing stuff!"
"That's not quite what I meant. I'm sure you are very well organised for food." Phil raised his hands defensively. "What I was going to say was would you like to come over to the other side of the island for flame grilled beef with fried onion and crusty rolls"
"He means do you want a beefburger butty back at camp." Reuben translated. "Bring the beans if you want!"
Filling plastic containers from the well they made their way over the hill. Arthur had finished a painting and had refuelled the fire. He looked up in surprise to see three figures approaching.
"How did the painting go?" Reuben asked.
"Not bad!" Arthur replied. He passed the stiff white paper over for inspection.
Reuben looked closely at the paper. At first he saw just an array of smudges. Dabs of colour in a variety of different brush strokes. He was impressed by the combinations of colours which appeared to jump off the page and dive through the paper at the same time.
Tracy, who was standing behind him, laughed. "It's upside down!" She was looking intently over his shoulder. Turning the paper Reuben recognised the lines of the cove bounding the areas of colour, which now gave the impression of sea, sand and rocks.
He held the paper away from his eyes and the picture appeared to come alive.
"That's really good."
"It's impressionist isn't it?" Tracy asked. "It's rather like the Monet we were looking at in art last week."
"Thank you!" Arthur beamed. "You're a friend for life."
"This is Tracy. The hermit from the house." explained Phil. "She's invited to lunch. O.K.?"
Reuben looked up from the painting. "Hang on a minute. You said 'in art last week'."
Tracey shrugged her shoulders. "Yes. I'm still at school. I go to the comprehensive over there." She pointed across the water to the mainland.
"I didn't think there was a secondary school in the village." Arthur looked puzzled.
"There isn't. I catch the morning bus into town. I have to leave here at about half past five but I haven't been late yet."
"You mean you go to school from here?" asked Phil.
"Oh no. Actually I go via Timbuktu!" she snapped sarcastically. "It's the only way to travel these days."
"Sorry." Phil replied, embarrassed by the fervour of the reply. He busied himself with a frying pan of sliced onions. Reuben put a metal grid over one corner of the fire and placed four large home-made Trimble beefburgers on to cook. Their landlady had seen to it that the cool box was well stocked. Soon the sound of fat dripping into the flames and spitting out, combined with the aroma of the impending meal began to dissolve the tension in the air.
"Sorry I snapped." Tracy said quietly to Phil. "It's not been easy the last few days."
"I should think it hasn't." he replied cheerfully. "Don't mention it." He scooped up some onion into a roll and passed it over to Reuben who filled the roll with blackened beefburger before passing it to the grateful Tracy.
"Thanks! It's great to have something that hasn't come straight out of a tin."
The remaining burgers were filled and distributed and the four of them sat and ate. The meal was followed by fresh apples and the story of the morning's walk with the tunnel, the boat and 'Trigger happy Tracy' was unfolded to the amazed Arthur.