Coming Home to Brightwater Bay

by Holly Hepburn

  Niall raised his eyebrows. ‘Did she now? You should be honoured – her daughter has been trying to get her to take a running partner for years, but she’s always refused.’ He paused and gave a little huff of amusement. ‘She must think you’d be able to keep up with her.’

  Merry thought back to her near panic attack and shifted uneasily. ‘I wasn’t actually planning on joining her,’ she said. ‘I don’t run.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Niall said, with a puzzled frown. ‘Well, who knows what her reasons were. But you’d have a friend for life in her daughter, Grace, if you kept Sheila company. I know she’s fretting her mum will have a fall while she’s out and it might set her mind at rest if she knew she wasn’t alone.’

  Merry felt a sinking feeling in her stomach and pushed it firmly away. She wouldn’t be guilted into a kamikaze running mission along the cliffs in the dead of a Scottish winter. She wouldn’t.

  ‘I visited the cairn at Maeshowe too,’ she told him, changing the subject. ‘The Neolithic people really knew how to bury their dead, didn’t they?’

  ‘They did.’ Niall’s expression was filled with familiar boyish enthusiasm as he agreed. ‘You should visit in midwinter, when the setting sun lines up just right to light up the inside of the tomb. It’s incredible – quite a spiritual experience.’

  She looked at him then, wondering whether she should tell him about the moment she had almost been able to picture an ancient funeral procession making its way along the low, narrow passageway that led to the stone-clad chamber. The scene had been so clear that she’d pulled out a scrap of paper from her bag and scribbled some hurried notes so she didn’t forget the details. It was as close to spiritual as she’d ever been.

  ‘I can imagine,’ she said carefully. ‘Maybe I’ll have to come back in December.’

  There was a knock at the door and a young, red-haired woman poked her head into the office. ‘Sorry to bother you, Niall, but the server has gone down again. No one can log in.’

  He glanced at Merry and pulled a face. ‘Duty calls – sorry.’

  ‘No problem,’ she said, standing up. ‘I’ve taken up too much of your time again. I’ll stop being a pest once I’ve settled in properly.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he replied. ‘It’s been lovely to see you – drop in any time.’

  He walked her to the entrance doors and smiled. ‘I’ll be in touch with more details and final numbers for Friday but, basically, it’s due to start at six-thirty, so if you can get here by six o’clock, that would be perfect.’

  Merry nodded. ‘Six o’clock. Got it.’

  ‘And if you want a jaw-dropping journey home, take the road that takes you past the Stones of Stenness. Google Maps will try to take you the shorter route but you should be able to change it.’

  She made a mental note of the name. ‘I will. Thanks.’

  ‘Drive carefully,’ he said, as she headed through the doors. ‘And don’t let Gordon bully you!’

  Chapter Five

  The standing stones were every bit as impressive as Niall had promised. The road he’d recommended wove its way between two lochs and the three Stones of Stenness stood to attention, six metres tall and visible long before she got close enough to appreciate them. Merry pulled the Mini into a layby at the side of the road, which seemed to serve as a car park, and got out. There were a few other visitors wandering in between the stones. Merry made her way through the kissing gate and paused to read the information on the signs, marvelling at the feats of strength and engineering that had got the enormous slabs into place. Originally, it was thought there had been twelve stones forming a circle around a vast hearth, and Merry couldn’t help wondering what the people who placed the stones did there. Was it a sacred place? Somewhere they came to dance and celebrate? The equivalent of a town hall, where rules were made? Perhaps it was all three – the possibilities were endless. But at last, mindful of the time and wanting to be back at the croft before darkness fell, Merry dragged herself away from daydreaming about the past and got back into the car.

  She resisted the temptation to stop at another, more complete circle of stones just a few minutes north of the ones she’d just left. Niall hadn’t mentioned those. He probably hadn’t wanted to spoil the surprise, she decided, as she slowed the car to gaze out of the window. And it was just after she’d passed those stones that she felt the steering wheel pull in a strange, sharp jolt and heard the unmistakable whomp whomp whomp of a flat tyre.

