1952: Saint-Malo, France
The sky was awash with pinprick stars. The boat’s motion made them dip and sway in an erratic waltz. Evie wrapped her arm tighter around the mast. Her elevated position meant she felt every exaggerated pull of the current downward, every rising wave tipping them first to starboard, then port side. She gave a silent thank you her days of seasickness were behind her.
A breeze caressed the nape of her neck, ran across her face and waved the ends of the scarf tied around her curled hair. She hoped they would start soon. The stronger the wind got, the more difficult the job became for the performers. Not to mention the audience, currently silent in anticipation in their own boats, who might turn tail and head for shore and the multitude of sheltered enjoyments to be found there.
The gentle shush shush of the waves was the only sound that reached Evie’s ears; then came the single note of a clarinet. The boat burst into life, a hurry of light, sound and movement. Evie directed the baby mirror spotlight, her eyes running up and down the boat to take stock of the cast and crew in their positions, waiting for their cues. Everything seemed as always. Yet there was something … a shift in the air perhaps, or a change in her senses.
A crease formed between Evie’s brows. Shifting her position on the riveted bar that served as a perch, she craned her neck to see past the mast. There it was again. A faint impression, a hint of a familiar smell that caused the slightest ripple of fear to curl through her chest.
She told herself it was nothing, she was imagining things. But her eyes were drawn to the edge of the boat, where the railing met the deck, and suddenly she understood.
A sharp hiss of air through her teeth, a brief shout that no one heard, then she was moving. Mast abandoned, feet in the rope webbing, hands moving so fast they barely had time to grip as she scaled down towards the deck. One or two people turned to look at her, but the wind picked up her words and flung them into the sea. She willed her limbs to move faster. Below, someone finally caught her shouts; there was a scramble of motion and noise. Evie was a full body length above the deck still, but pushed outward, releasing her feet. Her toes, knees and palms hit the wooden planks all at once. The impact caused her to catch her breath for a second; then she released it with a single word.
‘Lucy.’
Pushing herself up, she ran for the stairs that led below deck.