The Skylark's Secret(65)
His absence had left a vacuum that doubts and fears could easily fill. And perhaps that was why she’d purposely kept herself so busy. As well as the evening concerts, she’d thrown herself into her work by day, taking on extra duties by volunteering to help maintain the engines on the smaller boats in addition to the ambulances at the base. She’d quickly discovered an aptitude for coaxing even the most reluctant of salt-scoured, waterlogged motors back into life. The distractions of her singing and her work – and the camaraderie of the other Wrens as well as the naval ratings she worked alongside – had helped the time to pass while Alec was away. More than that, she was also developing a new sense of fulfilment: a sense of her own self and her own voice. But would Alec like this new side to her? Flora thought of Lady Helen, who always seemed such a shadow of the woman she might really be. Would Flora, too, begin to disappear if she married Alec?
Despite her worries, when he appeared in the doorway of Keeper’s Cottage again she had the sense that Alec had grown more tentative, had lost something of his old self-assurance, just as she had become stronger, more confident in her work. He’d hesitated, as if unsure of his welcome, and she had quickly reached out and put her arms around him, closing the distance between them, reassuring him with her kiss that all was well and that she still loved him. It just needed a bit of time for them both to readjust to being back together, she’d told herself. She tried again to brush aside the image of his face darkened with anger when he’d punched the stable wall. Whenever she thought of it now, it was Sir Charles’s face she pictured, and that image unsettled her more than Alec’s rage.
Their old closeness came flooding back, though, as they spent time together walking along the shore or into the hills above Ardtuath House. It was easier, too, when they were with Mairi and Roy and Bridie and Hal, whose happiness was infectious.
Earlier that day, before the dance, the three couples had hiked over the hills to Slaggan Bay and sprawled on picnic rugs spread over the hummocks of marram grass at the edge of the crescent of golden sand. From that angle, the ships moored in the loch were hidden by the shoulder of land that enclosed the beach, allowing them to forget the convoy’s impending departure for an hour or two.
Roy and Hal told stories of the Atlantic crossings they’d taken part in since they were last at Aultbea, which had taken them to Portsmouth and Liverpool.
‘It was kinda frustrating being so near and yet so far,’ Roy said.
Hal grinned. ‘We tried to get a shore pass and see if we could jump on a train to get up here, even just for a day. But we didn’t have any travel papers so we got turned back before we’d even managed to get out of the port.’
They were proud to be crewing the Patrick Henry, one of the newly built Liberty ships, which the Americans were turning out in record time to replace vessels lost to enemy attacks.
‘She was launched by FDR himself,’ Hal told them.
‘It’s funny to call a ship “she” when it’s got a man’s name,’ Bridie said, picking a blade of grass and chewing on it thoughtfully. ‘Who is Patrick Henry, anyway?’
‘He was the guy who said, “Give me liberty or give me death.” These new-style ships are going to bring liberty to Europe.’ Hal reached over and handed her a sprig of sea thrift that he’d plucked from the machair that grew around the crescent of the beach. ‘For you, my lady.’
She laughed as she tucked the flower into her dark curls, the pink petals highlighting the rosiness of her cheeks, flushed by the wind and the sun.
She looks so pretty, Flora thought, because she’s so happy. We all are, today. But then she glanced down at Alec’s face. He lay sprawled beside her on the tartan rug, resting on his elbows as he watched the sunlight play on the water of the bay. Even at rest, there was a darkness in him, running like a deep current beneath the surface of his smile as he caught her watching him.
The destroyer he’d been on had just returned from patrolling the northern passage between the Orkneys and Shetland.
‘What was it like up there?’ Roy asked him.
Alec was silent for a few moments, reluctant to allow the reality of war to cast a shadow across their day. But then he described the otherworldly landscapes he’d seen: the scattered, lowlying Orkney Islands with their pale beaches and green fields; the rugged cliffs of the Shetlands that rose from the waves like a fortress, stark and forbidding; and of Iceland with its strange black sand beaches and ice-capped volcanoes. He spoke quietly of the last Arctic convoy that had sailed from Reykjavik in early summer. ‘It was huge, nearly forty ships, and the run was longer, too – all the way round to Archangel this time. We knew it was a risk, but we hoped the more northerly passage would make a difference.’ He fell silent for a moment, looking unseeingly at the waves washing gently on to the sand. ‘It was a disaster. The convoy was spotted and the Germans came at us in force. We were up for the fight, but then the command came through from the Admiralty in London, telling the naval escort to turn back. I still can’t fathom their reasoning. Every man out there was convinced it was the wrong decision. Abandoning those merchantmen was one of the worst moments of my life. We knew once we’d gone the U-Boats and the Luftwaffe would close in for the kill.’
His turned his head away from the others, but not before Flora noticed how his face contorted in pain, the memories too hard to bear. She reached for his hand and interwove her fingers with his, drawing him away from the darkness of his thoughts and back into the mellow autumn sunlight that bathed him with its healing glow.