had seen her. He didn’t change his pace, but came straight towards her. He stood foursquare on the sidewalk, blocking her path, and dropped the sack on the ground between them. It smelt powerfully of fish. ‘So you’re here, then?’
‘Just. Yesterday.’
‘I hear you were back in Boston a month ago.’
He had changed. There was a directness in him now that seemed almost brutal and the way he stared into her face was momentarily frightening.
‘I …’ She wouldn’t let him accuse her. ‘I had some things I wanted to do.’
‘Things?’ There was a sneer in his voice that was new, too.
‘That’s right,’ Elizabeth said coolly. She was regaining her self-possession now, but the look of him and the sound of his voice still made her want to step into his arms and never move out of his reach again.
‘You promised to marry me,’ Aaron said. ‘And you are old enough to know your own mind now. I’ve been waiting all this time for you.’ He put his hand out as he spoke and took hold of her upper arm.
Elizabeth was wearing a lawn blouse with hand-sewn tucks and her good wool coat because the afternoon wind was cool. She faced up to him, aware of the looks of the passers-by and shopkeepers. She thought he was rude. ‘Take your hand off me,’ she said in a low voice.
His arm dropped at once. ‘I’m sorry.’ He made no effort to speak quietly. He didn’t seem to care who heard or saw them, and Elizabeth felt herself turning hot with shame. It was only later, much too late, that she realised it was passion that made his face burn and anger that made him sound rough. She wasn’t used to naked feelings, only to dances and mild flirtations in taxis and Andrew Newton’s courtly manners.
Aaron bent down and shouldered his bag again. ‘Well, then,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you’re back safely. But it doesn’t seem that all your wandering has taught you any sense.’ He left her standing on the sidewalk.
‘Aaron …’ she called, just once. He never turned back, and she was too conscious of what her mother’s neighbours might think or say to do what she wanted and run after him.
After that, they saw each other in Pittsharbor often enough. They met, even, once or twice in private, and tried to repair the damage. They kissed once, awkwardly, as if they were tasting a dish they had once overindulged in. But Elizabeth couldn’t forget that she had wanted to run and hide, and Aaron had seen that urge so clearly in her face.
In the years afterwards they both thought separately that they might have tried harder and understood each other again. But circumstances were against them; the Freshetts were pleased with the idea of a match between Elizabeth and Andrew Newton, and Hannah had presented herself to Aaron.
On the night before her engagement party Elizabeth and Aaron met again, on the beach looking out to the island. It was February and the bay was a ring of ice, so they had to walk briskly over the crackling shingle.
Elizabeth held her furs tight against her throat, but Aaron pulled them aside and put his mouth to the warmth of her skin. ‘It isn’t too late,’ he whispered.
Elizabeth thought of her diamond ring and the announcements in the Boston newspapers, and the house on Beacon Hill, which had already been bought. She knew she was a coward and despised herself for her weakness as she answered, ‘It is. It was too late when I left for England.’
Three months later she became Mrs Andrew Newton, and within a year Aaron married Hannah and began his buying up of the land on the bluff.
What a waste, Elizabeth thought in the quiet of her evening room. What a long and colourless waste of a life.
Aaron lay on his back with his arms at his side. Beside the head of the bed was an oxygen cylinder on wheels with a mask attached to the hose.
Hannah sat in a chair, dozing with her head bent. He had tried insisting that she went home, but she had refused even to listen to him. His breathing was stronger and easier now, and the grey-blue tinge had faded from his lips. Footsteps approached and receded in the corridor outside.
Suddenly Aaron said loudly, ‘I’m ready to go now.’
Her head jerked up again and she leaned forward to catch at his hand.
‘Did you hear me Hannah? I’m ready to go.’
Her mouth worked but she couldn’t make words come. She put her fingers on his forehead, bending closer over him.
He struggled to sit upright, weakly fighting her off. ‘Where are my clothes?’
‘Aaron, lie still.’ She looked over her shoulder in the direction from which help might come.
‘Bring me my clothes. I want to go home.’
‘Hush. Keep still now. Bobby’s coming from Cleveland and Angela …’
‘It’s not necessary. I’m not dying.’
‘Of course you are not.’
‘I want to go home. I want…’
She soothed him, ‘I know, I know you do. In a few days, maybe …’
He looked past her to the window. The strength he had summoned for the brief outburst was already spent. ‘I want to smell the sea,’ he whispered.
Leonie waved and smiled at Mrs Brownlow as she loaded her purchases into the Saab. She had bought supplies of food and drink, although the stores in Haselboro hadn’t offered much choice in either, and withdrawn Jim Whitsey’s rental deposit from the bank. She could be self-sufficient for a few days now, except that she had nothing to read. There was no bookshop in town and the Haselboro Compass and Advertiser would not hold her attention for very long. She glanced again at the telephone on the wall of the store and this time walked towards it without hesitation.
It was May who answered.
‘May, hi. This is Leonie Beam. How are you?’
‘I’m, uh, okay.’ Her voice was thickened, as if she had been asleep or perhaps crying.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I am.’ Hostility blanked out the moment of uncertainty and Leonie thought, She is all right, or as much as she ever was. ‘May I speak to your father? Is he there?’
‘Yeah, I guess, I think he’s outside somewhere. I’ll get him, if you want.’
I do want, Leonie mouthed. There was the sound of the receiver being dropped and footsteps scuffing away.
The yellow dog had roused itself from its spot in the shade. It came across now and sniffed at Leonie’s ankles.
‘Leonie?’
She smiled at the sound of his voice. ‘Yes.’
‘Where are you? Are you at home?’
Home? ‘No. Well, in a way. I’m at a place called Haselboro. John,
