Oil lanterns flickered on the deck as everyone took their seats around a table set with cut glass, polished cutlery and white linen. It wasn’t a wholly unfamiliar scene to Flora; she had seen the reverend’s table set up in a similar fashion once, when she had gone to collect a Bible one evening. The only difference was, this table bobbed and had a view out to sea.
Edward pulled out her chair for her before seating himself, James moving slowly around everyone and pouring drinks. He was being careful – the wind appeared to have got up while they were drinking their cocktails, and the yacht was rocking a little more than was fully comfortable. Spillage seemed more likely than not, but his hand remained steady.
Of course it did. She watched him, sensing that he never faltered, never fell. He was a man forever upright and composed. A man who always did the Right Thing.
‘Some wine, Miss MacQueen?’ he asked, coming to stand beside her, holding the bottle in a strange manner by its base. ‘Or perhaps you’d prefer some water? That White Lady was rather strong.’
She bristled at the inference that she was losing her head. ‘Some wine would be lovely, thank you.’
The hesitation before he poured registered his disapproval, as ever without words.
‘What are we dining on tonight, Mama?’ Sophia asked, draping the little cloth over her lap so that her dress was protected. Flora followed suit, also seeing how Sophia reached for the glass with her right hand and not the left. She was determined to follow every cue, to watch and learn, her instruction already begun . . .
She caught sight of the cutlery before her and frowned. What was this? She was used to knives and forks and spoons, but this equipment – it had teeth . . . and jaws . . . Not dissimilar to some of Lorna’s medical equipment. She looked around the table in dismay; everyone’s settings were identical.
‘Lobster, dear. Mellowes said he took a chance and threw down some pots earlier. More luck than judgement, apparently.’
‘I doubt that. I’d trust his judgement over anyone’s when it comes to all things nautical,’ Mr Rushton said. ‘He’s a first-rate skipper.’
James returned the wine bottle to a side cabinet fitted with two deep, round depressions. The bottle fitted perfectly, sinking in almost up to its neck, and Flora realized it had been built purely to house the wine. The boat had actually been built with wine-drinking in mind?
James came to sit in the empty chair beside Sophia, diametrically opposite Flora sitting beside Edward; Mr and Mrs Rushton occupying the heads of the table. A girl, roughly her age, appeared from the cabin, carrying a large tray loaded with plates. The deck tipped left and right as she walked and she was forced to counter-balance her arms to her legs. Flora watched, feeling nervous on her behalf, but she capably set the tray down on a collapsible frame that had been set up just behind Mr Rushton and began serving out. Her movements were timid and quick, her eyeline never rising above the tablecloth.
‘Thank you, Tilly. This looks delicious,’ Edward said, smiling brightly at her as she placed his plate before him. The girl gave a shy nod, scarcely making eye contact, but Flora noticed that no one else deigned to speak to her as she moved around them like a benevolent ghost.
She disappeared back inside and Flora looked down at her plate with dismay: but for the potatoes, it was filled with vegetables she couldn’t name and something hard-shelled. A crab, but not. How were they supposed to get in?
Mr Rushton cleared his throat and held up his glass in a strange, frozen manner so that everyone fell silent, all eyes upon him. ‘Before we eat, I should like to raise a toast. To chance meetings’ – he nodded his head towards Flora before looking back at his daughter, his smile growing – ‘and good fortune. May we always be so blessed.’
‘Chance meetings and good fortune,’ the others resounded, holding up their glasses too for a couple of beats before taking a sip.
A toast, Flora repeated in her head, copying every move they made, half a beat behind.
She felt eyes upon her and found Edward watching, as if seeing her calculations for getting through this. He winked at her and she smiled, grateful he at least was making this as easy for her as he could. Their understanding on the beach earlier hadn’t been forgotten, and he didn’t look like a man ready to give up. Not yet.
Glasses were returned to the table and everyone picked up their cutlery, preparing to eat. They were covered by the overhead awning but the lively breeze still danced around them, invisible but bossy and rumpling Sophia’s soft-set waves. Flora’s heavy St Kildan braid, by contrast, didn’t stir.
‘Mm, I love asparagus and tomatoes,’ Edward said appreciatively, his fork hovering momentarily over each vegetable and she realized he was naming them for her. ‘And lobster is my absolute favourite.’
