Page 27 of The Island Girls

Paul put down his knife and fork and finished his cider. He glanced at his watch.

‘Talking of the time, we should probably go and finish our walk and head back to the car park. How long is the drive home via the ferry?’ he asked.

‘Yes, we ought to get going. But the trip back will only take half an hour or so, depending on where the chain ferry is when we arrive.’

They walked through the village and around the base of the castle, then back to the car. The ride through Studland and to the chain ferry was strangely silent, considering the free and easy way they’d been chatting all day. Rebekah was not ready to say goodbye but didn’t know how to tell him that. The ferry was waiting for them on the Studland side when they arrived, with plenty of room for them on board, so there was no delay at all. And in no time, they were on the Haven side of the harbour entrance, and Paul had pulled in beside the ferry jetty, with forty minutes to spare before the eleven o’clock ferry was due to leave.

‘I can’t leave you here in the dark on your own,’ he said, concern in his voice. ‘Will the bar still be open?’ He glanced back towards the Haven Hotel. ‘How about a nightcap?’

Even though the summer evening had been fine, the air was cooling fast and so they found soft armchairs in the lounge to relax with a cup of hot chocolate and a brandy each. Rebekah was burning to ask how she might contact him again, but fought with herself to keep quiet. She knew how off-putting she always found it when a guy seemed more keen on her than she was on him, and she did not want to be that girl.

And yet when the time came to walk back to the jetty, she felt his hand touch the small of her back lightly as he held the door open for her. The touch – the first time they had touched sincethat kiss on her cheek last night – sent a shockwave tingling up her spine that made her gasp. At the jetty, they stood face to face and both spoke at once when it was time to say goodbye.

‘It’s been lovely meeting you, Rebekah,’ he said as she’d blurted, ‘Time to be off then,’ and immediately regretted it. He nodded, curtly, smiled tightly, and held a hand up to wave briefly.

‘Thank you for looking after me so well, for saving me last night and for showing me around. I wish I could stay longer.’ And then he was gone.

As Rebekah caught the ferry home to the island, went through the mundane business of collecting her groceries from reception, and trudged back up the hill to Rose Cottage, she couldn’t shake the gloomy sense that she’d lost something precious. Lying in bed that night, recalling the last twenty-four hours of her life, she’d even begun to wonder if she could have imagined the whole thing.

And that had been five days ago. Now it was Thursday evening, and the routine of her week had made last weekend almost disappear, except for the sense in her soul there was something she was missing.

Rebekah checked that the last island visitors were ready to board the final ferry back to Poole Quay and watched theIsland Maidferry come into the little island dock, empty of passengers as expected. On Saturday night, this ferry would be full of playgoers on their way to the opening night ofAs You Like it.

After the last visitor was aboard, she turned back inside and checked the diary for the next day. Friday: Ben would be volunteering. Last Friday, with that unwanted hug, had been so awkward, and now she wondered if there was a way to avoid seeing him tomorrow. What if he started pushing for more? Perhaps he would bring her mussels again, or maybe a crab thistime.Full circle, she thought, and found her thoughts drifting again to Paul when she heard a small movement behind her.

She turned and started as the embodiment of her imagination stood before her. Paul was carrying an old, brown, leather satchel, slung across his body, with a small wheelie suitcase at his side, the size you can take on board a plane. Big enough for a weekend away. He wore navy-blue shorts, a loosely buttoned, pale-pink, linen shirt, and tan-brown deck shoes. The whole impression gave off a mixture of tourist, travelling businessman and island hopper. He looked anguished as he waited for her to speak. She couldn’t.

