Page 32 of The Island Girls

‘Strangely, yes. Though I would like a lot more of that later.’ She giggled.

He served them salmon, cooked with spinach and potatoes, and set with a cream and egg sauce, topped with melted cheese, and then to follow he produced individual chocolate mousse bowls, unashamedly bought ready made from Marks and Spencer’s. They sat outside on the little alfresco setting for dinner, enjoying the warmth of the summer evening, and moved indoors to the settee that faced out to sea through the picture window for dessert, which he served with coffee. Rebekah rested against the arm of the sofa with her feet tucked beneath her and, after she’d finished her coffee, accepted his offer of another glass of wine.

‘So, you’ve heard every single detail of what I’ve done since you last saw me, Paul, and now you know everything I’ve been thinking about,’ she said with a teasing smile, alluding to the fact that she’d told him, without holding back, how much she’d been missing him. ‘But what have you been doing? When did you decide to come back?’ she quizzed him.

‘I decided to come back at approximately three minutes past eleven last Saturday night, as I was watching the ferry take you away and back to the island,’ he said.

‘But you didn’t watch me go; you walked off to your car,’ she said, bemused.

‘I did go back to my car, you’re right. But I moved it just a little way around the corner. I got out again and watched your ferry leave. And as you left, I knew I had to see you again. I drove back to the hotel and went up to my room, poured myself another drink and sat in that window looking out across the blackness of the harbour to the few twinkling lights on Brownsea Island. I waited until I saw a set of lights high on the hill go out, and I knew you’d gone to bed. I pictured you sleeping. I regretted the kiss goodnight I hadn’t given you, and I knew I had to come back. I even thought about not going home on Sunday morning, you know,’ he said.

‘Really? Would you have come back onto the island?’ she asked, setting down her wine and leaning towards him.

‘I might have done. I didn’t check out of the hotel until the last minute, and I drove down to the Haven and watched the island ferry come and go a few times. But the longer I watched, the more I doubted myself. I had no way of knowing if you wanted to see me again, and I was terrified that if I just turned up, you’d be embarrassed. It could have been really awkward.’

‘You would have made my day if you had come over, you know?’ she said.

‘Yes, I understand that now,’ he said, reaching out to stroke her ankle. She put her hand on his and squeezed it gently. ‘But last weekend, it was all so strange, so unexpected. I’ve never done anything like this before, Rebekah, not with anyone. So, I drove home, unpacked my bags, sorted out a few papers from the week’s work, and then went off to my rehearsal at four o’clock. And while we were practising, I was reliving our walk and the dinner and how I had told you all about the violin and my mum, and everything. And I just wanted to be with you again. And I carried on working, eating, sleeping, rehearsing on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.

‘This morning, I woke up thinking about the island, and the play this weekend, and about you. And something just clicked. I decided I was coming and made all the phone calls I needed to make, while I packed a bag, and closed off a few loose ends. I explained to my client that I needed to go back to Poole to see to a few more artefacts at the pottery – and I do, in fact – but the only thing I really wanted to do was to see you. To find out. To hear from you if I have any kind of a chance.’

Rebekah watched him as he fought to control emotions that were clearly bubbling just under the surface of his very calm and smooth veneer. She slid off the sofa and knelt on the floor in front of him, taking both his hands into hers. The light had grown dim inside the cottage, apart from the warm glow of the candles he’d lit and the twinkling reflection of the harbour lights that played on the whitewashed walls. She took a deep breath.

‘Paul, I should probably tell you that before I met you last Friday night, the last thing on my mind was ever getting into a place where I let a man in so close that I made myself vulnerable. I’ve been hurt very badly by a selfish bastard who thought he could control me. And I felt stupid for falling for it, even though I grew up watching my mum live alone after she’d been through the same thing. Both she and Aunty Peggy survived quite wellwithout a man in their lives, so I’ve been trying to work out what it is you’ve been doing to me. It’s strange, but I need you to know that I’ve been willing you to come and step back into my world, with almost every step I’ve taken since I saw you last Saturday night. I don’t understand this at all. I’m really not good at relationships, and thought I would never welcome one again, and yet I’ve never wanted anything more than this. I’m frightened, because I’m probably going to get this wrong, but I’m choosing to believe that this is a good thing. And I trust you. Do you understand what a big thing that is for me?’

Paul reached out and stroked her face, gentle as a feather, and seemed to be peering deep into her soul, as if his gaze might find her scars and heal them.

‘Rebekah, I promise that I will never do anything to hurt you. Thank you for trusting me. I won’t let you down.’

She responded by falling towards him and kissing him hungrily. ‘I don’t know what you’ve done to me.’ She laughed, and his smile broadened, deepening the crinkles around his eyes, which glistened now. ‘But whatever it is, I don’t want it to stop.’

He squeezed her hands tightly and bent down to kiss her again, until she pulled back and stood, still holding his hands.

‘It’s getting late,’ she said, looking at the clock on the wall. ‘I think we should be getting to bed.’

He gave her a confused look, as he too glanced at the clock. It was only half past nine, and whilst the mid-summer sun had just set, there was still plenty of light in the sky.

But in response, she simply smiled, and led him towards the soft and welcoming bed that was snuggled at the back of the cottage.

17

BROWNSEA ISLAND – JULY 1998

Rebekah tried hard to stay nestled in the delicious dream she’d been having. The details were already flying away like a will-o’-the-wisp, something she could sense and almost see but was unable to grasp fully. There was joy and comfort and a delicious sensation of coming home, and of rest and the feeling that all her happy nerve strings were being strummed and plucked by the skilful fingers of a harpist. She could smell coffee and hear the sounds of someone moving about and then the other nerves all electrified and jumped into action: she was not alone.

She opened her eyes wide and found herself staring unexpectedly at a blank wall she didn’t recognise. Spinning over in the bed, under the voluminously fluffy, duck-down quilt, she saw where she was, and her dreams and memories became one. She had not dreamt the wonderful night she’d just spent in this cottage, in this bed, with Paul. Her new lover. She chuckled and then gasped as Paul came around the corner from the kitchen, carrying two mugs of tea and wearing – nothing.

Last night, she’d barely taken the time to think about how he looked naked. The urgency with which she had decided she needed to take him to bed had shocked her almost as much as ithad him. And what had followed was a night of divine sex and whisperings in the dark.

She sat up and pulled the sheet up to cover her a little, feeling ever so slightly more self-conscious of her nakedness than Paul did, obviously.

‘Good morning, my lovely,’ he said as he put the tea mugs on the little bedside table and sat down beside her, reaching in for a kiss. He gently lifted his forefinger to her brow and brushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear, before stroking her cheek, her neck, her collarbone and then her breast. She shivered and sighed, closing her eyes and waiting for more, but he stopped and reached for her hand instead. When she opened her eyes, she gave him a look that she hoped encouraged him to keep going.

‘But I’ll make you late for work, Rebekah. I don’t want to get you into trouble,’ he whispered, kissing her neck, her ear, her cheek. She glanced at the clock. It was 8a.m. already. She groaned. The boat of other staff would be arriving at half past eight, and she really needed to be out of here and up in her own cottage by then if she wanted to avoid them knowing exactly what she’d been doing last night before she’d had chance to consider it fully herself.

‘You’re right. I really don’t want to be here when the others arrive. They could almost see me in bed through that front window if they were looking for me from the boat.’

Paul sat in the bed beside her, and as they drank their tea he held her hand tenderly and stroked her with his thumb.

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