‘Allow me,’ Edward said, walking a few steps ahead and gallantly reaching back with his arm outstretched. Flora took his hand, though there was really no need. Although the ground through this section sat at a sharp tilt, with a near-vertical scree escarpment immediately below, she knew every inch of the path and was far more sure-footed than him; but she was beginning to discern that gallantry – and, crucially, allowing it – was an intrinsic part of high society life. Just because she was perfectly capable didn’t mean she had to act it.
James, following several steps behind them, offered the same courtesy to Effie, but she pretended not even to see his hand as she swung her arms and marched like a toy soldier, ropes looped over her shoulder. To her, this was flat ground.
The picnic, Flora’s first one, had been a great success – at least until James Callaghan’s graceless arrival on the scene – and she had decided she liked them. Edward had told her about ‘great spots’ he knew along the river in Cambridge, of scenic viewpoints in Hyde Park and the Lake District, in the grouse moors of Yorkshire and rocky coves in Devon. Each place had sounded so different as he described them, a plethora of different landscapes for each season and every mood, and though there was something to be said for knowing her home like it was her own body – recognizing every crag and crevice, the temper of the wind and the pitch of the sun – life here was stifling in its smallness. What had always felt like a growing restlessness with her island home was beginning to feel suffocating.
‘Floss! Eff!’
The call made both girls look up. They knew the voice well and were already, instinctively, scanning the bay for the familiar toss of red hair. They found it not on the street, aflame against the grey stone cottages, but on the beach.
‘Hai!’ Flora smiled, waving back at Mhairi, who was sitting on the rocks with her arms huddled around her knees. The sea-moss path sat eighty feet above the beach here and they had to walk a while for it to drop down.
‘. . . Where were you? We’ve been looking for you,’ Mhairi asked as they approached.
‘We were having a picnic,’ Flora beamed. The picnic basket was now significantly lighter post-lunch and Flora felt an urge to offer her friend some of the remaining cake. She liked the idea of being able to be generous. ‘. . . Have you met Mr Rushton yet?’
She saw the surprise cross Mhairi’s face as Flora held Edward’s arm a little tighter, though she was a composed girl and knew not to say the first thing that came into her head. ‘Not yet,’ she smiled. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Rushton.’
‘This is my dear friend Mhairi MacKinnon.’
‘The pleasure is all mine, Miss MacKinnon,’ Edward said, bowing his head just as the others caught them up. ‘And may I also introduce my own dear friend, James Callaghan?’
‘Ah yes, Mr Callaghan, I was just hearing about you,’ Mhairi said brightly.
James looked surprised. ‘You were?’
‘Indeed. Miss Rushton was extolling your virtues. Apparently you are a . . .’ She hesitated as she reached for the correct terminology. ‘Keen shot and Cambridge Blue boxer.’
Flora knew that Mhairi had no more clue than she did as to what a Cambridge Blue was, but neither of them intended to highlight their ignorance.
‘Hm. It sounds to me like she wasn’t knitting hard enough,’ James demurred.
‘And did my dear sister have anything nice to say about me?’ Edward asked with a mock-peevish tone.
‘I believe we would have immediately moved on to that topic of conversation,’ Mhairi smiled, hearing the joke.
‘But . . .?’
‘But she felt a strong urge to swim.’
‘Ha! A likely story,’ Edward chuckled as everyone looked out to the water. The sea was far more protected here in the bay but nevertheless, the waves were breaking on the sand with something heavier than a slump now. ‘Where is she, then?’
‘She and Miss Martha are getting changed in the featherstore. It’s more private in there . . .’ Mhairi said, looking back along the beach. ‘Ah yes, look, here they come now.’
Everyone watched as two figures made their way carefully along the sand, trying to dodge sharp stones; Flora suspected their feet were as fragile as silk. They were wrapped in light modesty robes, limbs pale, sunlight bouncing off their hair, and there was something in their deportment – a delicacy – that marked them out as rarefied, china dolls, even from a distance.
