like a hero in a story book. And then we both would have been cold and wet – and miserable as well, no doubt.’
He was smiling broadly and Kate realized how attractive he was.
If this had been any other young man – any lad from the village – she might have thought he was flirting with her. But she had never met anyone quite like Howard Munro before. Perhaps people behaved like this where he came from. She found herself intrigued.
‘I think you’re teasing me,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘A little. But now if you look behind me you’ll see that the waves really are advancing, so perhaps you would let me escort you back to the village.’
Kate nodded an agreement. What a strange thing to have happened, she thought. She glanced at the man striding beside her and wondered if they would meet again.
They didn’t speak as they made their way to the sloping path that led up to Bank Top. Tall though he was, Howard found himself having to lengthen his stride to keep up with the longlimbed fisherlass. He was immediately aware of her natural grace, although he sensed that his mother would not approve of the way the girl strode more like a man than a ‘lady’. He allowed himself a brief flight of fancy and imagined what it would be like to take this girl back to Boston with him. To dress her in silks and satins and present her to polite society. Surely her beauty and honesty would win all hearts. It would be an interesting experiment.
He saw that their progress did not go unnoticed. Two small lads squatting at the end of the southern breakwater glanced across and then went on with their fishing. A group of men loading lobster pots into their cobles also looked up and stared for a little longer than the lads had done. Howard suddenly felt out of his depth. He wondered if they would disapprove of his approaching Kate like this.
At home in America there were rigid rules of etiquette in the society to which his family belonged. These fisherfolk might also have conventions which should be observed. He glanced at the young woman now hurrying up the slope. She seemed unaware of the attention they had attracted. Or perhaps she had noticed and didn’t care. Howard received the impression that this girl was confident enough to make her own rules. Even in her present state of unhappiness he sensed she had a life force that would not be quenched. He knew he must see her again, and more than ever he wanted to paint her portrait. But now was not the time to ask her.
When they reached Bank Top they parted. ‘I hope to meet you again,’ he said and wondered how she would interpret his words. But she seemed to be only half listening.
‘Goodbye, and thank you,’ she said.
‘Why do you thank me?’
‘For caring what happened to me.’ Her smile did not reach her eyes. She turned and hurried purposefully away. It was as if she had suddenly remembered something she had to do.
Thomas was sitting on an old chair in the back yard of the cottage with a broken lobster pot over his knees. Kate stood in the doorway and watched as he expertly repaired the gash in the pot’s netting. The yard was cluttered with old nets, two barrels for salting herring and a barrow with one of its wheels missing. Now and then William made some effort to get things shipshape but their father would tell him to leave things be. He claimed he knew where everything was, and maybe the nets were beyond mending, but they might come in useful for something or other.
Her brother was bent over the lobster pot so that she could only see the top of his head as he concentrated on his task. Kate hesitated. She was loath to disturb his concentration but now, the first time she had found him on his own since the funeral tea the day before, seemed a good time to question him.
Suddenly he looked up as if some extra sense had warned him of her presence. He smiled. ‘How long hev you been standing there?’ he asked.
He was smiling broadly and Kate realized how attractive he was.
If this had been any other young man – any lad from the village – she might have thought he was flirting with her. But she had never met anyone quite like Howard Munro before. Perhaps people behaved like this where he came from. She found herself intrigued.
‘I think you’re teasing me,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘A little. But now if you look behind me you’ll see that the waves really are advancing, so perhaps you would let me escort you back to the village.’
Kate nodded an agreement. What a strange thing to have happened, she thought. She glanced at the man striding beside her and wondered if they would meet again.
They didn’t speak as they made their way to the sloping path that led up to Bank Top. Tall though he was, Howard found himself having to lengthen his stride to keep up with the longlimbed fisherlass. He was immediately aware of her natural grace, although he sensed that his mother would not approve of the way the girl strode more like a man than a ‘lady’. He allowed himself a brief flight of fancy and imagined what it would be like to take this girl back to Boston with him. To dress her in silks and satins and present her to polite society. Surely her beauty and honesty would win all hearts. It would be an interesting experiment.
He saw that their progress did not go unnoticed. Two small lads squatting at the end of the southern breakwater glanced across and then went on with their fishing. A group of men loading lobster pots into their cobles also looked up and stared for a little longer than the lads had done. Howard suddenly felt out of his depth. He wondered if they would disapprove of his approaching Kate like this.
At home in America there were rigid rules of etiquette in the society to which his family belonged. These fisherfolk might also have conventions which should be observed. He glanced at the young woman now hurrying up the slope. She seemed unaware of the attention they had attracted. Or perhaps she had noticed and didn’t care. Howard received the impression that this girl was confident enough to make her own rules. Even in her present state of unhappiness he sensed she had a life force that would not be quenched. He knew he must see her again, and more than ever he wanted to paint her portrait. But now was not the time to ask her.
When they reached Bank Top they parted. ‘I hope to meet you again,’ he said and wondered how she would interpret his words. But she seemed to be only half listening.
‘Goodbye, and thank you,’ she said.
‘Why do you thank me?’
‘For caring what happened to me.’ Her smile did not reach her eyes. She turned and hurried purposefully away. It was as if she had suddenly remembered something she had to do.
Thomas was sitting on an old chair in the back yard of the cottage with a broken lobster pot over his knees. Kate stood in the doorway and watched as he expertly repaired the gash in the pot’s netting. The yard was cluttered with old nets, two barrels for salting herring and a barrow with one of its wheels missing. Now and then William made some effort to get things shipshape but their father would tell him to leave things be. He claimed he knew where everything was, and maybe the nets were beyond mending, but they might come in useful for something or other.
Her brother was bent over the lobster pot so that she could only see the top of his head as he concentrated on his task. Kate hesitated. She was loath to disturb his concentration but now, the first time she had found him on his own since the funeral tea the day before, seemed a good time to question him.
Suddenly he looked up as if some extra sense had warned him of her presence. He smiled. ‘How long hev you been standing there?’ he asked.
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