Summer at the Highland Coral Beach (The Port Willow Bay series Port Willow Bay)

by Kiley Dunbar

  ‘Yes, please, if you’ll have me.’

  ‘What about Richard?’

  ‘He’s on his way back to his own place, I imagine. We said everything that needed to be said last night and as we were driving away I realised that I didn’t have to go back to my old place, and I don’t have to be where I don’t want to be. I’m not going to let the tide drag me back there against my will. That would drown me for sure. I can make a fresh start here, with you, if that’s what you want too.’

  His kiss stole the last words and she found herself pulling away from him just long enough to drag her suitcase inside the room, push the door closed, turn the key in the lock and walk Atholl backwards towards the pile of mattresses and quilts now covering the floor.

  * * *

  Beatrice hadn’t noticed the sounds of the tide coming in or the changing light as the sun started to fade in the hazy, watery afternoon sky, but the cool breeze over her bare skin from the open window told her it was getting late.

  ‘We should eat something,’ Atholl said in a murmur, but he didn’t move, instead running his fingertips over Beatrice’s side.

  ‘Hmmm. Good idea. I’ll get up and go any minute now.’ She opened one eye dreamily but didn’t move. ‘Do you know you’ve got some mattress down in your hair?’

  Reaching into the copper coils above his ear she freed the soft white feathers and Atholl took the opportunity to kiss her again, slowly and tenderly.

  Beatrice shuddered at the lovely memory the kiss provoked; Atholl’s curls skimming her neck and moving down over her breasts and belly as he trailed his lips over her, pressing warm, intent kisses into her flesh until her hands tangled in his hair and he delivered stroke after stroke of his tongue in languorous circles as she drew her thighs around his shoulders and forgot everything that had ever hurt her. The memory made her nerves sing and tingle.

  He broke off their kiss with a smile and, looking around the room, passed her the clothes he’d cast to the floor behind him in his fervour to have her naked. ‘You look half asleep, Beattie.’

  Beattie. That was the name he’d called out into the still noon air when she had made him ball his hands into fists against the piled up mattresses and quilts, pushing his heels hard against them, gasping for breath like he was drowning, her hair tumbling in silky waves over his stomach.

  They’d stayed hidden in their nest of feathers and sheets all afternoon, sipping whisky and kissing until Atholl had fallen asleep. Beatrice had draped an arm over his chest and watched his slow breathing until she too closed her eyes. She had known they’d be good at this. All her intuition had been correct.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Return to the Coral Beach

  Two pink lines streaked the watery sky as the sun began to sink into the horizon and Beatrice and Atholl picked their way across the coral beach, their arms tight around each other’s waists.

  ‘Are you sure coming here’s a good idea, Atholl? We don’t have a good track record on this beach, do we? I’ve been stampeded by cattle and we almost drowned. Are you sure a comet isn’t about to burn through the atmosphere and put an end to us for good?’

  The sound of Atholl’s laughter warmed her against the chilly evening as they found their way to where Gene and Kitty had lit their fire this morning.

  ‘You know, that was what made up my mind, in the car, with Rich. I was thinking about the few days you and I spent here and all the crazy things that happened: the cattle, the matchmaking, the trip to Skye, and meeting your family, and the riptide, rescuing the lavender field and then planning the ceilidh.’

  ‘We certainly kept you busy.’

  ‘Rich said to me that he and I had been through too much to throw it all away, but I couldn’t help thinking that me and you have been through just as much, even in our few short days together, but I enjoyed my holiday ten times more than the entire decade I spent with Rich.’

  He responded only with a satisfied kiss by the side of her mouth before tipping the pile of kindling and scrunched newspapers out onto the ashes from the earlier fire and searched in his pocket for the matches.

  ‘Wrap up warm,’ he said, as Beatrice set blankets down for them to sit on, keeping a large tartan travelling rug to wrap over their shoulders.

  The fire came to life quickly with the help of only one match and Atholl’s pursing lips blowing softly into the centre of the building flames.

  Beatrice held out one side of the blanket and Atholl slid underneath it, smiling at the warmth and being so close to Beatrice.