He picked up one of the implements – the one with the jaws – flexing it a few times in his hand before cracking one of the claws with it, then pulling out the soft flesh inside with a hook. Flora watched closely, her keen eyes missing nothing, before she repeated his action herself. Cracking the shell was no trouble for her – the St Kildans had strong hands as well as feet – and when she succeeded in not disgracing herself, she glanced over with silent delight. Edward winked once more, looking openly adoring, and she felt a wave of power that she could do this. Eyes were upon them, but she didn’t need to look up to guess whose.
‘What a pity this is our last night before heading back,’ Sophia said, daintily cutting an asparagus stem. ‘It’s been such fun. I’m not ready to go back yet.’
‘I’d be more than happy to stay for the week!’ Edward said eagerly.
‘James needs to prepare for his expedition, you know that,’ Sophia said, glancing nervously in Flora’s direction.
‘I’m glad you’ve enjoyed the trip, Sophia darling,’ her father said. ‘And to think you said you had no sea legs,’ he added, patting her hand warmly.
‘Well, it’s all turned out to be considerably more diverting than I expected,’ Sophia replied, her body angling ever so slightly so that James’s fork paused in mid-air before he bit into his lobster.
‘. . . Where have you visited?’ Flora asked cautiously, uncertain whether she was expected to contribute to the conversation or sit in silence. Their welcome couldn’t exactly have been called warm and unreserved.
Sophia’s eyes flitted towards her with a flick of irritation. ‘Skye. Benbecula. Uist. Harris . . . We hadn’t really intended going past the Minch, but James persuaded us to venture into open water and try here for a couple of days.’
‘Well, it made sense to have a go, seeing as the wind was blowing in the right direction and conditions were fortuitous,’ James shrugged.
‘Not that fortuitous, my stomach recalls,’ Mrs Rushton said lightly, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
‘Indeed,’ he agreed quickly, smiling back.
Flora watched him, the agreeable son-in-law ingratiating himself and proving himself as right for them as she was wrong. He was already part of the family. And yet . . . She watched him attack his meal. On the surface of things, he talked politely and pleasantly, carrying the conversation during any lulls and making light-hearted comments that drew smiles and groans as required. But watching him from the corner of her eye, she could see that he was drinking more than eating – and taking great pains to ensure everyone’s glasses were always topped up.
Her gaze drifted across to Sophia beside him, winsome and radiant in her yellow chiffon gown, the sleeves fluttering in the wind. Sophia looked over at him every twenty seconds or so, permanently checking in on him, as if making sure he was still there. And the more she looked, the more James avoided her gaze.
He was nervous, Flora realized. And she could guess why. Everyone was expecting the proposal, but had Edward hijacked it earlier with his own attempted declaration to her? Had James missed his chance? The conversation had moved on since then to distinctly less sentimental topics, and Rushton senior was now holding forth on the Stock Exchange and somebody called Lloyd.
‘You heard about Hatry’s latest plan?’ he asked the two younger men, chewing on asparagus. ‘He wants to merge all the big steel and iron names into a consolidated concern. United Steel Companies, he’s calling it.’
‘Well then, that sounds like a pie we want a piece of,’ Edward murmured, one arm laid out on the table, his fingers stroking the base of the wine glass. He glanced at her again, winking once more and making no secret of it. In the space of a half hour, it had apparently become standard communication between them. ‘Don’t you agree, Callie?’
‘Actually I’m not so sure, no,’ James demurred.
‘Oh?’ Rushton senior asked.
‘There’s a rumour going round that his so-called empire is just a house of cards.’
‘Rumour?’ Edward queried, faint mockery in his tone. Flora sensed a residual tension between the two men, their earlier discord not quite laid to rest. ‘Since when did we pay attention to those?’
‘I’ve some contacts in the Glasgow steelworks who are minded to think he’s over-reached this time.’
Edward tutted. ‘Never underestimate Cecil Hatry, I say. He’s come back from failure and ruin more than once. The man’s got vision and this is his most ambitious project yet.’
‘I don’t doubt it. But he needs the funds to finance something of that scale, and there are those who think his true wealth is inflated. Smoke and mirrors, if you will.’
