Mrs M came in carrying an ornate platter on which the mackerel rested, surrounded by rice.
‘Can I help, Mrs M?’ Sage asked, getting up again.
‘You could fetch the tomato salad – thank you,’ Mrs M said, putting the heavy dish down. Kestrel was busying himself at the drinks tray.
‘Here’s one of the last bottles of Montrachet left from the cellar at home. Will you have a glass, Sage? It is a special occasion, after all. It’s much better for me not to drink alone,’ Kestrel beseeched her, his thin face turning towards her in supplication.
‘Oh, umm … Thank you, Kestrel. That would be lovely,’ Sage said in defeat as she left the room.
They ate quickly, their conversation slightly stilted. Kestrel drank most of the bottle of wine while Sage and Mrs M sipped modestly at their half-filled glasses. When they had finished, Sage stifled a yawn.
‘Would you mind very much if I disappeared up to bed now?’ she asked self-consciously. ‘I’m exhausted.’
‘No – not at all, Sage. Thank you for a lovely evening.’ Kestrel was ready to be left alone to his solitude; the strain of being sociable was showing in the tightness around his eyes. ‘When you wake, look out of the window. Hal especially will want to. Tarka will probably be playing in the shallows underneath your window and you might even see Finn too, but further out.’
Sage tried to speak coherently but she was so tired that her question came out jumbled and confused.
‘Finn and Tarka are … I mean, who?’
‘Forgive me. Tarka is our resident otter, and Finn is our dolphin!’
Sage hugged him tightly, full of wonder.
‘Good night, Kestrel. You’ve made our hearts so much lighter. Thank you for letting us be here with you.’
She headed for the stairs. Things seemed, incredibly, far less bleak than they had a few hours ago.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The sun was out, dappling the nettles round the tree, though it was a green underwaterish kind of light which seemed rather curious.
‘BB’,The Little Grey Men
Sage and Hal were waiting for sunrise, his small hand brushing against her arm, their bodies tucked up close.
Hal was still in his pyjamas, having climbed laboriously up onto the high bed and crawled underneath the sheets with exaggerated carefulness. When Sage had mumbled, ‘It’s not quite morning yet, darling,’ he had put his finger to his lips.
‘Shhhh … Mumma sleeping.’ This had been followed by peals of laughter.
It seemed to Sage like she’d only just slipped into a deep sleep when Hal woke her, after hours of her mind endlessly turning over thoughts of her father, of Rafe, and of Santiago. She’d coerced Hal into lying quietly with her in the hope that he’d drop off again.
‘It must be morning time now, Mumma,’ he insisted.
Sage relented and sat up, blinking in the pink glow of the dawn light. Sloping shadows cast about the room by the rising sun danced softly upon the cream plaster of the ceiling.
‘Hmm, perhaps. I’ll check.’ She got out of bed, her bare feet cold on the thin carpet, and stepped over to the window. She had forgotten to draw the curtains last night. The loch lay onlya few yards on from the garden wall and Sage caught her breath as she took in the calm, glassy water, which now reached almost all the way up to the house. The dawn sky was reflected on its surface and illuminated the surrounding hills with the soft light of a new day; they were a rainbow of earthen browns, greens and purples, their peaks topped with caps of snow and patches of golden cloud. The only signs of movement were the gentle ripples upon the flat loch and a few clouds that drifted across the fiery, rose-flushed sky.
‘Hal, come and look,’ Sage said in wonder. ‘It’s like a painting.’ Hal bounded over and his mother lifted him up so he could see out of the window.
‘Mumma, what’s that noise?’ he asked, his sharp ears already tuned into the sounds of wildlife outside. His chattering was punctuated by loud screeches in response to some unseen threat.
‘It’s a jay, darling. Can you see him hopping about on the wall? He’s pale pink and cream, with bright blue feathers on his wings. Look, he’s flying away. Keep your eyes open – there will be something out there that’s making him shout.’
‘M-Mumma, look!’ Hal pressed his nose up against the glass, pointing out to the loch. He could hardly get the words out in his excitement. ‘L-look!’
A sleek brown-and-buff dog otter was lounging, half in and half out of the water, beside a large protruding rock close to the water’s edge, a stone’s throw from the bottom of the garden. The little creature held a spiny sea urchin between two proficient paws and was ripping into it with strong jaws.
‘Who is that? What’s he doing?’ Hal asked, completely transfixed.
