Chapter Three
The tide was coming in, but it would be several hours yet before the water kissed the rocks that topped the beach. They ambled along the sand slowly, the water running towards their feet before pulling back with gentle hisses.
Edward was forced to break into a trot to escape the foaming frill. ‘I fear I’m overdressed,’ he said, glancing at her bare feet before relinquishing her arm and bending down to untie his shoelaces.
Flora buried her toes in the sand, aware that shoes (and lack thereof) were a signifier of the chasm between their positions in life, as he pulled off his socks and rolled up his trousers to keep the cuffs dry. It was strange to see a part of his body that had been hidden by expensive tailoring and she couldn’t help but stare at his pale, soft skin. Ready comfort, James had said.
He looked down too and wiggled his toes playfully, as if reading her thoughts.
‘You somehow manage to look majestic barefoot, Miss MacQueen,’ he grinned. ‘Whereas I feel rather like a boy in short trousers again.’
‘Not at all,’ she smiled as they resumed walking. ‘You look like a true cragger now.’ But any small, sharp stone was enough to hobble him, and she walked ever taller.
‘I had thought the craggers would be the most exciting aspect of our trip.’
‘Oh?’ she asked after a moment, hearing the unarticulated ‘but’ hanging in the air.
‘Yes. They’re widely renowned, your men. Their abilities on a rope are admired much further afield than London.’
‘Well, that’s pleasing to hear,’ she said, although she didn’t think the men would care one jot what far-off strangers thought of their climbing abilities. ‘The men do so love to have their egos stroked.’ She deliberately didn’t prompt him to complete his statement, and as they walked in silence for a couple of moments, she felt him glance her way a couple of times.
‘Of course, now that I’ve actually arrived, I see that superhuman feats of strength and agility are as nothing to...’
‘To?’
A wave rushed in, covering his feet and splashing his legs, but this time he didn’t run. Instead he laughed again. ‘Well... to your beauty, Miss MacQueen.’
‘Mr Rushton, please,’ she murmured, looking away as if both bored and offended.
‘No, I don’t think you quite understand. I’m not trying to flatter you. Your face, to you, is, I’m sure, simply your face; but I am a well-travelled man and I have never, in my twenty-five years, seen anyone as captivating as you.’ He had a guileless bounding energy to him, like the younger dogs.
‘If you say so. Though of course we both know you have no way to prove such a statement; for all I know, you say such things to every island girl you meet.’ Her eyebrow arched to a perfect peak as she watched him begin to protest. She cut him off. ‘And besides, little merit is given to such attributes here. A fair face is no good against a winter storm or a failed harvest.’
‘Ah – but a fair face can be the ticket to a good marriage.’
She didn’t reply immediately, but her heart had skipped a beat at his quick words. ‘A good marriage?’ she queried.
‘A financially advantageous marriage. You must know that we men are simple creatures, and the richer a man is, the simpler his needs? The world is modernizing at a furious pace and I’m of the view that the rich will only get richer, but when all is said and done, all any man really wants is a girl with a kind heart, soft arms and a pretty face...’
Flora stared ahead at the rocks, well able to imagine Mad Annie’s response to those words. Or Effie’s. Fists up or an arm wrestle would be likely.
‘Rich men appreciate beautiful things,’ he shrugged. ‘It’s our Achilles’ heel.’
Our.
It wasn’t lost on Flora that he had included himself in the summary, and the word shimmered as if the sun had bounced off it. He had thrown a hook into the water. But would she bite?
It didn’t seem to cross his mind that she might be the fisher, and he the catch.
‘What good would riches be here?’ she asked, toying back, her words swimming around the bait. ‘We have very little use for money on St Kilda.’
He stopped walking and turned to face her, seeing the provocative flash in her eyes. They both knew perfectly well no rich man would ever settle here. ‘You are already too worldly for this small isle, Miss MacQueen. You have a sophistication that is apparent even barefoot in lumpen tweeds.’
‘Lumpen?’ she gasped with mock indignation. ‘My father will take you to task for saying that.’
‘Your father will never know,’ he rejoindered, his own eyes flashing too.
So now they had a secret? Had she met her match? she wondered, allowing a small smile of surrender. This time.
They resumed their walk.
‘You belong in the big, wide world, by the side of a man who can show you its true magnificence.’
‘But where would I find such a man?’
She heard his low chuckle beside her. ‘You may already have found him.’
‘Really? Well, I shall take another look at Mr Callaghan, but on first impression, he didn’t strike me as the Casanova type.’
Far from it.
He laughed out loud at her tease. ‘I’m glad to hear it! And my sister would most certainly be.’
Flora glanced at him, her suspicions confirmed. ‘Ah, I thought I discerned an intimacy between them earlier. So they are betrothed?’
‘Almost inevitably.’
