down to the kitchen.
Jonah was there, filling the small space as he unloaded a large shopping bag. “Dinner,” he said. “I thought you might appreciate the help. Hope you don’t mind if I make myself at home in your kitchen.”
She blinked. “Be my guest. And you’re a star. Both for bringing me back to civilization and for thinking of my stomach.”
“Actually, it was more the thought of you trying to do everything one-handed,” he said. “Speaking of which, how is the paw?”
She looked down at her bandaged wrist. “I can’t use it for at least six weeks.”
“Bummer.”
“Exactly. I’ve had to explain myself to my supervisor—I don’t know what he’s going to be more pissed off about—the fact that there will be a delay to the research or that I’ve lost the boat they’ve given me. Personally, I’m laying bets on the boat.”
“Doesn’t rain but it pours, eh?” he said, opening the wine. “Here, drown your sorrows in a glass of this.”
She took a hefty slug, hoping it might anesthetize her disappointment and frustration with herself, now the euphoria of being rescued had worn off.
“Tell me something good, Jonah. I’m sick of wallowing in my own troubles,” she said.
He glanced up from the chopping board, where he was dicing tomatoes, and grinned at her. “Okay. Well, this morning we answered a call about a suspected heart attack, but it turned out to be severe indigestion.”
“Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”
He shrugged. “Well, actually, this afternoon, after finding someone I’d been rather worried about . . .” He winked at her. “I got to visit the primary school and teach a class of ten-year-olds first aid. They loved it. Wanted to know how many lives I’d saved, whether I’d seen a dead person, and could they have a go on the defibrillator. One cheeky so-and-so tried to nick my stethoscope.”
Rachel laughed. “You like kids?”
“Course,” Jonah replied. “What’s not to like?”
Rachel thought of her two nieces and three nephews, growing up so far away, and what she had missed out on. She looked at Jonah, imagining him for a moment as a father, two, or even three kids hanging off him. She knew instinctively he’d make a good one.
The smell of garlic and frying onions made her mouth water, reminding her of her mother’s cooking, and she continued to watch Jonah as he stirred the pan, tasting, adding a few grinds of pepper. Eventually he put a lid on the pan and then picked up his wineglass, joining her at the table. “That’ll take half an hour or so. Hope you like bouillabaisse.”
“Smells like heaven.”
“Good. So tell me about Leah. What’s she really like?”
“Tough. Terse. Doesn’t suffer fools. Independent. But then I guess you’d have to be, living on your own like that.”
Jonah nodded.
“But she was nice to me. Bandaged me up . . . Did you know she was an artist?”
“Really? I don’t think anyone on the islands knows her well—in fact, you may have found out more than most around here.”
“I found an old catalog from an exhibition of hers from years ago,” Rachel said, taking another sip of wine. “She said she only dabbles now, that her talent deserted her, but what I saw in her studio was more than that. I’m not sure why she doesn’t exhibit anymore. Also, she has a daughter, but they’re not in touch.”
“That’s sad. Did she say why?”
“Something about her being a difficult teenager—drugs, that kind of thing.”
“Might go some way to explaining why she’s living on Little Embers all by herself.”
“Oh, and there was something else.”
“What?”
“There was a suitcase. Mostly full of clothes—in fact, the ones I was wearing when you picked me up came from there. But I also found letters—love letters.”
“Leah’s love letters? Isn’t that a bit of an invasion of her privacy?” He looked at her in astonishment.
“Oh God no. These weren’t hers,” she reassured him quickly. “They were written in the 1950s.”
“Wow. Okay, now I’m interested. Tell me more.” He leaned toward her, anticipation lighting his face.
“They were addressed to an E. Durrant, in London, Hampstead, and who I am pretty sure was a woman, from someone with the initial ‘R.’ But for some reason they were never sent—the stamps weren’t postmarked.”
“Well, that is odd.”
“Do you know anything about the house on Little Embers? Who used to live there before Leah?”
Jonah shook his head slowly. “Can’t say I do. But Janice is probably the best person to talk to about that.”
“Janice?”
“She works part-time as a curator at the Isles