Flora kept her eyes on Sophia as they drew nearer. Gone were the lilac coat and flash of chartreuse dress; now she was draped in sapphire-blue cotton printed with large red flowers, her light brown hair released from her hat so that it spread over her shoulders.
‘Ah, there you are!’ Sophia called in a buoyant tone. ‘We were wondering where you’d got to.’
‘How was your knitting class?’ Edward asked, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette.
‘Tremendously successful!’ she said confidently. ‘Miss Ferguson was a delight, teaching me how to purl. I always used to go the wrong way but she showed me a little trick she uses and do you know, I think I shall be able to knit my own socks in no time.’
A smile played on her brother’s lips. ‘Excellent. Magnificent skill to have in your back pocket, should Lloyds make a misstep.’
‘Well, are you boys coming in for a dip? The sun’s so beastly hot; there’s simply no respite, and not a tree anywhere. What’s one to do for shade here?’
‘Sit in the houses,’ Effie said with a stony look.
‘Of course,’ Sophia smiled smoothly. ‘But we can’t expect to impinge on your hospitality all day.’
‘Y’ could always sit in a cleit.’
Flora tried to suppress a laugh, drawing a look from Sophia. The cleits – distinctive stone beehive structures with turf roofs – were used to store the salted carcasses of the fulmars, puffins and guillemots; fulmar oil was kept in barrels there, peats and occasionally – if they had any – harvested crops were dried inside too. They were useful stores but often smelly and, depending on the weather, either damp or putrid; certainly not the places for young gentlewomen to seek shade.
‘Would any of you care to join us for a dip?’ Sophia asked.
‘No thank you,’ Flora said, as Effie and Mhairi also shook their heads quickly.
‘Oh yes – Miss Ferguson said none of you really swim.’ She looked back at the men. ‘Isn’t that extraordinary? They’re surrounded by sea but can’t swim.’
‘I’m not sure today’s the day for it for anyone,’ James said, looking out to the water again. ‘There’s quite a swell out there.’
‘Oh, it’s perfectly all right in the bay. Papa said we could.’
‘Where are they?’ Edward asked, casting around for a sighting of their parents.
‘Taking tea with the vicar.’ Sophia widened her eyes fractionally, just enough to signify a ripple of distaste.
‘I still say it’s too rough out there,’ James frowned.
‘Well now, you’re not in charge of me yet, are you, James Callaghan?’ she purred, letting the robe slip from her shoulders to reveal her slender frame.
Edward shot his friend a bemused look at the riposte as he took another drag of his cigarette, wholly unperturbed by his sister’s provocative display.
Flora felt herself taken aback. Sophia’s bathing costume was pale, almost the colour of her skin, and cut across the hips in a sharp line so that up close it looked like she was wearing a very tight, very short dress. From a distance, though, it must surely look like she was wearing nothing at all? Flora had never seen a bathing costume in real life before – only in the advertisements in some of the ladies’ magazines the fishermen would bring over for them – and it exposed so much more than she might have expected. Almost as one, the St Kildan girls looked towards the manse, where the reverend lived; should he be looking from the window, he would surely have a heart attack.
Martha, bored of waiting, tore off her green robe and, in her navy costume, began racing down to the water’s edge. ‘Last one in’s a sissy!’ she called behind her.
With a laugh, Sophia broke into a pretty canter too, her hair swinging, long legs scissoring across the sand. Flora glanced across at James; he was watching through squinted eyes, his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets and an inscrutable look on his face.
‘This is a terrible idea,’ he muttered dourly.
‘Don’t worry, I’m their lookout,’ Mhairi said to Edward. ‘Mr Rushton insisted.’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ Edward nodded. ‘Father’s very protective. I hope he’s paying you?’
‘Yes,’ Mhairi smiled.
