was long, narrow, and T-shaped, two humps of land with a sandy neck at the top of the T.
A large stone house stood halfway up one of the hills. Its gray-brown walls and slate roof gave it the appearance of one of those ancient stone effigies. It looked almost as though it had been part of the landscape forever. Had endured, undaunted by wild winds or seas or storms. Did anyone really live there, in such isolation? Smoke drifted from its chimney, so it appeared that they must.
Rachel had been under the impression that all of the islands out this way were uninhabited, so made a mental note to ask Janice about it when she next saw her.
As she motored on, she saw the ruins of two cottages on the other side of the island, their roofs caved in and walls tumbling down. She checked her watch. A couple of hours had passed since she set off and her stomach was beginning to rumble. Perhaps it was time to head back.
She hadn’t bothered with a trip to the island’s small supermarket earlier in the day—she’d been impatient to get to the slipway—and breakfast had been nothing more than a cup of black coffee, made from the scant supplies that she found in a kitchen cupboard. By the time she got back to St. Mary’s and had tied up Soleil, she was too hungry to waste time shopping.
The Mermaid stood right in front of her, beckoning. She’d lay bets there was a fire blazing inside too. She was numb from her nose to her toes and once the thought of a fire had snagged in her brain, it was impossible to resist.
The pub was quiet, just a handful of customers sipping on pints, and she took a menu from the bar, settling into an armchair by the fire.
“Fancy running into you again. How are you getting on?”
Rachel looked up from the menu to see Jonah’s cheerful face, noticing again the laughter lines fanning out from his eyes. He was in uniform, a high-vis waterproof hung open to reveal dark green twill trousers. His shirt, of the same material, was emblazoned with a gold badge. There was a faint but reassuring smell of liniment about him, reminding her of grazed knees and Band-Aids.
She grinned back. The exhilaration from her boating expedition had put her in a good mood. “Better now I’m starting to warm up,” she said. “I can’t remember the last time I was so cold.”
“This?” he laughed. “Count yourself lucky you weren’t here a few months ago. You do know it’s spring now?”
Rachel shuddered, holding her numb fingers out to the fire to warm them. “I’m sure I’ll get used to it,” she said, though her teeth were still chattering.
“How about a drink?” he asked. “That is, if you’re not meeting someone else? I’ve got an hour’s break.”
“Thanks. Lemonade perhaps? I’ve got work to do this afternoon.”
“We can do better than that. They do a good spiced cider here. That’ll warm you up from the inside.”
She nodded. “Perfect.”
He came back a few minutes later carrying two glasses of cloudy, golden liquid and a plate of pork pies. “You look like you might be hungry too.”
“Oh really, you didn’t have to,” she protested.
“Nonsense. Go on—help yourself. I can’t eat all of them.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.” She cut into one of the pies and took a bite. “How long have you been a paramedic?” she asked after she swallowed her first mouthful.
“Nearly fifteen years—” he reached across and wiped a stray crumb from her cheek. The gesture was intimate, assured, and Rachel felt a spark at his touch, as if there was too much static electricity in the air.
“And have you always lived on St. Mary’s?”
“Born and raised. Went to the mainland to study of course. But I couldn’t wait to come back. Why wouldn’t you when there’s all of this here?”
“I suppose.”
“Let me fill you in on the place,” he said. “One of the islands is said to be the resting place of King Arthur. Another story is that there was a tsunami in the eleventh century and the islands are tips of old mountains. Some people still believe that there are churches and houses down there, stretching all the way to Land’s End. Fishermen have said they can hear bells tolling at night . . .”
She looked incredulously at him, finding the story hard to believe.
“These days, people say that eventually St. Mary’s will be cut in two,” he continued.