‘Hello, Rebekah.’ He paused. Still, she stayed mute. ‘I bought two tickets to the play, just in case you might like to join me,’ he said, motioning with his head in the direction of the Church Field where he knew the stage to be. ‘And I knew I’d need somewhere to stay, so I’ve booked the little Custom House cottage here on the island. Apparently, there was a last-minute cancellation, and I was lucky to get in,’ he went on, waiting for her response. She still had no words. ‘I didn’t want to assume, you see,’ he said, now looking for all the world like he’d rather be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Rebekah watched theIsland Maidchug away and looked back to Paul. All the words he’d spoken seemed to come through to her mind at once and she had to unjumble them before she could speak. And then she smiled.

‘I didn’t think I would ever see you again,’ Rebekah said, beaming. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. There’s something I forgot to do, the last time I saw you,’ she said, and Paul crinkled his brow in confusion.

She took the few steps that separated them and brought her face so close to his that she could hear his breath. She reached up and, before she could change her mind, she took his face in her hands and stood on tiptoes to kiss him firmly on the mouth.His expression changed from anguished confusion, to stunned shock, and to pure joy in a series of exquisitely tiny movements. Rebekah pulled back, just a few inches, and searched his eyes for his response.

15

POOLE – MARCH 1941

Peggy could not help but enjoy the bounce in her step as she smiled her way in to work on the first Monday morning of spring. This past weekend had been a delightfully fresh start and she was breathless with excitement over what might lie ahead for her. The war clouds were still gloomy, and the night air was still freezing cold, especially out in the Anderson shelter. There were restrictions on everything from eggs to soap and even newspapers, and there had been another air raid last night, but the war could not steal from her the joy that she’d discovered in becoming Darrell’s girl.

After she hurriedly left Charlie to finish locking up the launch on Saturday morning, she trotted back home and had a cup of tea with her mother and Molly at the kitchen table, then spent some time choosing what she ought to wear for her day out with Darrell. The choice was limited to three different outfits, but it still took her some time. She changed into her bottle-green day dress with the bow that tied at the neck, and pulled on warm, black, woollen stockings, sitting on the bed to buckle her more sensible brown shoes, in case of a long walk. She almost ran down the stairs to open the front door when she heard thedoorbell ring just after ten o’clock, her blonde curls bouncing all the way. Darrell had brought her a small bunch of primroses and daffodils, a bright gift of spring that shone like the summer sun that would be back in a few months’ time.

‘Oh, how lovely! Thank you, Darrell. Spring daffodils – I do believe these are the first ones I’ve seen. Such a sunny, happy flower, don’t you think? Come on through to the kitchen and I’ll put them in water,’ Peggy said as he bent to give her a kiss and hand over his gift.

‘Are your parents about?’ Darrell asked, peering into the front room as he passed the door.

‘Mother is out shopping, or at least looking to see if there is anything to buy, up the High Street, and Father is down the back on the shore, fiddling with the boat.’

‘I should like him to know I’m here with you, Peggy. I’ll nip out and have a word for a minute,’ he said, pushing open the back door while Peggy filled a jug and arranged the pretty, yellow flowers, setting them in the middle of the kitchen table.

Once outside in the back garden, Darrell followed the little winding path past the rabbit hutch and through the gate in the low back fence leading onto the narrow, shaley beach, which was covered in upturned dinghies. A wooden frame stood covered in nets that were drying and a gull sat atop the frame as if to guard it, knowing the nets to be the bringer of all kinds of good food scraps to this little beach. The wind was chilly, but the sky was filled with white clouds and the sizeable patches of pale blue between them, not like the leaden grey blanket that threatened rain or snow and had seemed to be their permanent shelter for the past two months.

Darrell walked across the stony sand, crunching cockle shells beneath his polished, black boots, towards Mr Symonds, who was kneeling on the ground with a paintbrush in his hand, adding another layer of sky-blue paint to a small, wooden dinghy.

‘Good morning, Mr Symonds, sir,’ Darrell called brightly. Peggy’s father looked up in surprise at being greeted so formally.

‘Darrell, boy! Nice to see you. Not seen you down the pub so much this week, have we? ’Spect you been busy up there in your beautiful machine,’ he said with a nod to the skies and just a hint of envy, or was it only admiration?

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