‘Good; your time is precious,’ he said, taking a final drag of his cigarette before letting it drop to the ground and stubbing it out with his foot. It took him half a second to remember he wasn’t wearing shoes. ‘Agh!’ he yelled, hopping about in the grass and wincing with pain. ‘Blast to hell!’
James laughed, allowing the others to follow suit.
‘I need to go and stand in the shallows,’ Edward groaned, and they all watched as he began to hobble over the boulders that separated beach from grass.
‘Well, I’m going to head back home. I need to check on m’ father,’ Effie said, turning to James and pinning him with an expectant look.
‘Indeed. Thank you, Miss Gillies,’ he said, quickly understanding and reaching into his pocket, handing her a couple of shillings. It was far short of the pound he’d paid to her for doing much less, Flora noted. ‘That was a fine climbing lesson. I consider it a great privilege to have benefited from your experience.’
‘Any time, sir,’ Effie said carelessly, throwing Flora and Mhairi a wink as she turned to set off over the grassy allotments towards the street.
But Mhairi had her attention on the water, and she gasped suddenly. ‘Oh . . . Look out!’
Effie wheeled back round again.
‘What is it?’ Flora cried, turning to find Mhairi pointing towards the water. A set of larger waves – wake from a passing whaling ship, no doubt – was barrelling through the bay and about to hit the shore. Sophia was swimming towards it, but Martha had her back turned.
‘Matty! Watch out!’ James yelled, pointing behind her too. Sophia elegantly dived under the approaching wave but her little sister, unable to react in time, was wiped out by it.
‘Oh no!’ Mhairi cried, her hands over her mouth as the youngster’s skinny body was pitched forward, tumbling over and over in the surf and leaving her sprawling in the shallows. After a few seconds, coughing madly, she managed to get to her feet – just as the next wave hit and she was churned up in the mêlée once more.
James jumped down to the rocks but Edward, already on the sand, had a good head start and began sprinting towards her. ‘Matty, I’m coming!’ he called. Within seconds he was wading through the surf, fully-clothed, his injured foot forgotten.
James stood motionless on the rocks, his eyes fixed upon the girl being thrown about like a rag doll in the water, as if she might disappear from his sight at any moment. Flora watched, her hands pressed over her mouth, seeing how Edward grabbed his little sister’s arm – just as the next wave surged upon him too. He pulled her into him and quickly turned and braced, the wave breaking against his back, but the force threw him forwards too and they were both pitched into the surf. They disappeared under the surface for a few moments but soon burst up again, Edward holding his little sister aloft triumphantly as he began staggering back towards the shore.
‘Dear God,’ Flora murmured, watching as he moved them both out of harm’s way, both of them coughing and spluttering. She was shocked by just how quickly things had taken a turn for the worse like that – but also at how quickly they calmed again once the wake dispersed. The subsequent incoming waves were already significantly less powerful.
Sophia waved at them happily from her point further out beyond the break, where the water looked almost flat. She appeared oblivious to the drama that had occurred behind her as she swam under and away from the wake. ‘James! Come in too!’ she trilled, kicking onto her back and making splashes with her feet. ‘The water’s lovely!’
Flora frowned at her ignorance. Did she think her brother was swimming in his clothes for fun?
James, still standing on the rocks, waved his arm at her. ‘Sophia, come back in!’ he motioned.
‘Make me!’
Flora heard him groan as she watched the young woman flip again and begin to swim, her arms curving as she spliced the water with grace and precision. It was yet another difference between her world and theirs, another thing Sophia could do that Flora couldn’t. She didn’t need clothes to prove her privilege.
Flora watched as the young woman stopped, lifting both arms suddenly and diving down like the seals they had been watching earlier, slipping through the water with careless ease.
Edward and Martha had almost cleared the water now and they fell to their knees on the sand, the waves barely licking the soles of their feet as they both coughed. Martha especially had swallowed a lot of seawater and she kept retching, Edward patting her back, his own head hanging.
‘We should help them,’ Mhairi said, clambering off the rock.
