by Sarah Morgan
‘You’d be all right. They’d pick you up and leave me in the water.’
‘No problems, then. Lemonade?’
Conner winced. ‘Are you serious? What is this—nursery food?’
‘It’s home-made. Evanna makes it.’ She poured him a glass and he heard a dull clunk as ice cubes thudded into the glass. ‘It’s very refreshing.’
He took the glass and stared at it dubiously. ‘If you say so.’
‘You’d probably prefer beer.’
‘I don’t drink.’ He felt her eyes on his face and when she spoke her voice was soft.
‘Because of your father.’ Her quiet statement required no response and so he didn’t give one.
They ate in silence and he found himself glancing at her occasionally and noticing things about the way she looked. Like the fact that she had tiny freckles on her nose and that her eyes were incredibly pretty.
‘You should ditch the glasses,’ he said softly, and she blinked awkwardly.
‘Oh…’ She concentrated on the chicken and suddenly he was reminded of a baby kitten he’d found abandoned when he’d been a child. It had been so soft and vulnerable that he he’d been afraid to touch it in case he harmed it. So he’d placed an anonymous call to the vet’s surgery and had then hidden behind a tree, watching until they’d picked it up.
Flora had that same air of vulnerability.
They finished the picnic in silence and she packed everything away tidily in the basket. ‘There’s a good wind. I always find there’s nothing better than sailing to clear the mind and put everything into perspective.’
‘Flora—’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t want to sail, because I know you tried to hire a boat from Finn at the sailing school. I’m offering you my boat. With or without myself as crew.’
He stared out to sea. ‘I was going to clear the house out this afternoon.’
‘There’s no worse job in the world,’ she said softly. ‘After Dad died, it took me six months to even go into the house. I just couldn’t face all those memories. And mine were happy ones. Are you sure you don’t want to talk about this?’
‘I wouldn’t know what to say. I’ve been away for twelve years. But it seems even that isn’t long enough.’ Conner took a mouthful of his drink and choked. ‘That is truly disgusting.’
Flora laughed. ‘Some people prefer it with sugar.’
‘The only way I’d drink it is topped up with gin. And given that I don’t touch alcohol, there’s no chance of that.’ Pulling a face, he emptied his glass onto the sand. ‘Where’s your boat moored?’
‘South Quay.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘In full public view.’
‘Yes.’ She scrambled to her feet and brushed the sand from her skirt. ‘We need to go via my house so that I can change, but that will only take a minute.’
‘You seriously want to sail? I thought you hated being the focus of people’s attention.’
‘I won’t be the focus,’ she muttered, carefully stacking everything back into the basket. ‘You will.’
She was being kind, he realised. Trying to show solidarity in front of the locals.
He probably ought to refuse but just as he opened his mouth to do just that, the wind gusted and he glanced at the waves breaking on the beach. ‘It’s a perfect afternoon for a sail.’
‘Then what are you waiting for?’ She walked towards the path. ‘Are you coming, Dr MacNeil? Or would you rather spend the afternoon being moody?’
* * *
She’d never had so much fun. The wind was gusting at five knots and Conner was a born sailor, with a natural feel for the wind and the sea and blessed with nerves of steel. And although they came close several times, he didn’t land them in the water.
As the water sprayed over the bows, Flora laughed in delight. ‘Who taught you to sail?’
‘Taught myself. Sank two boats in the process. Probably why Finn won’t rent me a boat. I always loved being on the water. The sea was the place where everything came together.’ He tightened the mainsheet as he turned the boat into the wind. ‘Ready about,’ he called. Flora released the jib sheet and they both ducked under the boom as the boat came swiftly around. The wind caught the sails and the boat accelerated smoothly away, the sea sparkling in the summer sunshine.
It was hours before they finally turned the boat back towards the jetty and Flora felt nothing but regret. ‘Do you ever feel like just sailing away and never looking back?’
‘All the time.’ He adjusted the sail. ‘What about you?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She gazed dreamily up at the sky, loving the feel of the wind and the spray on her face. ‘I love being on the boat. It’s just so easy and comfortable. No people. No problems.’
