Summer at 23 the Strand. Linda Mitchelmore

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СКАЧАТЬ on his way she saw he was on the beach, his phone/camera to his eye, back to the sea, photographing the chalets on The Strand.

      Why was he doing that? Was he waiting for her to open the door so he could get a shot of her coming out? Was she being paranoid? Whichever, a ripple of unease snaked its way up her spine and out over her shoulders, and she shivered.

      But just as Hugh had faced his demons by going into The Shoreline on his own without his brother, so she would have to face the fact that not every lens aimed her way was going to be for evil ends.

      Martha reached for her coat, scarf and shoulder bag and went out. Hugh slid his phone back into his pocket and walked to greet her.

      ‘Gorgeous morning for it, Martha,’ he said. ‘I don’t think you’ll regret this.’

      ‘I hope not,’ Martha said. ‘I’ve usually got pretty good sea legs.’ And then she decided to let Hugh know she’d seen him photographing her chalet. ‘What were you taking photographs of just now?’

      ‘The chalets. And yours in particular.’

      ‘Why?’ Martha said. She didn’t know whether she wanted to go and see dolphins any more.

      ‘Because there was a peregrine falcon hovering above it. I think it must have seen a piece of cockle or something a seagull had dropped. I’ll show you if you like.’

      ‘Please.’

      ‘We’ll need to get going if we’re going to catch that boat, though.’ Hugh placed an arm under Martha’s elbow and steered her round in the direction of the harbour. ‘I’ll find the best shots and show you as we go along.’

      And he did, but still Martha was uneasy.

      ‘Have you ever seen the film Roman Holiday?’ Martha asked.

      ‘Yep. Dozens of times. It’s my mother’s favourite. After Harris died she curled up on the couch watching it on a loop for months. I watched with her more times than I can count. So, I think, reading between the lines here, that you’re saying I’m not the Gregory Peck character who gets to kiss the iconic Audrey Hepburn character, but that I’m… the photographer?’

      ‘But you haven’t taken any photos of me that you’re going to present to me, as happened in the film, when my fortnight of escapism here is over?’

      ‘Nope. But then, photographers don’t, for the most part, have to sit in a darkroom developing stuff these days. There are no negatives to blackmail people with. Anything unwanted is deleted with a swipe of a finger. ‘But back to Roman Holiday… Audrey Hepburn’s character, Princess Ann, and the journalist, Joe Bradley, as played by Gregory Peck, were never going to get together, were they? Even though they did share just the one kiss,’ Hugh went on. ‘See how well I know this film!’

      ‘And the Princess Ann character was never going to get it together with the photographer?’ Martha smiled.

      ‘Irving Radovich, as played by Eddie Albert. Who never got to kiss Audrey Hepburn, although, as I said, Gregory Peck did. And what a kiss! What fantastic on-screen chemistry those two had, eh? And off-screen for all we know.’

      They’d reached the end of the beach now, and would have to get back on to the promenade to make their way to the harbour. Hugh, with his long legs, stepped on to the prom and held a hand out to help Martha up.

      Hugh was looking at Martha, a gentle smile playing about his lips. He ran his tongue around them as though they had suddenly gone dry with nerves. She had the feeling he would very much like to kiss her. And much to her surprise, Martha found she wanted very much to kiss him too. In all her twenty-seven years she’d never kissed anyone who hadn’t been involved in the world of acting. But would that be wise? Could their worlds knit together happily? Would they?

      ‘Well,’ Hugh said, breaking the spell that seemed to have been cast over them both. ‘The boat and the dolphins wait for no man. Come on.’

      ‘You weren’t joking when you said it was a small boat.’ Martha laughed. ‘I’ve been in bigger baths in the States!’

      ‘I’ll have to take your word for that!’ Hugh grinned.

      They were sitting in the stern, just seven other passengers seated onboard. And two crew. Tea and coffee available on request was written on a scrap of paper pinned to the cockpit and Martha wondered where it could possibly be made in such a small space – and how, given the boat rocked as the captain spun it round to point out to sea. But then the sea seemed to flatten out as though it had been ironed and they were sailing over a sheet of satin.

      ‘Cormorants,’ Hugh said. ‘Fairy Cove.’

      Just yards out of the harbour and Martha had seen her first cormorant up close, standing on a rock a few yards from the shoreline of a fairy-sized cove. How large they seemed so close up, how glossy and rather elegant-looking with their small heads and slender bodies.

      ‘And the gulls are just waking up in their cliff roosting places,’ Hugh said, pointing up at the red sandstone cliff. ‘And terns.’

      ‘It’s a bit of a day of firsts for me already,’ Martha said. ‘I mean, do we ever really look at cormorants and seagulls and terns in the normal course of events?’ She never had – they were just there, seagulls being a nuisance much of the time, but from the boat they looked as though they’d just come through a washing machine on a white wash, they were so bright in the early-morning light.

      ‘Well, I do,’ Hugh laughed. ‘They can be my bread and butter, seagulls. Thank God for photo memory cards these days because I can take literally thousands of images and then discard what I don’t want. Forgive me if I ignore you for a moment, but there’s loads I want to take pictures of.’

      ‘Snap away,’ Martha told him.

      The captain was giving a running commentary about the area and the wildlife and Martha was happy to let his words wash over her as her eyes drank in the view. Hugh kept standing up to take pictures, then sitting down again, touching her on the arm now and then, gently but briefly, to ask if she was okay, and was she warm enough.

      And then, there they were. As the boat rounded Berry Head, there were the dolphins. The captain shut down the throttle so that there was only the shush of the sea and the rumble of the motor as they all stood, as though choreographed, watching the dolphins jump and dive. No one spoke. A woman on the port side put her hands to her mouth and her eyes went wide with wonder as though she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. Martha tried to count them… seven, eight, nine… but couldn’t be sure she wasn’t counting the same ones twice. As the boat rocked gently on the current, and everyone seemed to instantly find their sea legs, the dolphins came nearer. Martha had the urge to reach out and touch one, they were so close.

      Martha lost track of time. She’d heard how seeing dolphins could be an almost religious experience and now she knew it to be true. Never would she have thought she could see them here, off the Devon coast, and in May, and in the company of a man she’d only just met. They were so free, so joyous, the way they leapt and then disappeared beneath the water again only to surface a few yards further away to make the same manoeuvre all over again. And it was then that Martha knew she had never had that freedom. Her life in acting had been scripted by her mother for the most part. Yes, she’d had a gift for acting – and dancing and singing – but had she only been living the life her mother had wanted for herself? СКАЧАТЬ