“And is it over?” she said more softly.
“I don’t know,” he replied, as honestly as he was able.
And then it was her turn to trace the angles of his face, as she pulled him down to her, and kissed him.
Suddenly there was a fierce banging at the door, and they both leaped up, sharing guilty looks, the spell broken, glancing around for clothes and shoes. Joel still had nothing to wear.
“Oh God, it’s Colton telling us this isn’t billable,” said Flora, with a terrible nervous giggle. Joel shook his head.
“Is it your father?”
“Knocking? Wouldn’t have thought so.”
Flora pulled on a loose sweater and trousers and ran downstairs. The bright post-storm sun dazzled her eyes as she strained to see who was there and what time it was. Who on earth would knock round these parts? The banging came again as Bramble woofed, but not in an alarmed way, which meant it must be someone they knew.
“Hello?” she shouted tentatively.
“Hey!” came the voice. “Fintan? Innes?”
Flora opened up.
“Sorry,” she said. “Just me.”
The person standing there nodded, even as his gaze went over her shoulder to the clothes Flora had carefully hung out to dry in front of the fire—the suit jacket; the striped shirt. She blinked rapidly.
“Teàrlach! What is it! Have you got boys out in this?”
“No, thank God, we got them into a bothy in time.” Bothies were small stone buildings in remote places that provided shelter from bad weather.
Flora glanced at her watch. Oh my God, it was after five o’clock. They’d been asleep all day.
“How long have they been there?”
“They’re heading back down now.”
“Oh. Is this about . . .?” Flora flushed bright red. Oh God. And with another man in the house.
“No, it’s not that. It’s . . .”
Charlie seemed disinclined to finish that sentence.
“Um . . . I have to borrow Eck’s tractor.”
“Why?”
Charlie winced.
“Och, it’s a bad business.”
“What?” said Flora, suddenly alarmed. “Is everything all right? Is someone hurt?”
“Don’t worry,” said Charlie. “It’s not a person. But . . . can you drive a tractor?”
Joel was standing by the fire now, watching them deep in conversation with each other; he couldn’t hear what was being said. Then she turned, and he saw from her face that she was leaving, and leaving with this man, and he wasn’t sure he could stand it.
“I have to go. There’s a whale beached.”
“There’s a what?” said Joel, looking around for his glasses. He was feeling alarmingly shaky and vulnerable, not himself at all. And Flora was walking out the door.
“A whale. It happens sometimes. They get lost in the storm.”
Joel shook his head, completely flummoxed. He absentmindedly pulled his phone out of his pocket. All the connections were back up, and it was filling up with messages. He couldn’t make head or tail of those either.
“Flora! The keys!” Charlie was agitated.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.”
She moved toward Joel.
“You can stay.”
“But you’re going.”
“Not for long. I have to do this.”
He looked at her. He didn’t want her to go.
His phone beeped.
“I have work to do,” he said shortly, and shut up like a clam.
“No,” said Flora. “No. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare do that. Don’t.”
“FLORA!” said Charlie. “Please, for the love of God, can you have an argument with your boss later?”
Chapter Forty-one
They could hear the poor creature before they saw it. With the passing of the storm, the day had turned ridiculously beautiful, the last few dark clouds in the distance pierced by strong shafts of biblical-looking sunlight that bounced across the water, now flat as a millpond.
The whale was singing, calling loudly to its friends.
Flora was familiar with the sound from her childhood; as she grew up, it had happened less and less often. But fishing policy over the last few years, however much the local fishermen had decried it, had helped, and now the whales could be heard once more at the high latitudes.
This poor beast was a cow orca, about fifteen feet long, greasy and heavy of head, its back curved and its dorsal fin flexing up and down on the shore. Thankfully they’d already gotten Wallace the fireman jetting water on her to keep her wet, and her head was up, so her blowhole wasn’t blocked. But they would need to get her back into the waves, which was a tricky job, towing her out far enough to refloat her and stop her from simply getting beached again, doing so without injuring her.
The RNLI was already out in force, and the expert team was flying in from Shetland, so until then they needed to get her as close to the shoreline as they could manage, and as comfortably as possible: stress could kill her just as surely as being beached could. The police had already pegged out privacy notices all across the beach to stop people from approaching and taking selfies, or children coming down to pat her. The crowd stood at a respectful distance.
It was usually Flora’s brothers who drove the tractor, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t capable. Her father had taken her into the fields as soon as she could reach the pedals, as he had with the boys, and although she hadn’t been quite as enthusiastic, she’d figured it out pretty fast. She swung up into the cab—of course the keys were there, they always were—then ran into the barn to grab tow ropes, a vast tarp, and anything else she thought they might need.
Joel grabbed his clothes and dressed at top speed, stopping at the door to be greeted by the sight of her, hair flying behind her, chugging down the hill in a bright yellow tractor. He had not, he thought, met many girls who could do that. He watched her go, but did not follow, and she did not stop or look round.
Charlie was directing things at the bottom of the hill. They were going to get the whale onto rollers, once everyone was there, and tow her out as far as they could manage. It was a delicate and tricky operation, particularly as the large creature was distressed and thrashing her tail. It was difficult to watch. There was a lot of shouting and disagreement about what was best; some people thought they should wait for the coastguard vet, while others thought that would take too long and they’d lose her. Flora sat in the cab of the tractor for a while, then, feeling like an idiot, slipped down, pointing it out to Charlie, who thanked her. The fishermen were knotting their nets together. Flora watched them, incredibly touched. It would take them a very long time to sort them out again, if they even could. Horribly badly paid, they were sacrificing even this.