Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
She gazed into his lovely warm, hazel eyes, waiting for his response.
It was disappointing. ‘Rosie – I can’t rescue you if you don’t let me go.’
She was about to say something along the lines of, Au contraire, Mr Hill, you are the rescue I wasn’t aware I needed, then changed her mind.
Rosie was torn. She’d tried to communicate these feelings that had ambushed her, thinking she saw something in his eyes.
But he was keeping it professional. Perhaps he was used to women he carried to safety going all romantic on him.
Perhaps he was already in a relationship.
Perhaps, in spite of his recent kind words about her survival skills, his opinion hadn’t changed since he’d come across that inappropriately dressed southerner wading upstream in pursuit of an umbrella.
Perhaps she should just hobble on down, keeping her distance, hoping she might see him again during her time here in the Lakes. She could pop into the shop to thank him. Or if she was temporarily disabled, maybe invite him to the hotel for a coffee. Something that wouldn’t scare him off.
Because Ant was guarded. There was a reticence about him. He was difficult to know, and she sensed it was more than simple shyness. Or maybe it was a male solidarity thing. His mate had got in there first, and even if Dale was only after a(nother) no-strings fling, Ant wouldn’t get in his way.
‘Sorry,’ she said, unclasping her hands from around his neck, supporting herself on the rock wall. ‘I got a bit caught up in the whole knight-in-shining-armour scenario. Rescue lady writers at your own risk, Ant! … Ben.’
‘Ant’s fine,’ he said, and she detected a note of relief in his voice. This too was disappointing. She couldn’t see his expression as he bent to retrieve two poles from his backpack, then busied himself extending them and securing them at the correct height.
‘Fancy kit,’ she said. ‘Your backpack’s the mountain rescue equivalent of Mary Poppins’ carpet bag!’
‘Left hand,’ he said, passing one over. It was like a walking pole but with a grip forming a T across the top. As she took it, he moved behind her, his hands resting lightly on her waist. A totally inappropriate sensation zipped through her body.
‘Now the right,’ he said, holding the stick in position, supporting her as she moved her hand from the rock to the stick. Should I tell him my knees have gone wobbly too?
‘Put your weight on your good foot and lift the poles forward – keep them just a little wider than your body.’ He went to stand in front of her, facing her, taking steps back as she moved slowly towards him.
‘That’s brilliant, Rosie, great job.’
It was quite easy; the path was wide and not too rocky, and she began to pick up speed.
‘Okay – we’re good to go,’ he said. ‘Just hold on while I report in.’ She stopped as he took out the walkie talkie again. ‘It’s Ant.’
There was hissing and crackling, then Dale’s voice came through loud and clear. ‘How is she? Is she okay? What happened?’
‘Nasty sprain but she’s in good spirits, walking down on the poles …’
‘That’s brilliant news. Tell her–’
Ant cut in. ‘Can Ashley bring the van to the end of the track, by the farmhouse. I’ll fetch the Land Rover later. We’ll be about half an hour.’
‘Okay, Ant. Can you tell Ro–’
‘Talk to her later. We need to move – see you at the van.’
He ended the call and hoisted on his backpack. ‘Let’s go. My car’s back the other way, but this path’s easier.’
Over the next few minutes, Ant kept up a stream of light conversation – undoubtedly another rescue tactic, to distract Rosie from her pain and the effort of walking on crutches on uneven terrain.
He told her about other call-outs, from climbers with back injuries to youth-hostelling teens lost in the mist, to families who’d gone for a Sunday stroll in light sweatshirts and trainers only to find themselves in a howling blizzard.
They stopped at a bench overlooking the lake not far below, and Ant took off his backpack again. ‘You’ve earned a rest,’ he said.
She lowered herself onto the seat, leaning the crutches against it.
He remained standing, took the top off a water bottle and passed it to her.
‘Thanks,’ she said, drinking deeply. ‘Thirsty work, this being rescued business.’ She looked up at him with a smile.
He was staring down at the lake, lost in thought, and she noticed how his eyebrows sloped slightly upwards.
It made his resting face look sad. His skin was lightly tanned, even though it was only April, and his cheeks had the sort of healthy glow women would kill for.
A proper outdoorsy guy, who loved the fells, his dog, and his other best mate – the human one.
Catching herself staring, she moved her gaze to Wainwright, sitting with his tongue hanging out, looking for all the world as if he was enjoying the view.
‘Shouldn’t he have a little barrel of brandy on his collar, like the Saint Bernards in the Alps?’ she asked.
‘That’s a myth,’ said Ant, his tone implying he’d been asked the question a hundred times before. ‘It stems from a Landseer painting and it became popular belief. The last thing you do to someone who might be suffering from hypothermia is give them alcohol.’
‘Oh,’ said Rosie. ‘Shame. Though not a drop will be passing my lips today, Ant – I’m still recovering from last night.
God, those cocktails.’ She looked at him again.
‘I was letting off steam,’ she said when he didn’t reply, ‘after the very worst of times. I recently split up with my boyfriend …’ She paused.
‘Although I’m now certain this was in fact long overdue.
The whole mountaintop perspective thing confirmed that, along with my dad saying Reuben was never right for me.
Pity he didn’t tell me that months ago.’
Still Ant didn’t respond.
‘And I had a novel coming out this year, but my publisher cancelled it. I’m beyond gutted. My boss at the magazine sent me up here to report on the wellness weekend mainly to give me a change of scene.’
Ant looked down at her foot in its woolly sock. ‘So you came up here feeling sad, and now you’re sad and injured.’
