Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
N othing had been decided in the meeting, but the fact remained that Kate Foster had purchased the cottages and her large vehicle was now parked outside them for all the island to see.
Seren reported to Fiona and Esme that she had seen Kate unload supplies from her car, including a Calor gas stove, a sleeping bag, and several suitcases.
‘I wonder if there’s even electricity to the place,’ Esme said. ‘I didn’t see any lights this morning on my way over here.’
Euan had joined them from the back room, where Esme presumed he had been having a reunion with the ancient Space Invaders machine. Instead, he was carrying Hamish in his arms and looking every part the responsible adult. She still couldn’t get over how much he seemed to have grown up in the time he had been away with Fiona. She wondered if it was just the way growth spurts always worked, or whether it was a kind of physiological response to no longer living in misery.
The baby was holding a plastic giraffe in one small fist. He raised it to his mouth and gave it a good chew while staring around the room.
‘What a poppet,’ Seren said, running her hand over Hamish’s hair. ‘Can I hold him?’
Euan looked at Fiona, who nodded. Then he transferred Hamish to Seren, looking a little bereft to have lost his companion.
Hamish took one look at Seren and opened his mouth to wail, his face flushing red. He dropped his giraffe and Euan bent to retrieve the toy.
‘Oops,’ Seren said. ‘You’d better have him back.’ She passed the incensed Hamish back to Euan and he instantly stopped crying.
‘You’ve got the magic touch,’ Seren said to Euan.
‘He likes me,’ Euan said, and there was a touch of wonder in his voice that made Esme’s heart clench.
‘What can I get you? Do you need anything for the wee man?’
‘Could you warm this up?’ Fiona passed across a plastic tub. ‘Just a minute in the micro.’
‘I think I can manage that.’ Seren shot a longing glance at Hamish. ‘Maybe if I provide food, he’ll decide I’m not the Antichrist.’
Fiona laughed. ‘He’s at the attachment stage. Don’t take it personally.’
‘I’m going to show him the invaders again,’ Euan said, carrying Hamish away to the back room.
Fiona watched them go before asking: ‘So, what else have I missed?’
‘All the usual excitements,’ Esme said lightly. She didn’t want to talk about Luke’s brush with death or think about hexed books. And Fiona had said she didn’t want to talk about Oliver, but Esme wanted there to be space in the conversation in case she changed her mind. ‘Tobias wore a dark green tweed on Sunday.’
Seren joined in, picking up on Esme’s cue to keep it breezy. ‘Never thought I would see the man forsake his trusty brown, but there you go, just shows you never really know anybody…’ She trailed off as if realising the awkwardness of that statement in front of Fiona.
‘It’s all right, hen,’ Fiona said. ‘Pour us a whisky and we’ll toast my ex. Then we’ll not speak of him again.’
Seren went behind the bar as Esme and Fiona took seats on the stools. She pulled out the good stuff and poured small measures. Esme was relieved as she hadn’t eaten since an early breakfast and would be in danger of getting instantly drunk.
Fiona lifted her glass and, making eye contact with Esme and then Seren, she said: ‘Good riddance, Oliver. Don’t haste ye back.’
With thoughts of Hallows Eve and restless spirits returning to the world when the veil was thin, Esme had to hide a shudder by taking a bigger mouthful than she had intended. Any tension was broken as the other two women laughed and thumped her back while she coughed and spluttered.
Esme walked back to Strand House with the pleasant buzz of the alcohol warming her chest and stomach. The weather was turning, the sea looking blacker by the second. She was just approaching her front door when a voice hailed her from the path. Kate Foster. The woman who ought to have forgotten all about the island the moment she returned to the mainland.
‘I keep getting turned around in this place,’ Kate said, pushing a strand of honey blonde hair out of her eyes.
Her smile was crooked, a little uncertain. It was endearing, but something about it made Esme think she was working at being endearing. She shoved the uncharitable thought down and smiled back at the woman. ‘We don’t get many visitors at this time of year.’ She gestured at the darkening sky. ‘It’s not very inviting.’
‘I’m not a visitor anymore. I’m going to live here.’
‘The cottages don’t seem to be very habitable,’ Esme said. It was the most neutral thing she could think of to say. Her mind still couldn’t accept that Kate Foster had wandered into their community so easily. She had already checked the wards, but she vowed she would go out and check them again. Weather be damned.
‘That’s why I’m renovating,’ Kate said. She gave a fake little chuckle.
‘Right. Yes.’ The sky was the colour of iron, now, and a stiff breeze was buffeting them both where they stood.
‘I know it’s a big job and I will probably have to live off site while the roof is being replaced. Perhaps I’ll stay at your little B and B.’
Esme wanted to say ‘like hell you will’. But that was unwelcoming. Just because Kate Foster was beautiful and confident and had, somehow, thwarted the island’s wards, didn’t mean Esme had to be hostile. She remembered Bee’s teachings. The island provided sanctuary, so perhaps Kate Foster needed it. Her surface confidence could be just that. Surface. Who knew what she was suffering underneath? She forced a smile. ‘Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?’
‘That’s kind, but I don’t want to be any trouble.’
