‘And so helpingmein a roundabout way because he’ll be one step closer to recovering from Lana leaving him, you mean?’
‘Exactly!Andbecause it’s nice to help him, of course. He’s so close to standing on his own two feet again; soon you’ll be able to tell him you’re leaving the inn in his capable hands and you’re setting up a proper willow crafting business here, with a proper visitors’ centre and a busy workshop, and everything you told me you dreamed of.’
‘You’ve got it all figured out, then.’
‘He needs one last gentle shove in the right direction, andvoilà, everybody’s happy!’
‘A shame you’ll no’ be here to see it.’
Beatrice dug her spade into the ground just as Atholl stopped digging and surveyed the landscape.
After a moment’s heavy silence, Atholl said, ‘The season’s changing, can you feel it?’
Beatrice wondered if he’d been thinking of September coming and how she’d be checking out on the last day of August, the day after the ceilidh, and now only three days away. ‘Don’t say it’s nearly autumn, I can’t bear it. The long dark days. I’m dreading them. I want it to stay summer forever.’ She suppressed a shudder and tried to focus on Atholl’s voice.
‘The harvests are nearly in across the county and the nights are drawing in. The ceilidh’s come round fast this year. My only hope is that Gene can stomach it.’
‘I hope so; it seems a shame to hide away from life.’
Atholl cocked an eyebrow, throwing Beatrice a level look, amused but not unkind.
‘Oh, all right! I know I can’t talk, running away to the Highlands and everything, but hemustbe recovering by now. It’s been a long time.’
‘What did your horticulturalist say about the lavender?’ He nodded towards the book, now cast aside on the chair by the cottage door. ‘These things take as long as they take.’
There was nothing she could do but smile and absorb the sentiment and they worked on in silence. Beatrice’s clothes clung to her and she could feel the sweat and grime on her neck beneath her hair. She was glad they’d be swimming soon. Eventually she called out, ‘I’m getting tired now.’
‘You’ve done well. That’s two rows of lavender replanted and one meeting chaired and it’s only two o’clock,’ Atholl replied.
She smiled and wiped her hair back off her face. ‘I’ve enjoyed having a place to be and things to do. It’s been a good distraction from everything.’
‘There’s no’ many women would spend their summer holidays helping out a family o’ strangers.’
Beatrice smiled at the word. They had been strangers but now they were beginning to feel like family. ‘I’ve enjoyed it.’ It struck her that she meant it. She had found moments of calm and quiet and belonging, things she thought she could never recover.
‘Any excuse to make a list, eh?’ He laughed and she pitched a gardening glove at him, and they both called it a day and headed down to the coral beach to cool off.
Chapter Twenty-One
Undercurrents at the Coral Beach
It wasn’t until Beatrice was barefoot on the shards of coral and attempting to wiggle into her bikini while keeping the towel wrapped around her that she fully realised what she’d let herself in for. It would have been considerably easier if Athollwasn’tstanding by the water’s edge undressing and piling his clothes on a rock.
It was the ideal afternoon for swimming, the kind of late August day that promises building heat and clear blue skies until nightfall.
The perfect crescent of white coral reflected the glaring sunlight, making Beatrice squint and wish she’d remembered her sunglasses. The turquoise water lapped gently at the sharply rising rocks that enclosed the little beach and everything appeared sun-bleached and subtropical.
Beatrice scanned the shore for signs of other humans – or worse, crazed cattle – before she struggled into the bikini top, glad to see she and Atholl had the bay all to themselves. Not even Echo had followed them on their trip out to the But and Ben and down onto the serenely quiet beach.
‘Are you no’ ready? Can I turn round yet?’ Atholl called from the water’s edge as he peeled his stripy top off.
‘N… not yet,’ she cried, still holding the towel around herself despite being safely clad in her bikini. She wanted just a second longer to take in the view of Atholl Fergusson, his hair gleaming in the sunlight in messy copper coils as he lay his discarded top on the rocks and worked at the buckle on his belt, causing the muscles between his shoulder blades and down his back to flex and move.
Taking a moment to give herself a stern talking to about trying to be sensible andnotstare in slack-jawed wonder at Atholl, she tightened the towel around her and made her way to his side, taking a sudden great interest in the coral shards under her feet while Atholl finished undressing and stood before her in black swimming shorts, gazing out to the hazy blue horizon.
‘So,um… ready?’ she managed. ‘It’s not going to be cold, is it?’
Atholl’s blue eyes met hers. ‘Define cold.’