She nodded. ‘So far –’ she ticked the events off on her fingers, ‘I’ve fallen in England’s coldest river, indulged in deplorable rebound snogging with the local fuckb– sorry, he’s your mate – the local Romeo, got lost in a thunderstorm, and sprained my ankle.’
‘Dale’s not–’
‘You know what?’ she said. ‘I’m so glad you appeared on the terrace last night. I might have done something I’d have deeply regretted.’
Ant regarded her for a moment. ‘A rescue call came in, that’s why we took off. Dale wasn’t happy.’
‘Well, you rescued me, so this is in fact the second time you’ve done that.’
He passed over more chocolate. ‘We should be on our way. Ashley will be at the pick-up soon.’
She got back onto her crutches, aware that Ant was avoiding further discussion of Dale. For the next five minutes they said little, but as the track flattened out, skirting the lake, he said, ‘That must have been so disappointing, about your book. Why was it cancelled?’
That horrible sense of failure still sat in the pit of her stomach, coiled like a cobra, rearing its ugly head every time it was prodded. ‘It’s World War Two women’s fiction, and my publisher said that trend is dying.’
‘That can’t be right,’ he said. ‘The window of the bookshop in Grasmere is always full of those novels. Every other cover seems to feature a Lancaster bomber and a girl with a forties’ hairdo. And a Union Jack. And possibly an Eiffel Tower.’
Rosie smiled. ‘Maybe they ran out of cover ideas. Mine’s based on my grandmother’s story.
She was parachuted into France and worked with the Resistance.
Met my grandfather and fell in love – he was taken prisoner by the Nazis, escaped, and afterwards came to England and found my grandma. A proper happy ever after.’
‘Wow, what a tale,’ said Ant. ‘I’d love to read it. Could I?’
Rosie felt her cheeks turn pink with pleasure. ‘Seriously? It might be a bit girly for you.’
‘Maybe I have a romantic side,’ he said, with that small smile.
Oh. That squeeze of her heart again.
‘Right, we’re almost back,’ he said, ‘but first, you’ll be pleased to know we have a small river to cross.’
‘Oh my god, not–’
‘Stepping stones, yes.’
The path led into trees, and then across a stream running into the lake. There were half a dozen reasonable-sized stones. As instructed by Ant, Rosie perched on the first one and passed him the sticks, which he put in his backpack before hopping across, dumping the bag and coming back for her.
He looked from Rosie to the stones, then back at Rosie. ‘I could piggyback you, but that’s probably risky, given the rocks are wet.’ He considered for a little while longer, then to her surprise said, ‘Oh fuck it. Hop on,’ and crouched down, his back towards her.
Happy as she was to put her arms around his neck, nestle her face in his thick, soft hair, and have him firmly grasp her thighs, Rosie did not relish the thought of him hopping between the stones. But instead he waded into the water, which was soon over his boots and up to his knees.
‘Ant!’ She laughed in delight as he sloshed on through, Wainwright ahead of him.
Unable to stop herself, she leaned forward and landed a big smacker of a kiss on his rosy cheek.
His skin was cool and fresh on her lips.
‘Mwah! My hero.’ Then she rested her head on his as he approached the opposite bank …
where Dale suddenly appeared out of the trees, Ashley behind him.
‘Yay!’ shouted Ashley. ‘Rosie! And she’s smiling!’
For a moment Ant paused, then he carried on up the bank, where Dale came down to meet them.
He held out his arms. ‘Special delivery – thanks, mate.’
‘Please don’t,’ Rosie whispered into Ant’s ear.
‘I’m going to lower you down,’ he said, his mountain-rescue voice making a comeback. ‘Take your weight on your good foot – Dale, support her, please.’
‘My fuckin’ pleasure.’
Rosie slid down as instructed, and Dale put an arm round her waist, then kissed her head. ‘Why did you take off, Roh-seh?’ he said. ‘I’ve been shitting myself.’
‘How’s the injury, my love?’ Ashley cut in.
‘Take her back to the hotel,’ said Ant. ‘Keep the ankle elevated, Rosie. Ashley – can you get her an ice pack? And I’d suggest you get it checked out by a doctor. Pretty sure it’s a sprain, but it’s always good to be sure.’
Dale was squeezing her waist.
‘Can you stop that, please?’ she said quietly, turning to him.
‘Sorry,’ he said, looking surprised.
‘Dale,’ said Ant. ‘Can I borrow your boots? I need to go fetch the Land Rover.’
‘You’re leaving?’ said Rosie. Her tone probably betrayed how she felt about that.
Ashley supported Rosie while Dale took off his boots and socks, and Ant didn’t reply to Rosie’s question, concentrating on undoing his soaking-wet laces. Soon he was in dry boots, and Dale was barefoot, holding Ant’s wet ones.
‘Thanks,’ Ant said to Dale. The two men looked at each other for a moment, and some sort of understanding seemed to pass between them. ‘Thank you,’ said Dale.
‘Are you going back to the hotel?’ Ant asked Dale.
‘If Ashley can lend me some shoes.’
Ashley’s green eyes were moving between Ant and Dale. For some reason he rolled them, and she heard him mutter something about leading a horse to water, before confirming there were shoes at the hotel.
‘Right, Rosie,’ said Ashley, ‘let’s get you into the van.’ This time it was Ashley who scooped her up.
Rosie looked back to the stream to wave to Ant, but he was already crossing the stepping stones, his back to her, Wainwright by his side.
Ashley lifted her gently into the van, which was parked close by, and Dale sat down beside her, his arm around her shoulder. She was exhausted, and didn’t shrug it off.