Chapter 16

16

brOWNSEA ISLAND – JULY 1998

Rebekah would never forget her first kiss with Paul. She had reached up to his lips on pure instinct, and with no thought process whatsoever. She had no expectations. But what happened next would explode sensations and desires she hadn't even imagined could still linger within her, after the hell she'd been through with Andy.

Paul stood perfectly still, allowing her to hold the kiss for as long as she wanted. But when she pulled away, after what seemed a lifetime of connection, and looked into his soul for his response, he kissed her back. He dropped the satchel on the ground beside him, gently rested his hands on her shoulders, and bent down to touch his lips against hers, lightly at first.

But when she sighed, there was a hint of a groan in her voice, a sound that opened the floodgates for Paul. She had stepped back and found herself leaning on the wall and he'd pushed forward, kissing her with an urgency and strength of passion that spoke of nearly lost chances, and hope found again. And when he finally pulled back and they eased apart, Rebekah felt as though the last five days had simply melted away.

‘Welcome to my island,' she said with a cheeky smile, and led him by the hand through reception to where he could collect his keys to the cottage for the weekend.

‘You've chosen the cutest little cottage to stay in,' she said, after explaining to the accommodation manager that Paul was a friend of hers. ‘It was only an office and a couple of storerooms back in the day when it operated as a Custom House, but now it's a tiny studio cottage with a little kitchen and bathroom. It's perfect for one or two people for a few nights,' she explained.

‘Apparently, I was very lucky to get in on a cancellation at such short notice, as it's always booked out for months ahead,' Paul said as Rebekah unlocked the front door for him. ‘Oh wow, look at that view!' he cried, dropping his bag and walking straight to the picture window.

The cottage looked out onto the Haven side of the harbour entrance, and the water was busy with yachts and motorboats coming and going. The chain ferry across to Studland was on its way back and one of the huge cross-channel ferries was out in the bay, approaching the harbour entrance. Just outside the front door was a little table and two chairs, perfect for an evening meal with a glass of wine.

Rebekah still held the keys and watched as he took it all in, waiting for him to make the next move. He spun around, as if reading her thoughts.

‘Rebekah, do you have plans for dinner tonight? I've brought food. And wine. And if you'd like to join me, that would be wonderful,' he said, watching her face eagerly for her response.

Rebekah had about a thousand questions. When had he decided to come back to Poole? Why hadn't he been in touch earlier, if he'd been thinking of her? What would he have done if his presence had been unwelcome? Did he have work to do at the pottery, or was this trip just about seeing her? And, would she be sleeping in her cottage or his tonight?

She must have paused for a few seconds longer than he expected, because the eagerness in his look turned to anguish once more. She reminded herself to speak, and made a mental note to stop doing this to him.

‘Sorry, Paul. What was the question?' she said, trying for a light and cheery smile.

‘Would you have dinner with me tonight? Here? Please?' he asked, sweeping his arm around to take in the kitchen, the dining table, and the outdoor setting beyond the picture window.

Rebekah eyed his simple luggage and complete lack of grocery bags with a frown. Either he was into minimalist food or something was missing. ‘Where's the food you brought?' she asked, wondering if he'd accidentally left something on the ferry.

‘Ah, yes – I should check on that. If everything went to plan, then this fridge should have everything we need,' he said peering behind the fridge door and then holding it wide with an exultant grin on his face.

‘Voila!' he said with a flourish. The fully stocked fridge was bursting with fresh produce, wine, milk, juice, pastries, and some paper-wrapped parcels that most likely contained meat or fish.

‘How did you do this?' she asked, incredulous.

‘Magic,' he said, with a laugh. ‘Well, not magic exactly, but it did take some effort: I learnt last weekend that your friends on the ferry don't mind carrying the odd bag or two of groceries, and I knew I wouldn't have time myself. So, I made a few phone calls, and here we are. All organised. And I have to say that, so far, everything is going very well indeed.'

Ten minutes later, they'd agreed that Rebekah would go home to shower and change, swapping her somewhat muddy workday ranger's clothes for something a little more suited to dinner, and come back to the cottage for seven o'clock.

On the walk up the hill to Rose Cottage, Rebekah felt like skipping and couldn't wipe the smile from her face. Just an hour ago, she'd been lamenting the fact that she would never see him again, and now Paul was right here on the island and cooking her dinner.