‘I’ll go fetch Lorna to look them over,’ Effie said, sprinting in the opposite direction.
Flora made her way down to the sand, able to pick up now on Edward’s words above the waves.
‘—want them seeing and making a fuss. You know how they are . . . Try to stand . . . That’s a good girl.’
Martha got to her feet, her body looking limp and frail, hair hanging in whiplike strands. Mhairi rushed forwards with the rough towel they used for drying off after their evening baths. ‘Is she all right?’ she panted.
‘She’ll be fine,’ Edward nodded. ‘Just swallowed a bit of water.’
‘Here, let’s get you warm,’ Mhairi said, enveloping the girl and rubbing her lightly.
‘We should get you into your dry clothes. We’ve some bone broth on the pot back at ours,’ Flora said to Edward. ‘That’ll warm her through.’
‘Thank you,’ he nodded, running a hand back through his hair. ‘Sophia!’ he called, turning back to his other sister. ‘Come on, get out now! Fun’s over!’ He paused, a frown puckering his brow as he stared. He took a step back as he scanned the bay. ‘. . . Where is she?’
Flora looked out too in the general direction of where she had last seen Sophia as she dived down, but nothing broke the surface. No birds, no seals, no whales. No Sophia.
‘Sophia!’
Their voices rose above the surf, a tint of terror in the word like glancing sunlight as they scanned for sight of her. The waves rolled in endlessly.
Dear God, where was she? Suddenly the bay felt vast and fathomless.
‘There!’ Flora cried, catching sight of something. What was it?
‘What? Where?’ Edward demanded, panic curling in the words as he couldn’t see what she was showing him.
‘There! There!’ she cried as she began to race across the sand, her skirt hitched high to free her legs as she kept her gaze pinned to the slight discrepancy in the sea’s skin. It wasn’t a head she could see but . . . something was poking through the surface. Fingers? A hand? ‘Can you see it?’ She ran into the surf.
‘Flora, stop!’ she heard someone yell as she waded deep, up to her armpits, pointing desperately at the small dark discrepancy amid the blue. She didn’t dare move her eyes lest she should never find it again, or it should disappear beneath the waves. She went a little deeper – too deep – and a small wave lifted her off her feet for a moment. Suddenly she felt the might of the ocean. She cried out.
Her feet touched the sand again—
‘Get back!’ James’s voice was ragged with desperation as he sprinted up behind her. She could hear the thunder of water being displaced as he ran in in powerful strides.
‘Flora, get back!’ he shouted. ‘I can see her! Get back!’
She did as he demanded, taking two steps back while she could, before the next wave came. He was almost upon her now and she dared to glance over; James’s gaze was dead ahead as he blitzed past, arms pumping before he suddenly threw his arms forward and disappeared into the depths. Flora, standing on tiptoe and feeling the waves still trying to lift her off the sand, watched as he emerged again a few moments later in a streamlined fusion of opposite arm to leg. He swam with power and focus and she remembered how he had watched Sophia intently from the rocks, almost as if he had known further trouble was brewing.
‘Sophia?’ Edward cried, wading up to his knees as he ran like one of the dogs in the shallows, darting from side to side.
Flora staggered backwards as she struggled to remain upright against the waves which tried to uproot her with every pass. The water was perishing and as she moved back to hip-height depth, exposing her torso to the wind, she began to violently tremble. James himself was barely more than a dark speck now, the rhythmic splashes bringing attention to his location as he motored towards a spot only he had fixed in his mind. In the next moment, he was gone too. Under.
Flora felt an arrow of fear as he was swallowed up, all trace of him wiped away. She waited, breath held, fingers pressed to her lips as seconds ticked past. They felt like minutes.
Too long . . .
She whimpered as her panic grew. Where was he? Why wasn’t he surfacing?
Further along the beach she could hear Edward and Martha calling for Sophia and James now, but she dared not turn her head to look at them, nor to see if help was coming from the village. She couldn’t take her eye off the spot where she’d seen him go under.
