The Island Girls

Chapter 8

8

brOWNSEA ISLAND, POOLE – SUMMER 1998

Rebekah lay in bed with the curtains wide open, watching the steady progress of small puffs of dark clouds as they sailed across the moon. The sounds of the sleeping island soothed her through the open window and she smiled to hear the occasional pipping of the little pipistrelle bats as they flew between the trees. The sound always reminded her of a little clay bird whistle she’d been given as a child, which she would fill with water and then blow into the pipe, making a tiny, warbling sound just like the call of the bats she now knew so well.

An owl called softly in the distance and Rebekah drifted to sleep, nestled luxuriously in the softness of her down pillows and quilt, overcome by tiredness as only can be felt after a day spent walking and working in the fresh pine-scented woodlands of her island.

The knock, when it first sounded, went unheard, as if it was simply the breeze getting up a little and rapping a branch against a window on the other side of the cottage. But with its second report, it became strong enough to rouse her and she lifted her eyelids a touch. The third knock created the moment of her waking fully. She thought through the possibilities as she slipped her feet from under the soft covers and pulled on her robe. There were only the staff of John Lewis who were staying as guests within the castle walls overnight, or else the campers on the island with her tonight. One of the former could have wandered off for a midnight walk and lost their way back to the castle. The latter could be more worrying – there was nothing any of the campers could need from her unless there was a real problem; perhaps a child had gone missing, or a camp fire was out of control?

She turned the landing light on as she passed the top of the stairs, not that she needed to see where she was going, but rather to let the knocker know she was on her way.

Rebekah unlatched the door, flicking on the porch light to better see who was responsible for disturbing her sleep. She put in a substantial effort to change her facial expression from a somewhat grumpy you woke me up into the perfectly composed customer service provider’s how may I help you? But as the light shone onto the warm and lovely face that greeted her when she opened the door, Rebekah knew that she gaped with a look that read quite obviously: I wasn’t expecting anyone like you .

He stood taller than Rebekah so that even though he was beneath her on the step of the porch, his eyes looked down a little into hers. He was large without being bulky, and probably muscly beneath his waxed raincoat. He had an aura of strength mingled with gentleness, a face that exuded meekness. In the dusky gloom of the yellow porch light, the shadow of dark, bristly stubble lengthened, making him look more haggard than he probably was. There were delicate laughter lines around his eyes but deep creases in his forehead that reminded her to breathe and ask him what was wrong.

‘Firstly, I am so very sorry to wake you at this awfully late hour,’ he said, glancing at his watch and covering his face with one hand. ‘But I saw the cottage and at first thought I might just sleep here until I realised someone probably lived here, and after I’d opened the gate – which has such a loud squeak to its hinges, don’t you think? – then I was worried that you – or whoever lived here – might hear me and be worried about intruders, so I decided to go ahead and knock. I’m so sorry. I’m rambling. Actually, that’s probably where I should have started,’ he said and seemed about to continue but Rebekah took this opportunity of a minor break in the flow of his very long account to interrupt him.

‘Is anyone in danger?’ she asked, pointing down towards the campsite.

‘No, no, not at all. Sorry. It’s just me – and I’m fine, but?—’

‘Then why don’t you come inside. We’ll have a cup of tea, and I can see how I can help you,’ Rebekah offered. Tea. She’d been awake now for several minutes and if she was expected to stay awake any longer, she was going to need a cup of tea. Strangely, it wasn’t until later that it had even occurred to her that this might have been dangerous – the business of welcoming a completely strange man into the cottage at night, while she was half undressed and all alone. But something about his meekness had spoken safety to her, even in those first few seconds of meeting him.

He followed her inside, pattering out apologies and politely taking his boots off at the door before slipping off his wax raincoat (quite unnecessary on this balmy summer night, Rebekah thought) and hanging it over the back of a kitchen chair.

‘How do you like it?’ she asked him over her shoulder and saw in his face something of a frightened rabbit. ‘Tea,’ she explained. ‘How do you like your tea?’

‘Oh, right. White and no sugar, thanks. This is so good of you. I’m Paul, by the way.’

‘Paul.’ She nodded. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Rebekah Martin – the ranger in residence – but I imagine you knew that?’ she said as she filled the kettle and set teabags into two matching mugs. She turned and leant against the kitchen sink, waiting for the kettle to boil, and watched him as he seemed to notice for the first time that she was wearing a light silk robe with barely anything underneath it. Colour blushed his already tanned face and she felt his anguish and so, as he was about to open his mouth to apologise again, she stopped him.

‘Take a seat, Paul. Would you be more comfortable here at the table or on the settee?’

‘Here’s fine, thanks,’ he said, pulling the heavy wooden chair back and scraping it on the slate tile floor. The kettle boiled and Rebekah poured the water over the teabags, gave them a squish with a spoon after letting them steep, and fetched the milk from the fridge. She carried the two mugs over to the table, sat down opposite Paul and watched him cup his hands around the mug. He’d been wearing just a T-shirt and shorts underneath the raincoat and now she saw why he’d put it on. He had the tell-tale red marks of many mosquito bites on his arms and legs.

‘So, what’s up then, Paul? How come you’re wandering about the island at this time of the night, getting eaten alive by our vicious wildlife?’ she said with a cheeky smile and a nod to the bites.

