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.
The three of them sat in contented silence in the shade of a makeshift awning that Christophe had rigged up over the boom, devouring golden-crusted bread spread thick with soft, pungent cheese and topped off with slices of the reddest, juiciest tomatoes she’d ever seen. Nothing had ever tasted so good, Ella thought.
They washed it all down with cool water from a stoppered earthenware bottle and then Caroline handed them each a sun-warmed peach, with sweet, white flesh so ripe that the juice trickled over Ella’s chin and fingers.
Afterwards, they lay, sated, in the shade, drowsy with sunshine, sea air, the warmth of the afternoon and so much good food. Ella gazed up into the impossible blue of the sky, one arm shielding her eyes against the light, listening to the sound of the waves murmuring quietly against Bijou’s hull. She felt the little boat rocking gently beneath her and closed her eyes for just a moment . . .
She had no idea how long she’d slept, but the sun’s angle had changed and Bijou had swung a little at the end of her anchor so that a ray of light was creeping in beneath the awning, illuminating the strands of hair – still just a little damp from their swim – that fell across one shoulder and twined themselves across the daisies on her costume. She licked her lips, tasting the tang of salt, and turned her head to find the others. Caroline was sleeping too, curled on her side, breathing softly. Christophe sat with his knees bent up, intent upon the sketch-book that he rested against them. His pencil moved rapidly, whispering across the rough paper, drawing lines that were swift and sure. He glanced up and his dark eyes met hers again. He looked startled, as if he had been lost elsewhere while the girls slept, and her awakening had brought him back to the real world with a jerk. Wordlessly, she smiled, bringing one finger to her lips with a glance towards Caroline, and he nodded, smiling back. She held out one hand, silently asking him to pass her the sketch-book. He flushed and shook his head, closing the book’s board cover, but she insisted, her hand still extended, her eyes refusing to leave his. Reluctantly, he handed it over and she held the little book above her face as she began to turn the pages.