‘You really should stop being so timid, Callie,’ Edward said breezily, reaching for his glass. Flora saw how James’s jaw clenched on the insult. No man wanted to be called timid, especially in front of the woman he loved. ‘Why should you put rumour ahead of solid business expertise and reputation? Papa’s known old Hatry for years.’
‘Well, socially at least, my boy,’ Rushton senior murmured repressively. ‘But you never really know a man until you do business with him.’
It was a subtle set-down of his son, and the men fell quiet.
‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being cautious,’ Sophia said primly. ‘I’d far rather know we were comfortable and secure than live in terror thinking we might lose it all from one day to the next. James has exactly the right attitude, if you ask me.’
We.
Her meaning was perfectly clear as she looked upon him with adoring eyes, and Flora watched the opportunity open up for James’s question again.
She waited – they all did – feeling the tension rise. Flora knew this was it, and even Mrs Rushton reached for her husband’s hand. It was the last night of their trip. Surely it was now or never, regardless of whether Flora was intruding. It wasn’t as if Sophia’s answer was in doubt.
Just ask.
James lifted his glass to take another sip but found it was empty. He stared into the bottom for a moment before looking back up and finding all eyes upon him. His cheeks pinked and he glowered across at Flora, as if all this were her fault.
‘My glass is empty,’ he muttered, pushing his chair back so that it scraped on the deck. He retrieved the wine bottle from its custom-built spot and slowly went around the table refilling drinks, but his nervous agitation, hidden so well earlier, had broken cover.
Looks were shared as Sophia stared down at her fingers interlaced in her lap, and the moment – another one – began to slide away. Flora felt a pang of pity for her. The two women could hardly claim to be friends, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t sympathize with Sophia’s predicament. In a funny sort of way, they both wanted the same thing: to marry into new lives.
Flora looked straight ahead as James came and stood beside her to refill her glass. The boat had drifted around its anchor chain and was now positioned to afford a clear view straight back to shore. She saw her home in a new way: humble, lonely, stoic. Her forebears had occupied this rock for over two thousand years and it provided shelter, community, love and warmth – but none of those things were exclusive to here, and they could be had in almost any other place with less suffering and a lot more ease. Sitting here now, sipping wine aboard a yacht, she felt sure that a life with the Rushtons – with Edward – would not be a misstep; that somehow, she belonged right here and not over there.
And yet it would always be home. There was comfort in the sight of the lights winking from the cottages, the curve of the street as it hugged the foot of the slopes of Oiseval, Connachair and –
She gasped, sitting back in her chair as she saw the moon shining fully upon the upper slopes of Mullach Bi; James jolted his arm away in reply, an arc of wine spilling from the bottle and spattering heavily across her clothes. She looked down at her blouse – ivory cotton trimmed with a red thread – now ruined with what looked like bloodstains.
‘Oh!’ she cried, jumping up. She had only three blouses and now one was ruined?
‘You shocked me, startling like that,’ he said quickly, blaming her. ‘Here, wash it out before it dries—’ And he reached over, grabbing a napkin, stuffing it in the water jug and beginning to blot her blouse.
Flora recoiled as the cold water seeped straight through onto her skin, his one hand on her back to hold her still and the other pressing against her chest as he soaked and dabbed the stains. He was stepping almost on her feet, he was so close. It took several moments of her standing there, frozen, before his fluster passed and he seemed to catch himself.
He looked down at her, flummoxed by the sudden predicament, before he instantly stepped away. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he muttered. ‘I was trying to help.’
Flora, seeing that the blouse had been soaked through, pulled it quickly away from her body just as the maid came out.
‘Tilly,’ Mrs Rushton said with authority, less concerned about the state of the table than Flora’s modesty. ‘Can you please find a change of blouse for Miss MacQueen? Quick-quick, please.’
‘Oh, I can just wear the one I loaned to Miss Rushton,’ Flora said. ‘I needed to bring it back with me anyway, and my father will already be on his way over to collect me. He said to be ready when the moon hit Mullach Bi.’ She pointed towards the mountain. ‘That was what surprised me, you see,’ she said, glancing at James by way of explanation.
