Christophe steered them on a long reach that took them south from the island. Settling back against the transom of the boat, he nudged his sister. ‘Look, Caroline, I think our guest is enjoying herself.’
Ella beamed back at the two of them. ‘It’s terrific! It feels as if we’re flying through the water.’
Christophe nodded. ‘I always think of it as a dance. The ocean is a formidable partner. Today, her mood is gay and upbeat – see, she’s wearing sequins. We’re dancing a quickstep. Some days she’s gentler, more romantic, dressed in silk, and then it’s a waltz. Occasionally, she can be moody though. When she dances a paso doble or a tango, full of anger and passion, we must be careful and use all Bijou’s skills to match her.’
Caroline laughed. ‘And when she turns into a whirling dervish, when it’s really blowing a gale, then we leave her to dance alone. She may be a dancer, but she’s a powerful one. In this case, she is definitely the one who leads.’
‘Get ready to tack,’ ordered Christophe, shading his eyes with one hand.
Caroline loosened the jib sheet and motioned to Ella. ‘When he says “ready about”, we hunker down like this to let the boom swing across. You don’t want to get hit on the head by it.’
Ella followed Caroline’s lead, scrambling under the boom and across to the port side, and Bijou changed direction, pointing landward once more so that the low line of the island’s dunes was ahead of them again. The sun’s rays warmed Ella’s back now, permeating the soft cotton of her top. Her skin glowed with the warmth and the wind and the exhilaration of the sea-spray that filled the air each time another wavelet rose up to meet Bijou’s prow.
Thinking about Caroline’s words, Ella felt a shiver ripple through her, despite the sun’s warmth. The sea was a benign, playful dance partner today, but the small wooden boat seemed suddenly vulnerable as it skimmed across the ocean. Beneath the sparkling surface, the water was mysterious and dark, fathoms deep with powerful, unseen currents.
How silly, she thought, to have such dark thoughts on a day like this. A day filled with sunlight and beauty and youth and freedom. The wind whipped a strand from her long ponytail across her mouth and she shook her head, to shake off both the hair and her thoughts. She stretched one arm out over the side of the boat, extending her fingers towards the waves’ lacy caps, the spray cooling her skin until goose pimples, like grains of golden sand, formed over its smooth surface.
She turned to look back at the frothy white train left by their wake and caught Christophe’s dark gaze fixed upon her. Like the ocean, his eyes seemed to have hidden depths, sparkling with inner light one moment, suddenly stormy the next. She felt her cheeks flush, but met his gaze steadily with her own. In that moment, she sensed something powerful between them, last night’s moment of connection transforming itself into a surge as strong as the pull of the tide. She knew, instinctively, that there could be no point in trying to swim against it. Like a force of nature, it was something far beyond anything she’d experienced before, something she knew she would not have the power to fight even if she’d wanted to. And she discovered she didn’t want to at all.
With a calmness that belied the turmoil she felt inside, she smiled at him and said, ‘Do you think I really could learn to sail Bijou?’
For a long moment he made no reply, his eyes still fixed on her as though mesmerised. Finally, he shifted across on his seat, making space for her to slip in and take hold of the tiller. She was acutely conscious of his strong, brown arm behind her, helping to hold a steady course.
‘Small movements, nothing sudden. She will respond to whatever you ask her to do. Try pushing it slightly away from you – yes, there, you see how she turns into the wind? And we lose a little speed? You need to play it a little, you will feel it when you catch the right spot. Where the wind catches the sails perfectly. Watch that ribbon against the canvas: you want it to blow straight rather than fluttering or flapping. That’s it, good.’
An hour later, they sailed into a bay tucked into the sheltering arms of the dunes, and dropped anchor. Apart from an occasional fishing-boat chugging purposefully about its business in the distance, there was no one else in sight. Bijou, her sails loosely furled, bobbed quietly at the end of her anchor. The breeze seemed to have dropped now and the sun was high above them, almost directly atop the mast.
‘Let’s swim first and then we’ll eat lunch.’ Caroline was already pulling her top over her head to reveal her bathing-costume underneath. Christophe did likewise and, with a whoop, dived from the side of the boat, the line of his body long and lithe as it sliced into the surface of the water with scarcely a splash. Ella wished she’d had the foresight to put on her own bathing-costume beneath her borrowed clothes. She pulled it from the straw bag and stood awkwardly for a moment.
‘You can go down below and change in the cabin.’ Caroline showed her, and Ella clambered down. She changed quickly, and re-emerged moments later, tying the halter-neck of her own costume at the back. It was one of her purchases from Jenner’s, white with yellow daisies, much prettier than the utilitarian navy-blue one that she had worn for her swimming lessons at the Warrender Baths.
She perched on the side of the boat and then swung her legs round so that they dangled over the water. Little waves rose playfully beneath her feet as if trying to catch her toes and pull her in. Whilst she had been one of the best swimmers in her class at school, she felt apprehensive now. There was a great deal more water both around and beneath her, for one thing. And no solid side within easy reach to cling to for a rest if needed. Where was Miss Campbell, the games mistress, when you needed her?
She swivelled round, taking firm hold of the side of Bijou, and lowered herself into the sea. Ella gasped as the chill water enveloped her sun-warmed body, but a moment later she felt nothing but a blissful coolness. She pushed off from the boat and tried a few tentative strokes. The salt water made her strangely buoyant and so, her confidence growing, she struck out towards Christophe and Caroline who were floating a little further out, watching her progress.
‘It’s heavenly!’ she gasped, as she reached them and turned on to her back to float, as they were, looking back towards the land.
A slow smile dawned on her face as she realised what she was looking at. ‘Why,’ she exclaimed, ‘it’s the painting, isn’t it? The one above my bed? I recognise the line of those dunes there and the way the beach curves back on itself.’
Christophe nodded, pleased. ‘It is.’
‘You have a good eye, Ella,’ Caroline said, treading water. ‘Have you studied art?’
‘Only at school. But I enjoy visiting the galleries and exhibitions in Edinburgh.’
‘Maybe you should think of pursuing it as a career, as I am going to do in Paris. I’m applying to several galleries and museums for a stage next year to learn about picture conservation.’
‘I didn’t know such a thing existed. I wish I had though, it sounds a lot more fun than the course at secretarial college that I’m going to be starting in the autumn. Mother thought it the most suitable qualification. With my French, I might even be able to get a position in the Diplomatic Service. I don’t think I’m good enough at drawing to do anything in the art world though. I’m not sure what my parents would say if I told them I was contemplating a change of tack and a career in picture conservation! And you, Christophe, what will you do? Apart from becoming a famous artist, of course,’ she teased. ‘Are you going to work in a museum like Caroline?’
His eyes darkened, becoming unfathomable. ‘Non,’ his answer was terse, a bitterness that she’d not heard before creeping into his voice. ‘Papa has decreed that art is something for girls to dabble in whilst they are waiting to be snapped up by some eligible man. I have to follow in his footsteps at the bank. It’s already arranged. But anyway,’ he continued, ‘let’s not spoil the day with such thoughts. Back to the boat for lunch. Allons-y!’ and he set off in a fast crawl that made the girls squeal as he splashed them thoroughly, drenching their hair and dispelling the gravity of the moment.
They climbed back into Bijou over her stern, Christophe hauling himself effortlessly out of the water and then reaching back to extend a hand to each of them in turn. As Ella towel-dried her hair, Caroline and Christophe set out a picnic on the fore-deck from the wicker hamper. Suddenly, she discovered she was absolutely ravenous.