crossed the rippled water. The cormorant was back on its perch, its wings outspread to dry.
‘The evening is like golden velvet,’ she whispered, her fingers trailing in the cool. She faced him across the oars, watching his corded muscles contracting and expanding beneath the dark plaid shirt. Beads of perspiration stood on his brow. His eyes were over her shoulder fixed on the distance, the pupils small with the glowing sunset.
‘Are you watching where we’re going?’ He had felt her gaze and smiled without looking.
‘You’re doing fine.’ Her voice still cracked when she spoke from a long silence; cracked and hesitated before it sounded true. ‘Don’t hurry; it’s so beautiful.’ Her toes were bare in the warm greasy water which slopped on the bottom boards of the boat. A strand from the fringe of her shawl trailed in the wet, floated and unravelled, scarlet, unnoticed in the oily black of it.
When the boat grounded on the shingle he let the oars go, dead wings in the heavy rowlocks.
‘Shall we walk or sit and watch the sunset?’ he asked, his voice slightly raised above the rustle of the water on the stones and she stood up for answer, her arms out to balance as the boat rocked and she jumped clumsily to the shore.
They watched the clouds of midges dancing on the dusky water and whirling in columns above the beach. He slapped his neck and arms but her cool skin stayed untouched and she watched him, faintly amused again. There was a broch to see. They looked for it in the gloaming, amongst long dew wet grasses and listened to the lonely wail of a night bird echoing across the water. She held his hand over the uneven ground and to climb a fence and together they untangled the damp fringe of her shawl from the rusty wire. Their fingers touched by accident and she glanced up at his face.
He smiled and she felt the night wind cold about her shoulders. ‘One day I must go back to London,’ she whispered. ‘To the flat.’
‘I’ll be with you, Josie. You needn’t go alone.’
They gazed at the stones which had once formed a great tower.
‘Was this it?’ she whispered. ‘Is this all that’s left?’
‘Josie, please.’ His hand tightened over hers.
She was gazing at the black stones, thinking of the ancient hands which had built it strong and resilient. They were dead too, those men. ‘What’s it all for?’ She sighed and turned away, not seeking an answer and he followed her, his eyes on the ground.
Near the boat she spread her shawl on the short turf and patted it as she sat down. ‘Come. Make love to me now. That’s all there is left to do.’ She smiled enigmatically, the evening star in both her eyes. He knelt and held her shoulders, puzzled. Seeking to understand.
‘You mean it, Josie? That’s what you want?’
Slowly she unbuttoned her blouse and his fingers, gently seeking her breast felt a prickle of gooseflesh as the cool night wind stroked the warm skin. Somewhere an oystercatcher whistled down the strand as the man bent his lips to the small hard nipples.
She cradled his head in her arms and watched the distant loom of a lighthouse in the limpid night. She could still see the outlines of the trees on the opposite shore, even without the help of the silver crescent moon, lying on its back above the hills.
Quietly she slipped down till her head was resting on the ground and the night was eclipsed by the eyes of the man. She was not afraid any more. She was one with the past and the future, the day and the night. The living and the dead both were within her embrace.
They rowed home at last in the cool of the dawn, watching the spreading ripples as fish rose to break the surface and seeing the trails of weed colouring the turning tide’s edge. Already she looked on the world with calm maternal eyes, sure of the seed she had desired. Her cool grey eyes met those of the man at the oars and lingered and at last she smiled, knowing that for her now there was a future.
She did
‘The evening is like golden velvet,’ she whispered, her fingers trailing in the cool. She faced him across the oars, watching his corded muscles contracting and expanding beneath the dark plaid shirt. Beads of perspiration stood on his brow. His eyes were over her shoulder fixed on the distance, the pupils small with the glowing sunset.
‘Are you watching where we’re going?’ He had felt her gaze and smiled without looking.
‘You’re doing fine.’ Her voice still cracked when she spoke from a long silence; cracked and hesitated before it sounded true. ‘Don’t hurry; it’s so beautiful.’ Her toes were bare in the warm greasy water which slopped on the bottom boards of the boat. A strand from the fringe of her shawl trailed in the wet, floated and unravelled, scarlet, unnoticed in the oily black of it.
When the boat grounded on the shingle he let the oars go, dead wings in the heavy rowlocks.
‘Shall we walk or sit and watch the sunset?’ he asked, his voice slightly raised above the rustle of the water on the stones and she stood up for answer, her arms out to balance as the boat rocked and she jumped clumsily to the shore.
They watched the clouds of midges dancing on the dusky water and whirling in columns above the beach. He slapped his neck and arms but her cool skin stayed untouched and she watched him, faintly amused again. There was a broch to see. They looked for it in the gloaming, amongst long dew wet grasses and listened to the lonely wail of a night bird echoing across the water. She held his hand over the uneven ground and to climb a fence and together they untangled the damp fringe of her shawl from the rusty wire. Their fingers touched by accident and she glanced up at his face.
He smiled and she felt the night wind cold about her shoulders. ‘One day I must go back to London,’ she whispered. ‘To the flat.’
‘I’ll be with you, Josie. You needn’t go alone.’
They gazed at the stones which had once formed a great tower.
‘Was this it?’ she whispered. ‘Is this all that’s left?’
‘Josie, please.’ His hand tightened over hers.
She was gazing at the black stones, thinking of the ancient hands which had built it strong and resilient. They were dead too, those men. ‘What’s it all for?’ She sighed and turned away, not seeking an answer and he followed her, his eyes on the ground.
Near the boat she spread her shawl on the short turf and patted it as she sat down. ‘Come. Make love to me now. That’s all there is left to do.’ She smiled enigmatically, the evening star in both her eyes. He knelt and held her shoulders, puzzled. Seeking to understand.
‘You mean it, Josie? That’s what you want?’
Slowly she unbuttoned her blouse and his fingers, gently seeking her breast felt a prickle of gooseflesh as the cool night wind stroked the warm skin. Somewhere an oystercatcher whistled down the strand as the man bent his lips to the small hard nipples.
She cradled his head in her arms and watched the distant loom of a lighthouse in the limpid night. She could still see the outlines of the trees on the opposite shore, even without the help of the silver crescent moon, lying on its back above the hills.
Quietly she slipped down till her head was resting on the ground and the night was eclipsed by the eyes of the man. She was not afraid any more. She was one with the past and the future, the day and the night. The living and the dead both were within her embrace.
They rowed home at last in the cool of the dawn, watching the spreading ripples as fish rose to break the surface and seeing the trails of weed colouring the turning tide’s edge. Already she looked on the world with calm maternal eyes, sure of the seed she had desired. Her cool grey eyes met those of the man at the oars and lingered and at last she smiled, knowing that for her now there was a future.
She did
Similar Books
