Far out, as far as eye could see, the waves swelled into green hills and rolled slowly towards the shore. They hung for a moment and then curled over and hurled themselves against the reef. The white surf surged over the rocks and poured away, draining down amongst the crevices and falling into the trough of the next wave. Sometimes a wave burst against an upstanding pillar of rock, shooting up white as snow against the dull grey sky and falling in showers upon the rocks beneath. It had stopped raining now; away to the south-west there was a rift in the grey blanket of cloud and a patch of blue sky was showing.
Frances was watching it and enjoying the turmoil when she heard a rattle of stones behind her and Guy Tarlatan came round the corner of the rock. He was wearing his service burberry, but his head was bare and his fair hair was plastered to his head by the falling spray.
“I know what you are now. You’re a mermaid,” he said.
“How clever of you to guess!” said Frances.
“Do you mind if I share your cave?”
“No, I don’t mind at all,” she replied, moving up to make room for him.
He sat down and leaned his back against the rock. “I’ve got a day’s leave,” he said. “Twenty-four hours all to myself. It’s a new idea and rather a pleasant one. The only thing is, I don’t know what to do with my day; I’m so unused to having a whole day on my hands.”
“You might fish,” suggested Frances after a moment’s thought.
“I might if I knew how—and if I possessed the necessary equipment,” he agreed.
“Couldn’t you borrow a fishing-rod?”
“I expect I could, but I couldn’t borrow the skill. As a matter of fact, I wondered whether you’d like to come over to Rithie and go to the pictures. D’you like that sort of thing?”
“I like it if it’s a good picture,” Frances said, and then, feeling that this sounded somewhat ungracious, she added: “It was very nice of you to think of it.”
“Purely selfish,” he replied.
“How did you know I was here?” asked Frances after a moment’s silence.
“They told me at the hotel, and I saw you climbing along the reef with my glasses. It looked pretty risky, to tell you the truth. Every now and then a wave broke and you disappeared from view.”
“It wasn’t difficult, really,” said Frances. “The waves didn’t actually break over me. I was enjoying every moment of it.”
“Perhaps I should have left you to enjoy it in solitude.”
“I don’t mind you,” she replied.
Her companion laughed
“I mean,” said Frances hastily, “I mean, lots of people would be such a nuisance that they would spoil all the fun; they would be worrying about their clothes; they would say I was getting rheumatism from sitting on a damp rock—”
“Are you sure you aren’t getting rheumatism?”
“Quite sure. Salt water doesn’t give you rheumatism.”
“What a comforting belief!” said Guy Tarlatan with a sigh.
They were silent for a few moments, watching the waves. “Aren’t they magnificent?” he said at last in quite a different tone of voice. “There’s something terrifying about them . . . they’re like lions on a chain. They spring forward and then something draws them back . . . Do you know what I mean?”
He was looking at her now, and, as there was not much room for two people in the mermaid’s nook, his tanned, weather-beaten face was so near that Frances could see every hair of his close-clipped moustache—they were like thin golden wires. His eyelashes were fair too, but they were of a silky texture. It was an odd feeling to be so close to a man, and Frances was a trifle breathless as she replied: “Yes, of course I do. What would happen if the chain broke?”
“The lions would spring upon us and tear us limb from limb,” replied her companion cheerfully.
“Yes, why aren’t we frightened?” asked Frances.
He nodded thoughtfully. “It’s funny, isn’t it?” he said. “We know we’re perfectly safe. We trust the chain implicitly. Here we sit, just out of reach of those tremendous waves. . . .”
There was another silence—if silence it could be called in the midst of the waves’ thunder. “What about the picture house?” inquired Frances at last.
“What about it?” he replied. “We’ll go if you’d like it, but I’m just as happy to stay here—or we could walk along the shore. Look at that seagull!”
The seagull had dived suddenly into the bosom of a wave and now it was poised just beyond the breakers, floating up and down on the swell. Guy Tarlatan took out his glasses and focused them before handing them to Frances. For a few moments she could see nothing but green water, and then she found the bird—she could see its feathers, its bright eyes, and the down upon its breast.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” she exclaimed. “It looks so near . . . as if I could touch it. . . . Now it has gone behind that rock. . . .”
“We’ll have to go back,” said Guy suddenly. “The tide’s coming in. That rock is almost covered now.” He stood up as he spoke and held out his hand to Frances and pulled her to her feet. They went back along the reef, scrambling over the rocks. Here and there the sea had invaded the pools and filled them with creamy foam. The wind was as strong as ever, but the clouds were breaking and scattering like torn grey rags.
“It’s going to be a lovely afternoon,” said Frances, pausing a moment to look at the sky.
Her companion agreed. “We’ll have lunch at the Bordale Arms and go for a walk, shall we?” he said. “There must be lovely walks round here. We don’t want to be cooped up indoors on a day like this.”