‘Actually, Captain Mellowes just sent me through, Mrs Rushton,’ Tilly said in a small voice. ‘He’s had to message the men ashore telling them not to make the crossing.’
‘What?’
‘The swell’s too high, he says.’
‘. . . He sent a message? But how? By carrier pigeon?’ Mrs Rushton asked crossly.
‘Morse, mother,’ Edward said, pushing his chair back too and walking over to the railings as well. Unhooking a lantern, he looked down into the darkness.
‘But . . . I have to get back,’ Flora said with alarm, looking around the gathered company.
‘No, not tonight, I’m afraid,’ Edward said with a shake of his head, angling the lantern to catch the light best on the water. ‘The skipper’s right; it’s got way up.’
‘No, it’ll be fine,’ Flora protested.
‘It’s fine on here,’ Edward said, replacing the lantern and coming back to the table. ‘Because our long beam flattens out the worst of it – but your tiny rowing boat? It would be coming over the sides with every stroke. They’d be sunk before they were halfway here.’
Flora was appalled at the thought. ‘But . . .’ she faltered. What was she supposed to do?
‘We won’t steal you away in the night, if that’s what you’re thinking – although God knows I’m tempted to sneak the skipper some cash to try,’ Edward said with a wolfish smile and that intimate wink again as he reached for his newly refilled drink. ‘Don’t worry. If it’s too rough in the bay, it’s most certainly too rough in open water. If you can’t leave, neither can we.’
It was a slightly more reassuring thought. She looked back at the cabin. But where would she sleep? Out here?
‘And Mellowes is certain of that, is he?’ Mrs Rushton persisted, a look of slight panic on her face.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Tilly replied.
Mrs Rushton inhaled deeply from her position at the table, looking pressed. It was several moments before she spoke. ‘. . . In which case, please make sure one of the berths is ready for Miss MacQueen. And avail her of some nightclothes and soap.’
‘Very good, Mrs Rushton. Will you be wanting dessert?’
Mrs Rushton hesitated as she looked around at their fractured party: Flora’s arms crossed over her chest as she shivered in the night wind, Sophia’s chin tipped down as she tried not to cry. ‘No – I think, on reflection, we’re all feeling a little fragile after today. Under the circumstances, it’s probably best that we retire early. Especially with a day of travel ahead of us tomorrow.’
‘Very good, Mrs Rushton,’ the maid said again, scurrying off.
‘Well,’ Sophia said, into the silence that opened up. ‘Today is just full of surprises, isn’t it?’ Her tone was light, but there was a slightly feral look in her eyes, her hands tightly clasped together. ‘Wherever will it end, I wonder?’
‘The weather can often cause problems here,’ Flora murmured, feeling that this was all somehow her fault.
‘Oh?’ Mrs Rushton asked coolly.
‘Aye. In the winter, the wind can be so ferocious, it can tear the roofs off. We have to have them strapped down – I don’t know if you noticed?’
‘No, no. I can’t say that I did.’ Mrs Rushton looked back towards the shore, a frown settling on her brow. ‘You really do have a wild time of it here, don’t you?’
Her disdain was clear and this time Flora didn’t bother to reply. There was little point in defending her home when Mrs Rushton’s low opinion was already fully formed.
She glanced over at James, still standing in the shadows and looking up at the stars. His fingers were tapping on the rails, his chest rising and falling so rapidly that he looked as if he was building up to something. Diving off the edge, perhaps? Or popping the question?
‘We’ve a galley bunk where you can sleep tonight, Miss MacQueen,’ Mrs Rushton said in a tight voice. ‘I’m afraid it’s not one of the staterooms. We’re not quite fitted for larger numbers, but I don’t expect it’ll make much difference to you either way.’
James’s head spun round at the comment; Edward’s too, but the older couple were already pushing back from the table.
‘Well, goodnight all,’ Mr Rushton said, bringing his gaze over to Flora. ‘I expect Mellowes will have you rescued and repatriated at first light, Miss MacQueen, so we shan’t see you. But it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’
He nodded his head as he offered his wife his arm and they headed for the cabin. It was a summary dismissal, Flora knew that, clearly implying that they never expected – nor hoped – to see her again. In the space of twelve short hours, she had proved herself to be a dangerous distraction to their son.
