She looked down at the arches. From this position, she couldn’t even recognize the ordinary weaving workshops below. Somewhere under her feet was her own workroom, but she couldn’t tell where exactly.
“It’s ironic, if you think about it,” she said. “Where we now have damask and brocades, they once had British Howitzer guns shooting at German U-boats. How the world has changed.”
“Yes, except it would have been German Howitzers shooting at Allied ships.”
She glanced up at him, confused.
“The island was occupied by the Germans during the war.”
“I would have thought Herr Hitler wouldn’t be interested in such a small island.”
“Herr Hitler was very interested, believe me.” He walked back to her, his boots sure on the sloping surface. “This was the perfect outposts to prevent the British coming to the aid of the French. There are casemates like this all over the Channel Islands. You can even find bits of German tanks in the museum in the village.”
His eyes shone with excitement. Boys and guns, a match made in heaven.
She smirked. “I see you’ve outgrown your fascination with the island’s flowers and now moved on to masculine interests.”
“I think you’ll find” — He gave her a lopsided grin — “even women here would have cared about German tanks driving over their fields and orchards.”
“I thought they never had cars on the island.”
“Tanks aren’t cars, strictly speaking.”
“That is such a man-thing to say.” She waved a hand towards him in mock annoyance, but the motion unbalanced her and she stumbled forward. Right into Adam.
Fortunately, he was solid enough not to go down with her. “Careful.” He spread his feet wider for balance and held her until she steadied.
And that too was a man thing, helping a clumsy woman who can’t walk properly. All she needed was to swoon in his arms.
Surely she needed to be wearing a pretty dress and high heels for that particular trick.
He waited for her to step back before letting go his hold on her arms. His features had turned serious in the fading light. The sky was much darker by now, not a trace remained of the orange sunset half an hour ago. Nights came on fast in February.
Suddenly awkward, she desperately searched for something to say,anything. “Pierre was telling me the island has never had cars, it’s a long tradition.” Her breathing was coming rather fast. “Having said that, I don’t think the Third Reich cared much for island traditions.”
She was babbling, and the topic was boring, but her breathing was slowing down. Boring conversation did that.
“Although, if Lord de-Rottweiler was ruling the island then, he might have been more than a match for the Third Reich.”
Adam hadn’t said a word. He was holding himself very still. Perhaps she’d put him to sleep with the boring information dump.
She looked up and found him watching her intently. After a moment he blinked and seemed to relax.
“Don’t call him that.”
“What?”
“Rottweiler. I know he can be difficult but his bark is much worse than his bite.” Then he seemed to realize what he said. “Not that he’s a dog, I mean I didn’t mean it to sound as if…”
He tried again. “I mean…You know what I mean.”
They both started laughing in a much-needed release of tension. A mysterious frisson that had come from nowhere.
She let him help her down from the roof because she couldn’t seem to think clearly enough to decide. Would refusing his hand be more awkward or would it reveal her inner disquiet?
By the time they were on the ground, dusk had deepened all the way to night. Adam took a few tentative steps towards the corner of the building. “Uh…I seem to have lost my bearings. Which way home?”
“This way.” She headed the other way and he followed.