She frowned. ‘But not... yet?’
‘Not quite. But we have a few more days on board.’
Flora looked across at him. ‘Is that why he was invited? To fall in love with your sister?’
‘To finish falling in love with her. Frankly, the whole business has been dragging on for far too long. He’s easily distracted, though, that’s the problem. Gets bored.’
‘Funny. That’s what he said about you.’
Edward shot her a sideways look. ‘Really?’
She shrugged. ‘Is he aware of your plot?’
‘He’s an intelligent fellow; he’s not unaware.’
‘Does he love her?’
‘They seem to enjoy one another’s company.’
‘And do you think your sister would be well suited to life with a man who hunts fossils?’ she asked in a slight scoffing tone. ‘She seems very fashionable – to me, at least. Won’t he bore her?’
‘Honestly? I’ve never heard Callie say a word about the things before today.’ Edward shrugged. ‘Although he is something of an adventurer – loves a mountain, can rhapsodize over a river – so why not a bunch of rocks, I suppose? He’s forever falling out of Geographical Society dinners with talk of some trek or another. Sophia’s been in love with him since she was twelve. Rather lacking in imagination, I’m afraid, my sister; it hasn’t occurred to her to set her sights on anyone else. But there’s no harm in that. It all works; Callie’s a known entity.’
‘A known entity?’ It seemed a strange way to describe a friend.
‘Yes. Our families are old friends; our fathers did something of a Grand Tour around Europe in their youth. And he’s an enterprising fellow, Callie, so everything just... fits.’
She looked straight ahead as they walked, almost at the end of the beach now. The grey scree slopes of Ruival towered over them, the slap of waves hitting the rocks in the narrow chasm between Hirta and Dun, which had once been linked by a cliff arch.
‘Fits,’ she mused. ‘Is that the polite way of saying he’s rich enough to marry her?’
Edward chuckled. ‘I’m afraid so. It’s a bore, having to consider such things, but one must be practical too.’
‘I’m sure.’ She glanced across at him, catching his gaze as they turned back towards the village curving its gentle smile, puffs of smoke twisting from the chimneys and white sheets flapping on the lines. She could see her neighbours going about their chores, her eyes falling to the bright dots of foreign colour – lilac, chartreuse, begonia pink – outside the Fergusons’ house.
‘And what is Mr Callaghan’s business?’ she asked as they trod over their own footprints, heels over toes, the incoming tide pooling in the impressions of their ghosts.
‘Well, he describes himself as an entrepreneur, but the family business is textiles. It’s what brought us here, actually.’
‘Oh?’
‘We were moored at Uist and Callie mooted making the “quick detour” over here.’ He grinned. ‘Of course, there was nothing quick about it. Just ask my poor mother! We had never intended coming this far out, but the conditions were good – well, good enough, just about.’
‘Why did he want to come here specifically? All the islands sell tweed.’
‘Ah, but the quality of yours stands above the rest, we’re told. Apparently it’s softer than any others.’
She shrugged. ‘Maybe. I’ve nothing to compare it with.’
‘Well, he wanted to strike a deal for you to supply his family’s company – that was the premise for it all.’
Flora felt her pulse quicken. The men were always complaining about the rates the factor paid them. Could this be a way to supplement their income? ‘And did he? Strike the deal, I mean?’
‘Sadly not. He spoke with the men when we landed, but it appears your landlord’s quotas take almost all your capacity.’
‘Aye,’ she sighed. ‘The rents have to be paid one way or another. Tweeds, feathers and fulmar oil are our main exports.’
‘It’s a shame. He was certainly disappointed – although I’m inclined to think the journey wasn’t for nothing.’
‘I’m glad you’ve enjoyed your visit here,’ she said benignly, thwarting his attempt to flatter her again. If he thought she’d be seduced by vain compliments... ‘We do seem to be getting so many more visitors these days. Our little village is attracting more and more tourists – gentlemen – like yourself.’ She laughed. ‘They do seem to love having their photographs taken here.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh, yes. Every other day it seems there’s a new yacht dropping anchor... We get to meet so many new people. Occasionally some return again, but – well, that can be a little awkward sometimes. It can be hard to remember all those faces.’
He glanced at her, understanding her games in a way that his friend did not. ‘Am I forgettable?’
‘Utterly and instantly, I’m afraid.’
He laughed, throwing his head back. ‘Well, then, perhaps I shouldn’t allow you the opportunity. Out of sight, out of mind is a risk I’m not sure I’m prepared to take. Not to mention, I rather feel like I’ve discovered Magellan’s lost treasure in finding you. It would be nothing short of a disservice to humanity to leave you here.’
She threw him a disdainful look. ‘How so?’
‘If I were to sail away from here without you, it would be like discovering the Blue Moon diamond, then kicking dirt back over her and resealing the mine!’
