The Forgotten Letters of Esther Durrant - Kayte Nunn Page 0,42

wound its way through the seagrass, following the shoreline west. He soon noticed that Esther was struggling to keep up with him and so he adjusted his pace accordingly. “Look, out there!” he cried, stopping so suddenly that she almost bumped into him.

“What? Where? There’s nothing but endless sea.”

He pointed in the direction that he had been looking, toward a group of rocks that stuck up out of the frothing water like obsidian. Some of the rocks appeared to be moving, cleaving and launching into the sea. “Seals.”

“Oh yes, there they are.” Like sudden sunlight on an overcast day, the flash of her smile, her face briefly lighting up, transformed her. Warmed him too, if he was honest.

“Come on, it’s nearly low tide. Let’s go down and see if we can find some clams. Mrs. Biggs makes a rather good soup from them.”

She followed him toward the beach, hearing the hiss of the waves as they struck the shore, and watched as he dug in with the shovel. He sifted through the upturned sand until several long, thin shells were revealed. “Razor clams. Absolutely delicious, I guarantee it,” he said with satisfaction. “Grab them for me, before they bury themselves again. Here—” He handed her the bucket he’d brought.

Esther removed her gloves, stuffing them in her coat pocket and gingerly picked up one of the shells, brushing off the sand and holding it high to examine it. “Are you sure we can eat them?” She wrinkled her nose.

“Well, we’re not doing this for the hell of it.”

Chapter Sixteen

Isles of Scilly, Spring 2018

As Rachel piloted the small boat out into the open water, she could see that the storm brewing on the horizon was moving faster than she had anticipated. It would almost certainly be upon her before she could make it back to St. Mary’s and safety. She glanced backward. Tresco was behind her now, not worth heading back to. As she read the shapes of the islands on the starboard side, expecting to see Samson and the gray-brown buildings of Hugh Town, she had to check twice. They didn’t look like the islands she had been expecting to see at all. Unless she was mistaken, these were Great, Little, and Middle Arthur.

A sickening feeling took hold in the pit of her stomach. She must have taken a wrong turn when she left Tresco. There was no time to go back now. The visibility was closing in fast and the wind, which had picked up, began to lash at the small boat, making it rock from side to side. She looked around again. The storm bore down, almost upon her now, and she felt the first fat drops of rain splash on her face and ping off the metal boat. It was as dark as an eerie twilight. A jagged bolt of lightning split the sky and then, only seconds later, an almighty boom of thunder, as if a bomb had been dropped.

Rachel had seen her fair share of dramatic tropical storms while living in the Pacific, and as a result had developed a healthy respect for their damaging power. She certainly didn’t like being out on the water in a small boat in such a storm with nowhere to hide from the lightning, but she forced herself to remain calm. She steered onward, trying not to panic and over-rev the engine. Going too fast in such conditions would be a mistake: the chop was heavy and she didn’t want to take on any water and risk having to stop and bale out.

She remembered the old house on Little Embers and, despite Jonah’s words about the hermit who lived there, calculated that it was her best hope of shelter. Just able to make it out on the horizon, she opened the throttle, riding the knife edge between speed and control in order to get there as quickly as possible.

There was another almighty crack and Rachel reflexively ducked, even though it would make no difference if the lightning did decide to strike her. Water slapped over the side of the little dinghy and the bow wave came dangerously high but she continued, urging the motor on.

The shoreline of Little Embers came into view just as the outboard sputtered, lost power, and then cut out completely. The boat wallowed in the sudden lull and Rachel nearly overbalanced. She steadied herself and pulled the starter cord, trying to spark it back into life. She pulled it again, and again, but it stubbornly refused