  ‘Shit!’ Merry muttered, flicking on the hazard lights and wrestling the car to a stop as close to the side of the road as she could manage. The car behind her beeped, as though she was being inconsiderate by suffering a mechanical mishap, and she resisted the temptation to make a rude gesture. Apart from anything else, she was on Orkney in a professional capacity and it would be just her luck for the driver of the beeping car to be a fan of Merina Wilde.

  She got out of the car and surveyed the driver’s side tyre; as she’d suspected it was flat. She stared at it helplessly for a moment, cursing her bad luck, before wondering what to do next. Was there a breakdown service she could call? Niall would know. She reached into her bag and pulled out her mobile. After listening to the phone ring and ring, Merry concluded he must still be dealing with technical issues at the library; besides, really, she ought to be able to solve a problem like this on her own. As long as that didn’t involve actually changing the tyre herself.

  She’d just looked up breakdown recovery on her phone when another car slowed and beeped its horn. Mumbling another rude word under her breath, Merry ignored the driver and focussed on her phone. Then she realized the car had stopped.

  ‘Excuse me, miss,’ a male, charmingly accented voice called. ‘Do you need some assistance?’

  The accent certainly wasn’t Scottish – it sounded Scandinavian or perhaps Nordic – and was so out of place that Merry looked up instantly – and nearly dropped her phone. Gazing at her from the open window of a battered Ford pick-up truck was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. He had untidy blond hair that flowed past his shoulders, a slightly darker beard that was much longer than the fashion in London, but no less neatly trimmed, and a smile that made her almost forget her own name.

  ‘Sorry?’ she managed, in a tone that was more of a squeak than anything else.

  He leaned one muscular forearm in the space where the window should be and fired her a look of friendly concern. ‘Are you in trouble? How can I help?’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, waving vaguely in the direction of the car. ‘I’ve got a flat tyre. But don’t worry – I’ll just call a garage.’

  Immediately, the pick-up truck pulled over and parked in front of the Mini and Merry found herself torn between happiness – because she’d get to look at this extraordinary man up close – and irritation because he’d evidently decided she needed to be rescued.

  And then he got out of the car and all coherent thoughts left her brain.

  He was a Viking, she decided faintly as he walked towards her, plucked from history and wrapped up in modern packaging, but there was no disguising heritage like his. There was his height, for a start – he must be 6’5” at least. And his physique was equally impressive; there were muscles rippling as he walked that his black t-shirt and jeans did nothing to hide. He looked like the cover model from an epic Norse saga. He looked like he could out-Thor Chris Hemsworth.

  ‘My name is Magnús Ólafsson,’ he said. ‘I’m at your service.’

  Merry caught herself staring at his eyes, which were an even deeper green than her own. ‘Merina Wilde,’ she said, preferring not to wonder why she’d given the more alluring version of her name. ‘Thank you for stopping.’

  He nodded and glanced down at the Mini. ‘Do you have a spare?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Merry confessed. ‘This isn’t my car and today is the first time I’ve driven it. I haven’t even opened the boot, much less checked whether there’s a spare tyre in there.’

  Magnús smiled, bu
t there wasn’t so much as a hint of condescension on his face. ‘No problem, I’ll take a look.’

  He walked to the back of the car and opened the boot. Merry knew she should follow, but she was rooted to the spot. She’d never met someone whose appearance had affected her so drastically; was it very wrong that she wanted to stare at him for the rest of her life?

  Moments later, Magnús’s tousled head appeared above the Mini as he straightened up. ‘Bad news – no spare tyre.’

  Merry felt a wash of disappointment and it took her a few seconds to understand why: from the moment Magnús had stopped his truck, she’d been subconsciously looking forward to watching him heft the old tyre from the car, possibly by lifting the Mini up with one hand, and replace it with a new one. And now that pleasure had been taken from her. ‘Okay, thanks for checking,’ she said, hoping she didn’t sound as regretful as she felt. ‘I guess I’d better ring the garage after all.’

  ‘I’ll wait while you call,’ Magnús said.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you have much better things to do,’ Merry exclaimed, hoping he’d disagree.

