‘I’m working on something a little different right now, a historical story inspired by an epic, real-life love affair here on Orkney during the Second World War.’
From the corner of her eye, she saw Magnús watching her again and ignored him. Sam’s face came alive with interest. ‘Sounds fascinating. How far have you got?’
She paused again, wondering how much more to reveal and decided it didn’t really matter. ‘I’ve got a working outline and the first 15,000 or so words. It’s still early days.’
Sam looked as though he was about to say more, but there was a crackle from the overhead speakers and a booming voice announced the start of the quiz. Magnús handed her the answer sheet and a pen. ‘You’re the only writer here – it stands to reason you’ll have the best handwriting!’
It soon became clear that some of the other teams were taking the quiz very seriously. Merry got a few questions right, but mostly concentrated on writing down the answers her team-mates gave her. At the end, they discovered they’d come respectably mid-table, which Kiki said was probably all for the best. ‘We don’t want to make enemies among the locals,’ he said, with a wink.
Once the winners had been announced, Magnús went to the bar for drinks and Merry caught up with all Nick’s news. He was still single, but claimed to be enjoying the bachelor lifestyle, and set to start filming the final series of Smugglers’ Inn that summer.
‘And then what?’ Merry asked.
Nick shrugged. ‘No idea. I think there are a few movies in the pipeline, but I haven’t accepted any new roles yet. I’ll see if any of them catch my eye first.’
‘What he means is, he’ll see if any of the leading ladies catches his eye,’ Kiki said, and everyone laughed.
‘That’s not fair,’ Nick objected, although his tone was mild. ‘I’ll have you know I’m a one-woman man. I just haven’t met the right woman yet.’
When Magnús returned, Merry found herself on the opposite side of the table to him and opportunities to talk were limited. She chatted to Sam instead, listening to his description of The Islander, which was a time-travel blockbuster about a Jacobite soldier doomed to relive the bloodiest battle of the war until he worked out how to save the life of his childhood sweetheart. Needless to say, Nick was playing the role of the tragic hero and Sam had every confidence the film would be a smash hit as a result. ‘He’s box office gold,’ the producer said, firing a contented look Nick’s way. ‘The screen lights up every time he’s on it.’
And then the pub was closing and it was time to head out into the night. Sam pressed a business card into her hand as she said goodbye. ‘Your new novel sounds like my kind of story. Send me that outline when you’re ready.’
Merry stared at him, stunned, then pulled herself together. ‘I will. Thanks, Sam.’
She barely listened as Nick promised to let her know next time he was in London so that they could meet up for dinner, but his parting comment brought her back down to earth. ‘Maybe I’ll give Alex a nudge at the same time,’ he joked, planting a kiss on each cheek. ‘Tell him it’s about time he got you down that aisle.’
Her head was whirling as she navigated the way back to Magnús’s home. He was uncharacteristically quiet too, although he answered politely enough when Merry asked about his plans for the following day. But he spent much of the journey gazing out at the darkness beyond the window. When Merry pulled up outside his house, he sat in silence for a moment, then turned to her with the same puzzled expression she’d noticed earlier.
‘There is something I don’t understand,’ he said, after a few more seconds of quiet. ‘Why did you tell Nick you were still with Alex?’
The inside of the car lurched crazily, making Merry think for a split second that they had been hit. Then she realized the car hadn’t moved at all, it was simply her shocked reaction to a question she hadn’t been expecting. ‘Sorry?’ she said. ‘I don’t think I understand.’
‘Yes, you do,’ Magnús said slowly and patiently. ‘I asked why you told Nick you were still in a relationship with Alex, when you and I both know it is not true.’
A roaring started in Merry’s ears. How could he possibly know? No one on Orkney knew. Unless . . . her mind flew back to her drunken phone call on Saturday night, and Magnús’s parting shot the next day: if I were Alex, I would definitely have put a ring on it . . . Her insides contracted in horror as she stared at him. What had he overheard?
‘How do you know?’ she asked through lips that didn’t feel like her own.
