“Here, at the village school. Well, not here exactly, but in Menai, about six miles inland,” I said, surprised at his question. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you don’t speak like I would expect a fishing village girl to,” he told me.
I was surprised to see his skin colour redden. I laughed, hoping to put him at ease.
“My mother encouraged us to read books. We have all of Dickens’ works and the Bronte sisters and more besides. It’s something I enjoy when I have the time,” I said. “Of course, I don’t particularly share that with the guests here; otherwise I am sure that my parents would be berated for letting me have the time to read when I should probably be doing chores.”
“I imagine some of them would be impressed. Julia reads, but never classic novels. She says they bore her,” he said as we began to walk along the beach together.
“Tell her to try The Scarlet Letter or The Awakening, I’m sure that no one can find them boring,” I said, cringing at the enthusiasm in my voice.
He laughed and then noticed my crestfallen look. “I’m sorry, Marcy,” he said, the amusement still there. “But it is nice to hear someone else be vocal about novels and reading. Too few people are and I often find myself in a minority when discussing such things.”
“What do you read?” I asked. He began to tell me as time slipped away, the sea merging into the darkened sky. We passed what must have been almost an hour discussing books and I completely forgot my promise to Jennifer to play her at cards.
I was reminded when I heard her voice calling me. She of course knew my habit of strolling across the sands in the evening. I stopped, Donald looking round at the same time as me.
“Are you playing or what?” She asked, appearing from out of the shadows.
“I’m sorry, I’ve kept you again,” Donald said, a hand running through his hair. I had noticed that it was a habit he had for when he was concerned.
“Not at all,” Jennifer said. “My sister has always been the flighty one!”
“I would never believe that,” Donald said. He made my cheeks turn crimson this time.
“Would you like to join us?” I asked, unsure whether it was something he would consider when his wife was lying ill in bed.
“That would be very kind, thank you,” he said. He surprised both of us when he said that. I thought he would be the dutiful husband and stick to Julia’s side, but maybe he needed something more.
I feel like I’m writing you a book with all of this but putting it on paper makes it clearer in my mind. I’m finding it difficult to stop thinking about him and I know that’s wrong. He’s married, Alice, and I shouldn’t be thinking of him like this. I wish you were here so you could talk some sense into me.
I’m looking forward to hearing more about Arthur!
Love,
Marcy
Gabe
It was the first time I’d brought an easel and paints down to the beach. The tide was heading out, leaving enough smooth solid sand for me to set up on and the wind had dropped considerably since the heavy rain on Saturday. I hadn’t painted outside of the barn yet, but I’d seen other people on the island doing so, setting up windbreakers or using their vehicles to keep their canvas shielded.
It was Tuesday, although given that I didn’t have a Monday to Friday job any more, the day of the week was almost irrelevant. I’d been out on the boats yesterday morning and then met the client on the island, biking to meet him with my laptop and camera in my backpack. He’d been amused by an architect turning up without a big car and a suit rather than put off, which had gone in his favour when I’d agreed to take on the job. I still wasn’t sure how I was going to handle doing a design without Ryan. While I’d walked the building, I’d heard his voice, pointing out the features I would’ve missed. He was the restoration expert, I was green and that’s how we’d been through university, through our placements, when we started out on our careers.
I started to paint, sketching out first. This was a picture only for me, at least for now it was. Snowdonia ranged across the Strait and I saw Ryan there. Somehow I was going to capture that on canvas, with colour and light, rather than solid form. Something different that the landscapes and seascapes I’d been doing.
“I’ve brought you some sandwiches.”
I broke suddenly from my concentration. The sun was lowering, putting time at late afternoon. The voice was one I’d thought about more than Ryan in the last couple of days and its owner stood in front of me wearing a long dress. I knew she wouldn’t have underwear on but that wasn’t what captivated me at that moment.
We’d seen in each other fleetingly over the last couple of days. The guesthouse had been busy and her sister had been officially put on bed rest. The new employee needed training and a member of staff had left to visit home where he had a sick relative. I’d been out on the boats and had started to sketch out ideas for my house, keeping Ryan’s voice in my head. I’d started to draw up blueprints for it too and had found myself lost in the dimensions and the possibilities.
Maybe I was moving on.
Maybe.
“I had no idea what time it was.” I stood up and headed over to her. She carried an old wicker basket filled with what looked like sandwiches and cake, very Victorian or some period of history I should’ve known more about.
“Clearly. I spotted you down here earlier and figured you were lost in your work.” She pulled out a blanket and spread it out on the sand that was softer and drier than it had been earlier. It was still warm, still a record June for the area, but not a boiling as it had been before the rain.