They had reached the cliffs by this time, and they turned to walk back to Cairn. It was difficult going, for the firm sand was covered, and along the base of the cliffs there were heaps of tumbled boulders. Here and there the tide had come up so far that it was difficult to get past. They had to wait until a wave receded and then run across to the next heap of rocks. Frances thought it was rather fun; she was quite breathless, and the wind had whipped a wild-rose colour into her cheeks.
“Let’s sit down for a few minutes,” she said at last.
“No, we had better hurry,” he replied. “Give me your hand in case you slip on the seaweed . . . come on . . . put your foot on that rock . . . that’s right, up you go.”
“Let’s have a rest,” said Frances. “It doesn’t matter if we’re a bit late for lunch—”
“No,” he said firmly. “No, we had better hurry. What a fool I am!”
“Why?” asked Frances.
At that moment they came round a bend in the cliff and stopped by one accord . . . the little bay in front of them was full of waves—green waves flecked with patches of foam—they were splashing up against the face of the cliff.
“What a damned fool I am!” exclaimed Guy Tarlatan in savage tones.
There was no need for Frances to repeat her question; she stood beside him and looked down; the bay was like a cauldron of bubbling water—a giant’s cauldron.
“We’ll have to go back,” Frances said.
“That’s just the trouble—we can’t go back,” replied her companion. “We should never get back past that other bay . . . and we can’t get up the cliff either. I’ve been looking for a possible place all the way along—”
Suddenly Frances began to laugh. She laughed so much that she had to sit down on a rock. She laughed and laughed, and the more she tried to stop the more impossible it seemed to control her laughter.
“I say—” began her companion in anxious tones.
“I’m not—hysterical,” declared Frances breathlessly. “It’s just—just so awfully funny. We’re cut off—by the tide.”
“It’s damned silly,” said Guy, but he began to laugh too—he could not help it. “I wish you’d tell me the joke,” he said at last, taking a large white handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping his eyes.
Frances was wiping her eyes with a smaller handkerchief. She said weakly: “What
would you think if you read about it in a book? Would you think it was awful drivel?”
He looked at her in surprise. “Was that what you were laughing at?”
“You were laughing at it too,” said Frances.
“I was laughing at you,” he replied. “As a matter of fact, I’m certain there’s something more in it than meets the eye, but this is no time for explanations.” He walked back and gazed up at the cliff with knitted brows. Then he went close to it and, taking out his penknife, scraped a piece of the rock. Frances remained where she was; she did not worry him with questions.
Presently he came back and said: “It looks as if we shall have to remain where we are until the tide goes down. I’m most awfully sorry about it.”
“It isn’t your fault,” she replied.
“I should have noticed,” he said. “It was idiotic, really. I’ll have a try at the cliff, if you like.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” said Frances. “The rock is crumbling away. You’d just fall down and break your neck—what good would that do?”
“Not very much.”
“We’ll stay where we are,” continued Frances cheerfully. “We’re all right here. The tide won’t come up much farther, will it?”
“It may come up a bit farther. It’s a spring tide, you see. I’m pretty certain that these rocks are never covered, but it might be as well to find a place where we should be sheltered from the spray. You don’t seem to be worrying much,” he added, with a surprised inflection in his voice.
Frances wasn’t worrying at all. Somehow or other she felt perfectly safe. She smiled at him and replied: “I’m leaving all the worrying to you.”
“You’re taking it very well, I must say.”
“I don’t mind—but it seems rather hard that you should be forced to spend your holiday on a barren rock.”
All this time the waves were thundering against the cliff, and Frances noticed that a small rock which had been sticking up out of the sea was covered completely.
Her companion had noticed it too. He said rather anxiously: “The tide is rising. I think we had better climb higher up.” He pointed to a ledge of rock which jutted out of the cliff just above their heads.
“We couldn’t reach it,” objected Frances.
“Of course we can reach it,” he replied firmly. “I’ll stand underneath and you can climb on to my shoulders—what a good thing you’re sensibly dressed!”
Frances had been thinking the same thing. It would have been much more difficult if she had been wearing a skirt. The ledge was at least nine feet high and she was extremely doubtful of her capacity to carry out the acrobatic feat, but it was no use being silly about it . . . he would think she was a perfect nuisance. . . .
“Come on,” he said. “It will be quite easy. Put your feet on my shoulders.”
He stooped down, facing the rock, and Frances climbed on to his shoulders. There was a tuft of grass on the rock and she grasped it firmly while he straightened himself. She felt herself being raised into the air—how tremendously strong he was! The ledge was now on a level with her chest, and she stretched out her arms and tried to pull herself on to it . . . there was nothing to take hold of. For a moment she struggled vainly and then she found herself being pushed upward by her feet . . . she wriggled up and turned over.
“Are you all right?” asked Guy anxiously.
“Yes,” she replied. “Yes, perfectly all right. It’s quite a good place. It goes back into a sort of cave. How are you going to get up?”
“I don’t think I can make it, but it doesn’t matter. I shall be all right here.”
Frances lay down and looked over the edge. “You must come up,” she said anxiously. “Couldn’t you scrape holes in the rock to put your feet?”