  They sat for a while in contented silence and Beatrice thought about the afternoon they’d spent locked away in the dismantled princess room and how Atholl had kissed her and held her as though she were a precious, tender, priceless thing, and they had made love for the first, and second, and third times.

  Atholl, Beatrice noticed, was smiling to himself as he looked out at the calm water. The sunset was turning from pink to orange. Anyone passing would have been astonished at how their eyes shone in the brightness and how their skin glowed, but they were alone. Even Echo had left them to it this evening.

  Atholl reached for the willow basket he’d carried with them and drew out russet apples and a curved knife. Silently, he peeled away slices for Beatrice, handing them to her one at a time, and taking crisp bites himself. Occasionally he stopped just to watch her eat or to press a kiss beneath her ear or on her cheek, and all the while they smiled contentedly.

  Brushing an apple pip from the blanket, Beatrice turned to Atholl. ‘You’re quiet tonight. Not having second thoughts again, are you?’

  ‘Second thoughts? Again? When did I have second thoughts before?’

  ‘When you told me to go back to Rich, and the morning of the ceilidh when you disappeared all day and didn’t come back till late. I sat in that garden in my fancy white frock for two hours wishing you’d come find me…’

  ‘Och,’ Atholl exhaled sharply. ‘You thought because I disappeared all day leading up to the ceilidh that I was avoiding you? You said as much, I remember.’

  ‘And weren’t you?’

  Atholl pulled Beatrice closer beneath the blanket.

  ‘I was away most of the day yesterday because I had a lot to do. In fact, it was all your fault, setting a fire in my belly with all your talk of business plans and loans and expansion – that and Gene’s words were ringing in my ears too. He told me to sort myself out before interfering in others’ lives, remember?’

  ‘Actually, I think he said that to me, but go on…’

  ‘Well, I stayed up most of Saturday night, partly trying to stop myself bursting through your door and climbing that ladder to your bed,’ Atholl’s eyes passed over Beatrice’s face and the wild, intense look he gave her took her back to earlier that afternoon and her nerves thrilled again at the memories. ‘I told myself I couldn’t come to you, and I couldn’t sleep either, until I had indeed sorted out my own life. And I asked myself, what would my Beattie do?’

  They both broke into broad grins and Atholl reached beneath the blanket again, pulling a piece of folded paper from his pocket. ‘I made a list.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘I learned from the best.’

  ‘The best what? Interferer? Wildcard? Bull in a china shop?’

  ‘The best healer I know. The best fixer. The best organiser.’ With each short phrase he delivered a kiss upon Beatrice’s cheek, the tip of her nose, then the side of her lips. ‘Do you want to know what it says?’

  She nodded, and turned a little to face him better. The fire had taken over as the chief source of light now that the sun was almost below the horizon. The dancing flames loved Atholl’s fine features and sea blue eyes, as did Beatrice.

  ‘OK then. Number one,’ he read. ‘Set interview dates for the new assistant chef and cleaners. They’re coming on Tuesday, by the way. I’m leaving Gene to interview them, since he’ll be their main boss and head chef.’

  Beatrice smiled her approval.

  ‘Nu
mber two. See Hector, my old tutor, the one who owns the But n’ Ben. And that’s what I did. I nipped in to see him on my way to pick up the bagpiper and the whisky yesterday. That’s why I was away so long. I’m sorry I left you to fix everything up for the ceilidh yourself and left you wondering if I’d done a runner…’

  ‘Never mind that, what happened!’

  ‘Oh, once I told him my plans for a proper, year round willow workshop and a store he agreed to sign the lease over to me. In fact, he was delighted to, said he was very proud of me, in fact.’

  ‘There you go!’

  ‘I’d never have asked without your encouragement, Beattie.’

  ‘And what else does your list say?’

  ‘Oh, OK. Number three. See Davy McTavish, the builder, about doing the conversion on the But n’ Ben, the one we got planning permission for years ago and I never had the resolve to actually see through. He’s been there all morning measuring up for a quote. Work starts in October.’

