Page 19 of The Island Girls

‘I’m just wondering what I should tell them at the docks. Will you be needing me for long?’ he asked tentatively.

‘Oh, right – sorry Charlie. Consider yourself permanently full-time on the BOAC staff and, if I were you, I would tell them at the docks that you’ve been asked to work for us as we need your skills. The pay will be a little higher than they give you, I’m sure,’ she said.

Charlie was glad of the extra money, of course, but the big win for him was time on the water, which after just one morning had made him feel much more like himself again. He was so buoyed up by the change in events of the last two days that he whistled to himself with something resembling joy as he walked back along the quay. He’d almost forgotten what that felt like, with all the loss this war had brought him. His time in Poole was going very well indeed and he knew he’d found the place where he could settle and start again.

12

POOLE – JULY 1998

By the time they boarded the bright-yellow ferry from the island to Poole Quay on the mainland, the early-morning rain had cleared and there were even a few patches of blue sky showing between the clouds, so Rebekah showed Paul up to the top deck where they could take in the full view of the harbour. He pointed out where he believed the runways had been set out for the flying boats during the war, and she showed him where his hotel sat, high on the hill, looking straight out towards Brownsea Island.

‘Why is the island called Brownsea, do you think? The sea in the harbour isn’t particularly brown,’ Paul said.

‘Interesting question, and it has nothing to do with the colour brown. The archaic name for the island and the castle was Branksea, and with the Poole accent like it is, I think the locals must have gradually morphed that into Brownsea. But even Branksea apparently wasn’t the original name and may have been a variation on the Old EnglishBrunoces, which means Brunoc’s Island. It’s been an important place for over a thousand years, when some monks built a chapel and hermitage. Language has changed a bit since then,’ Rebekah explained.

‘It sure has, and that makes sense. I’m glad to hear you’re so interested in the history,’ Paul said with a smile.

‘What do you need to do first, when we get back to the quay?’ Rebekah asked him. ‘I’m free as a bird all day, and as long as I get back home before the last ferry this afternoon, with some groceries to eat for the week, I can fit around you.’

‘To be honest, I think the first thing I should do is drive up to the hotel, have a shower, and put on some fresh clothes. These ones will need peeling off me soon,’ he said with complete innocence, then blushed when Rebekah laughed and looked away.

Paul had left his car parked near the shore so they strolled that way along the quay and past the old lifeboat museum, and then Rebekah showed him the way to drive through Poole Park to get to his hotel. In the two years since she had been in Poole, Rebekah had mainly lived on Brownsea Island. But she had arrived with all sorts of local knowledge that her neighbour – whom she still sometimes thought of as ‘Aunty Pig’– had shared with her over the years, and she had set about discovering all the places she had recommended.

Rebekah had spent her first few nights after she had arrived in Poole staying at the Harbour Heights Hotel herself, before finding a somewhat more economical option until the ranger’s cottage became hers. She had hired a car for her first couple of weeks, intending to buy one. But when she got settled on the island, she realised she would hardly need one. And as her life centred around Brownsea, Poole Quay, and one or two other places she could easily reach on a bus or train, she hadn’t missed it yet. But those first two weeks with a car had been helpful in learning her way around, at least.

‘Watch out as we go under this little bridge here, Paul. It’s tiny and only fits one car at a time. Slow right down and checkthere’s nothing coming the other way,’ she said, and he nodded his thanks.

‘This is certainly a different route to the main road. Is it much faster?’

‘Not really, especially as we have to slow down through the park. But I love the scenery this way, and I always think a journey – however short and necessary – is better if you can take the scenic route, don’t you?’

He said that he did. Though for someone who usually drove around London, she guessed it wasn’t often a luxury he could enjoy.

At the hotel, she hesitated, wondering if she ought to wait in the car. Suddenly, it seemed strange to assume she should follow this man she’d known for less than twelve hours up to his hotel room. Twelve hours. But it felt more like twelve days already.

‘Come on up and enjoy the view while you wait, Rebekah. It really is wonderful,’ he said without a hint of embarrassment or any inuendo intended, and a sixth sense told her she was safe.

The room was quite magnificent – definitely a more deluxe version than the one she had stayed in, this one being more of a honeymoon suite than a simple room. The picture windows were full of Poole Harbour. She could see lots of recognisable details on the island, as well as all the way across the harbour to Studland and beyond. Rebekah pointed out Corfe Castle to Paul.

‘Is it somewhere I could visit?’ Paul asked. ‘I’ve seen it and wondered how to get there. It looks a long way from here.’

‘Oh yes, very easy to visit. The best way from here is to go across the chain ferry and through Studland. It makes for a beautiful day out. It’s owned by the National Trust too, just like the island. Do you have membership?’ she asked.

‘No, but I’m really starting to think I should. There are so many wonderful places to see once you get out of London. It’s well worth the cost, I’m sure,’ he called as he went into hisbathroom and shut the door. Rebekah took a seat by the window to enjoy the view and tried not to imagine Paul undressing in there or picture him when she heard the shower water running. Honestly, he was very friendly and kind but as she knew well, he was only here on business for one more day, and besides – as she had reminded herself every time she’d ever found feelings like these rising – she was better off alone. If only he wasn’t so easy to spend time with. To chat to. To look at. She laughed at her own immaturity and tried to rein in feelings that were in danger of getting her into trouble, or leading her back to pain.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, she was relieved to see he had already dressed and she didn’t have to face the reality of him wrapped in nothing but a white towel – an image she’d been somewhat too focused on moments before. He was instead wearing navy shorts and a pale-blue shirt and was rubbing his wet hair with the towel.

‘I think I could look at this view for the rest of my life and never tire of it,’ he said as he watched Rebekah gazing out of the window.

‘It is glorious,’ she said dreamily, finding it hard to take her eyes off the view of Brownsea from up here. Then she snapped herself back to the more pragmatic and sensible Rebekah. ‘So, what do you need to do first, Paul? You mentioned some work at the pottery.’

He sighed. ‘Yes, there is that. But it should only take me a couple of hours. And it isn’t even midday yet. It’s not exactly a beach day, but it isn’t raining any more. Why don’t we go for a walk along the beach at Sandbanks?’ he asked her.

‘That would be lovely. A good stretch of the legs and perhaps a cup of coffee somewhere.’

They walked down the hill from the hotel to Shore Road, where the wide sweep of Whitley Lake lay bare to the low tide. Rebekah pointed out some of the birds she knew, having learntof them in the hides on Brownsea Island. There were godwits, oystercatchers and curlews, she told him.

‘We have a curlew back home in Australia too, which looks very similar, but they’re only cousins. These ones don’t holiday down under,’ she told him.

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