her.
She grabbed her camera to take a digital photo of the black-and-white print so that she could email it to Eve, and remembered that she’d snapped a few of Leah’s paintings. She flicked back to look at them and was struck again by how remarkable—“luminous” was the word that sprang to mind—they were.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Little Embers, Winter 1952
New Year’s came and went. They toasted the early minutes of 1952 with a finger of whiskey each. Richard would have liked to linger with Esther, but in spite of his dismissive words in regard to Jean, he was careful not to give anyone further cause to question their relationship. As far as the men were concerned, she was another of his patients and was afforded no special treatment.
January was a bleak month, but he was warmed by Esther’s company and conversation and dreamed at night of her lips on his, what the feel of her skin might be. They still met every day for their hour together, although he wasn’t strictly treating her any longer for she had made close to a full recovery from the depression that had beset her, as far as he could tell. He found himself longing for her and desolate when their time was up. When he gazed upon her face, felt the pleasure of making her laugh, seeing the light sparkle in her eyes, nothing else mattered. When they were alone together, on occasional snatched walks on the far side of the island, he could pretend that she wasn’t his patient. They were the most precious moments of his life.
He made his fortnightly report to John Durrant, ignoring his conscience as he wrote of only small improvements and the need for Esther to remain at Embers for some months to come. That John had entrusted his wife to his safekeeping caused him no small agony and he finished each missive with the resolve to end things between himself and Esther, to tell her that he had sent word for her to return home. It was a resolve that melted as soon as he saw her again.
Esther, however, showed less and less desire to leave the island; she spoke infrequently now of her life in London and of John and Teddy. It was as if she had placed them in a box and put it on the top shelf of a cupboard, something to pack away for a season. She appeared to be happy, content to tend the garden, hike for hours, and was as avid for his company as he was for hers.
One afternoon they contrived to be at the beach together. They walked out of sight of the house and Esther was laughing at something he’d said, skipping along the sand in front of him, when suddenly she turned, grasped his hand and drew him close, closer than they had ever been before. He shuddered as she ran her chilled hands under his sweater, her eyes widening at him as she encountered his bare skin. When he thought he could bear it no longer, she raised her face to him, offering her lips to his, meeting him tentatively at first, then deeply, passionately. In that moment he nearly lost all reason.
He lay awake that night, torturing himself with the knowledge of the sins he was committing, the damage to his professional reputation if it were ever to be known. Things could not continue as they were. Jean was definitely suspicious and he sometimes caught her regarding him with faint distaste, as if she had smelled something unpleasant, though she was quick to assume a mask of detached professionalism and was always deferential to his requests.
Richard felt as if he was out in no-man’s-land, far from safety on either side. He didn’t know whether it was best to continue forward or try and venture back.
One day in mid-March, the supply boat brought a letter addressed to him with a Cornish postmark and a typed address. Richard tore the envelope with his fingers—no letter openers were used at Embers; even knives were accounted for, locked away by Mrs. Biggs after every meal. One couldn’t be too careful. He scanned the flimsy sheet enclosed. It was from his father. “Son, I regret to inform you . . .” The words blurred as he read. Guilt washed over him as he remembered when he had last seen her. A week before he left for the island. She hadn’t even recognized him, asking constantly for his father, who never visited. He