  ‘Good for you, that’s wonderful.’

  ‘Aye, it is. But that’s no’ all. Number four – and, mind, I wrote this two nights ago before I knew you’d be staying and after I’d told ye, like a fool, to run back to yer man and I was eaten up wi’ the regret. I only dared to hope you would be staying then. Number four. Turn my inn rooms into somewhere suitable for Beattie to come and stay, somewhere she wouldnae want to leave. Make her a home here.’

  Beatrice smiled her approval.

  ‘And lastly, number five. Be sure to tell Beattie that you are in love with her. Actually, I’ve written here hopelessly in love with her.’ He turned the page to show her and they both looked at the word and smiled. ‘But in fact, I love you with nothing but hope. Hope that I can make you happy, hope that I can give you all the things you need and want from me, hope that you’ll stay here forever, and hope that you’ll love me back.’

  ‘I do, I will,’ Beatrice sighed. ‘I’m staying here and I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘And will ye not mind our lives being in upheaval while we make us a home at the inn and I graft on my new business here? Won’t it weary you, make you lonely?’ He bobbed his head back towards the But and Ben, now in darkness on the gentle hills above them.

  ‘No. I have a place to sleep, I’ll have work to do, and a man to love – the perfect man for me. A man who likes to bring people together and help others and who now, apparently, likes to make lists.’

  They leaned closer and pressed their temples together, their gentle laughter wrapping around them.

  ‘And I’ve got a dog now too!’ Beatrice added suddenly. ‘Even if he is a bit of a wanderer.’

  ‘Ach, Echo’s always around for the important stuff.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘And I’ve got Kitty and Gene, too. And Seth. Even Mrs Mair. It’s been a long time since I’ve had real friends. And I’m going to look after these ones, really treasure them. And Cheryl and Jillian have already texted me to say they’re coming back next summer. Guess what they want to do?’

  Atholl shrugged.

  ‘Willow-weaving, of course! And Angela and Vic are sure to bring Clara for their holidays, try stopping them!’

  ‘Well, I’ll be glad to welcome each and every one of them. And with Kitty visiting from the university every weekend and during the holidays you’ll no’ miss her much either.’

  ‘Is that what she’s going to do? Good for her! And lucky Gene.’

  ‘He’s at the inn now, painting a room for them both. I’m no’ the only one set on home-making.’

  ‘I can see it all now.’ Beatrice smiled into the darkening horizon. ‘The Princess and the Pea Inn will be bustling with crafters and activities of all kinds.’

  ‘With the freshest seafood.’

  ‘And the prettiest princess room.’

  ‘And the bonniest landlady,’ Atholl smiled and pressed another kiss to her lips.

  ‘That makes me sound a hundred years old. It’s bad enough you calling me Beattie! How about, the bonniest, most amazing, co-manager?’ she said, smiling into his eyes.

  ‘Will that fit on the sign over the door?’

  ‘It’ll have to be a big sign to fit all our names on there. I’m glad Gene wants to share the task of running the inn.’

  ‘He agreed quick enough this afternoon, did he no’? I think we’ll be a good team.’

  ‘I know it. And you’ll no longer be supplying customers for every crafting business in the area except your own.’

  ‘I’ll soon have the willow workshop fully subscribed and the café thriving,’ he said, his eyes gleaming. ‘Not to mention the willow gift shop.’

  ‘Quite. Bring it on, I’m ready for all of it!’ Beatrice beamed. ‘Think of all the lists I can make!’

  ‘Will it be enough for you?’ He looked at her meaningfully. ‘Will you pine for your child? Can I be enough for you, if it is to be just us two forever?’ He touched his fingertips tentatively to her hand.