‘It’s no trouble.’ Esme’s face felt stiff with the effort of forming the polite phrase.
‘Maybe another time,’ Kate said, her expression suddenly serious. ‘I need to get my steps in.’ She flashed her wrist to reveal a bulky smartwatch.
‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ Esme said. ‘Bad weather’s coming in.’
Kate flashed a wide smile, showing the kind of even white teeth that belonged on a film poster or toothpaste advert. ‘I’m stronger than I look.’
Having gone inside and gathered her supplies, Esme plucked her waterproof from the hook by the door and changed her trainers for walking boots. She took her time, wanting to make sure she wasn’t going to instantly bump into Kate Foster again.
She walked her usual route, checking each of the wards carefully. Halfway around the island, the gale force wind was joined with lashing rain. By the time she made it back to the far end of the village, the visibility was atrocious. Winter dark fell fast, and with the dense cloud and driving rain, it was plain miserable.
The lights were on in the bookshop. A warm and inviting glow that spilled onto the wet cobbles of the wynd. Any port in a storm, Esme thought, pushing down the awareness that she must look half-drowned. An image of Kate Foster’s stylish clothes and swishy hair flashed into her mind and she pushed that down, too.
The door of the bookshop opened easily, but the wind fought Esme as she tried to close it.
Luke appeared behind her, expressing his dismay. ‘Bloody hell, you’re soaked.’
Now that she was inside, the warmth making her skin tingle and sting, and the roaring of the wind was turned down a notch, Esme realised just how cold and tired she was. ‘It wasn’t this bad when I set out.’
‘Hang on,’ Luke disappeared and she heard his footsteps on the stairs. He returned with a couple of navy-blue towels. ‘You need to take your wet stuff off.’ He averted his gaze, his cheeks reddening. ‘You won’t warm up otherwise.’
Trying not to think about it, Esme stripped off her sodden outerwear. The sensible part of her knew that Luke was right. Hypothermia was no joke and her teeth were clattering together unpleasantly. She tried to make a joke about him getting his own back on her, but her voice wouldn’t come out steadily.
Luke stepped past her and locked the door. The wind howled in frustration, rattling the glass at the front of the shop.
Esme dried her hands and face and then wrapped the towel around her hair and squeezed. The cotton top she was wearing underneath her jumper was mercifully only a little damp.
Luke disappeared again and she heard the tap go on in the tiny kitchen space. When he returned with a steaming mug, Esme took it gratefully, but the liquid slopped over the edge with a particularly big spasm. He took the mug back and put it onto the counter.
‘You’re shivering,’ he said. ‘Come here.’
She took a step toward him as he grabbed a large towel. With one movement, he had wrapped it around her and was rubbing her arms. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but all she could think about was how close they were, and that his hands were on her body. Through layers of clothes and towel, but still. It was possibly the most intimate contact she had experienced with a man for years.
‘Better?’ He dipped his head to look into her eyes.
She nodded. The shivering had subsided, although she still felt frozen through. He was still very close, his hands on her arms, holding her enveloped in the towel. She took another step closer, feeling the heat coming from his skin. ‘Luke…’ She didn’t know how to follow that and fell quiet. Her voice had sounded strange to her own ears. Husky and full of need.
He lifted his hands from her arms, letting the towel drop to the floor. And then his fingertips were on her face, tracing her cold skin. They sent a trail of fire wherever they touched. Esme knew exactly the last time a man had touched her bare skin in a loving caress, but she couldn’t remember a time when it had felt like this. Safe and exciting, all tangled together. She leaned into his touch and he cupped her cheek with his large palm.
He was going to kiss her. She knew it. She could have sworn that the atmosphere between them was actually electric, that there was a faint humming sound at the edge of her hearing. She could feel the heat from his body, see the lines of muscle on his bare arms, the tiny hairs poking through his skin on his jaw and cheeks. Everything was hyperreal and detailed. Very much like the moments before she had a panic attack. Her chest was tight like a panic attack, too, but she didn’t think this was fear. Or not just fear.
She wanted him to kiss her. Tilted her head a little in invitation.
He leaned closer, his eyes flicking from her eyes to her lips and back, a questioning look of longing that made her breath stop all together.
And then his lips brushed hers. The gentlest of touches that set every nerve in her body buzzing. She leaned into him, into the kiss, wanting more.
This time, their lips met and it was indescribable. His hand moved from her cheek to the back of her neck, cradling her head, and she felt the size of him. His body was so much larger than hers. His hands could crush her skull.
The thought was intrusive. Unwanted. And definitely unwarranted. Luke was a good man. He would not hurt her.
He pulled back a little. His eyes were filled with desire and happiness, but seeing her expression they changed to concern. His eyebrows drew down, but before he could form a question, Esme was stepping back. His hands slipped from her skin and she was alone in her bubble once again. The cool air forming a barrier around her.
‘I’m sorry,’ Esme said. Her voice sounded strange. Broken. ‘I have to go.’
She turned and fled.
‘Wait,’ Luke said, following her to the door. ‘The weather…’
Esme didn’t stop long enough to hear the end of his sentence. She wrenched the door to the bookshop, setting the bell jangling, and rushed into the howling wind.