“Hugh Town is on the narrowest part of the island—there’s Town Beach on one side and Porthcressa on the other, but there’s not much that separates them. It’ll only take a few meters’ rise in sea level and half the town would be underwater. Global warming and all that. The island’s highest point is at Telegraph Road, a hundred and eighty-seven meters above sea level. For now anyway.” His eyes danced at her.
“You are well informed. And can you tell me about this place?” Rachel raised her head and looked around. She was intrigued by the old pub. It reminded her a little of one of the bars in Aitutaki—both were filled to the brim with sailing memorabilia.
“It was originally a warehouse, but it’s been a pub since the 1950s I think. The décor hasn’t changed much since then either,” he said ruefully.
“I guessed as much. I like it though. There’s a nice sense of history.” Rachel wiped the crumbs from her hands with a napkin. “Luckily, the pork pies are considerably fresher.”
She was rewarded with his loud, rollicking laugh. Surprisingly, it warmed her almost as much as the fire.
“So what do you do for fun, Jonah?” She took a sip of her cider and fixed him with a deliberately wide-eyed, innocent gaze, teasing him. She was gratified to see him confused as to her meaning, but he chose not to take the bait.
“Well, in summer there’s gig racing. Rowing boats, that is. Wooden, with six oars. A bit like your surf lifeboats I think—I saw a TV documentary about them once. Everyone comes out to watch—it’s exciting.”
“I’m sure it is,” Rachel said. She liked the idea of watching muscled young men wrestling with a wooden boat.
“But tell me more about you—you didn’t get that tan by spending two weeks in Spain.”
“No,” she agreed. “I’ve been living in the Cook Islands. Aitutaki, to be exact, for the last couple of years.”
Jonah whistled. “I can see why you’d be less than impressed with the weather here then.”
Rachel gave him a stoic grin. “I’ll get used to it.”
“And what is it exactly that you’re doing here? Local gossip has it that you’re studying clams.”
She nodded. “Yep. Clams.”
“What’s the deal with them? I wouldn’t have thought they were that exciting, so I’m hoping you can enlighten me as to otherwise.” He delivered this sentence with a grin and Rachel wasn’t entirely sure if he was taking her seriously or not.
“It’s part of a study to determine if levels of sea pollution are changing around the islands. We’re so far from the mainland here that there’s always been a flourishing population. My job is to see if numbers have altered since the last survey five years ago, and if their locations have altered in any way. Then, if they’ve changed shape or size.”
“So essentially you’re here to count clams.”
“The Venus verrucosa to be specific,” she said.
“That sounds like a Harry Potter spell,” he laughed. “And just how long is that going to take?”
“Well, I’ve got to make a survey of the areas that were studied last time and provide an initial report in two months’ time. And then if that all looks fine, I’ll get counting, as you say, and measuring, over the next three or four months.”
“And after that?”
“Who knows?”
“It doesn’t bother you?” he asked.
“Bother me?”
“Such short-term work. Not knowing where you’ll be in a year or so’s time? If you’ll even have a job?”
“I’d be more bothered if I could see the whole of my life stretching out in front of me, with no surprises,” she said.
Jonah shook his head. “I don’t know if I could live with that kind of uncertainty. I like knowing I’ll be in the one place for as long as I want to be. Besides, staying put doesn’t mean life is boring.”
Rachel remembered the jolt of electricity at his touch, but chased it from her mind. They were never going to see things in the same way, even though she liked him. “Fair point,” she said, though she didn’t exactly agree with him.
Chapter Eleven
Little Embers, Autumn 1951
He would always remember the moment he first saw her, as if it were etched on his memory as a photographic negative onto silver. Her profile was classical—straight nose, strong brow, high forehead, a determined chin. Indeed, her stillness made him think she could easily have been carved of marble. Richard could also see that she was painfully thin, but her skin was the perfect ivory of an English rose, her