  He didn’t let her down. ‘Not at all,’ he said, flashing her an easy smile. ‘I’ll wait.’

  ‘Hopefully this won’t take long,’ she said.

  Except that the first three garages she tried didn’t have the right tyre to fit the Mini.

  ‘She’ll have run-flat tyres, miss, and I don’t keep them in stock,’ the first mechanic told her. ‘I could mebbe get you one by Wednesday morning?’

  It was the same story at the next two. Eddie’s Repairs in Kirkwall had the right tyre but no one to come out and fit it. Merry thanked him and hung up, discouraged. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she told Magnús. ‘The only garage who has the right tyre can’t come out and fit it.’

  He shrugged. ‘Then we will go and collect it.’

  She stared at him, aghast. ‘I can’t ask you to do that – it’s all the way back in Kirkwall.’

  Magnús regarded her quizzically. ‘It is only twenty miles. And really, I don’t see that we have a choice.’

  We, Merry noted and, far too late, it occurred to her to wonder whether she ought to have been more reticent about accepting help from a strange man by the side of the road, no matter how handsome he was. But it was hard to imagine his charming chivalry hid anything sinister and he was right about one thing: short of abandoning the Mini and walking all the way back to Brightwater Bay, she really didn’t have a lot of choice. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind? I’m happy to pay for your petrol.’

  He waved the offer away. ‘I was only going home, so no, I don’t mind. And I am happy to help – I have a sister back in Reykjavik and I hope that someone would do the same for her if she needed it.’

  Merry’s imagination whirred – any serial killer worth his salt would almost certainly invent a sister to reassure his victim before luring her into his car. And then she gave herself a serious mental shake and forced the ridiculous idea out of her head, imagining what Jess would say if she was there. Get in the damn truck, probably. Closely followed by and find out if he’s single.

  ‘Okay,’ Merry said, taking a deep breath. ‘Then I accept. Thank you.’

  Magnús walked around to the passenger side of his truck and opened the door. ‘I’m afraid it’s not very clean. I wasn’t expecting any company.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Merry said. ‘I won’t mention it in my review.’

  His forehead crinkled. ‘Review?’

  ‘Like Uber,’ she explained. Then, when his expression stayed blank, ‘Or Trip Advisor?’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ he said, and grinned. ‘Very funny.’

  It would have been funnier if she hadn’t had to explain, Merry thought, but it was her own fault for assuming Uber might have reached the far north of Scotland. Or maybe Magnús had never needed to get home drunk after a night out – she had no idea.

  ‘So, Merina Wilde, what brings you to Orkney?’ he asked, once he’d turned the pick-up around and pointed it back along the road to Kirkwall.

  He was the first person she’d met since arriving who hadn’t known who she was and why she was there before she’d so much as opened her mouth, Merry thought. It made a refreshing change and she half-wished she didn’t have to spoil things by telling him the truth. Most people were fascinated when she told them what she did for a living, and some were even a little star-struck; she quite liked the idea of hanging onto her anonymity for a little while longer. But there was always the chance that he’d see the posters at the library or dotted around Kirkwall and work it out for himself, and then he’d wonder why she’d lied.

  ‘I’m a novelist,’ she told him. ‘The library hosts a Writer in Residence scheme and I’m the lucky writer. It means I’ll be here for the next six months, doing events and talking about books to anyone who’ll listen.’

  He glanced sideways, his expression animated. ‘But this is amazing! In Iceland, we are all book lovers – we even have a tradition devoted to giving each other books on Christmas Eve. It’s called Jólabókaflóð.’

  It was a word Merry had only ever seen written down before and he pronounced it yo-la-bok-a-flot, so it took her a moment to make the link. ‘I’ve heard of that,’ she said warmly. ‘It sounds wonderful.’

  He fired an admiring look her way. ‘Authors are like rock stars in my country. Although obviously, we have rock stars too.’

