her being boyish. But at the same time she seemed as far from frail as was possible. Every inch of her looked poised and vital. Poised for a fight, perhaps. He remembered the challenge in her eyes when she’d spoken to him in the pub. What do you want with her? She climbed up onto the rocks at the far edge of the beach, and walked along them where they jutted out into the sea. When she got to what looked like the edge, she kept going for another fifty feet or so, wading through lapping water up to her knees. Zach watched, fascinated. There must be a shelf under the water, a rock flat enough and wide enough to walk along even if the water meant you couldn’t see your footing clearly. She paused at the end for a second, tensed, and dived in with one clean movement.
She didn’t come up for a long time. Zach had a horrible vision of concealed rocks, and an undertow, but of course she must know the beach, and the water, far better than he. She surfaced a long way east of where she’d gone in, virtually opposite Zach as he perched on the cliff. She raked her hair back from her face, trod water for a moment, and then, with a splash, was gone again. For fifteen minutes or so she swam, over the water and under it, sculling idly on her back, and Zach stopped worrying about her spotting him, since it seemed she wasn’t going to. When she climbed out, her shoulders were high and tense, and he could see she was cold in the breeze. He wanted to go down to the beach and meet her, just then. With her hair streaming water and a drip hanging from her chin, and goose bumps all over her body. She would taste of salt. She dressed quickly, pulling her clothes over her wet skin with careless ferocity, and then she vanished from view, too close to the cliff for him to see where she went.
H e was down by the cliff edge a long time. Dimity could see him from the kitchen window, and she returned to check every few minutes. Technically, it was her land; technically, he was trespassing on it. Valentina wouldn’t have had it—she’d have been out in a flash to chase him off with her violent eyes and that voice of hers that could carry a half mile if she wanted it to. She hesitated at the window for a while, wondering if she should have asked him in after all, wondering if she still should. But she had been so hoping to make the hearth charm today, so hoping to stop any more unwanted visitors getting in. And maybe to get rid of one who’d already come back and let herself in. She peered out at him again. That fleeting first resemblance he’d borne to Charles had gone completely. This man’s hands and head were still instead of moving, glancing, switching fast like Charles’s had. He had none of the fire, none of the energy. The young man on the cliffs looked more like someone walking in their sleep, and she was half afraid he might fall forwards and tumble over the edge.
In her head was a simple tune, circling itself again and again. A tune from childhood, beating a rhythm she couldn’t shake off. A sailor went to sea sea sea, to see what he could see see see, and all that he could see see see, was the bottom of the deep blue sea sea sea . . . At first she thought it was the drip of the kitchen tap that had conjured up the ghost of this song; the steady plink of water onto the chipped porcelain. She stood in the kitchen and shut her eyes, and at once the smell of the place grew stronger—a stale smell of bread crumbs and milk, the tang of burning on the hob, the sickly smell of a century of greasy food remains, hiding in cupboards and in the cracks in the floor. A flash of Valentina’s perfume, the violet water she dabbed behind her ears when a guest was due to arrive. If she opened her eyes, she might see the woman, Dimity thought. Catch her standing close to her daughter, smiling. Mitzy, my girl, you’ve a fortune waiting to be made. Tucking Dimity’s bronze hair behind her shoulders for her, woozy and affectionate with wine on her
She didn’t come up for a long time. Zach had a horrible vision of concealed rocks, and an undertow, but of course she must know the beach, and the water, far better than he. She surfaced a long way east of where she’d gone in, virtually opposite Zach as he perched on the cliff. She raked her hair back from her face, trod water for a moment, and then, with a splash, was gone again. For fifteen minutes or so she swam, over the water and under it, sculling idly on her back, and Zach stopped worrying about her spotting him, since it seemed she wasn’t going to. When she climbed out, her shoulders were high and tense, and he could see she was cold in the breeze. He wanted to go down to the beach and meet her, just then. With her hair streaming water and a drip hanging from her chin, and goose bumps all over her body. She would taste of salt. She dressed quickly, pulling her clothes over her wet skin with careless ferocity, and then she vanished from view, too close to the cliff for him to see where she went.
H e was down by the cliff edge a long time. Dimity could see him from the kitchen window, and she returned to check every few minutes. Technically, it was her land; technically, he was trespassing on it. Valentina wouldn’t have had it—she’d have been out in a flash to chase him off with her violent eyes and that voice of hers that could carry a half mile if she wanted it to. She hesitated at the window for a while, wondering if she should have asked him in after all, wondering if she still should. But she had been so hoping to make the hearth charm today, so hoping to stop any more unwanted visitors getting in. And maybe to get rid of one who’d already come back and let herself in. She peered out at him again. That fleeting first resemblance he’d borne to Charles had gone completely. This man’s hands and head were still instead of moving, glancing, switching fast like Charles’s had. He had none of the fire, none of the energy. The young man on the cliffs looked more like someone walking in their sleep, and she was half afraid he might fall forwards and tumble over the edge.
In her head was a simple tune, circling itself again and again. A tune from childhood, beating a rhythm she couldn’t shake off. A sailor went to sea sea sea, to see what he could see see see, and all that he could see see see, was the bottom of the deep blue sea sea sea . . . At first she thought it was the drip of the kitchen tap that had conjured up the ghost of this song; the steady plink of water onto the chipped porcelain. She stood in the kitchen and shut her eyes, and at once the smell of the place grew stronger—a stale smell of bread crumbs and milk, the tang of burning on the hob, the sickly smell of a century of greasy food remains, hiding in cupboards and in the cracks in the floor. A flash of Valentina’s perfume, the violet water she dabbed behind her ears when a guest was due to arrive. If she opened her eyes, she might see the woman, Dimity thought. Catch her standing close to her daughter, smiling. Mitzy, my girl, you’ve a fortune waiting to be made. Tucking Dimity’s bronze hair behind her shoulders for her, woozy and affectionate with wine on her
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