Flora felt Edward’s eyes settle upon her in the dark, but she didn’t look back this time. It was clear his parents would not be persuaded; their relief that a disaster had been avoided with her tonight was palpable.
The four young people didn’t stir as their elders left but there was a tension that could not be ignored. Sophia was staring over at James, tears shining in her eyes as she willed him to look back at her, to engage, to see her.
Flora frowned as she watched. Surely James could feel her distress? But he only looked ever more intently into the distance, as if imagining himself already long gone from here. Dreaming of his expedition, no doubt.
‘Well . . . I think I shall retire too,’ Sophia said finally, dabbing her lips with her napkin. ‘It’s been a difficult day.’
Her words seemed to resonate at last because James whirled round on his heel, looking at her with new scrutiny. ‘Indeed. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. Rest is the best thing.’
He spoke to her with such care, such respect . . . and yet so little actual feeling. As if emotions weren’t hardwired into him but simply skirted the surfaces, clouds pushed by winds in a cool sky.
‘Goodbye, Miss MacQueen – and thank you,’ she said, looking shakily at Flora for a long moment before delivering a glancing shot at her brother. Her footsteps were light upon the deck, the door squeaking on its hinges as she disappeared inside.
And then there were three, Flora thought to herself. A strange, capricious mood was conducting in the air, an electric charge flashing at unexpected moments, like a storm about to break and setting everyone on edge.
James was still by the railings and appeared to be in no rush to go below deck. Edward pulled out a cigarette and lit it; he offered one to Flora, who declined, but James accepted. The two of them took their time enjoying their smokes in the fresh air, the lighted tips the only spots of brightness in the otherwise ink-black bay.
No one spoke, but nor did anyone seem to feel a need to fill the silence – it had an ancient quality to it, both comfortable and tense all at once. Men at leisure; old friends and a beautiful stranger . . . Flora instinctively sensed her part and remained enigmatically quiet.
She could guess at what James was doing: waiting them out. He disapproved of them, he had made no secret of that, and he was determined not to leave them alone for a minute. Edward seemed to realize it too, because he locked eyes with Flora as he finally ground out the stub of his cigarette in an ashtray, sighing deeply.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘It’s getting late. I suppose I should show you to your sleeping quarters, Miss MacQueen.’
‘Thank you.’ She took her napkin off her lap and dabbed her mouth just as she had seen Sophia do, though it had been a while now since they had finished eating and Edward simply looked bemused by the gesture. Her cheeks flushed as she rose. ‘Well, goodbye, Mr Callaghan.’
He half turned, his profile silhouetted in the moonlight. ‘Miss MacQueen,’ he nodded in reply. No platitudes from him that it had been a pleasure making her acquaintance. Certainly no compliments. It didn’t surprise her, but it did somehow pain her.
Edward held the door open for her and she stepped into the cabin, following him down a turning staircase, the tension between them thick. For all their mutual hopes, the evening had been a series of frustrations, Sophia’s as well as Edward’s and her own. Everyone was against them – his family, his friend – but they each wanted something from the other that overruled those opinions.
The clock was ticking down; this was no time for faint hearts and half measures.
She watched his back as he walked ahead. ‘I must apologize for the meagre quarters,’ he mumbled, holding open the door so she could peer into the narrow room. She took in crisp cotton sheets, down pillows, a blanket, soft towel and a bar of soap; a cotton nightdress (one of Sophia’s?) was draped on the bed and the Sunday best clothes she had loaned to Sophia were neatly folded in a pile, as well as Norman and Donald’s. There was a small, round porthole giving her a view just above the waterline.
‘Meagre? You forget who you’re talking to,’ she murmured.
‘No, don’t say such things. You deserve the master suite,’ he said, looking pained. ‘But short of throwing my parents overboard . . .’
She laughed, not entirely sure he was joking. ‘I would gladly have slept on the deck and considered myself fortunate.’
‘And I hate that you sincerely mean that. I wish I could be offering you something more impressive than this. If there had been some warning of the current predicament . . .’ He pinned her with a desperate look.
‘But how could there have been? Today has unfurled in ways none of us could have imagined.’
