Sea Breezes at Brightwater Bay

by Holly Hepburn

  There was another heavy knock on the door, which made them both jump. ‘Sorry,’ Clare said. ‘Hugh’s not known for a delicate approach to anything.’

  His face was ruddy as he stamped his feet on the doormat and stepped into the croft. ‘All done. Just take it slowly, keep the car in a low gear, and you’ll reach the road no trouble.’

  Merry smiled. ‘Thank you so much. I really appreciate your help.’

  He took the mug of tea she gave him and tipped his head in thanks. ‘We look out for each other here, as you’ve no doubt discovered.’

  Merry’s eyes met Clare’s. ‘I have,’ she said, and they both smiled. ‘Now, how about a slice of cake? Because I’ve got to be honest, if I have to wait any longer, I might drool on the carpet.’

  Chapter Two

  The snow lingered for two days before rain washed in overnight and melted every trace. Merry was sorry to see it go – it might have made life a little more complicated, but the beauty it brought more than made up for any inconvenience. And really, there’d been very little of that; thanks to Hugh, she’d known she could venture out if she needed to, but she had taken the opportunity to hide away and write.

  Niall wasn’t the only one to check up on her. Jess had video-called the moment Merry’s photo of the snow had reached her, demanding that Merry go outside and share the magic.

  ‘Looks pretty secluded,’ Jess had observed when Merry panned the camera around to show her the snow-covered landscape. ‘Seems to me that what you need is some company.’

  Merry laughed. ‘I’m perfectly fine on my own. I have everything I need.’

  Jess shook her head. ‘I think you’ll find you’re running out of logs for your fire, Mer. You need a big strong man to come and chop some more.’ She left a meaningful pause. ‘If only you knew one.’

  ‘Jess—’

  ‘Don’t Jess me,’ her friend said impatiently. ‘This is a solid gold opportunity for you to get some sizzling Viking action and I would be failing in my best friend duties if I didn’t point that out. I bet he’s got an enormous axe.’

  ‘Jess!’

  ‘I’m just saying.’ Her voice softened. ‘As I’ve told you a million times already, it’s high time you forgot Alex, babes. Why not see if Magnús can help you do that?’

  All the usual objections crowded into Merry’s thoughts: it was too soon to date again, she was on Orkney in a professional capacity, there was no point in starting a relationship when she’d be leaving in less than six months’ time . . . But by far the biggest obstacle was that Merry had already lied about her relationship with Alex. And Jess had no idea she’d done so. ‘I—I’ll think about it.’

  ‘I’m not suggesting you marry him,’ Jess said. ‘Just have some fun. And maybe some hot sex. Why not invite him over and see what happens?’

  ‘I’m sure he’s busy,’ Merry replied, thinking guiltily of the solicitous message Magnús had sent that morning; he’d taken some persuasion that she didn’t need him to drive over to keep her company.

  Jess sighed. ‘Don’t make me come up there and play matchmaker, Mer. Because I will, if that’s what it takes.’

  The thought filled Merry with a longing to see Jess that was so strong she almost suggested she caught the next plane north. Except that would cause more problems than it solved, she thought, which probably meant Jess could never visit her on Orkney. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she repeated, crossing her fingers.

  And then the snow had gone, taking any temptation to act on Jess’s instructions with it, and Merry had been glad about that, even though she missed the wintry view across Brightwater Bay. She could only hope Jess’s determination to matchmake would melt away too.

  The clouds had cleared by the time Merry backed the Mini out of the shed beside the croft on Thursday morning. Carefully, she trundled to the main road and pointed the car towards Kirkwall. The blue skies made the journey even more of a pleasure than usual and she found herself slowing the car as she passed the tall stones of the Ring of Brodgar, marvelling as she always did at the feats of human endeavour that had put them there. Niall had once told her that there was nothing ordinary about Orkney, and it was a sentiment Merry found herself agreeing with almost every day. It was unlike anywhere else she had ever been.

  She found Niall in his office at the library.