‘You are full of surprises, Flora Harris.’ Conner laughed. ‘I never imagined you were a sailor.’
‘I bought her with the money Dad left me when he died. He was the one who taught me to sail. I was hopeless at team sports at school because I was too shy. No one ever picked me. I think Dad realised that sailing would suit me. I love the freedom of the boat. And the fact that you’re away from people.’ She closed her eyes and let the sun warm her skin. ‘I’m always tense around people.’
‘You’re still incredibly shy, aren’t you?’
She opened her eyes. ‘Yes. But I’ve learned to act. That’s what you do as an adult, isn’t it? You act your way through situations that would have paralysed you as a child.’
‘Was it that bad?’
‘Yes.’ Her simple, honest response touched him.
‘I didn’t realise. I just thought you were studious.’
Flora stared at the quay, measuring the distance. ‘If I was absorbed in a book then no one bothered with me, and I preferred it that way. I liked being inconspicuous.’
‘So why did you come back to Glenmore? Logan said you were working in Edinburgh before this. I would have thought it was easier to be inconspicuous in a city.’
‘It’s also very lonely and I missed the scenery and the sailing. Coming back here seemed like the right thing to do.’
‘And was it?’
She glanced at him. ‘I don’t know. Even though I know they mean well, I can’t get used to the fact that everyone knows what everyone is doing.’
They approached the jetty and she released the jib sheet and the sail flapped in the wind. Conner turned the boat head to wind and brought her skilfully into the quay.
‘She’s pretty.’ He ran a hand over the mast and Flora felt her heart kick against her chest.
She wished she were the boat.
He leapt over the foredeck onto the quay and secured the boat to the jetty while Flora de-rigged the boat, wishing they could have stayed out on the water. Now that they were on dry land she was suddenly aware that she was with Conner MacNeil and that all the locals were watching them.
As usual, Conner was totally indifferent. ‘I had no idea your father encouraged you to indulge in such dangerous pastimes. My impression was that he kept you under lock and key. He was strict.’
‘Not strict, exactly. Protective.’ Flora stepped off the boat and onto the quay. Hot after the exertion, she removed her hat and her hair tumbled loose over her shoulders. ‘My mother died when I was very young and I think he was terrified that something would happen to me, too. He never relaxed if I was out.’
‘I don’t remember you ever going out. All my memories of you have books in them.’
Flora laughed. ‘That was partly my fault. I was painfully shy and books stopped me having to talk to people.’
‘So why aren’t you shy with me, Flora?’
Her eyes flew to his, startled. It was true, she realised. She’d had such fun she hadn’t once felt shy with him. Not once. ‘I’m never shy when I’m sailing.’
But she knew that it had nothing to do with the sailing and everything to do with the man.
She felt comfortable with Conner.
Unsettled by that thought, she looked
across the quay at the throngs of tourists who were milling around on their way to and from the beach. ‘Can I treat you to a hot fudge sundae? Meg’s café is calorie heaven.’
‘I don’t think so.’ He checked that the boat was securely tied. ‘I just upset the balance of Glenmore. I’m like you. Better with the boat than people. I’ve never been any good at platitudes and all the other false things people say to each other.’
It was so close to the way she felt that for a moment she stood still. Who would have thought that she and Conner had so many similarities? ‘But you came back.’
He gave a careless shrug. ‘It was time.’
But it wouldn’t be for long, she knew that.
Suddenly she just wanted to drag him straight back on the boat and sail back out to sea. On the water she’d had glimpses of the person behind the bad boy. He’d been relaxed. Good-humoured. Now they were back on dry land his ice-blue eyes were wary and cynical, as though he was braced for criticism.
A commotion on the far side of the quay caught her eye and she squinted across the water. ‘I wonder why the ferry hasn’t left yet.’ Flora glanced at her watch. ‘It’s five past four. Jim always leaves at four o’clock sharp. He’s never late.’
‘Obviously he is today.’