The car was dark apart from the glow of the streetlight, and Magnús’s face was shrouded in shadow. Even so, Merry could see the sympathy in his eyes as he studied her. ‘Once you’d finished singing, you became upset,’ he said. ‘I only listened for a moment or two, but I heard enough to understand that Alex had ended things some time ago.’
Blood rushed to Merry’s cheeks and she was grateful for the cover of darkness so Magnús couldn’t see her embarrassment. She swallowed, trying to work out how to respond and then realized it was far too late to try and save face. She had to tell the truth. ‘It was last November. You’d think I’d be over it by now.’
‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘There’s no rule book for getting over a broken heart – it takes time.’
She said nothing, staring out of the windscreen at the dimly lit street and cursing her own stupidity for lying in the first place. ‘It’s part of the reason I came here,’ she said, after what felt like an age had passed by. ‘I wanted a fresh start, somewhere I wasn’t constantly reminded that he wasn’t there anymore. And there was the small matter of not being able to write in London.’
‘Perfectly understandable.’
His voice was so gentle and encouraging that Merry felt the walls she’d been using to block off all the hurt and disappointment and anxiety of the last year and more start to crumble. For a moment, she considered shoring them up and telling Magnús with a bright smile that everything was fine really. But she was weary of pretending, tired of hiding behind Alex, and so, with an effort that cost her more than she’d expected, she let the walls collapse.
The world didn’t end. Magnús seemed to sense she needed time to gather her thoughts and waited patiently for her to be ready, even though Merry thought it must have been more than a minute since she’d last spoken. ‘I didn’t set out to lie about Alex and me,’ she said finally. ‘I just wanted to keep things simple and, well, I thought it would be easier to do that with a fiancé back in London. And . . . I suppose there was a part of me that wanted to still believe it was true.’
She stopped speaking and waited for the tears that should accompany so heavy an admission. They didn’t come; her eyes remained dry and her heart didn’t feel as though it might crack again. She probed further, pushing into the corners where her deepest sorrow usually hid, and was surprised to find nothing there. No pain, no aching loss, no longing for the comfort of knowing Alex would always be there. The space where her unhappiness had been felt empty and clean, as though the walls hadn’t been holding her up but keeping all her sadness in.
Merry let out a tiny incredulous huff. Jess had repeatedly told her she needed to let go of the past but she hadn’t really understood what her friend meant – until now. ‘Wow,’ she said, in a voice that was shaky with amazement. ‘I feel so much . . . lighter.’
Magnús smiled. ‘Perhaps now your fresh start can really begin.’
A bubble of giddy laughter eddied up inside her and forced its way out. Merry clamped one hand over her mouth; Magnús might be understanding now, but he was going to think she’d lost the plot if she gave in to this almost uncontrollable urge to laugh out loud. She waited until the desire had subsided to remove her hand and answer him. ‘Perhaps it can.’ On impulse, she reached across and squeezed his broad forearm. ‘Thank you.’
His gaze was soft. ‘I didn’t do anything.’
‘You made me admit the truth,’ she replied. ‘And that meant I had to step out from Alex’s shadow
once and for all.’
‘Then I am glad I was able to help,’ Magnús said, and reached for the car door.
‘Wait,’ Merry said as another, less gratifying, thought occurred to her. ‘Is that why you invited me to the quiz, even though you already planned to go with friends? Because you knew about Alex and felt sorry for me?’
‘No. As I told you on Sunday, I wanted to check out the quiz and asked you to join me. Then Sam and Nick found out about it and suggested we go as a group.’ He paused and smiled. ‘I thought it might do you good to spend time with some other creative people. And I was right.’
‘So, it wasn’t a pity date, then?’ Merry pressed and then cursed her own stupidity – it hadn’t been a date at all – but Magnús didn’t seem to notice.
‘I promise that whatever I feel for you, it’s not pity. The truth is, I just wanted to spend some time with you. Everything else came after.’
Whatever I feel for you . . . What was that supposed to mean, she wondered as her head began to whirl once more. ‘Well, good,’ she managed eventually. ‘That’s fine, then.’
