The House at Mermaid's Cove(65)

“I’m sorry it ended like that,” he said, as the car glided down the narrow lane beyond the village. “It had only just got going. Not much of an evening out for you.”

“I don’t mind—really I don’t. When you haven’t been used to that kind of thing, it can be a bit overwhelming.”

“Oh dear, was my quickstep a bit too quick?”

“No—I . . . it wasn’t you. There were just so many people. I’m not used to it.” I wanted to tell him how wonderful it had felt, sashaying across the dance floor, feeling the warmth of his hand through the thin cotton of my dress. But to voice that feeling would take me over the invisible line that lay between us. I was afraid of trespassing into unknown territory, afraid of embarrassing him and ruining everything.

“I suppose it must be very strange,” he said. “It’s hard for anyone outside that world of yours to grasp what it would be like to be deprived of the things most people take for granted.”

That world of yours. It sounded as if he still saw me as a nun, however much I’d tried to shake off that persona. Perhaps it was because I was only days away from going ashore in disguise on our mission to France. The thought of it made my stomach churn.

“You’ll slip into it again quite easily, I imagine,” he went on. “It’s all arranged, by the way: the nuns in Lannion have everything ready.” He glanced at me fleetingly before turning back to the road ahead. “All the same, it’s not too late to change your mind.”

Once again, he’d tuned into exactly what I was thinking. I wondered if he was telepathic, whether he could read everyone he met as if their inner lives were tattooed on their faces. Or was it just me? Was it all those years of struggling to make my inner thoughts match my outward behavior that had made me so transparent?

“I brought you into this, Alice—and I feel responsible.” His hand went to the gearshift as he took a sharp bend. “You don’t have to put yourself in even more danger.” Something in his voice had changed. There was an urgency in it, almost as if he was willing me to pull out.

“The Germans killed three people in Brittany today,” I replied. “Anything I can do to help thwart their plans has to be worth it. How could I live with myself if I pulled out now?” I sounded far braver than I felt.

Jack fell silent. We were going more slowly now. I thought we must be nearly home, although I couldn’t see anything but the tunnel of hedgerows ahead of us.

“I’m taking you down to the village,” he said, turning the car sharply to the left, onto a road that was even narrower than the one we’d left behind. “We’ll walk along the beach. The tide won’t be in very far yet—and it’ll be a lot easier than going through the valley at this time of night.”

He parked the car beside the school. Jack had a flashlight, whose thin beam reflected off the cobblestones as we walked. We went along the narrow street that led to the quayside, past houses that betrayed no sign of the people inside. Every window was blacked out. Not even a crack of light was visible. The rancid smell of fish drifted on the breeze as we neared the cellar where the barrels of pilchards were stored. Somewhere in the fields above the village, I heard a donkey braying. The only other sound was the distant lap of the waves breaking on the mudflats out in the estuary.

We both took off our shoes when we reached the beach. Jack rolled up his trousers to his knees, to avoid getting them wet when we negotiated the rock pools. He said it was a mercy I couldn’t see what he looked like. It was the first time he’d shown any vestige of self-consciousness. There was something comforting about it—that he cared what I thought of him.

He took my hand when we reached the place where the rocks jutted above the sand. “Try not to step on the seaweed,” he said. “It’s very slippery.” He directed the flashlight beam a couple of yards ahead, then brought it back to our feet. The light made the dark hairs on his legs glisten. To my shame, I had a sudden vision of us lying together on my bed in the boathouse, legs entwined.

When we reached the door, he let go of my hand. He apologized a second time for the evening being cut short. This time I didn’t reply. I stood there awkwardly, wondering whether I should offer him a cup of tea or a glass of water, anything to keep him for a moment longer.

“I should go,” he said. “The tide won’t be long coming in.” Then he reached up and patted the side of my head, ruffling my hair with his fingers. “It’s growing, isn’t it? In a few months’ time you’ll be a new woman.”

Those few careless words were like a slap in the face. They made me think that in his mind, it was Morwenna he was caressing, that he was willing me to become more like her, to bring her back from the dead. Clearly he was still obsessed with her—the girl who had laughed as she dived beneath the waves, who had emerged from the sea with nothing but her hair to cover her, who had made love to him on the deck of his boat. Jack was still here in body, but, like the man in the mermaid legend, his heart was somewhere beneath the ocean.

“You’re thinking about Morwenna, aren’t you?”

The moment I spoke I regretted it. His hand fell away as if he’d touched a live electric wire.

“Why do you say that?” There was a painful anger in his voice. “Why on earth would I be thinking about her?”