The House Between Tides (16 page)

She had nodded coolly, and they began to walk back in a strained silence. If she had said nothing more, he would have managed somehow to smooth the matter over, but she had looked across at him and spoken again. “I imagine choosing the right place must be difficult. And then framing the picture as you want it.” He had grunted in response. “I was thinking as I stood by the rock pool how difficult it must have been for your girl in the painting.”

His girl.

“Meaning what?”

“To stay still for you, to hold her position as you wanted her.”

To hold her position . . .
He had strode ahead then, forcing her to quicken her pace.

Dear God! He lowered his head to the book to hide his pain. What mischievous sprite had put those words into her mouth? Màili had not held her position, nor kept her promises. When he had explored the hidden beaches and coves with Màili, his sketch-book had been a lure, a fig leaf to hide his desire, while with Beatrice it had become a shield he held up to keep her at a distance. The contrast was too great, too painful; he must never take her with him again.

God knows he had meant to make it work, he thought despairingly, as he got up to refill his empty glass, but the past still had its
claws into him. Just rounding the corner and seeing her standing there . . . And her averted face now signalled the distance he had put between them.

He could never explain. For Beatrice,
The Rock Pool
was a painting, nothing more. But for Theo, it had changed everything.

For that day Màili had become for him the beating heart of the island, inseparable from his art. When he had first returned from Glasgow he had come across her scattering food for the hens outside the schoolhouse, backlit by the sun, and the smile she had given him that morning had lit in him the joy he felt seeing diamonds of light trembling on the cusp of a wave, or sunlight on a gull's wing, or moonlight low over the strand. But from that day, beside the rock pool, she had become his whole world.

“I love you, Màili.”

She glanced at him, saying nothing, and pushed aside her hair in a characteristic gesture. His artist's eye caught the glints of gold amongst the brown, and he caught at her arm, pulling her towards him, and she resisted for only a moment. “Do you love me?” he had asked, desperate to hear her say so, and she had nodded, her breath on his cheek, as his lips sought hers.

And as he held her, easing her back into the soft grassy hollow, a fickle breeze sprang up, sending ripples across the rock pool. “Màili—” He had looked into her eyes, seeking confirmation there, and believed that he saw it. And as his lips parted hers, a flurry sent the discarded flower heads skimming over the water until one came to rest in the shadows, hard up against the rock.

He drained his glass and shut his eyes in a futile effort to block the memory— Then, through half-closed lids, he stole another look at Beatrice. In Edinburgh, her calm beauty had attracted him, but it hadn't proved enough to drive Màili's more vibrant shade away. She was everywhere, a fleeting will-o'-the-wisp, a light across the peat bogs, drawing him on—and he knew himself still possessed.

He ducked back to his book as Beatrice stirred beside the window and then rose. Her shoulders seemed to straighten, and he remembered her icy coolness as they walked back to the house; for a moment he had glimpsed steel beneath the gentle skin.

“I'll retire now, Theo,” she said quietly. “The fresh air has made me tired.”

“Good night, my dear.”

“Good night.”

And as she withdrew, she left something of that coolness behind her. Theo tossed his book aside and sank into his chair. Dear God. What a confounded mess! He had believed he could love Beatrice, but he was making the poor girl unhappy— Coming here had been a mistake, after all. They should leave, not stay the summer. Perhaps go to Italy, or Turkey, somewhere foreign, to a place that was not haunted by Màili and where Cameron was out of sight.

Each day the knot of frustration with him tightened, and Theo sensed him pulling away, censorious and defiant. And although part of him wanted to acquiesce to Cameron's demands, and gain his approval, he would not be browbeaten. So now they argued at almost every encounter, and yet . . . and yet, still, amongst it all he wanted Cameron to stay.

But he and Beatrice should leave, before there was further damage.

Then he remembered the visitors who were arriving next week and cursed aloud.
Damn
them. He couldn't leave! Not yet, anyway, so somehow they must stagger through. And he sat there, shoulders hunched, staring ahead, lost in anguish, while the evening shadows lengthened.

1910, Beatrice

Beatrice put a hand to her escaping hair as she reached the top of the dunes, and there she stopped, breathless, and looked down at the shoreline in surprise.

She had left the house early, craving the windswept solitude of Torrann Bay, where she might be alone to think and try to understand. Theo had slept in his dressing room yet again, and she had not seen him this morning. He had left the house early and gone to wherever it was that he went.

But solitude was to be denied her, it seemed, and she bit her lip in consternation. Below her, the sands of Torrann Bay were occupied by a large group of men and women, with horses and carts at the water's edge, all engaged in some strange activity. They seemed to be gathering seaweed, using long-toothed forks and rakes to heave it onto the beach, and others were lifting it onto the waiting carts. A third cart was being unloaded higher up the beach, and its contents were being spread on the rocks.

