Sam reached for a towel. ‘Your hair is still wet. You’ll catch a chill if you have wet hair all night.’ He got up, picked up a discarded towel and stood behind her. Gently he lifted the ends of her hair and began to dry them.
Elsa felt his presence behind her, heating her skin and bringing a soft blush to her cheeks. ‘You don’t need to do that,’ she said quietly.
‘I want to.’
They fell into a companionable silence, helped by a full belly, the peaceful house and the single, hypnotic flickering candle in front of her.
‘I think you have done this before,’ she mused.
His silence told her she was right.
‘A girlfriend?’
‘No, not a girlfriend. I grew up in Cornwall—’
‘Where is that in England?’
‘Southwest England. My home was near the coast.’
‘Is it beautiful there?’
‘Most of the time. Winter can be wet and windy. Every year my uncles and aunts would visit and we would make a special day trip to the beach. Anne and Charlotte—’
‘Who are Anne and Charlotte?’
‘My cousins. They loved the beach as much as I did and we would spend most of the day bathing and playing chase games while our parents watched from their picnic spot. The girls had long hair, which became wet, sandy and tangled very quickly. I used to watch their mothers comb and dry it. I was an impatient boy at the time and I wanted to run on the sand and build sandcastles with them.’ He sighed. ‘But it seems I still remember their mothers’ attempts.’
‘Do you miss Cornwall?’
‘Very much. If I ever get back to England, I will head for Cornwall. I don’t have anyone waiting for me in Kent. I thought I might have, but I realized...’
‘Realized what?’
‘People who really care stay with you during bad times, not just the good.’ He returned the towel over her shoulder. ‘Your hair is drier now.’
She reached up to take it, their hands brushing briefly. ‘Thank you. I hope you reach Cornwall too.’ She eased the towel from her shoulder but Sam did not release it completely. Instead, he continued to look down at their hands in silence. His thumb tentatively lifted and lightly caressed hers.
‘What will you do when you reach Bremen?’
‘I have to find my mother and sister. They are all I have now.’
He released the towel and she slid it from her shoulder. They fell silent, both unsure how to proceed. Elsa reached into her pocket and gently withdrew Otto’s drawing. She turned in her seat to face Sam. ‘My brother, Otto, is dead. He drew this,’ she said as she gave him the precious picture.
Sam carefully unfolded it and stared at it, his head bowed and his brows knotted in concentration. ‘This is you,’ he said eventually. He glanced up. ‘This is good. Your brother was gifted.’
She nodded and he looked down at it again. The knot in his brows softened. ‘What were you thinking at the time?’
She stood to inspect it with him. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘At first I thought you were daydreaming, but the longer I look at it, the more I see sadness. Perhaps your dreams were not good?’
‘Perhaps it was the day I admitted to myself that my dreams were not what I thought they were.’ He looked up at her, surprised by her sad tone. She shrugged. ‘I did not sit for him. This is his own creation. Let’s not read too much into my expression. Knowing Otto, my image is meant to tell many stories.’
He touched the pencil-drawn hair. ‘Your brother knew what he was doing. A picture should tell a story and the story can change depending on who is looking at it. This picture changes. Now I see hope in your eyes. I think it is a very good likeness. This picture must mean so much to you. I know it would mean a great deal to me if it were mine.’
The meaning behind his words sent her heart racing. Elsa stepped back, unsure. She opened her mouth to speak but could not. She wanted him to have it as a reminder of her, but the picture was the only thing she had of Otto.
He saw her hesitation. ‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t hinting that you should give it to me. It’s probably all you have of your brother.’