‘There!’
Edward was pointing, wading out again, able to go further than her as he began to swim. She followed his direction of travel and caught sight of a dark shape heading for the shore – James, on his back, kicking furiously.
Relief broke through. It seemed an age before Edward met him and between the two of them they got to shallow waters where they could stand. With a shout of effort, James got Sophia off her back and the two men began to wade in, holding her under the arms.
Her head was lolling forwards and she looked lifeless. Drowned.
Flora felt her heart catch, cold fear beginning to course through her veins on this warm, sunny day. This couldn’t be happening, surely?
She ploughed across the water – somehow, she had drifted at a diagonal to the men – and began to run back towards the beach. Martha was crying now, Mhairi trying to comfort her as the two men staggered out of the surf, Sophia limp as she was dragged between them, a dead weight in their arms. Edward was coughing, still struggling to catch his breath from his own dunking. As they came into the shallows, James swept Sophia up into his arms and ran the rest of the way with her to the dry sand.
He set her down on the beach and slapped her cheeks lightly a few times. ‘Sophia! Sophia!’ he cried urgently. ‘Can you hear me? Wake up!’
The girl was pale and limp, her head lolling and her lips – to Flora’s horror – tinged blue. She watched as James put a hand under Sophia’s neck, angling her head back and pinching her nose with his right hand. Flora watched, dumbstruck, as he began breathing into her mouth several times, before interlacing his fingers and pressing down on her chest with his palms.
‘What’s he doing?’ Mhairi asked her, a quaver in her voice.
Flora couldn’t reply. She only knew that he knew exactly what he was doing. He moved with purpose and certainty, counting under his breath . . . Time seemed to drag, the wind growing cold.
Suddenly Sophia coughed, her body jerking into life and a trickle of water spilling from her mouth. Her eyelids fluttered once, twice, three times, her gaze fixing upon James hovering above her.
‘Sophia?’ he asked, his wet hair dripping onto her cheeks. He smoothed his hair back with a cupped hand, as if to save her from this too.
‘James?’ she whispered, blinking up at him, before noticing the other faces crowded around them and shrinking back. ‘. . . What happened?’
‘You got tangled up in the kelp.’
‘I . . . I did?’
‘It’s pretty thick out there,’ he nodded. ‘I had a devil of a time freeing your leg . . . You don’t remember?’
Still she blinked, taking in his words, trying to find memories to match. ‘So you saved me?’
‘Well, I just happened to get to you first.’
‘So you were watching out for me?’
‘Well, I was just keeping an eye after the drama with Martha.’
Flora’s eyes swivelled between them as she watched the interaction.
‘Oh, James,’ Sophia gasped, reaching for him suddenly and throwing her arms around his neck. ‘You saved me!’
‘Anyone would have done the same,’ he said modestly, his voice somewhat strangled as she clutched herself tightly to him.
‘But it wasn’t anyone – it was you. You were the one looking out for me. You’re my protector,’ she said, before pressing her lips to his in a passionate kiss.
‘Hey!’ Edward said quickly, breaking them up almost immediately. ‘Keep your breath for breathing, yes?’ he said to her sternly. ‘What would Papa say to this spectacle on the beach, in front of the entire island?’ He looked around them at the gathering crowd as word spread throughout the village. ‘We’ll put it down to the ecstasies of being alive, shall we?’
‘Indeed,’ James said, pulling back and away. Recovering himself.
‘Coming through!’ a female voice said, and Flora looked up to see Lorna running on the sand, followed by some of the villagers. One of them was her elder brother David.
‘Flora?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said quickly as he came over and checked her himself. In the corner of her eye, both Edward and James stared.
‘What’s happened?’ Lorna demanded as she took in the sight of their five wet bodies, one laid out on the sand.
‘Lorna’s a nurse,’ Mhairi explained quickly to Edward.