‘What are they all staring at?’ An uneasy feeling washed over her. ‘Something is happening on the quay. Conner, I think someone must have fallen into the water.’
A woman started screaming hysterically and Flora paled as she recognised her.
‘That’s Jayne Parsons, from the dental surgery. Something must have happened to Lily. It must be little Lily in the water.’ She started to run, dodging groups of gaping tourists as she flew towards the other side of the quay.
And suddenly she could see why people were staring.
Blood pooled on the surface of the water and Flora felt a wave of nausea engulf her as she realised just how serious the situation was.
Her hand shaking, she delved in her pocket for her mobile phone and quickly rang the coastguard and the air ambulance. Then she caught Jayne by the shoulders before she could throw herself into the water after her child. ‘No! Wait, Jayne. What happened? Is it Lily?’
‘She fell. One minute she was eating her ice cream and the next…Oh, God, she fell.’ Jayne’s breath was coming in hysterical gasps and out of the corner of her eye Flora saw movement, heard a splash and turned to see Conner already in the water.
A local who had seen the whole incident started directing him. ‘She went in about here. Between the quay and the boat. I guess the propeller…’ His voice tailed off as he glanced towards Jayne and the woman’s eyes widened in horror as she focused on the surface of the water and saw what Flora had already seen.
The blood.
Jayne started to scream and the sound had a thin, inhuman quality that cut through the summer air and brought horrified silence to the normally bustling quay. Then she tried to launch herself into the water again and Flora winced as Jayne’s flying fist caught her on the side of her head. She was too slight to hold the woman, her head throbbed and she was just about to resign herself to the fact that Jayne was going to jump when two burly local fishermen came to her aid.
They drew a sobbing, struggling Jayne away from the edge of the quay and Flora gave them a grateful nod. Whatever happened next, Jayne being in the water would only make things worse.
Oblivious to the audience or the building tension, Conner vanished under the water. Time and time again he dived, while strangers and locals stood huddled in groups, watching the drama unfold.
Offering what comfort she could, Flora took Jayne’s hand. ‘Conner will find her,’ she said firmly, praying desperately that she was right. ‘Conner will find her.’ If she said it often enough, perhaps it would happen.
‘Conner?’ Shivering violently and still restrained by the fishermen, Jayne looked at Flora blankly, as if she hadn’t realised until this point who was trying to rescue her daughter. ‘Conner MacNeil?’
‘He’s in the water now,’ Flora said gently, wondering whether Jayne was going into shock. Her eyes were glazed and her face white. ‘He’s looking for her, Jayne.’
‘Conner? When has he ever put his life on the line for anyone? He won’t help her. He won’t help my baby.’ Her eyes suddenly wild with terror, Jayne developed superhuman strength, wrenched herself from the hold of the two men and hurled herself towards the edge of the quay once again.
The two men quickly grabbed her and she wriggled and pulled, struggling to free herself. ‘Get the coastguard, anyone—Oh, God, no, no.’ She collapsed, sobbing and Flora slid her arms round her, this time keeping her body between Jayne and the quay.
‘Jayne, you’re no help to Lily if you fall in, too. Leave it to Conner. You have to trust Conner.’
‘Who in their right mind would trust Conner MacNeil?’
‘I would,’ Flora said simply, and realised that it was true. ‘I’d trust him with my life.’
‘Then you’re obviously infatuated with him,’ Jayne shrieked, ‘like every other woman who comes close to him.’ But she sagged against Flora, her energy depleted by the extravagant surge of emotion.
Infatuated?
Dismissing the accusation swiftly, Flora stared at the surface of the water but there was no movement and a couple of tourists standing next to her started to murmur dire predictions. She turned and glared at them just as there was a sound from the water and Conner surfaced, the limp, lifeless body of the child in his arms. He sucked in air and then hauled himself onto the concrete steps with one hand, his other arm holding the child protectively against his chest.
Lily lay still, her soaked dress darkened by blood, her hair streaked with it.
Flora felt panic, jagged and dangerous. Oh no, please no.
There were no signs of life. None.