  The conversation flowed easily between them. Merry discovered Magnús had left Iceland in his early twenties and had spent a year travelling the world before taking a summer job on Orkney and eventually settling there. He now ran a boatyard in Kirkwall, building and repairing boats for the local fishermen and residents, and, during the summer months, he skippered a tour boat, running excursions around the coast for whale watching, or taking tourists to the other islands in the archipelago. It was all so fascinating that Merry was more than a little disappointed when they pulled up outside Eddie’s Repairs.

  ‘Magnús,’ a short, round-bellied man called, when they hovered in the doorway of the garage. ‘What brings you here?’

  ‘A mission of mercy,’ Magnús replied. ‘This is Merina. She called about a tyre for a Mini earlier.’

  ‘Please, call me Merry,’ she said, as Eddie stuck out an oil-stained hand. ‘And yes, I did call you. Would it be possible to collect the tyre now?’

  Eddie rubbed his chin. ‘Aye, that’s no bother.’ He glanced up at Magnús. ‘And I suppose you’ll fit it? Do you have a jack and a spanner and all that?’

  Merry felt a tingle of warmth in her cheeks as she once again pictured Magnús hefting the car aloft with one hand as the wind sent his long hair streaming. Good grief, she thought and gave herself a sturdy mental kick. Get a grip, Merry.

  ‘I was hoping you might be able to lend us the tools we need,’ Magnús said, mercifully oblivious to Merry’s overheated imagination. ‘I’ll be able to return them tomorrow.’

  ‘Of course,’ Eddie said, and he glanced at Merry again. ‘Anything for our Writer in Residence, eh?’

  He went to fetch the tyre. Magnús leaned towards Merry and grinned. ‘See? You’re a rock star here too.’

  She laughed and tried not to blush further. ‘Believe me, there’s nothing rock and roll about sitting up until four o’clock in the morning, wondering whether your main characters are ever going to kiss each other.’

  ‘Are they the kind of novels you write – kissing books?’ he asked.

  Merry hesitated as a sly inner voice reminded her that she currently didn’t write any kind of novel. ‘Usually, yes,’ she managed. ‘At least I try to.’

  He nodded. ‘Then I will keep an eye out for them. Maybe you will even sign one for me.’

  ‘That’s the least I can do,’ Merry said, ‘given that you’ve just driven twenty miles out of your way to help me and will have to drive another twenty and change a tyre before you can escape.’

  Magnús shot her a look that made her stomach swoop in a lazy arc. ‘What ma
kes you think I want to escape?’

  Eddie chose that moment to reappear, which gave Merry some much-needed breathing space. How could Magnús have this effect on her when they’d only just met? She needed to calm down and remember why she was on Orkney in the first place: to mend a broken heart. The last thing she ought to be doing was harbouring impractical fantasies about a man she barely knew, no matter how much he looked like a Viking.

  ‘Here’s your tyre,’ Eddie said, lifting the black circle into the bed of the pick-up truck. He vanished back inside the garage momentarily, then returned with a jack and spanner set. ‘And here’s everything else you need. There’ll be locking wheel nuts in the car, I imagine. Which just leaves us with the bill.’

  Merry winced as she paid the astronomical cost of the new tyre but told herself it was a small price to pay for her freedom around Orkney. And then Eddie was waving them off, with a firm promise that he’d see Merry at her event.

  ‘You are giving a talk?’ Magnús asked, once they were back on the road.

  ‘At the library,’ Merry said. ‘On Friday.’

  ‘Then that is perfect,’ Magnús said. ‘You can sign a book for me there.’

  Merry felt embarrassment crawl over her. ‘Oh, don’t feel you have to come. It’s just going to be me wittering on about books.’

  Magnús smiled. ‘I can’t think of a better way to spend an evening.’

  And Merry forced herself to look out of the window, in case the warmth of yet another inappropriate mental image gave her away.

  The Mini was exactly where they’d left it, looking somewhat lonely by the side of the road. Merry watched as Magnús tucked his long golden hair into the perfect man bun and expertly changed the tyre, although a treacherous little voice inside her head whispered that he might have done an even better job if he’d removed his t-shirt…

  She had her runaway imagination firmly under control by the time he’d finished and was able to thank him without blushing. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’