‘She got caught in the kelp and was held under,’ James said as Lorna crouched down beside the patient.
‘For how long?’ she frowned, looking instantly concerned.
‘Two minutes, just over?’
Lorna did a visual assessment, before checking her vitals. ‘Was she unconscious when you found her?’
‘Yes, but I gave her the kiss of life and she revived very quickly.’
‘Is she coherent?’
‘Yes. Though she appears to have no memory of being underwater.’
‘That’s fairly common immediately after a trauma,’ Lorna murmured, pressing two fingers on Sophia’s wrist to take her pulse. ‘What is your name, miss?’ she asked the patient.
‘Miss Sophia Cicely Frances Emmeline Rushton,’ the patient replied in a breathy voice.
‘Do you know where you are, Sophia?’
‘On a rock in the middle of the North Atlantic . . .’ She smiled. ‘Also known, I believe, as St Kilda.’
‘Indeed.’ Lorna sat back, seeming satisfied with her condition and regarding her closely for a few moments, her gaze tracking between Sophia’s left and right eyes. ‘Well, it looks as if you’ve been lucky this time. Which one of you fished her out?’ she asked, glancing between James and Edward, both sopping wet and shivering without even realizing it.
‘I did,’ James said quietly.
‘You’re the hero of the hour – you saved her in the nick of time.’
‘It was pure luck, I assure you. It was Miss MacQueen who caught sight of her fingers breaking through the water.’ His eyes met Flora’s in acknowledgement and she realized he had gone back to formality again: she had been ‘Flora’ in the crisis, ‘Miss MacQueen’ now. But there had been something in the way he’d called her name, she thought, something in the way he stared—
Lorna got to her feet and brushed the sand off her knees. She looked back at Sophia. ‘You’ll need to come with me for a more thorough assessment in my surgery.’
‘You have a surgery? Here?’ Sophia asked, sounding impressed. Flora and Mhairi shared a look. It was actually the old blackhouse that sat next door to Lorna’s cottage at the end of the street, just before the burn; but it was in better condition than most of the abandoned old properties and served as a useful space for wound dressings and the like.
‘. . . After a fashion,’ Lorna admitted. ‘We’ll need to get you into some dry clothes too.’
‘They’re in the featherstore,’ Mhairi said, thumbing in that direction and looking ready to sprint. ‘I can go get them?’
‘Are they the clothes I saw you wearing earlier?’ Lorna asked her patient.
Sophia nodded.
‘Then they won’t do; they’re far too thin. Your body’s had a severe shock and hypothermia’s a risk. You’ll need to keep your core temperature up. You’ll need woollens.’
‘But it’s the middle of August.’
‘And you nearly died, Miss Rushton. Your body doesn’t care what the calendar says.’ Lorna looked at Flora. ‘Flora, you’re about the same size and you need to change anyway. Once you’re dry again, bring your Sunday best over to me.’
‘But . . .’ Sophia’s expression was horrified as she looked between Lorna and Flora.
Flora caught her scorn and looked away. Yet again, without words, she was being told she wasn’t good enough. She was lacking. ‘Aye,’ she nodded.
‘Same goes for you two gentlemen – and her,’ Lorna said, eyeing up Edward and James and Martha too; her frown deepened. ‘Did she go in as well? Did she get caught under?’
‘No. It’s a long story,’ Edward said quickly. ‘But no – she’s fine. We’re all fine, just wet.’
‘Hm, well, you’ll need changing quickly. Every moment matters. Ask for Norman Ferguson and Donald McKinnon – they’ll be able to help y’ out with a spare change of clothes.’
‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary,’ Edward said quickly. ‘We can make our way back to the boat. We’ve plenty of things with us.’
‘That may be, but you’re not spending another twenty minutes on a sea crossing, in the smack, in freezing wet clothes. You can change first and then get back to the boat if that’s what you want, but you’re already shivering and the last thing I need is you all succumbing to secondary hypothermia – or worse. There’s four of you and only one of me.’
