The House at Mermaid's Cove(71)
He pulled away from me. Anger flashed across his face. “Tell me, Alice—how can someone who gave up all worldly possessions at the age of eighteen have any idea what it’s like to be in my position?”
“I don’t pretend to know that.” I tried to sound unruffled. The contempt in his voice had cut me to the heart. “What I do know is that a house can’t talk to you when you’re feeling lonely. It can’t wrap its arms around you when you’re unhappy. It can’t love you, Jack.”
For a while he said nothing, gripping the wheel of the boat as if he were squeezing the breath out of some living thing. When he did speak, he didn’t look at me. “You’re right, of course.” He sounded tight, grudging. “A place like Penheligan can be as much of a curse as a blessing. It broke my father’s heart. I’m just trying not to let it break mine.”
I wondered what he meant. He’d told me about the financial strain the house had put on his father when the shipping business had failed. Was he talking about money again? Or was it about the hold the house had on him, eclipsing his feelings for Ned?
“It’s a kind of love, though, isn’t it?” he went on. “Not the sort you read about in the Bible—I grant you that. It’s hard to describe, the way it enters your blood, the feeling of indebtedness to all those generations of people who strove to create something beautiful, something lasting.”
“But that kind of love can destroy a person,” I replied. “Is that what your ancestors would have wanted for you?”
His head whipped round. “Who are you to lecture me about love? You gave your Irish boy up without much of a fight, didn’t you?”
“Perhaps I did,” I countered. “Don’t you think I despised myself for not standing up to my father? For running to a convent when I could have run away with Dan? Perhaps we’re very much alike in that respect: we both let down the people we thought we were in love with.”
“Touché.” His voice was a harsh whisper.
For a while there was silence between us. He was staring into the distance, his face outlined by the glow of the setting sun. I stood there, wretched, beside him, fiddling with the strap of the binoculars. I hadn’t intended to make him angry. I hadn’t meant to sound so patronizing, so judgmental.
“Why are we doing this, Alice? Why are we fighting?” He turned toward me, one hand still on the wheel. “You’re about to go to France—and I wish to God you weren’t. All I wanted was to tell you what I’ve been meaning to say ever since we were standing here, like this, a month ago.”
His eyes had a liquid softness, so different from the piercing look he’d given me just moments before. Suddenly he was kissing me. I could taste the sea on his lips, feel the roughness of the stubble peppering his skin. Waves slapped against the bow, rocking my body against his. I closed my eyes. And a moment later the sky above us exploded.
Chapter 21
An earsplitting roar of engines pulled us apart. He pushed me down so hard I caught my arm on the engine housing. I felt the weight of him on top of me as the planes screamed past. When the noise began to subside, I felt his hair brush my cheek as he raised his head.
“Junkers. Six of them. Heading south.” He got up and held out his hands to me. “Sorry—I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
I shook my head as he helped me to my feet. “Why didn’t they fire?”
He patted the wheel. “No Luftwaffe pilot would waste ammunition on a bunch of French fishermen.”
“What the hell was that?” The shout came from the stern of the boat. Through the glass I saw a head emerge from below. Soon all five men were standing on the deck, craning their necks, shading their eyes against the orange glimmer of the sky. I took the wheel while Jack went to talk to them.
There was no chance for us to be alone again after that. Everyone was on edge, wondering if the planes would come back, afraid that their presence signaled the start of other enemy action. I went belowdecks but it was impossible to sleep. My mouth burned where Jack’s lips had touched me. Blood pounded in my ears as if I’d been transported to the bottom of the ocean, beneath the waves that crashed against the boat. The fusion of emotions—elation, agitation, fear, confusion—overwhelmed me.
Images of myself, dressed as a nun, as I would be in a few hours’ time, flashed alongside close-ups of Jack’s face, one moment angry and contemptuous, the next ardent and tender. Was he angry with me or with himself? Why had he kissed me after dismissing my advice as na?ve and hypocritical? Was a man like Jack—so guilt ridden and conflicted—capable of loving someone? Was his heart too poisoned by his inability to forgive himself? I feared that kissing me had been a desperate, meaningless act, a way of escaping from things he couldn’t face up to.
It seemed no time at all before I heard the rumble of La Coquille’s anchor chain tumbling over the side of the boat. One of the men called down to me. I didn’t respond at first. My brain was so befuddled I didn’t recognize my code name. The second time he shouted I jumped up. If I was going to be of any use on the mission, I needed to pull myself together. People’s lives depended on me being quick thinking and alert. I took a deep breath and went up on deck.
Jack was waiting on the starboard side, ready to release the rope that held the dinghy once I had climbed into it with the others. I had to go first, so that the men who were going to hide under the tarpaulin could position themselves under my feet.