The look he fired her way was filled with horrified sympathy. ‘I would never have known,’ he said quietly. ‘To me, it was beautiful and haunting and so good that I almost asked you to read it again immediately. You could have heard a pin drop in the silence after you’d finished, and believe me, that’s no small achievement in a roomful of Orcadians.’
A surge of relief flooded over Merry. ‘Thank you,’ she said, blinking back the unexpected tears that prickled her eyes. ‘I was so nervous – I couldn’t tell if it was any good, or if I’d done the story justice.’
‘Oh, you did,’ Niall reassured her. ‘It was like we were there when Fen and her people fled and the storm hit.’
The words gave her a further buzz, this time of delighted satisfaction. ‘Then I can definitely say that being here has helped with the writer’s block. I don’t know whether that means I’ll be able to make any progress with the novel I have to write – I can’t even bear to think about it right now – but just knowing that the ability to write hasn’t completely deserted me helps.’
‘Let me know what I can do to help,’ Niall said. ‘I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener, especially over a glass or two of whisky.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ she said gratefully. ‘Thanks for understanding.’
‘No problem,’ he said, with a lopsided smile. ‘If there’s one thing you can rely on a librarian for, it’s reading between the lines.’
He glanced over his shoulder then, surveying the now empty courtyard. ‘Looks like it’s all clear now. I’ll give you a few minutes, shall I? I’m sure you’re desperate for that fresh air by now, along with a few minutes of alone time.’
It was probably the understatement of the year but Merry appreciated his perceptiveness. She puffed out her cheeks and rubbed her aching shoulders. ‘You could say that.’
It was a clear and cloudless night. The library was still lit up, and the glow stretched upwards as well as outwards, but it wasn’t enough to dim the stars that glittered against the blue-black sky. Merry gazed upwards, hugging her arms close to her chest and sucking in slow lungfuls of air as she let her tiredness take hold. It had been an adrenaline-fuelled few days: first running with Sheila, then the desperate compulsion to tell Fen’s story and lastly this evening. She was going to pay for it all tomorrow, she knew. It might be better not to bother getting out of bed.
The faint crunch of gravel made her turn around and she saw Magnús was standing a few feet away. The light caused a halo to dance around his golden hair and she was reminded fleetingly of the angels she’d seen painted on the walls of the Italian Chapel. ‘Hello again,’ she said, managing a worn-out smile. ‘I thought you’d gone.’
‘I was on my way,’ he replied. ‘And then I saw you were heading for the courtyard too and I must confess that I loitered, in the hope of spending a little more time in your company.’
Merry thought back to the signing queue when she wished for more time to speak to him and couldn’t prevent a flutter of pleasure that he’d evidently felt the same way. ‘So here we are,’ she said, echoing his words to her.
He smiled and the skin around his eyes crinkled in a way that made Merry’s own mouth curve into a matching smile. ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘And I am sure you must be very tired so I will not keep you for long. I simply wanted to extend my hand in friendship once more. I know what it is like to live in a strange place, knowing few people.’ He paused and gave her a rueful look. ‘Although it is apparent from this evening that you have many friends and admirers already, so perhaps you don’t need another.’
Merry felt something constrict inside her; of all the things she’d left behind in London, she supposed it was friendship she missed the most. Jess couldn’t offer more than phone support; it would be nice to have someone to go for a drink with occasionally, Merry thought, and she couldn’t rely on Niall all the time, no matter how kindly he’d offered. Would it be so very wrong to accept Magnús’s friendship, safe in the knowledge that he thought she was in a relationship?
‘No, you’re right,’ she admitted, hesitating for another second or two before making up her mind. ‘I don’t really know anyone and I could use a friend. So if that offer of a drink is still open . . . ?’
He beamed at her with a mixture of surprise and delight. ‘Of course! Tomorrow evening? I will pick you up at seven-thirty, yes?’
Squaring her shoulders, Merry nodded before she could change her mind. ‘I’d like that. Yes.’
*
Merry woke late on Saturday morning with the memories of the night before dancing in her head. Had she done the right thing in accepting Magnús’s offer of friendship? But she could hardly take it back now – what was done was done. And as Jess would no doubt tell her, it was only a drink. That would have been much easier for Merry to believe if she hadn’t had a distinctly non-platonic dream about Magnús just before she’d woken up . . .
Pushing the thought away, she got out of bed and wandered through to the kitchen for a cup of tea, wincing as her legs protested after her run the day before. Mug in hand, she headed for the sofa and idly reached for her laptop, intending to go through the emails she’d neglected on Thursday and Friday, but instead her gaze landed on her open notebook, with its page of notes about her visit to the Italian Chapel. That story of Helen’s was lovely, she thought, imagining the moment her grandparents’ eyes had first met, perhaps outside a café in Kirkwall. The picture in Merry’s mind was so real that she felt she could almost hear the clinking of coffee cups and murmur of conversation. She tapped at the keyboard, easing her way into the scene. The sun was shining. A motorbike might zoom by, sending up a little flurry of dust that neither of Helen’s grandparents noticed. And before she knew it, she’d written half a page of words.
She swung her feet onto the sofa and tapped a few more thoughts. Two hours later, her tea was untouched. And Merry had the start of a new story.
End of Part One
Acknowledgements
Unending thanks and gratitude to Jo Williamson of Antony Harwood Ltd, superstar agent and life-support system. A massive thank you to Bec Farrell for helping to shape Brightwater Bay with skill, patience and humour, and everyone on the Books and the City team for ensuring Merry’s story is an irresistible package – special thanks to Pip Watkins for designing up an Orkney storm and giving me such gorgeous covers.
As always, much love to Kate Harrison, Miranda Dickinson, Rowan Coleman, Julie Cohen and Cally Taylor, who are daily, weekly, monthly and yearly inspirations. Cuddles to T and E for being themselves.
And last of all, thanks to all my readers – I hope you've fallen in love with Orkney as much as I have.
Also by Holly Hepburn
A Year at the Star and Sixpence
Snowdrops at the Star and Sixpence
Summer at the Star and Sixpence
Autumn at the Star and Sixpence
Christmas at the Star and Sixpence
The Picture House by the Sea
Brief Encounter at the Picture House by the Sea
Singing in the Rain at the Picture House by the Sea
Dirty Dancing at the Picture House by the Sea
Some Like it Hot at the Picture House by the Sea
A Year at Castle Court
Snowy Nights at Castle Court
Frosty Mornings at Castle Court
Stormy Weather at Castle Court
Starry Skies at Castle Court
Last Orders at the Star and Sixpence
New Beginnings at the Star and Sixpence
Christmas Kisses at the Star and Sixpence
Cosy Nights at the Star and Sixpence
Last Words at the Star and Sixpence
Valentine’s Day at the Star and Sixpence (short story)
Don’t miss the next instalments in the BRIGHTWATER BAY series! Available now to pre-order:
SEA BREEZES AT BRIGHTWATER BAY (part two)
DANGEROUS TIDES AT BRIGHTWATER BAY (part three)
; SUNSET OVER BRIGHTWATER BAY (part four)
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First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2020
A CBS Company
Copyright © Tamsyn Murray, 2020
The right of Tamsyn Murray to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
eBook ISBN: 978-1-4711-8899-2
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Broken Hearts at Brightwater Bay Page 9