thought you might be able to help.”
“I see.”
“Yes, I’ve run out. Damned nuisance, I know.”
“Unfortunately, Mrs. Durrant, we have no such medicines on the island.” Her tone brooked no argument.
“Oh, I see. Very well then. Thank you.” Hiding her shame at having had to ask, Esther retreated to her room, cursing herself for having swallowed her pills like sweets when she had first arrived, and cursing John again for abandoning her in such a far-flung, desperate place. She knew, deep down, that he had likely only been doing his best for her, but it didn’t make things any easier.
Mrs. Biggs had laid a fire and left a hot water bottle under the sheets and this small act comforted her. She lay down, holding Teddy’s cap against her cheek and closed her eyes, remembering the way her son’s hair shone like spun gold as it caught the light, the pearls of his teeth that were revealed when something pleased him. For once the nightmares kept themselves at bay.
* * *
Rising early the next morning, she dressed swiftly, stepping into houndstooth-check trousers and a wool twinset. After the previous day’s conversation with the doctor, she felt clear-headed. It had felt good to finally tell someone, though she pushed down the knowledge that she hadn’t recounted the full story. Some of the burden she had been carrying seemed miraculously to have been lifted, however, and she was anxious to do something useful. She had been wallowing in self-pity for too long and it was time to make amends, however small. She would seek out Robbie and apologize to him as soon as she had an opportunity.
The tide would be out and clamming was one of the few activities she could think of to occupy herself with, for the garden was as thoroughly weeded as it could ever be. The last time they’d collected clams, Mrs. Biggs had steamed them with some cream and parsley and they had been as delicious as promised. She tiptoed downstairs, pulled on a jacket and boots and took the shovel and bucket from their place just inside the front door. There was enough light to guide her footsteps without mishap and she was down at the beach, watching as the day—destined to be a bright, clear one by the looks of things—began. The sun was barely up, with only a thin orange visible at the horizon and she stood for the best part of an hour, enjoying the expanding, crystalline light, the gentle suck of the sea and the solitude. The dawn held so much promise; a fresh page on which to make a mark, the blots of the previous day washed away. She felt more like herself than she had in months. A growing regard for the doctor hovered on the edges of her consciousness, but she deliberately pushed away the thought of the warmth that bloomed inside her whenever they spent time together. Nevertheless, she found herself thinking of him in idle moments, even now, wondering . . .
“I say! Is that you, Mrs. Durrant?” A voice rang out across the beach and carried toward her. His shout took Esther by surprise and she started, looking up to see Wilkie bearing down on her. He carried a large tripod under one arm, a camera in his other hand, lurching from side to side as he covered the uneven ground.
She straightened and waved at him, pausing in her collecting as he came closer.
“You’re up early,” he said, huffing with the effort of carrying the camera equipment over the uneven ground.
“Getting some clams in before the tide comes up.”
He grunted. “Good idea. Thought the light might be a cracker for some photos. I say, would you mind if I took your picture?”
Self-conscious, she tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m hardly presentable,” she protested, crossing her arms and looking down at the trousers that she’d stuffed into a too-large pair of Wellingtons.
“Nonsense,” he said. “Dead ringer for Katharine Hepburn according to Robbie. And he knows his actresses.”
Esther colored, wondering what exactly they’d been saying about her.
“I won’t take no for an answer,” he continued. “Just let me set her up. You keep on digging; I’ll get one of you in action.”
She turned back to face the shore, glad of something to do. Esther had never been one to enjoy posing for photos, even as a girl. Her wedding picture, showing a more carefree young woman framed in silver, rested on the piano at home. It