When she opened the front door, Rebekah was surprised to see an envelope resting against the wax-covered wine bottle she used as a candelabra on the dining table.

She frowned, wondering what it might be; the staff from reception had access to the spare set of keys to the cottage, but nobody usually came in here without mentioning something to her, and her mail was generally kept for her at the office. The envelope was marked simply in a neat hand, For Rebekah on the front, with no markings on the back. She tore the envelope open and found inside one ticket to the opening night of the play. There was a piece of notepaper, folder into four, attached to the ticket.

Dear Rebekah,

I wanted to ask if you'd like to come with me, but I didn't want to come across as pushy, so here is a ticket for you. I'll be there too – but no pressure. Just enjoy the play.

From Ben, with love. xx

‘Oh Ben,' she said and bit her lip. He was such a sweet guy, and there was nothing wrong with him. It was just that she wasn't interested. She realised now that she'd thought she wasn't interested in anyone, but Paul had changed all that. And now that she thought about it, Ben seemed to bring her a gift of something or other nearly every week, and had been doing so all summer. And he'd worked out what she liked, what she wanted. He even knew that she would want to see the play, but wasn't interested in a date. She rubbed her eyes and pinched the brow of her nose, sighed, and dropped the note and ticket on the table.

Right now, she had a date with someone she very much wanted to see, much more than Ben. Someone she'd been longing to see for five days now.

She took off her boots and went upstairs, dropping all her dirty clothes on the bathroom floor and stepping into the steaming shower. She felt sure that she had never led Ben on. She was just friendly with him, as she was everyone else. It wasn't her fault that he'd seen more in their friendship than there really was. Ben was a nice guy. Quite nice-looking. Kind. Helpful. He'd grown up here in Poole and made his life here, and there was nothing wrong with that – she doubted that if she had grown up here, she would ever have left either, but… But what, Rebekah? she asked herself. Ben was not Paul.

Paul had come into her life with excitement from that first knock on the door last Friday night. Paul was from far away. He was a talented musician. He was deep. He had something attractive about the way he didn't try, and he was spontaneous. He excited her. Rebekah sat on her bed, towelling her hair dry, and reached into her drawer for underwear but her hands found a book resting on the bedside table first. She dropped the towel on the floor and found she was holding her copy of Far from the Madding Crowd . She turned it over and reread the blurb of the book she'd read dozens of times now. Was Ben her dependable Gabriel Oak and Paul her dangerous Frank Troy? Ben was certainly stable and predictable, whereas Paul was new and exciting. And, just like Bathsheba, she didn't need either of them. But, despite the risks she knew so well from her past experiences, something inside her wanted the thrill.

Rebekah chucked the book on the bed and scoffed at herself for being so ridiculous. Gabriel and Frank were nothing but fictional characters and Paul was the only man whose absence had made her feel sad. Ben… well, it was rough for him that he was attached to her, but she would have to help him deal with that. Right now, she had a date with a man she hoped very much to be seeing a whole lot more of.

As Rebekah approached the front door to the Custom House cottage just before seven o'clock, she paused against the castle wall to smooth the blue dress she'd chosen, which had ridden up as she'd walked, and changed her flat walking shoes for the sandals with little heels.

At the front door, she dropped the walking shoes to one side and knocked. When Paul opened the door, his face lit up like the sun, and all the cloudy doubts blown in by Ben's gift wafted away on the breeze.

‘I brought you this,' she said, holding up a chilled bottle of Chianti. ‘I know you have plenty of wine here, but it didn't feel right to arrive empty-handed.'

In reply, he took the wine in one hand, and Rebekah's hand in the other, pulling her gently over the threshold and into his arms for a kiss it seemed he had been waiting hours for.

‘Hungry?' he asked her, when they finally pulled apart.

‘Strangely, yes. Though I would like a lot more of that later.' She giggled.

He served them salmon, cooked with spinach and potatoes, and set with a cream and egg sauce, topped with melted cheese, and then to follow he produced individual chocolate mousse bowls, unashamedly bought ready made from Marks and Spencer's. They sat outside on the little alfresco setting for dinner, enjoying the warmth of the summer evening, and moved indoors to the settee that faced out to sea through the picture window for dessert, which he served with coffee. Rebekah rested against the arm of the sofa with her feet tucked beneath her and, after she'd finished her coffee, accepted his offer of another glass of wine.

