Unspeakable (20 page)

That last night, he'd said he was sorry. But for what—leaving me in Quebec? Sorry for being a right arse? Or sorry for what he was about to tell me?

I touched my lips, and remembered the passion in that first kiss. The fire. The feeling.

Was he really kissing me goodbye?

I closed the book and set it on the mantel. However he meant it, the truth of it was, our first kiss was also our last.

Chapter Twenty-Six

BATES TOOK ME FOR A DRIVE THE NEXT DAY
. Said I needed to get out, that the air might do me some good. I had to admit, I did feel the better for it. Sea air does it for me every time. Scours the soul, Mam used to say. I can see why she came to Liverpool those Julys long ago. It is lovely this time of year with the gardens in full bloom and the sun sparkling on the sea. We drove to the harbour and stopped at the market where farmers' wives and fishmongers hawked their wares in raspy calls, like seabirds themselves.

Bates loaded our bags into the boot of the car. “Shall we walk in the park a bit, miss?”

I nodded.

The path meandered through lush gardens, veering around statues and fountains. It felt peaceful here. A green oasis, hidden in the heart of the bustling town.

“Did Aunt Geraldine know this place?” I asked, looking up at the archway of limbs and leaves. I'd never been here with her, but it seemed familiar, somehow.

“Your aunt …” He hesitated. “She didn't like to go out much.”

“It's funny, isn't it, Bates? She wrote about such exciting adventures on the far side of the world and yet wouldn't venture out to a park just a few blocks away.” She barely left her study.

He sighed and shook his head.

We crested a small hill as the footpath ran alongside a pond nestled like a large blue egg in the green grass. A paper boat scudded across the water's surface, caught in the summer breeze. I stepped off the path to stand at the water's edge, my feet sinking in the thick grass.

“I
have
been here before.” And I knew I had stood in that very same spot, though I was much smaller then. I looked back up the hillside and, in my mind's eye, saw a tartan blanket, a picnic, spread on the slope just ahead. I saw Mam there under the oak, laughing at the state of my wet skirt.

“My mother took me here,” I whispered, “those summers when we came to Liverpool, back when I was very young. Before she got sick. Before Father sent me away.”

“My Meggie loved this place, too.” He joined me at the edge of the pond. “I often used to bring her here when she was a girl. She was forever wanting to feed the ducks.”

He pulled a small paper bag from his pocket and opened it. Bread crumbs. He tossed a handful on the water and an emerald-headed mallard paddled over and snapped them up in his rounded beak.

“Even as a child, she had a tender heart, she did.” He threw another fistful, like a sower with seed. “Always worrying about everyone else.” He sniffed.

Bates had no idea how true that was. I wondered if I should tell him that she'd given me the life vest. That I'd been with her when she drowned. That she'd sacrificed herself for me.

He drew out a hankie the size of a small tablecloth and blew his nose, two great honks and a quick swipe of either side, before tucking it back in his pocket.

“You've never asked about … that night.” I hesitated, unsure how to proceed. Or even if I should. I stared at the water, at the way the ripples reflected a distorted truth. “Did you want to know about Meg?”

He shrugged beside me. “It wouldn't bring her back, would it?” he said wistfully. “No.” He dumped the last of the bag on the water's edge and crumpled it before shoving it inside his pocket. “No sense in filling my head with how she died.” He cleared his throat and brushed his hands. “I'd rather remember how she lived. That's what Meggie would want. Don't you think, miss?”

“Yes,” I agreed. Bates was right. It's what anyone would want.

I survived because of Meg. But at what cost? And for what good? She deserved to be here. Not me. No, the waters didn't take me that night, but I was drowning, still, in survivor's guilt.

BATES LEFT ME IN THE PARK
and I sat on the bench overlooking the pond and the rolling green beyond. He would be back in an hour, and to be honest, I dreaded the thought of sitting
cooped up in that empty house with nothing but the ticking clock to pass the time. Two young boys in short pants laughed as they ran with a kite, the red diamond bouncing and flopping on the ground behind. Though the breeze had died down, their fun had not. I smiled and turned my face to the sun. Closed my eyes for a moment.

“Lovely day, isn't it?” A shadow fell over me.

