Page 14 of The Island Girls

‘Oh, right. White and no sugar, thanks. This is so good of you. I’m Paul, by the way.’

‘Paul.’ She nodded. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Rebekah Martin – the ranger in residence – but I imagine you knew that?’ she said as she filled the kettle and set teabags into two matching mugs. She turned and leant against the kitchen sink, waiting for the kettle to boil, and watched him as he seemed to notice for the first time that she was wearing a light silk robe with barely anything underneath it. Colour blushed his already tanned face and she felt his anguish and so, as he was about to open his mouth to apologise again, she stopped him.

‘Take a seat, Paul. Would you be more comfortable here at the table or on the settee?’

‘Here’s fine, thanks,’ he said, pulling the heavy wooden chair back and scraping it on the slate tile floor. The kettle boiled and Rebekah poured the water over the teabags, gave them a squish with a spoon after letting them steep, and fetched the milk from the fridge. She carried the two mugs over to the table, sat down opposite Paul and watched him cup his hands around the mug. He’d been wearing just a T-shirt and shorts underneath the raincoat and now she saw why he’d put it on. He had the tell-tale red marks of many mosquito bites on his arms and legs.

‘So, what’s up then, Paul? How come you’re wandering about the island at this time of the night, getting eaten alive by our vicious wildlife?’ she said with a cheeky smile and a nod to the bites.

He snorted in response, nearly choking on his tea.

‘It’s a short and incredibly stupid story, I’m afraid. I’m embarrassed to tell you, really, and feel so awful for waking you now – but once the mozzies started having a real go at me, I didn’t think I could cope with another six hours of this torture.’

‘So, where are you supposed to be right now? At the castle?’ asked Rebekah, blowing on her tea and taking a delicious sip of her favourite drink of all.

‘No, I’m supposed to be in a comfortable king-sized bed at the Harbour Heights Hotel.’

‘And yet, you chose to walk around Brownsea Island at midnight and become mozzie fodder?’ she asked with one eyebrow cocked higher than the other.

And then he laughed. Perhaps it was the tea warming him, or maybe he was just relieved to be indoors, or possibly her dry sense of humour really tickled him, but his laugh was a deep chuckle that shook his broad shoulders and lit up his eyes.

‘Naturally, yes,’ he said, flashing a wide smile. ‘Why sleep in a bed when there’s heather to lie on? I blame it all on Enid Blyton, myself,’ he added. ‘No, that’s not fair. It’s not her fault at all. She only tempted me here. I was the fool who succumbed to the heather.’

‘So, you have actually lain down on a bed of heather tonight then?’ asked Rebekah.

‘Not tonight, as such, no. That happened around five o’clock. I came over on the ferry this morning, and I had a wonderful time looking all over the island. I spent quite a while at the lagoon, trying out all the hides. I’m not much of a bird spotter usually, but it was addictive once I learnt to sit there in silence and just watch – like viewing a nature documentary. I could almost hear David Attenborough’s voice telling me all the bird names and describing what they were up to. Then I went up to the daffodil fields to eat my lunch and watch the peacocks and went on down to the ruins of the village at Maryland and Pottery Pier – fascinating, isn’t it?’

Rebekah nodded enthusiastically and went to get out a few biscuits and boil the kettle again for another cup, as Paul carried on.

‘Then I did a tour of the other side of the island, the scout camp site, and all the views of the Purbeck hills from up there. I just wandered until I found some heather and the kid in mewondered if all theFamous Fivestories could really be believed. Was the heather such a wonderfully soft bed to sleep on? Turns out, when the prickles are kept off your skin by a good, strong, wax jacket with a padded lining, it’s a perfect mattress. So perfect, in fact, that I didn’t wake up until hours later when the sun was beginning to set and the mozzies came out. I raced down to the jetty but I knew I’d missed the last ferry. I did think about going to the castle but the signs were pretty clear about it being private property, and entry being only for staff and their pre-booked guests. So, I realised I was a bit stuck.’

‘I’m sure if you’d gone to the kitchen door at the castle and explained your situation, they’d never have turned you away, but you’re right. They are pretty fierce about their private castle,’ groaned Rebekah. ‘Still, I mustn’t grumble. The private lease of the castle is a huge bonus to the National Trust work here, as they pay so much for the privilege. So how did you end up here at Rose Cottage?’

‘My next thought was to head to the campsite to see if some kind campers might have a spot in a tent for me. But when I drew near, it was all in silence and total darkness by then – being nearly midnight by this time – and I realised I’d be a terrifying prospect to them all, if I woke them from their sleeping bags. And then I remembered seeing this cottage and wondered if it might be empty, and unlocked even. I saw the curtains in the window, and wellington boots outside the front door and realised my mistake. But by then I was worried about being caught trespassing and thought it best to just come right up and knock. And wake you up. I’m so sorry for that, Rebekah,’ he said as he sighed and reached a hand across the table as a gesture of repentance.

She studied his face again and saw the warmth and honesty in his eyes. Rebekah had read of enough Troys, d’Urbervilles, Willoughbys and Wickhams to be sure of her own judgement.This one was a Jude, a Gabriel Oak, a Colonel Brandon – it wasn’t his fault that everything had been against him, and she knew he would never harm her.

‘Are you hungry, Paul? It sounds as though you didn’t get any dinner?’ she asked.

‘I’ve been trying not to think about it, but yes, I’m famished.’ He laughed again.

‘Do you like seafood? Mussels? I’ve some tasty leftovers in the fridge if you’d like some.’

He groaned with delightful expectation. ‘That sounds amazing, if you’re sure I’m not too much of a bother? I feel so bad…’

She shushed him and went to warm the pasta bowl in the microwave, momentarily sparing a thought for poor Ben who had meant the mussels as a gift entirely for her pleasure. Then she fetched a spare blanket and pillow from the cupboard under the stairs.

‘I’m sorry, there’s no spare bed here – only mine – but you’re welcome to kip on the settee for the rest of the night. I’ll even give you breakfast if you make me a cup of tea in the morning,’ she joked.

‘You’re an angel, Rebekah. An absolute angel, and this,’ he said with a mouthful of mussel and tomato pasta, ‘is the food of the gods. Did you cook this?’

‘I did. The mussels were brought over from Poole this morning. Good, isn’t it?’

‘Good? It’s heavenly. Oh, sorry, I’m being so selfish – here, share it with me,’ he said, pushing the bowl into the middle of the table and handing her the unused spoon, while he held the fork. She paused for a moment before realising that sharing a bowl of pasta with Paul, this man she’d never known before she’d gone to sleep just a few hours ago, seemed the most natural thing in the world.

9

POOLE – FEBRUARY 1941

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