Page 12 of Second Chance Summer
Her mouth snapped shut. Sam said nothing. He seemed at a loss for words and Lily felt uncomfortable – and, suddenly, a bit guilty.
The cloud was now so thick and the rain so heavy that she couldn’t even make out the other cottages. She and Sam might have been the only two people on the planet, might have been anywhere on the planet. Somewhere in the distance, a foghorn sounded.
Sam gazed through the mist towards the sea. ‘That’s the Bishop,’ he said, almost reverently, before continuing in a more conciliatory tone: ‘Look, I’m sorry – again – that you’re so disappointed. I’m sure this weather isn’t helping.However, you are going to stay in one of the most exclusive locations in Britain – in the world, in fact. What’s more, you’re the first person to spend the night here in two hundred years.’
‘Two hundred years? I’m not sure what you mean?’
‘The island was inhabited once, centuries ago, but the islanders abandoned it.’
‘Really?’ With a glance around her, Lily murmured, ‘I can’t think why,’ before giving a resigned sigh. ‘OK, there’s no point in us standing around like this. There’s clearly a mismatch in expectations here so if you don’t mind, please could you take me back to Tresco so I can get the next helicopter back to Penzance? I’ll find a hotel there.’
‘Sorry, but that won’t be possible.’
‘Why not?’
‘There are no more flights because of the fog.’
Lily stiffened. ‘OK. Then please be kind enough to take me to one of the other islands and I’ll book myself into a hotel there and fly out tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow,’ Sam stared at her as if she was mad, ‘is Sunday.’
‘That we agree on at least.’ She smiled. ‘Sunday is fine. First flight out of here? I’m not afraid of early mornings,’ she added.
‘We don’t allow helicopter or fixed-wing flights or sailings on Sundays.’
‘What? On cultural grounds?’ Lily suppressed a sigh. She was much more in her comfort zone when she was finding solutions, taking control. ‘OK, I can charter a privatehelicopter or plane then.’ It would cost an arm and a leg, she thought, but would be worth it.
‘It’s not cultural so much as practical. There are no flights of any kind on a Sunday, on the grounds that everyone should have a day off: pilots, ferry workers, airport staff, ground crew.’
‘A dayoff?’
‘Yes. Everyone needs time to rest and recuperate,’ he said pointedly. ‘I suppose,’ he added, forestalling her next question, ‘that youcouldtry and find a skipper who’d sail you back to Penzance, but in this weather, no one in their right mind would attempt it.’
‘So,’ Lily said, seeing every other option disappearing through the hourglass, ‘you’re saying that I’m trapped here until Monday?’
‘“Trapped” is not the word I’d use.’
He shrugged. Had Richie known about the situation? Had he deliberately sent her to some form of bootcamp? Lily burst out laughing; a proper guffaw, the likes of which she hadn’t heard for years. In this silence and mist, it had an edge of hysteria to it. Then she realised another thing. She was stuck with Sam Teague, a grumpy rural hunk whom she had no knowledge of other than that he ran a poor excuse for a wellness retreat on an island unfit to sustain life.
‘Then I’ll stay on one of the other islands. In … another hotel.’ She’d almost said ‘a proper hotel’, but didn’t want to fan the flames.
‘Well, you could try if you want to. It’s getting late in the day and they’re probably all fully booked for the weekend,but you’re welcome to use the radio in reception and maybe make alternative arrangements. Or one of the islanders might be able to put you up. I’m prepared to take you over the channel to Bryher or Tresco, but in this fog I daren’t risk taking the boat to the other off islands.’
She was about to say, ‘OK, let’s go for it,’ when he spoke again.
‘Lily,’ he said, in a voice that was suddenly gentle, ‘your cottage is finished. It has a claw-foot tub and power shower, and a mini-kitchen – though you won’t have to catch or cook your own dinner because among the boxes on the quay down there is fresh seafood, salad, home-baked bread, some island gin and a very nice bottle of wine from the St Martin’s vineyard. Or you may, of course, go foraging for limpets as the islanders had to when they couldn’t get off here for weeks and the potatoes had run out. It’s your choice.’
‘Mychoice?’
‘Yes. And if you do stay, I promise I’ll do my very best to find a flight for you on Monday morning, so you can be out of here as soon as possible.’
A wave of weariness washed over her but she pushed it aside and lifted her chin defiantly. ‘I suppose I’ll have to concede,’ she said, her voice sounding lonely and small.
‘Concede?’ He shook his head. ‘You haven’t lost,’ he said with perfect seriousness. ‘It’s just the situation.’
‘OK,’ she said, feeling as if she could lie down and sleep right here on the path. ‘I think that’s a good interim solution.’
‘Good, because while I don’t mind a bit of rain, we’reboth getting bloody soaked out here. Why don’t I show you your cottage so you can relax before dinner?’ He picked up her bag without asking her. ‘After you,’ he said, holding open the door so she could walk into the reception hub.