‘It has, hasn’t it?’ he asked, looking back at her with a hunger that made her flinch. She wanted to escape into something better, but he . . . he just wanted her. She could feel his need to claim her. Possess her. He wasn’t the first man to have looked at her in this way, but he was the first to have got her alone like this before. If her father saw . . .
‘It’s been beyond my wildest dreams, finding you here. How easily I might have gone through life without ever meeting you! The very thought of it fills me with horror now.’
‘My mother always says what is meant for you won’t go past you,’ she said, gazing modestly down at her bare feet. They looked wrong again, buried in the plush carpet.
‘I wasn’t meant to go past you, Flora. Against all odds, we met and I couldn’t . . .’ He struggled for words. ‘Un-know now that you exist. Let me speak plainly – I’ll never know a moment’s peace until you’re mine.’
His words were bold but exactly as she had suspected and she stared at the dirt on her toes, feeling her destiny inching towards her. She might barely know him, but he seemed even closer to a proposal than James had been at dinner: there were promises held within his words that he would take her away from here and introduce her to the wider world that she knew – that somehow she just felt – she belonged to. A crew cabin on a yacht was only the very beginning . . .
He reached for her hand, placing his other on her waist, and she knew he was going to kiss her. Her body stiffened. For all her flirtatious manner, she had never been kissed before. She steeled herself and looked back at him, seeing the way his eyes roamed over her hungrily; she could smell the wine on his breath, his pupils dilated so that he had a giddy look, alcohol and lust making a heady combination. Could this be it? Her only chance at a life beyond St Kilda? Could she learn to love this man?
She lifted her chin, bracing herself as she felt the heat of him drawing near—
Someone cleared their throat.
James was standing on the small staircase, looking unapologetic as his eyes narrowed at the sight of them; it must have been quite obvious what was about to transpire but Flora, to her surprise, felt a jolt of relief that they had been interrupted. Edward’s hand dropped down from her waist but he jerked his head in a dismissive gesture, as if motioning for James to leave so that they might continue unobserved.
James’s eyes slitted further. All around them were closed doors – the captain had his quarters on the top deck, but Edward’s parents had a suite at the far end which spanned the width of the boat. To the port side was Sophia and Martha’s room – ‘a twin’ – and the starboard, another ‘twin’, which Edward and James were sharing. The cook, Tilly and Flora were in the crew cabins up the front. They were surrounded on all sides and neither she nor Edward could risk any one of the other passengers being made aware of this compromising situation. Something of which James was well aware.
‘It’s getting late,’ he said coolly, his eyes firmly on his old friend. ‘Time for bed, don’t you think? It’s been a long day.’
‘Not long enough, if you ask me,’ Edward muttered.
There was a pause, neither man moving. Stalemate.
‘Still, we’ve a long day ahead of us tomorrow. We’ll need our rest.’ James blinked slowly, his words as unhurried as his movements, and Flora realized he had absolutely no intention of leaving them alone. She looked back at Edward in despair; he might as well have been Mr Rushton himself, chaperoning them.
Edward seemed to realize it too because he gave a groan, his shoulders slumping. ‘Very well, then. To bed.’ He looked back at her, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips. ‘Parting truly is such sweet sorrow, Miss MacQueen.’
Flora felt a jolt of panic at the words. Time kept stop-starting, some moments slipping by too quickly, others juddering to an abrupt halt, her future tossed back and forth like a ball juggled by seals. Thirty seconds ago, he had been on the brink of kissing her and perhaps making her dreams come true. Now he was saying goodbye. Though in her heart of hearts, she didn’t know whether she was more disappointed or relieved at the interruption.
‘Goodnight,’ she replied softly, looking back at him with doe eyes that made him visibly shiver.
He leaned over and lightly kissed her cheek. ‘Meet me on deck when they’re asleep,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘I’ll knock on my way up; wait two minutes, then follow.’
He pulled back, straightening up for the benefit of their witness. ‘Goodnight, Flora.’
She gave a tiny nod of agreement as he walked backwards down the narrow passage, his palms on the shiny wooden walls, a smile in his eyes. Flora watched him put a hand to the cabin doorknob, throwing her a final wink before he disappeared inside.
James Callaghan said nothing at all, of course. A cursory nod was her goodnight and goodbye. He, for one, would never be back.