I looked up to find Steele standing in front of me, a little smile tugging at his lips. “It was.”

“Oh, come on now. Don't be like that.” He sat beside me without bothering to wait for an invitation.

I glared, still angry at him for playing games, for rationing out whatever he knew about Jim. Even though I was as stingy with my story. “Don't you have somewhere else to be?”

He leaned back, crossing his arms and stretching his long legs. “I don't, actually.”

“So you're following me now?”

“No,” he argued. “My B&B is right across the street. I come here all the time.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh please. I doubt you've ever even been—”

“Wyatt!” the boys yelled and thundered toward us, their bright eyes dancing. “Can you launch us again?”

He glanced at me, face smug. “You were saying?”

I clenched my jaw. Would I never be free of this insufferable man?

The youngest of the freckle-faced boys handed Steele the kite and the three of them trotted out onto the green. As if on cue, a wind picked up, tousling Steele's slicked hair as he
stopped and turned. He seemed like a great big child himself with that goofy grin and messy hair as he yelled over to the boys at the bobbin end of the line.

“Okay, guys—on three.” Steele lifted the kite by the crossbar high over his head. “One … two …”

On three the boys bolted with Steele jogging behind, pacing himself to keep the string taut. He moved smooth and strong, with the confidence and steady stride of a thoroughbred horse. The red sheeting billowed slightly behind the kite's frame. As it caught the wind, Steele thrust it upwards, stopping his canter to stare up at the sky. He stood, hand on his hip, the other shading his brow. I didn't have to see his eyes to know they sparkled as he watched the kite swooping and soaring, its knotted tail waving behind as the boys raced over the knoll.

Steele grinned at me as he sauntered back to the bench. Mosey—that was the word. He moseyed over like the cocky cowboy he was.

“They only asked because you're tall,” I snapped.

He smiled as he sat back down beside me. “Height has nothing to do with it. It's sheer technique.”

I snorted. “How hard can it be?”

“Don't tell me you've never flown a kite before.”

I paused.

“Seriously?” He faced me. “You've never flown a kite?”

I folded my arms and jutted my chin. “I've never felt the need.”

Steele laughed then, a sound as warm as the sun, but it burned me, it did. For I knew he was laughing
at
me.

“What?” I demanded, sitting up and challenging him. “What's so bloody funny?”

He shook his head as he rubbed the back of his neck, chuckles still bubbling up. “If you've never felt the need, then, Miss Ellen, you don't know what you're missing.” He stood and put his fingers to his lips, whistling once and waving the boys over. Within seconds they'd circled back to us, kite in hand. Steele took a small box or something from his bag and traded Harry for the kite. Then he turned to me.

“I'm not—” I blustered. “You can't just—”

Ignoring me, he took my elbow and raised me from the bench. Led me onto the grass. “Come on. Just give it a go.”

Halfway up the knoll, I shrugged him off and straightened my shirt. “You think I can't do this? I can do this. Any idiot can fly a kite. Give me that.” I snatched the bobbin of string from him and wound it out as he backed away, grinning. The thin line grew tense between us. I waited on the gentle slope as he stood wide-legged a little ways up it. A cool breeze blew the hairs from the back of my neck, flapped my skirt against my legs, and I turned to face it. Steele's voice carried on it, urging me. Making my heart race.

One … two … three!

And I ran, legs pumping beneath my skirts, hands up, gripping the reel. My hat flew off as I gained speed, my hair falling out of its carefully pinned bun, but I didn't care. The wind, the sun, the rush of it all—I felt like I did as a young girl riding Sugar in the green fields back home.

The line pulled and I glanced over my shoulder to see the diamond swooping up and up and up. I stopped and gazed
into the sky, mesmerized by its freedom, as the spool spun wildly in my hands.

Suddenly, I felt him behind me, felt his strong hand on mine, slowing the bobbin even as my heart raced. His other arm reached around me, hot and solid. It flexed as he tugged on the string. Once. Twice. Just enough to make it soar even higher.

“Do you feel it now, Ellen?” he said into my dishevelled hair, his words warmed by a knowing smile. “Do you feel the need?”

THE THIRD INTERVIEW

July 1914

Strandview Manor, Liverpool

Chapter Twenty-Seven