‘So, you've heard every single detail of what I've done since you last saw me, Paul, and now you know everything I've been thinking about,' she said with a teasing smile, alluding to the fact that she'd told him, without holding back, how much she'd been missing him. ‘But what have you been doing? When did you decide to come back?' she quizzed him.

‘I decided to come back at approximately three minutes past eleven last Saturday night, as I was watching the ferry take you away and back to the island,' he said.

‘But you didn't watch me go; you walked off to your car,' she said, bemused.

‘I did go back to my car, you're right. But I moved it just a little way around the corner. I got out again and watched your ferry leave. And as you left, I knew I had to see you again. I drove back to the hotel and went up to my room, poured myself another drink and sat in that window looking out across the blackness of the harbour to the few twinkling lights on Brownsea Island. I waited until I saw a set of lights high on the hill go out, and I knew you'd gone to bed. I pictured you sleeping. I regretted the kiss goodnight I hadn't given you, and I knew I had to come back. I even thought about not going home on Sunday morning, you know,' he said.

‘Really? Would you have come back onto the island?' she asked, setting down her wine and leaning towards him.

‘I might have done. I didn't check out of the hotel until the last minute, and I drove down to the Haven and watched the island ferry come and go a few times. But the longer I watched, the more I doubted myself. I had no way of knowing if you wanted to see me again, and I was terrified that if I just turned up, you'd be embarrassed. It could have been really awkward.'

‘You would have made my day if you had come over, you know?' she said.

‘Yes, I understand that now,' he said, reaching out to stroke her ankle. She put her hand on his and squeezed it gently. ‘But last weekend, it was all so strange, so unexpected. I've never done anything like this before, Rebekah, not with anyone. So, I drove home, unpacked my bags, sorted out a few papers from the week's work, and then went off to my rehearsal at four o'clock. And while we were practising, I was reliving our walk and the dinner and how I had told you all about the violin and my mum, and everything. And I just wanted to be with you again. And I carried on working, eating, sleeping, rehearsing on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.

‘This morning, I woke up thinking about the island, and the play this weekend, and about you. And something just clicked. I decided I was coming and made all the phone calls I needed to make, while I packed a bag, and closed off a few loose ends. I explained to my client that I needed to go back to Poole to see to a few more artefacts at the pottery – and I do, in fact – but the only thing I really wanted to do was to see you. To find out. To hear from you if I have any kind of a chance.'

Rebekah watched him as he fought to control emotions that were clearly bubbling just under the surface of his very calm and smooth veneer. She slid off the sofa and knelt on the floor in front of him, taking both his hands into hers. The light had grown dim inside the cottage, apart from the warm glow of the candles he'd lit and the twinkling reflection of the harbour lights that played on the whitewashed walls. She took a deep breath.

‘Paul, I should probably tell you that before I met you last Friday night, the last thing on my mind was ever getting into a place where I let a man in so close that I made myself vulnerable. I've been hurt very badly by a selfish bastard who thought he could control me. And I felt stupid for falling for it, even though I grew up watching my mum live alone after she'd been through the same thing. Both she and Aunty Peggy survived quite well without a man in their lives, so I've been trying to work out what it is you've been doing to me. It's strange, but I need you to know that I've been willing you to come and step back into my world, with almost every step I've taken since I saw you last Saturday night. I don't understand this at all. I'm really not good at relationships, and thought I would never welcome one again, and yet I've never wanted anything more than this. I'm frightened, because I'm probably going to get this wrong, but I'm choosing to believe that this is a good thing. And I trust you. Do you understand what a big thing that is for me?'

Paul reached out and stroked her face, gentle as a feather, and seemed to be peering deep into her soul, as if his gaze might find her scars and heal them.

‘Rebekah, I promise that I will never do anything to hurt you. Thank you for trusting me. I won't let you down.'

She responded by falling towards him and kissing him hungrily. ‘I don't know what you've done to me.' She laughed, and his smile broadened, deepening the crinkles around his eyes, which glistened now. ‘But whatever it is, I don't want it to stop.'

He squeezed her hands tightly and bent down to kiss her again, until she pulled back and stood, still holding his hands.

‘It's getting late,' she said, looking at the clock on the wall. ‘I think we should be getting to bed.'

He gave her a confused look, as he too glanced at the clock. It was only half past nine, and whilst the mid-summer sun had just set, there was still plenty of light in the sky.

But in response, she simply smiled, and led him towards the soft and welcoming bed that was snuggled at the back of the cottage.