‘But—’
James put a hand on Edward’s arm, stopping him from protesting any further. ‘Thank you. We’ll follow your instructions to the letter. The focus must be on making sure Miss Rushton is fully fit and well.’
Sophia smiled at his words, some colour returning to her cheeks.
‘Come along then, Miss Rushton. Are you able to stand?’
‘I . . . I’m not sure,’ Sophia faltered, glancing at James again, and Flora guessed she wanted him to carry her all the way up to Lorna’s cottage. Did she have any recollection of how heroically he had carried her from the sea? ‘I do feel weak.’
James duly went to step forward but Lorna held up a hand, stopping him. ‘Uh-uh, not you. Go find Norman Ferguson and change your clothes – he’s your size,’ she said warningly. ‘David, Angus, you can help me transport Miss Rushton.’
Flora watched as her own brother and Mhairi’s took Sophia by the shoulders and ankles and began carrying her over the beach like a sack of potatoes.
‘Possibly I can walk . . .’ Sophia said, her voice trailing off into the distance.
‘I’ll go to the manse and let the rev know what’s happening,’ Big Mary said, wringing her hands. ‘Her parents were lunching there, I believe?’
Mhairi, still clutching the towel around Martha, began to herd her off too, towards the featherstore. ‘Let’s collect your clothes, then you can come to my house and see what we’ve got that’s warm enough for you to put on. You know you’re about the same age as my wee sister Christina. How old are you, pet?’
Flora hugged her arms around her body as she watched them go, scarcely able to believe how much had happened in a matter of minutes. She glanced across at Edward and James, both of them standing in sodden clothes, both shivering too and neither one of them aware of it.
‘Jimmocks, Callie,’ Edward said under his breath, watching as his sister was carried away. ‘If you hadn’t kept tabs on her like that . . .’
‘It was Flora who saw her,’ James said, looking over at her with an earnestness that suggested he would take no credit for the rescue. ‘How are you, Miss MacQueen? Are you quite sure you didn’t swallow any water?’
‘I didn’t,’ she said.
‘But you were out very deep – and you can’t swim.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You’re frozen. You should change before you catch your death in this wind.’ He looked at her with concern and she saw his hand shift a little in her direction, as if he was going to reach out to her.
‘Catching death,’ Edward echoed thoughtfully, a distant look on his face. ‘It really is like that, isn’t it? A ball that suddenly bounces at your feet. As if to say, “Your turn!”’ He fell quiet again as the possibilities of what might have been impressed themselves on his imagination. ‘It makes you realize how fragile life is,’ he murmured. ‘How fleeting . . . Life really can change in an instant.’
Flora heard the shift in tone and saw that Edward’s eyes were upon her too now, burning with the ardour he had been trying to contain all day.
‘We shouldn’t allow ourselves to be distracted by things that really don’t matter when in the end, all life really boils down to is being able to love and be loved in return.’
‘Are you sure you didn’t take a knock to the head too?’ James asked with a scowl. His hand was back in his pocket now.
Edward laughed, his eyes still upon Flora. ‘Quite possibly, but it might actually have knocked some sense into me!’ He reached over and slapped James several times on the shoulder. ‘And I don’t care a fig for your modesty – you saved my sister’s life, old boy!’
‘Anyone would have done the same,’ James demurred.
‘No – you risked your life out there. The way you ran into the waves like that! You didn’t give a thought to your own safety.’
James inhaled stiffly, his eyes flickering in her direction as if embarrassed that she was overhearing this exchange.
Edward arched an eyebrow. ‘You know, my family will be forever in your debt now, Callie. Father will be at pains to thank you. I can say with some confidence that whatever you want will be yours for the asking. Anything at all.’ He squeezed James’s shoulder so hard that James looked across at him, and a silent message was communicated between them. ‘So just ask.’
Flora watched as James looked back towards where Sophia was being carried away. All he had to do was ask.