Distracted, she went closer to watch, and as she stood there, a rider approached along the beach, dismounted, and began an animated discussion with the labourers. A group soon gathered round him, and she could hear them arguing. Then one of them spotted her and they fell back, revealing the rider to be Cameron Forbes. They all stared at her a moment, then dispersed. One of them went across to the group unloading the cart, while Cameron remounted and trotted over to her.

“You're a long way from home, Mrs. Blake,” he said, sliding off his pony beside her. “Have you come to help?”

She had grown used to Cameron's easy manners, and smiled. “Whatever's going on?”

“They're harvesting seaware.” She looked blank. “Kelp.” She was no wiser. “But they're spreading it too close to the beach; a big storm, and we'll have the work to do again. I was telling them to take it further back.” He looked over at the group on the rocks and grinned. “They were grumbling until they caught sight of you.”

“Why should
I
make a difference?”

“Word might get back.” He gave her a wry smile, then shouted something across to them. One giant of a man returned a laconic, sarcastic reply, to which Cameron gave a brief response and raised a fist, provoking a spurt of general laughter. He turned back to her, still grinning. “A calm day like this is ideal; it's far harder if there's a swell on the sea.” But it still looked arduous, the seaweed slippery and heavy.

“But what's it for?”

He crouched down and took a handful of almost solid material from a burned ashy spread at her feet. “Easy money,” he said, holding it up to her. “Hebridean gold.” He squeezed it between his fingers like putty. “Or it was, once. For the landlords, that is. The tenants never saw the profits.” He wiped his hand on the turf and straightened. “It's not worth much now, just a few extra shillings, and if the price is very bad we spread it on the fields ourselves. A lot of hard work”—she watched the women stop to straighten up and stretch their backs—“for a very small return. But if there's a good spell of sunshine and a warm breeze, it'll soon be dry enough to burn.” His eyes glinted briefly. “And then you'll see this ridge transformed into the gateway to hell, with Lucifer's henchmen feeding the fire, blackened faces, and a thick grey smoke, pitchforks and all.”

“How terrifying.” She smiled. “I must come and watch.”

“Aye, nowhere's safe for idling anymore, with such an energetic mistress.” His teasing smile was a balm to her spirits.

They strolled back towards the track where he had left the pony. “You've a party of guests arriving soon, I understand,” he said, as he reached for the halter, and she nodded. So far their only visitors had been local landowners, or their factors, but a party of three couples from Edinburgh was expected soon, their first mixed house party. Theo's long-time patron, Charles Farquarson, was one of them and had persuaded Theo that an invitation to the others would flatter their conceit and open their purses for a new gallery he was planning. Beatrice was daunted by the prospect, but Theo had airily dismissed her concerns, and later, as they sorted through bed linen and blankets too long in store, Mrs. Henderson had been reassuring.

“You'll be glad of the ladies' company, I expect,” said Cameron, running his hand along the pony's back, watching her face.

Beatrice considered for a moment before answering. “I suppose I will be, but I've got out of the habit. The social dos and don'ts.” He said nothing but continued to watch her. “All the little rules and rituals.” She hesitated, then confided, “I've got used to wandering around in simple clothes all day, you see, pleasing myself. It's like a release from bondage.”

Cameron raised an eyebrow and looked across at the kelp workers. “A benign form of slavery, nonetheless, madam,” he said.

She followed his glance and bit her lip. What a stupid thing to say. “I meant only the social stranglehold.” But when she looked back at him, chastened, she saw that his eyes were fixed on something over her shoulder, his expression wary, and she turned to see Theo approaching along the field track in the horse and trap.

“You're all the way out here, my dear,” he said as he drew up, his eyes searching Beatrice's face, and she felt a jolt of pleasure. He
had come looking for her! “Someone said they'd seen you heading this way. Very ambitious!” Then he turned a stony face to Cameron, who had stepped forward to take the reins. “I'd expected you to be working with me this morning, young man. I
didn't
expect a message saying you were engaged elsewhere and that I'd have to come looking for you.” So was it Cameron he had sought, not her? She swallowed a pang, then saw that his attention was fixed on the kelp gatherers. “Is it really worth the effort these days,” he muttered, “for a few shillings?”

“They need the shillings, Mr. Blake.”

Cameron spoke quietly, but Beatrice saw Theo's eyes snap. “And aren't they spreading it too close to the beach? Surely they realise—”

“I've spoken to them. They're going to bring it higher up.”

Theo grunted and took up a pair of field glasses, first scanning the workers on the beach, then swinging round to the fields and pausing to study them more closely. Beatrice sensed Cameron grow still and watchful, and when Theo lowered the glasses he fixed Cameron with a hard look. “Who are they?”