He snorted in response, nearly choking on his tea.

‘It’s a short and incredibly stupid story, I’m afraid. I’m embarrassed to tell you, really, and feel so awful for waking you now – but once the mozzies started having a real go at me, I didn’t think I could cope with another six hours of this torture.’

‘So, where are you supposed to be right now? At the castle?’ asked Rebekah, blowing on her tea and taking a delicious sip of her favourite drink of all.

‘No, I’m supposed to be in a comfortable king-sized bed at the Harbour Heights Hotel.’

‘And yet, you chose to walk around Brownsea Island at midnight and become mozzie fodder?’ she asked with one eyebrow cocked higher than the other.

And then he laughed. Perhaps it was the tea warming him, or maybe he was just relieved to be indoors, or possibly her dry sense of humour really tickled him, but his laugh was a deep chuckle that shook his broad shoulders and lit up his eyes.

‘Naturally, yes,’ he said, flashing a wide smile. ‘Why sleep in a bed when there’s heather to lie on? I blame it all on Enid Blyton, myself,’ he added. ‘No, that’s not fair. It’s not her fault at all. She only tempted me here. I was the fool who succumbed to the heather.’

‘So, you have actually lain down on a bed of heather tonight then?’ asked Rebekah.

‘Not tonight, as such, no. That happened around five o’clock. I came over on the ferry this morning, and I had a wonderful time looking all over the island. I spent quite a while at the lagoon, trying out all the hides. I’m not much of a bird spotter usually, but it was addictive once I learnt to sit there in silence and just watch – like viewing a nature documentary. I could almost hear David Attenborough’s voice telling me all the bird names and describing what they were up to. Then I went up to the daffodil fields to eat my lunch and watch the peacocks and went on down to the ruins of the village at Maryland and Pottery Pier – fascinating, isn’t it?’

Rebekah nodded enthusiastically and went to get out a few biscuits and boil the kettle again for another cup, as Paul carried on.

‘Then I did a tour of the other side of the island, the scout camp site, and all the views of the Purbeck hills from up there. I just wandered until I found some heather and the kid in me wondered if all the Famous Five stories could really be believed. Was the heather such a wonderfully soft bed to sleep on? Turns out, when the prickles are kept off your skin by a good, strong, wax jacket with a padded lining, it’s a perfect mattress. So perfect, in fact, that I didn’t wake up until hours later when the sun was beginning to set and the mozzies came out. I raced down to the jetty but I knew I’d missed the last ferry. I did think about going to the castle but the signs were pretty clear about it being private property, and entry being only for staff and their pre-booked guests. So, I realised I was a bit stuck.’

‘I’m sure if you’d gone to the kitchen door at the castle and explained your situation, they’d never have turned you away, but you’re right. They are pretty fierce about their private castle,’ groaned Rebekah. ‘Still, I mustn’t grumble. The private lease of the castle is a huge bonus to the National Trust work here, as they pay so much for the privilege. So how did you end up here at Rose Cottage?’

‘My next thought was to head to the campsite to see if some kind campers might have a spot in a tent for me. But when I drew near, it was all in silence and total darkness by then – being nearly midnight by this time – and I realised I’d be a terrifying prospect to them all, if I woke them from their sleeping bags. And then I remembered seeing this cottage and wondered if it might be empty, and unlocked even. I saw the curtains in the window, and wellington boots outside the front door and realised my mistake. But by then I was worried about being caught trespassing and thought it best to just come right up and knock. And wake you up. I’m so sorry for that, Rebekah,’ he said as he sighed and reached a hand across the table as a gesture of repentance.

She studied his face again and saw the warmth and honesty in his eyes. Rebekah had read of enough Troys, d’Urbervilles, Willoughbys and Wickhams to be sure of her own judgement. This one was a Jude, a Gabriel Oak, a Colonel Brandon – it wasn’t his fault that everything had been against him, and she knew he would never harm her.

‘Are you hungry, Paul? It sounds as though you didn’t get any dinner?’ she asked.

‘I’ve been trying not to think about it, but yes, I’m famished.’ He laughed again.

‘Do you like seafood? Mussels? I’ve some tasty leftovers in the fridge if you’d like some.’

He groaned with delightful expectation. ‘That sounds amazing, if you’re sure I’m not too much of a bother? I feel so bad…’

She shushed him and went to warm the pasta bowl in the microwave, momentarily sparing a thought for poor Ben who had meant the mussels as a gift entirely for her pleasure. Then she fetched a spare blanket and pillow from the cupboard under the stairs.

‘I’m sorry, there’s no spare bed here – only mine – but you’re welcome to kip on the settee for the rest of the night. I’ll even give you breakfast if you make me a cup of tea in the morning,’ she joked.

‘You’re an angel, Rebekah. An absolute angel, and this,’ he said with a mouthful of mussel and tomato pasta, ‘is the food of the gods. Did you cook this?’

‘I did. The mussels were brought over from Poole this morning. Good, isn’t it?’

‘Good? It’s heavenly. Oh, sorry, I’m being so selfish – here, share it with me,’ he said, pushing the bowl into the middle of the table and handing her the unused spoon, while he held the fork. She paused for a moment before realising that sharing a bowl of pasta with Paul, this man she’d never known before she’d gone to sleep just a few hours ago, seemed the most natural thing in the world.