“There are several places for my feet but nothing to hold on to with my hands.”
It was a bit of a problem but, after some discussion, it was solved in the following manner. Frances took off the belt of her oilskin coat and dangled it over the edge and Guy fixed his belt to the other end of it—the two belts joined together made a reasonably long rope. Frances then wedged herself firmly between two rocks and wound her end of the improvised rope round her wrist.
“Are you ready?” he asked. “Remember, if I’m too heavy you’re to let go. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” replied Frances. She understood perfectly.
The two belts took the strain—it was a far greater strain than Frances had expected. The belt cut into her wrist and her arm was almost pulled out of its socket. She hang on for dear life, and in another moment his head appeared over the edge and he scrambled up beside her.
“Good work!” he said. “It’s a grand place—we shall be perfectly all right here. What’s the matter with your hand?”
“Nothing.”
He took her hand and looked at the weal on her wrist. “That was a silly thing to do,” he said sternly. “I told you that if I was too heavy you were to let go. You couldn’t have let go, could you? I might have pulled you over the edge. You said you understood.”
“I did understand,” said Frances, smiling, “but I didn’t intend to let go.”
He took a clean handkerchief out of an inside pocket and soaked it in a pool and tied it round her wrist. “I’m very angry,” he said. “Another time you’re to obey orders without quibbling.”
“You mean, the next time we get cut off by the tide,” asked Frances innocently.
He laughed and replied: “Yes, of course.”
They sat down beneath the overhanging rock and stretched out their legs. Guy took out his cigarette case and offered it to his companion. They smoked peacefully. Below them the sea thundered against the cliff and the spray flew up in clouds.
“The lions are angry,” said Frances suddenly.
“I know,” he said. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
“How long will it be?” she asked.
“Probably about three hours—long enough for us to get to know each other quite well.”
“There certainly isn’t much distraction,” said Frances in a thoughtful voice.
He agreed that there was not. “We might play a game if we had a pack of cards,” he added.
“We might play consequences,” said Frances, smiling. “Captain Tarlatan and Miss Field met on a rock; he said to her—”
“Doesn’t it sound silly!”
“Is that what he said?”
“No—yes,” replied Guy Tarlatan, laughing. “As a matter of fact, he said to her: ‘Doesn’t it sound silly for two people sitting on a barren rock in the middle of a storm to go on calling each other Captain Tarlatan and Miss Field?’”
Frances was rather alarmed. She said: “Oh, but I don’t think I could!”
“She gave him the frozen mitt,” said Guy somewhat sadly.
“Oh, no,” cried Frances. “I didn’t mean to be horrid—it was only—I mean, I don’t know you very well.”
For some reason this seemed to amuse Guy immensely. He laughed and said: “What a funny girl you are! I never know whether you mean what you say or something quite different.” Frances had found the same difficulty in understanding him. “I think it’s because we’ve led such different lives,” she said thoughtfully. “You’ve travelled about all over the world and mixed with all sorts of different people—”
“And what have you done?”
“Lived in a cave,” replied Frances mischievously.
He sighed. “The mysterious Miss Field, and how difficult it is to carry on a conversation with you. Every now and then—just when I think we’re getting along quite pleasantly—we run slap up against a stone wall.”
“I wish I had brought my knitting,” said Frances.
“Yes, it is a pity,” agreed Guy. “If you had brought your knitting and I had brought a copy of K.R., we might have spent our time in a profitable manner.”
“What’s K.R.?” asked Frances.
“King’s Regulations,”
replied her companion. “It contains detailed information upon the manner in which an officer should conduct himself in every conceivable situation.”
“It sounds a most useful sort of book.”
“Oh, it is! The British Army would crumble to bits if it were not for K.R.”
“You must bring it next time.”
“Yes; I shall also bring a large packet of chocolate.”
Frances smiled. “I shall bring a thermos flask and a packet of sandwiches.”
“You win,” said Guy promptly.
They were silent for a while but it was a companionable silence. Presently Guy said: “Are you frightened of mice?”
“Mice!” exclaimed Frances in surprise.
“I just wondered,” he said. “It would interest me very much to know whether or not you are frightened of them.”
“You don’t mean there are mice here!” exclaimed Frances, looking round in an anxious way.
He shook his head. “No, the question was purely academic. It was good of you to answer it so promptly. Psychology has always interested me.”
“I suppose you think it’s silly to be frightened of mice,” said Frances indignantly.
“Not silly, merely rather odd. The prospect of being swept off a rock and drowned had no power to daunt you, but the moment I mentioned mice you showed considerable alarm.”
“It was horrid of you to frighten me,” she declared.
“It was a scientific experiment,” he replied.
They smoked and talked. Sometimes they talked quite seriously and sometimes Guy resorted to his teasing manner which Frances found so baffling. She had no experience in repartee, but she discovered that it puzzled him considerably if she replied to his nonsense with a serious air, and the discovery gave her confidence and poise.
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