  ‘This is an unexpected pleasure,’ he said, his face lighting up when he saw her in the doorway. ‘How are you? Did you enjoy the snow?’

  Merry’s first impression when she’d met Niall was that he must somehow be related to Clark Kent; he had the same combination of dark hair and blue eyes, and the slightly pre-occupied manner that suggested he was only half-paying attention to the world around him. That changed the moment he smiled. Merry was sure she couldn’t be the only one to have noticed a definite Superman vibe there. And he was different when he was talking about something he felt passionate about too, like the abandoned Neolithic village of Skara Brae, or some other aspect of Orkney, or a book he’d read and loved. That was when his enthusiasm shone through and Merry wondered how on earth he was still single when half the women on Orkney must see what she saw when she looked at him.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she told him. ‘And the snow was amazing. I wanted to thank you for sending Hugh and Clare to check I was coping, and to see if you wanted to grab an early lunch.’

  If Niall was surprised by the invitation, he didn’t show it. ‘Always. What’s the occasion – or isn’t there one?’

  Merry smiled. ‘Research trip . . . kind of. I’ve heard great things about Rossi’s.’

  ‘Excellent choice,’ Niall observed, getting to his feet and reaching for his coat. ‘Although I think we both know you had me at early lunch.’

  Rossi’s occupied a double-fronted sandstone building with glorious arched windows that held a mouth-watering array of baked treats. Golden cannoli packed with fresh cream and raspberries nestled beside lobster-tailed shells of crisp sfogliatelle, rainbow coloured macarons and meringues filled another shelf, and row after row of croissants and other delicious pastries lay below those. The other window was dedicated to savoury treats: glistening sausage rolls, delectably stuffed pasties and soft floury rolls that almost begged the onlooker to tear them apart. Inside, Merry could see an old-fashioned glass display counter promising more tasty treats, and tables covered with gingham-checked cloths, most of which were occupied. And behind the counter, she saw a familiar face: Helen, the woman she’d met in the Italian Chapel a fortnight or so earlier, who had shared the romantic story of how her grandparents had met and fallen in love. The story Merry hadn’t been able to stop thinking about ever since.

  Niall pulled open the white wooden door and gestured inside. ‘Shall we?’

  Helen spotted them immediately and her face broke into a delighted grin. She dropped the tea-towel she was holding and hurried out from the counter. ‘How lovely to see you again!’ she said, beaming at Merry. ‘I’ve been wondering how you’ve been getting on.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Merry answered, returning her smile. ‘Niall has been looking after me very well.’

  Helen nodded in approval. ‘He takes his work seriously.’

  ‘Always,’ Niall said solemnly. ‘Especially when it comes to showing our visitors the best place for tiramisu.’

  Helen laughed as she gave Merry a sideways glance. ‘And we don’t even pay him to say that. Are you here to shop or for lunch?’

  Merry’s gaze was drawn to the counter display and felt her mouth water a little. ‘Erm . . . both?’

  ‘Then let me find you a table,’ Helen said. ‘My grandmother is going to be so excited you’re here. I told her all about meeting you the other week.’

  Ushering them to an empty table, Helen gave each of them a menu, promising to be back in a few minutes. Niall studied the menu for a moment then glanced at Merry. ‘So, I’m curious – you said back at the library that this is a research trip. How did you mean?’

  Merry paused. She wasn’t
ready to tell anyone about the idea that was growing in her head; apart from anything else, she wasn’t exactly sure what it was, let alone whether she could actually write it. But she didn’t want to rebuff Niall either, so she kept her eyes on the menu as she answered him. ‘I’m fascinated by everything about Orkney. And I can hardly write about the islands if I haven’t explored them in detail, can I?’

  Niall clearly read between the lines, as she’d expected he would. ‘I completely get the need for authenticity – isn’t there some age-old rule about writing what you know?’

  ‘There is,’ Merry said, wryly aware that if the rule was true, she should be writing about misery and heartbreak right now. ‘But like most writing rules, there’s a balance to be found. Some people spend so much time on research that they never get around to the writing part.’