‘You are absurd!’ she giggled. ‘And far too forward.’ But she liked it, this confidence of his. She could imagine him commanding rooms, or a platoon; having the ear of important men and boasting a social circle that spanned presidents, minor princesses, magnates and high-stakes gamblers. His voice was variously inflected with fun, intimacy and seriousness, depending upon the topic at hand.
‘Forward? Have I offended you?’ he asked, sounding not in the least perturbed by the idea.
‘No, but you’ve known me for all of half an hour and you’re already proposing to take me away from my home, my family and all of my friends.’
‘You’re right. It’s absurd, isn’t it?’ He smiled at her and she had the sense that all the colours of him had deepened – his eyes were shining a more vivid blue, his lips were redder, his hair brighter – as if suffusing in the very essence of himself.
She looked away; she sensed he was used to winning people over to his ideas and plans, his energy, good looks and intense charisma making for a heady, seductive mix. ‘You do believe in getting straight to the point, don’t you, Mr Rushton?’
‘I assure you, this is a new position for me to find myself in. Not to be immodest, but I rarely chase.’
‘Chase?’
‘Women.’
She tilted her head to the side and looked him up and down with a quizzical frown, as if the very idea was baffling. ‘How so?’
He laughed again at the sharp barb of her verbal spar. ‘Well, I would like to tell you it’s on account of my wit, charm and dazzling good looks, but I suspect my family’s fortune plays into my legend somewhat.’
Self-deprecation and a boast, all in one sentence. He was good.
‘Mm. Well, if it’s any consolation, I can sympathize.’
‘You can?’ he asked.
‘Yes. We have a fine milking cow. Best on the island. Everyone wants her.’
His eyes danced. ‘Is that so?’
‘Indeed. I certainly think it was the driving factor behind Euan Gillies’ marriage proposal this spring. His mother’s had her eye on Eunice for a while now.’
He chuckled still. ‘A mother’s ambition is never to be underestimated.’
‘Exactly. And I know y’ mother’s ambitions would be sorely disappointed by a match with the likes of me.’
‘Not once she saw her grandchildren,’ he said boldly, stopping in front of her.
She blinked but didn’t step back, though he was in her personal space. ‘I’m not the right fit,’ she demurred. ‘You’ve just said yourself how important that is.’
‘For marrying off a daughter, yes,’ he agreed. ‘The first son and heir is given a little more... grace.’
‘Grace,’ she echoed, able to see at this close proximity the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He was a hunter, in full pursuit.
‘Yes. Rich men and beautiful things, remember?’ His eyes roamed her face with open admiration.
She looked away, though her own heart was pounding fast at their game. She knew she had to play this carefully. If he was quick to fall, he would be quick to pull back too. Overplay her hand and she knew he would lose interest. ‘Well... I should want my own mother to see her grandchildren, too,’ she said simply, looking out to sea and affording him a full look at her magnificent profile instead. ‘In spite of how exciting everything sounds on the mainland, I’m not sure I could ever leave here.’
It was a lie, but it would keep him on his toes. Her entire world view had been informed by the stories of fishermen and the grey political establishment depicted in newspapers; but even these brief moments with him had brought alive a world of characters and colours that had only ever existed in her imagination. She had always been able to glean and discern just enough from the fashions and deportments of the rich tourists to paint a picture of their lives in her own mind. Now here stood a man flirting with her and suggesting that she might fit into that world too. That he might bring her into it, beside him.
They were standing close to the shoreline, back where they had begun, and he bent down and pulled a small sprig of heather from the tall grass. He held it out as if offering her a rare orchid, and as she took it with a smile, she caught sight of something unfamiliar against one of the rocks.
‘What’s that?’ she asked, pointing to a large woven container.
He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, looking pleased with himself. ‘That’s my surprise for you. I thought we could have a picnic together.’
She looked back to him again. ‘A what?’
‘It’s just a little something I got the skipper to arrange for me when we popped back to the boat just now.’
He had planned this?
‘But what’s in it?’ she asked as they walked over.
He watched her, seeing her greed to know more, see more, do more. Did he sense he was her ticket off this isle? ‘Tell you what – if you show me a pretty spot with a view, I’ll show – and share – what’s inside the basket. Agreed?’
Flora watched as he picked it up. From the way it sagged down from the leather handle, from the creak and groan of the woven receptacle, it was weightier than it looked. A small tinkling of glass came from within. Her curiosity was piqued.
‘I think you will enjoy it,’ he continued. ‘We have picnics all the time on the mainland.’
A small fire kindled in her stomach, warming her bones. She had a sense of a door opening and his world gliding past in the frame – there, almost within reach, waiting for her. ‘... You do?’
‘We do,’ he smiled, holding out his hand for her as she stepped daintily onto the grass, both of them knowing he’d correctly baited the hook at last.