He waited for a moment longer, as though expecting her to say something else, then pushed the handle and opened the door. ‘Sleep well, Merry. Let’s speak again soon.’
She sat still after he’d gone, her hands resting on the steering wheel as she tried to process everything that had just happened. And then she turned the Mini towards the croft and went home to Brightwater Bay.
Chapter Five
Merry kept herself to herself for the next week. She answered messages from Niall and Magnús and Jess, went running when Sheila demanded, and chivvied Gordon the goat off the roof of the croft on three separate occasions, but, for the most part, she spent the seven days after her climactic conversation with Magnús on her own.
She’d made a conscious effort not to think about it too much, preferring to lose herself in the world she was creating for her new story, but the truth was that Alex barely crossed her mind. Her heart still felt raw, but she had the sense that it was raw in the way a healing wound might be: pink and sore, with the promise of wholeness ahead.
By the following Tuesday, Merry was forced to face another unexpected revelation: she’d lost weight. The almost daily runs she was doing with Sheila meant the jeans that had been snug around her waist when she’d arrived on Orkney were now loose, and her pyjamas hung around her hips. She was going to have to go shopping.
She spent a happy few hours browsing the boutiques in Kirkwall, delighted to discover some beautiful designs and outfits she would never have found online. Laden down with bags, she called in to Rossi’s for a mid-morning pastry and was pleased to find Morag sitting behind the counter.
‘Helen’s little boy is a wee bit poorly,’ she explained when Merry commented on her granddaughter’s absence. ‘She’ll be here for the lunchtime rush, though, if you wanted to see her.’
‘No, I just thought it would have been nice to say hello,’ Merry said, as she paid for her delicate sfogliatelle pastry and latte. ‘But it’s lovely to see you too. How are you?’
‘Better for seeing you,’ Morag replied, her eyes twinkling. ‘Tell me, how’s the story coming along? Do you need any more inspiration?’
Merry didn’t – the story was taking shape almost effortlessly on her laptop – but it was obvious that the old woman was desperate for an opportunity to reminisce about the past and revisit her youth, and it felt like the least Merry could do to listen.
‘I am always open to inspiration,’ she told Morag, who waved to the young waitress making her way among the tables.
‘I’m going to take a short break,’ she said, when the girl hurried over. ‘Let me know if you need help.’
The girl glanced shyly at Merry and nodded. ‘Of course, Morag. Can I get you anything?’
The older woman asked for a pot of tea and led Merry over to an empty table in the window. ‘This used to be Giovanni’s favourite seat,’ she told Merry. ‘When the doors were closed for the evening, he’d sometimes set it up like a street restaurant in Rome, with candles and roses and suchlike. We’d sip red wine and pretend we were looking out at the Trevi Fountain.’
Merry smiled. ‘It sounds wonderful. So romantic.’
Morag sighed. ‘Och, he knew all about romance. For my birthday one year, he borrowed a car from my uncle and loaded it with blankets and a hamper and champagne so that we could have a midnight picnic under the Merry Dancers.’
‘The Merry Dancers?’ Merry repeated, frowning in thought. ‘Are they more standing stones?’
‘Goodness, no,’ the older woman said, her blue eyes sparkling. ‘Although I admit, that would have been romantic too. No, the Merry Dancers are what we call the aurora. You might know them as the Northern Lights.’
Of course, Merry thought. She’d read that the aurora could often be seen during the winter months on Orkney but somehow she’d forgotten. ‘That sounds wonderful,’ she told Morag. ‘But weren’t you cold?’
Morag’s gaze clouded over as she visited the memory. ‘Not really – we had love to keep us warm.’ Her eyes sharpened as they came to rest on Merry once more. ‘And a lot of very thick blankets – because he might have been romantic, but my Giovanni was also practical. He thought of everything.’
Merry pictured the scene and smiled. ‘The perfect man.’
‘When he wanted to be,’ Morag agreed. ‘So, you’ve not been aurora-hunting yourself?’