  ‘Well, in the interests of authenticity, I think you should definitely visit the Highland Park whisky distillery,’ Niall said.

  Merry raised an eyebrow, thinking of the bottle he’d left in her welcome box; it was almost empty. ‘That’s not a bad idea,’ she said slowly. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t want to be remiss in my duties as Orkney’s Writer in Residence. I really should explore every aspect of the culture here, including the time-honoured tradition of making whisky.’

  ‘You should,’ Niall said, his expression innocent. ‘And I should come with you, to make sure you properly understand the significance of whisky to the islands and their people.’

  ‘Good point,’ she agreed, trying not to grin. ‘When shall we go?’

  ‘I’ve got the day off on Saturday if you’re free?’

  Merry spooled mentally through her diary, which was the emptiest it had ever been: no book launches for author friends, no publisher lunches, no drinks with Jess in Chiswick . . . The only firm commitment in her diary at the moment was the creative writing workshop at the beginning of April. ‘I don’t think I’ve got plans,’ she told Niall.

  ‘Excellent,’ he said, looking pleased. ‘I’m sure they’ll be delighted to show you round. Leave it with me.’

  Helen materialized beside them, notepad and pen poised. ‘What can I get you?’

  Merry chose the fresh minestrone soup with black olive ciabatta, while Niall ordered a mozzarella and prosciutto panini, and Helen took the order through the checked curtain to where Merry assumed the kitchen was. She gazed around the café, drinking in as much detail as she could; every effort had been taken to reproduce the atmosphere and charm of an Italian café and she wondered whether Helen’s grandfather had opened the business when he’d returned after the war in search of the woman he’d fallen in love with. It couldn’t be a coincidence that his wife and daughter and granddaughter all worked together in an Italian bakery in the middle of Orkney, could it?

  ‘A macaron for your thoughts,’ Niall said, cutting into her musings.

  Merry smiled. ‘Deal. I was just wondering how this bakery came to be here, that’s all.’

  Niall tipped his head. ‘Because it’s Italian, you mean? I daresay Morag and Agnes will tell you themselves, but I think it was Giovanni’s way of putting down roots; making a life here by bringing a taste of Italy to his new home.’

  Merry smiled, her suspicions confirmed. She should have anticipated Niall would know the history of Helen’s family – the Orkney community was incredibly close-knit, as she supposed island communities often were, and she’d seen first-hand how fascinated Niall was by the past. Maybe she should tell him about the seeds of the story that was growing on her laptop, but she wanted to run it past Helen first. It wasn’t that she needed permission, exactly – she wasn’t using their story – but Helen’s tale of her grandparents’ love affair had inspired Merry to create characters of her own and she wanted to make sure the family knew what she planned. She hoped they’d be pleased.

  ‘That makes sense,’ she said to Niall. ‘It must have been hard, leaving Italy behind and starting a new life here.’

  ‘He wasn’t the first person to come to Orkney and fall in love – both with the islands and the people. It’s why we have such a rich heritage,’ he replied, and his mouth twisted into a smile. ‘Although in Giovanni’s case, there was a special someone who captured his heart.’

  Merry felt something stir inside her head, a faint tickle that she’d come to associate with the writing part of her brain. Maybe the story she was building wasn’t as far removed from her other books as she’d thought, maybe it was just a different kind of love story – one that embraced different kinds of love: the love people had for their homeland, or other places that touched their hearts. The love they felt for their family and the bonds that held them together when circumstances tried to tear them apart. And perhaps even the love the land had for its people. A shiver danced across Merry’s shoulders at this last thought, and it took her a moment to place the cause – it was the sensation of dots being joined in her imagination; an electric fizz of the kind she’d hardly felt in the last year or more. But Orkney seemed to have the power to inspire her. She had felt that same fizz after visiting Skara Brae with Niall, when she’d almost been able to touch the characters she had created, and it was happening now, when she thought about all the different things love might be.

