The Forgotten Letters of Esther Durrant - Kayte Nunn Page 0,66

had at the old cottage. There were the beginnings of blisters on her heels from the borrowed boots, and her wrist, even though it was resting against her chest in the sling, was starting to ache again. Fighting the feeling that she was being watched, she hurried to the back of the house, kicking off her boots at the door before going inside.

Leah was in the kitchen when she got back, and was holding something. Rachel recognized it immediately. Her camera. Bulky in its waterproof housing.

“Oh my God!”

Leah gave her a grudging smile as she reached for it. “Found it washed up by the tide as I was on my way back from the beach.”

“That’s wonderful, thank you.” Rachel checked it over. It was intact, undamaged by its watery adventure. The camera had been a graduation gift from her parents more than a decade before and she was delighted to have it returned to her. She had assumed it was gone forever.

“I don’t suppose there was anything else?” she asked, ever the optimist. “No sign of my boat?”

Leah shook her head.

Even though she knew the answer, Rachel felt disappointment curdle in her stomach, followed closely by hope that someone—Jonah if she was truthful—might by now have noticed the boat missing and would come looking for her, then guilt as she thought of the time they would spend searching, the worry she might have caused. She kicked herself for her impetuousness once more and wondered exactly how she was going to break the news to Dr. Wentworth of the delay to the project, not to mention the abandoned boat.

“Lunch?” Leah interrupted her thoughts.

“Yes please. Can I do anything to help?”

“All under control.”

There was a large stockpot of water boiling on the stove and Leah held up a basket that contained a couple of fair-sized khaki-green lobsters. “We’ve got ourselves a feast.” She looked pleased with herself.

When the crustaceans were ready, scarlet and steaming on a plate, Leah cracked the shells with an old hammer and they dove in. She thoughtfully cracked most of the shells, so that it was easy for Rachel to get at the meat one-handed. The lobster was possibly the best Rachel had ever tasted: sweet and juicy, and they dipped it in melted butter as they ate. She groaned when they had finished, her stomach full.

“Not bad,” said Leah, butter glistening on her chin.

“We have this great dish at home that my mum sometimes makes—chilli mud crab—until now I’d thought it was the best way to eat shellfish, but this is incredible,” Rachel said.

While they were eating, Rachel—who was an inveterate observer of things and also people—had been studying Leah covertly, looking for signs that years of boozing might have left. But her eyes were clear and her hands steady. Perhaps she’d given up, as she’d said earlier? Either way, Rachel knew better than to mention the empty bottles by the cow shed.

She was still wondering about it when Leah looked at her and Rachel colored, aware that she’d been caught staring. “What did you run away from?” Rachel blurted out before she could censor herself.

Leah looked at her in astonishment, as if she hadn’t heard her correctly. “Curiosity killed the cat, you know,” she said.

“Good thing cats have nine lives,” Rachel shot back.

Leah hesitated and then roared with laughter. “Who said I was running away from anything?” she asked, wiping a tear of mirth from her cheek. “Perhaps I was running toward something.”

Leah stood up abruptly, her empty plate in her hands, and Rachel knew she wouldn’t get more of an answer from her than that.

* * *

After lunch, Leah went to her studio and Rachel was left to her own devices once more. Her frustration at being stranded was growing, more so for not being able to communicate or get on with her work than the actual isolation of the island. She relished her own company, but when there was nothing to occupy her, time dragged.

She decided to reread the letters. On her walk that morning, the words had kept returning to her, echoing in her head as her mind tried to guess at the story behind them. She had thoroughly searched the suitcase the previous day, even going so far as to pat down the lining in case anything had been slipped inside, but there were no more clues to be found.

She retrieved the envelopes from the book and spread them out again. Six of them. And then, nothing. They spoke of a love