‘No,’ Merry said. ‘It hadn’t even occurred to me.’
Morag sniffed. ‘It wouldn’t, I suppose, what with you being a Londoner and all. But I’m surprised Niall hasn’t suggested it.’ She gave Merry a sideways look. ‘Or Magnús.’
There was definite hint of subtext that Merry chose to ignore. ‘I’ll ask them. It sounds like an unmissable sight.’
‘It is,’ Morag confirmed, and leaned across the table, lowering her voice. ‘And if you’ve a handsome man by your side when you see them, so much the better.’
She winked and Merry couldn’t help laughing. Was everyone on Orkney an incorrigible matchmaker? ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Morag had plenty of other stories to share, but it was the image of the midnight picnic, spread beneath a blanket of ethereal dancing light that stuck in Merry’s mind as she drove home. She deposited her shopping in the bedroom and settled on the sofa, phone in hand. That she wanted to see the aurora for herself was a given, but who should she ask to take her? Both Niall and Magnús would be willing to help, she knew, and she liked them both immensely. But one was business and the other was – well – not exactly pleasure, but he did cause a shiver of excitement to ripple through her whenever she saw him. Not that she wanted anything to happen between them – she was still determined to keep her time on Orkney as uncomplicated as possible. But as she was sure Jess would remind her, that didn’t mean she had to live like a nun.
Reaching a decision, she messaged before she had time to change her mind.
*
It was another week before Magnús deemed the weather promising enough to go aurora-hunting. Merry didn’t mind; her head was so full of the book she was writing that she barely knew what day it was and had to read his message twice when it arrived because she’d forgotten she had even suggested it.
Tonight, at 10pm. Dress warmly and plan to be out until the early hours. Don’t forget your camera!
Stretching, Merry closed the lid of her laptop and went to dig out the thermals she’d bought in preparation. It would do her good to get out of the croft, she decided. Other than her ever-increasing runs with Sheila, she hadn’t left the cottage for days. She was on first name terms with the Tesco delivery driver now, and whole days sometimes slipped past without her even noticing the hours go by. It was like old times, when the words had flowed from her fingers and onto the screen almost like witchcraft, and she felt something sing deep inside her as she watched the story grow.
She hadn’t told Jess about running into Nick Borrowdale, m
ostly because she anticipated her friend’s first question would be whether he was single, but also because she wanted to keep the knowledge of Sam Silverton’s interest in her new book a secret. It would probably lead to nothing – she’d lost count of the times a studio or producer had made all the right noises about turning one of her novels into a film or TV drama and it had never happened yet. Practically every writer she knew had a similar tale to tell; the ones that made it onto the screen were few and far between. But perhaps it was the magic of Orkney, where stories seemed to have more power, or maybe it was simply the right story at the right time; whatever the reason, she had a good feeling about Sam’s interest, a sensation in the pit of her stomach that simply said yes.
She had sent the outline, anyway, along with the first 25,000 words, and tried not to feel guilty that he was seeing it before her agent. It would all come to nothing, she told herself whenever the uneasiness raised its head. And if anything did happen, she could cross that bridge when she got to it.
The skies were clearer than she’d ever seen them when Merry stepped outside the croft just after ten o’clock that night. She stood beside Magnús and gazed upwards, craning her neck as far back as it would go as she took in the myriad stars shimmering against the black velvet sky, with the merest crescent of moon hanging nearby.
‘Amazing,’ she breathed. ‘They feel so close. Are they always so bright?’
Magnús nodded. ‘On clear nights like this. Obviously, there’s very little light pollution here, which helps.’
‘I could look at them all night.’ She stared for a moment longer, then glanced at Magnús. ‘Although catching the aurora would be cool too.’
He grinned. ‘Let’s get going, then.’
She reached into the croft to grab her rucksack and holdall that contained everything she thought they might need. Magnús took the holdall and blinked in surprise at the weight. ‘What have you packed in here?’
Sea Breezes at Brightwater Bay Page 6