  Forcing herself to focus, Merry smiled at Niall. ‘Of course. Although Orkney casts such a powerful spell that I can’t imagine anyone ever wants to leave.’

  ‘You’ll get no argument from me,’ he said, making no apparent effort to hide his pleasure. ‘Does that mean the magic is working on you too?’

  She saw no reason to lie. He’d heard her read the story she’d written after her visit to Skara Brae and knew she’d been inspired by the mystery of the village and its people. ‘Do you know, I think it might be.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Niall said, his eyes shining, and Merry had the distinct impression he was resisting an urge to clap. ‘And there’s plenty you haven’t seen. We’ll make an Orcadian out of you yet.’

  She laughed. ‘Do you say that to all your Writers in Residence?’

  His cheeks reddened slightly, but he didn’t look away. ‘No, not all of them.’

  Merry thought back to Clare’s comments a few days earlier, when she’d hinted that some of the previous writers had come across as stuffy. It was hard to imagine anyone staying that way in the face of such friendliness and charm – everyone she’d met so far had been both kind and interested in her, and in the way she interacted with their treasured stories and history. It was, she decided, both an honour and a responsibility. ‘Well, I’m pleased you think I’d fit in.’

  Whatever Niall had been about to say in reply was lost as Helen arrived with their drinks and some grissini. She flashed an apologetic smile as she hurried away to serve another customer.

  ‘Bookings for the writing workshop are going well,’ Niall said as he reached for a breadstick. ‘In fact, I think it’s going to be a sell-out.’

  ‘That’s wonderful news,’ Merry replied, and forced down the uneasy thought that she couldn’t inspire a roomful of writers if she hardly wrote herself. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

  Niall paused as he chewed. ‘I hope you’re ready to meet some of our more eccentric residents. I recognize some of the names on the delegate list and at least one has a very high opinion of his own talent.’

  Merry’s heart sank into her boots. ‘Oh?’

  ‘He’s written one book already – a semi-autobiographical account of growing up on Orkney,’ Niall said, then sighed. ‘He asked me for advice on getting it published and I tried to tell him I didn’t think it was quite ready for submission to publishers, but that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.’

  She offered a sympathetic grimace; she’d met plenty of writers who were so keen to send their work out into the world that they weren’t prepared to make them the best stories they could be.

  Niall went on. ‘Eventually, after many rejections, he self-published and has sold a fair few copies to locals – enough to convince him that traditional
publishing is run by short-sighted idiots who don’t recognize his brilliance.’

  Merry tried not to groan. ‘Is he working on another book?’

  ‘So I understand,’ Niall said. He gave her a rueful smile. ‘Although he hasn’t asked me to read it, what with me being one of the idiots who doesn’t appreciate him. Anyway, I thought I’d give you the heads-up.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Merry replied, and wondered who else she might encounter on the course. She had no doubt there would be some talented writers – there always were. Just as there was often one who came along not to learn, but in the expectation of being discovered . . .

  And then Helen was back with their food, which caused Merry to push the thought of the writing course to the back of her mind as she inhaled the mouth-watering scent of freshly baked bread and piping hot soup.

  ‘Enjoy,’ Helen said, as she backed away. ‘Let me know if you need anything else.’

  Both the soup and the bread were as delicious as Merry anticipated. She asked Niall about his work at the library as they ate, and he told her about the new computer system that allowed users to access ebooks on their smartphones and other devices much more efficiently than before. ‘It’s perfect for those readers who live on the more remote islands, or those who can’t get to the library as often as they’d like,’ he explained. ‘They can download an ebook from home and read it, or even pick it up on audiobook, and at the end of the loan period, it simply vanishes from their device. No more worrying about late fines.’

  Merry noticed Helen glance over several times as she ate, with a curious gaze that was half professional curiosity and half impatience. She didn’t neglect the other customers, but she was there the moment Merry laid down her spoon and pushed the empty bowl away with a satisfied sigh.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Helen asked, reaching for the bowl.

  ‘More than okay,’ Merry replied. ‘It was the best, freshest minestrone soup I’ve ever had.’