Next to her Jayne started to moan like a creature tormented and then the sound stopped as she slid to the concrete in a faint.
‘Leave her,’ Conner ordered, climbing the steps out of the water, the body of the child still in his arms. Lily’s head hung backwards and her skin was a dull grey colour. ‘Someone else can look after her and at the moment she’s better off out of it. Get me a towel, Flora. With the blood and the water, I can’t see what we’re dealing with here.’
A towel?
Feeling sick and shaky, Flora scanned the crowd and focused on two tourists who were loaded down with beach items. ‘Give me your towel.’ Without waiting for their permission, she yanked the towel out of the bag, spilling buckets and spades over the quay. Then she was on her knees beside Conner.
Lily lay pale and lifeless, her tiny body still, like a puppet that had been dropped. Blood spurted like a fountain from a wound on her leg.
‘It’s an artery.’ With a soft curse Conner pressed down hard. ‘I’m guessing she gashed it on the propeller as she fell. She’s lucky the engine wasn’t on.’ He increased the pressure in an attempt to stop the bleeding. ‘She’s stopped breathing.’
Flora almost stopped breathing, too. Panic pressed in on her and without Connor’s abrupt commands she would have shrivelled up and sobbed, just as Jayne had. Perhaps he realised that she was on the verge of falling apart because he lifted his head and glared at her, his blue eyes fierce with determination.
‘Press here! I need to start CPR. Flora, move!’
She stared at him for a moment, so stunned by the enormity of what was happening she couldn’t respond.
‘Pull yourself together!’ His tone was sharp. ‘If we’re to stand any chance here, I need some help, and you’re the only person who knows what they’re doing. Everyone else is just gawping.’
Flora felt suddenly dizzy. She’d never seen so much blood in her life. She’d never worked in A and E and all the first-aid courses she’d attended had been theoretical. She didn’t know what she was doing.
And then she realised that he did. Conner knew exactly what he was doing and she knelt down beside him.
<
br /> ‘Tell me what you want me to do.’
‘Press here. Like that. That’s it—good.’ He put her hands on the wound, showed her just how hard he wanted her to press, and then shifted slightly so that he could focus on the child’s breathing. With one hand on her forehead and the other under her chin, he gently tilted Lily’s head back and covered her mouth with his, creating a seal. He breathed gently, watching as the child’s chest rose.
Then he lifted his mouth and watched as Lily’s chest fell as the air came out. ‘Flora, get a tourniquet on that leg. She’s losing blood by the bucketload.’
‘A tourniquet?’ Flora turned to the nearest tourist. ‘Get me a bandage or a tie, something—anything—I can wind around her leg.’
The man simply stared at her, but his wife moved swiftly, jerking the tie from the neck of a businessman who had been waiting to take the ferry.
Flora didn’t dare release the pressure on Lily’s leg. ‘If I let go to tie it, she’s going to bleed.’ Feeling horribly ignorant, she sent Conner a helpless glance. ‘I haven’t done this before. Do I put it directly over the wound?’
‘Above the wound. You need a stick or something to twist it tight. Tie it and leave a gap and tie it again.’
Flora swiftly did as he instructed. The towel was soaked in blood and her fingers were slippery with it and shaking.
‘The bleeding’s not stopping Conner,’ she muttered, and he glanced across at her, his expression hard.
‘You need to tighten it. More pressure. Get a stick.’
She glanced at the uneven surface of the quay. ‘There’s no stick!’
‘Then use something else!’ He glared at the group of tourists standing nearest to them. ‘Find a stick of some sort! A kid’s spade, a cricket stump—anything we can use.’
‘The blood is everywhere.’ Flora tried to twist the tie tighter but the bleeding was relentless and she felt a sob build in her throat. It just seemed hopeless. Completely hopeless. ‘She’s four years old, Conner.’ She was ready to give up but Conner placed the heel of his hand over the child’s sternum.
‘She’s hypovolaemic. She needs fluid and she needs it fast.’ He pushed down. ‘Where the hell is the air ambulance?’