  Beatrice let the significance of what he’d said sink in. ‘Yes. I’m at peace with it. Some people might say I’m not a mum, but I am, and I’ll love my son until the day I finally meet him. But, I’m resolved now to make the most of my fresh start and to talk to you when I’m happy, or sad, or hopeful, or whatever. I feel as though the world is opening up to me again, and that’s thanks to you. And… if one of the things that’s opening up to me is a family with you one day, then that would be a wonderful thing, but I won’t focus on that, won’t fight for it. We’re enough together, you and I.’ She leaned her head towards his, and he let her press a soft kiss to a gently closed eyelid. ‘You wanted to help me, Atholl, and I kept resisting, but in the end, it was you who knew how to start putting me back together, no matter how much I wanted to recover by myself. I won’t bottle up my feelings and redirect them into panicked striving anymore. I’m just going to be contented here with my new life. How does that sound?’

  ‘Braw. That sounds braw.’ He turned his head to face her. ‘But tell me one thing.’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Do you really mind me calling you Beattie? I can stop if you want.’

  ‘No, don’t ever stop.’

  Their lips met once more, and when they separated, Beatrice was smiling wickedly.

  ‘Actually, Atholl… I, umm, I did hit upon a new idea.’

  ‘God preserve us.’

  ‘A dating board.’

  ‘A whit now?’

  ‘Well, you know how there’s all these single men brooding around Port Willow with nobody to dance with at Harvest Home?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I thought, what with all these women coming to the village for crafting holidays…’

  ‘Ah now, that’s no’ quite accurate. There’s a minibus load of knitters booked in for the new classes starting in December, every one of them a man.’

  ‘Even better! The more the merrier. And there’ll be all the new teachers you’ll need to run the courses and the new staff working at the inn. I thought maybe I could do a spot of matchmaking with a dating board in the bar where people could fill in a profile about themselves and stick it up on the board, and we could arrange some dates and see what happens, like we did with Gene and Kitty.’

  ‘Dating? On paper?’

  ‘Think of an analogue version of Tinder, only with more bristly men in fishermen’s jumpers and tweed. And we won’t just match up the boys and girls, we’ll cater for everyone, helping people find love in every shade of the rainbow.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. Yet remember you may have had success wi’ Gene and Kitty but they had known one another since we were all bairns. They weren’t holidaymakers and crafters or lonely-hearted old villagers.’

  ‘No, but they’d never have got together without a little help, would they? Same principle applies.’

  ‘So you’re going to bring love back to Port Willow, are ye? Make it the most romantic spot in the western Highlands?’

  ‘Yes! We can do anything we want to now, Athol
l Fergusson. We’ve got a new life ahead of us.’

  ‘That we have.’

  ‘Oh, and I did have another idea or two…’

  ‘Jings, your ideas will be the death of me.’

  ‘There’s a dog rescue round here, right? I think the inn could support a couple more lonely old gents, don’t you?’

  ‘Whatever makes you happy and makes you feel at home here in Port Willow.’

  ‘I am happy, Atholl Fergusson. I am home.’

  Atholl clasped Beatrice’s hand to his chest as they leaned their foreheads together once more and listened to the waves creeping slowly up the coral beach.

  The summer had come to an end and two pairs of lovers had found one another. Broken hearts were gradually mending, and in the fields behind the cottage craft school, sweet stalks of lavender buried deep underground were slowly taking root and new growth was sprouting unseen, bedding in for the long winter ahead, the promise of spring not too far away.

  A Letter From Kiley

  The fact that you’re holding my latest book Summer at the Highland Coral Beach in your hands right now makes me giddy with happiness and a bit nervous too because I want you to fall in love with Beatrice and Atholl, Kitty and Gene, and beautiful sunny Port Willow, just like I did as I was inventing them all.

  Your interest in my writing means the world to me, as do the reviews you write and share. Reviews make a huge difference to a new author like me and help other people find my books. So I’m saying a massive thank you in advance if you’re thinking of spreading the book love by writing a few words about this book. I’m hugely grateful.

  As you read, some of you might recognise Port Willow as my reimagined version of Plockton in the west Highlands. It is a stunning place, packed with cafés, B&Bs, seafood restaurants and pubs, and nearby there is indeed a tricky to reach coral beach with jagged shards underfoot and calm turquoise water that makes your jaw drop. I swam at the coral beach and the water was crystal clear (and very, very cold, even in August), and I’ll never forget that moment as long as I live.