Her heart clenched. How she missed her parents. They knew Cilla’s shortcomings and flaws and still loved her.
Until recently, Cilla would have called them quirks, not flaws. Now she knew better. Impatient. Impulsive. Willing to manipulate with charm. Too quick with a joke, and not nearly quick enough to defend the vulnerable.
She huffed and turned on the wireless to drown her thoughts. But the torrent of bad news from the Pacific didn’t help, and she turned it off.
How much longer until the sun rose? Only a pale gray tint to the east promised daytime and the arrival of Lachlan Mackenzie.
A thrill rippled in her chest. She hadn’t seen him since Hogmanay, and she’d need all her acting skills to conceal her feelings for him and keep everything light and teasing.
Cilla lined up pieces of green and gray fabric and pinned them together. Over the years, she’d fancied a dozen men and thought herself in love at least four times. She had indeed fancied them—until she hadn’t. Until she’d realized something was missing in them, and their doting began to grate.
With Lachlan, everything was upside down. Nothing was missing in him—except a romantic interest in Cilla. How couldshe blame him? All he’d seen in her character was deception and frivolity. Never in her life had she felt she wasn’t good enough for a man. But never in her life had she fallen for a man like Lachlan.
Cilla unspooled a length of thread and snipped it. When dancing, she’d seen his joy and almost mistaken it as interest in her. How arrogant. He’d been enjoying the music and dancing, the company of family and friends, and the break from his cares and responsibilities.
Leaning close to the lamp, Cilla threaded the needle. She took a stitch, and the thread pulled straight through.
She’d forgotten to knot it, and a chuckle released. If Lachlan were there, he’d laugh with her, not at her, same as he’d done on Hogmanay when she’d mangled the dance steps.
At midnight, the entire party had held hands in a circle, Lachlan’s large hand around hers, his rough voice belting out “Auld Lang Syne.” For the final verse, everyone crossed their arms before them and reclasped hands with their neighbors. When the song finished, they all rushed to the center and flipped under their linked hands to face outward. Cilla had spun the wrong way and gotten tangled, and Lachlan had turned her about with much laughter.
She could have kissed him. Kissed that scarred upper lip.
Cilla puffed a breath up her heated face and flipped on the wireless. Thank goodness, the news was over, and a lady was singing a happy tune about blue skies around the corner.
With sewing in hand, Cilla went to the window. In the morning twilight, a fishing boat made its way below the cliff with flocks of seabirds hovering around.
Back at the table, Cilla sewed her crooked seam and hummed to the tunes, singing when she knew the words.
Finally, nine o’clock. The BBC switched to Gordon Banner on the theater organ, and Cilla opened her log to make her weather and shipping observations.
To the east, the sun spilled golden light down the length of Pentland Firth. The fishing boat had meandered slightly to the west, and Cilla peered toward Scapa Flow. How long until Lachlan’s motorboat appeared?
A boom thudded in her ears. Three hundred feet below, the bow of the fishing boat exploded in splinters.
Cilla screamed and dropped her logbook.
The men! Cilla pressed her hands to the windowpanes. Dark shapes splashed in the water, clung to the sinking stern.
She rushed to the telephone and rang Commander Yardley’s office.
What had happened?
No aircraft above. A U-boat? No periscope in sight. How had a submarine approached so close to shore, evaded the radio direction finding at Dunnet Head?
Gwen answered the telephone.
“Thank goodness,” Cilla said. “I must speak to the commander straightaway. A—a fishing boat exploded.”
“Oh no,” Gwen said. “Commander? It’s Cilla.”
As soon as he answered, Cilla blurted out her report.
“Thank you for informing me,” Yardley said, far too calm. “We didn’t hear anything, but I’ll ask the boys at the station if they saw anything on their scopes.”
He didn’t believe her? “Commander, I saw it with my own eyes. You need to send out a boat straightaway.”
“I’ll investigate and if—”
