Echo sat obediently by his master’s side on the boardwalk, watching her and panting wide-mouthed as though he were smiling at her.
She gave herself another quick assessing glance down her body as she approached them along the sea wall, glad she’d worn her trainers thinking how muddy the walking in Skye might be, less glad they were white.
Coming to a stop in front of Atholl and Echo she found she was grinning but having trouble looking Atholl in the eyes. Why was she the one feeling this new kind of awkwardness when Atholl looked somehow cool and self-contained? As she was searching for her sunglasses in her bag, a good distraction from her awkwardness, she spotted the boat, already loaded with Atholl’s jacket and woollen blankets.
‘We’re rowing? I thought when you said we had one of Seth’s boats we’d be in something with an engine!’
‘You’ll see more if we’re cutting through the water in silence.’ Atholl stepped one foot into the little rustic-looking boat and steadied it enough for Echo to jump in and crawl the length of the hull beneath the two wooden benches before curling up in the stern ready for a snooze at sea.
Atholl’s hand was reaching out for her own. Was he thinking she was going to make her excuses and run?
She didn’t remember stepping into the bobbing craft, but she was sure the sensation of Atholl’s strong hand clasping her own was indelibly imprinted on her nervous system.
He passed her the picnic basket which she stowed under the little bench she’d perched on and she watched as Atholl stepped into the boat, making it rock. Beatrice was relieved to catch a glimpse of a warmer Atholl when he laughed and grimaced all at once, finding his balance, deftly slipping the rope and pushing the boat off from the jetty.
‘There’s only one set of oars, Atholl, that doesn’t seem very fair.’
He’d already grasped them and was adjusting them in the handles. ‘You enjoy the journey. I don’t mind rowing.’
And so she settled on the bench as best she could, holding the sides of the rocking boat until Atholl had it turned and facing out towards the mouth of the bay. When he made the first stroke she just happened to be making a remark about the blue skies and wondering if the weather would hold but found herself stopping mid-sentence, dry-mouthed and staring at the muscles moving in his forearms and at the broad expanse of his chest as the oars met the deep resistance of the water, his shoulders and biceps straining against the soft, washed-out fabric of his shirt.
‘It’s set to be warm all day,’ he replied.
He was smiling. Had he noticed? How embarrassing. She vowed to be more sensible and turned her head to watch the gulls swooping over the water and the little fishing boats crisscrossing the harbour mouth. By the time the silence was beginning to feel crushing they were nearing the open water. Atholl steered them close to the rocks but the waves grew choppier.
She wanted to simply listen to the slap of water on the prow and the sounds of the gentle wind that was lifting her hair but felt she couldn’t. She wittered something about wishing she had a camera to photograph the scene and Atholl greeted her chatter with silence, his eyes occasionally passing over her face before quickly flitting to where the oars met the water.
Eventually, when she spoke again, Atholl talked over her. His voice was unusually quiet and she could just make out something along the lines of, ‘On the subject of bonny views, you,uh…’ But her own overlapping words erased the sounds.
‘Go ahead, you first,’ he insisted, with what looked like relief.
‘I was going to say, Gene seems happy.’
‘That he does. And he’s given me his word he’ll help with the evening food service again.’
‘No way!’
‘No’ bad, eh? Aye, he said Patrick and Mrs Mair did a good job wi’ the seafood last night but ifhe’dmade it he’d have served it wi’ samphire and no’ green beans, and he’d have gone easier on the garlic, and I said, well, there’s only one way to see wha’s recipes are better, and that was it, hook and line.’
‘Amazing! So it all worked?’
‘We’ll see. Anyway, he’s rustled up some bannock cakes for you, so you must be in his good books.’
‘It certainly looked like all was forgiven when I saw him and Kitty kissing in the kitchen this morning.’
Atholl smiled and pulled another long stroke at the oars, his thighs tensing and his feet planted firm and wide.
‘What were you going to say?’ Beatrice asked.
‘Umm, I forget.’
She filled the silence that followed. ‘Bannocks, you say? What’s a bannock?’
‘A bit like a wee scone. They’re good for breakfast.’
‘No heart-shaped honey buns today then?’ Beatrice remarked, finding she wanted to provoke him again. He was being altogether too serious and gentle, and a part of her missed his sparky wickedness. Kindness is all very well but not if it’s provoked by sympathy. She wanted him to be nice to her for other, harder to admit, reasons. The boat fell silent again until the rocks at the harbour mouth came into closer view.
‘Look! Seals!’ Beatrice exclaimed. ‘Actual seals.’
