The Search: Inishbofin, Co. Donegal, 8 July 1933
Lucy Porter hurried towards the cottage.The storm was beginning to rage now, tugging at her coat, threatening to pull off her hat and scatter her grey-speckled hair to the four winds. She leaned in close to the window and anxiously peered inside, her stomach lurching as she surveyed the empty chairs still arranged around the kitchen table. Nothing stirred within. So he hadn't had a change of heart. He hadn't put off his plan to write outdoors and instead come back early for another cup of coffee or to share some idea that had suddenly flashed across his mind. She stood staring for several moments, then slowly turned to face the full blast of the wind. She glanced furtively up and down the beach but it was deserted.
The wind had risen considerably in the past hour since Kingsley and Owen McGee had gone out to secure the curragh. If the weather had stayed fine they'd be rowing back by now or perhaps they'd already have reached Magheraroarty. They might even have been on the road to Glenveagh, where they could have spent a leisurely afternoon doing some weeding or maybe a little reading, waiting for the arrival of their dear friend, AE.
In the distance, the dark mass of Inishdooey momentarily caught her gaze. The sea was turning silver grey and the angry currents were whipping the waves wildly towards the shore. It was no weather to row a curragh across the sea. The mere thought of it sent a shiver down her spine and she pulled her coat tighter, crossing her arms to shield her body from the relentless wind.