she suggested that they found somewhere for tea. ‘Just a cup,’ she begged. ‘It’s only four o’clock and it might be fun. I’m going to ask in this shop.’
There was a tea-room close by, the saleslady told her in excellent English, and they found it without difficulty, a little way away from the shops, opposite a small beautifully kept park close to the hotel. Inside it lived up to its name with little tables occupied by smart housewives and uniformed waitresses, and to Amelia’s satisfaction the tea was delicious and brought in a tea-pot, nicely set out with cups and saucers, and with it they ate enormous creamy cakes which Tom warned her would spoil her appetite for dinner later on.
‘Oh, pooh,’ she told him robustly, ‘I’m a big girl and I get hungry.’
They wandered back presently and spent the rest of the evening in the hotel, eating deliciously in a beautifully appointed restaurant. Amelia went to bed very contented, sure that the holiday was going to be one of the best she had ever spent.
They flew to Ardenes by air taxi the next morning and then went by hired car down to Stokmarknes. Amelia, who had heard of the Lofoten Islands but never been near them before, was struck dumb by the awe-inspiring scenery. The mountains loomed majestically almost to the edge of the fjords already deeply snow-capped, only here and there small green patches, each with its tiny community, clung to their skirts. Sitting behind the Norwegian driver as he followed the one road across the islands, she began to wonder what Stokmarknes would be like.
It was a delightful surprise. True, there was the inevitable fish oil refinery down by the small quay, but the little town itself, strung out along the fjord for perhaps a mile, was charming; its wooden houses, brightly painted and surrounded by birch trees, already orange and red-leafed, bordered each side of the road which ran on through the cluster of houses and small shops, towards Melbu and the Ferry. The hotel, close to the quay, was a square wooden building and Amelia’s heart sank a little when she got out of the car before its door; it looked lonely and uninviting from where she stood. But inside she saw how wrong she had been; it was cosily warm for a start, bright with cheerful lights and comfortable modern furniture, and moreover they were welcomed by a smiling manager whose English was almost as good as theirs. There were, he told them cheerfully, very few visitors, but it was hardly the time of year, although to a keen fisherman that would make no difference, and, he went on, glancing at Amelia, there were some delightful walks in the neighbourhood and a daily bus service. Sortland or Svolvaer were no distance away by road. Meanwhile he would show them to their rooms and doubtless they would enjoy a cup of tea or coffee.
It was going to be great fun after all, she decided, looking with approval round her bedroom. It faced the fjord, so that she could see the constant coming and going on the water, and its furniture, though simple, was very much to her taste. She made short work of tidying herself and went downstairs to find the two men were already in the lounge, deep in discussion with the manager about the hiring of a boat. She heard her father’s satisfied grunt when he was told that the vessel was ready and waiting for him.
‘First thing tomorrow morning,’ he promised Amelia, ‘we’ll take her out and see what we can get.’ He glanced at Tom. ‘You’ll come, of course, Tom?’
‘I’ll be delighted, though I’m not much good with boats, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, never mind that,’ said Crosbie in high good humour. ‘Amelia is a first class crew, she’ll tell you what to do. I understand the weather’s likely to be good for a few days at least—they’ve had one or two snow showers further north, but they haven’t reached these parts, although it’ll probably rain.’
Amelia caught Tom’s eye and smiled and was a little disconcerted to see that although he smiled back, he didn’t look quite happy.
‘Tom and I are going to do a bit of exploring once you’ve got your eye in, Father,’ she said quickly. ‘You’re bound to find several enthusiasts before long, and I daresay they’ll crew for you—besides, when Tom goes back I’ll come out with you every day.’
She turned away to pour out the tea and her father answered her vaguely, his mind already busy with the question of how to get the most out of his stay.
Amelia and Tom went for a walk before dinner. It was already dusk, but the little place was well lighted, and they went from one end of the town to the other, admiring the houses, dotted haphazardly on either side of the road, creeping as far as they could go to the very edge of the fjord on one side, and on the other, tucking themselves against the base of the massive mountains.
‘I could live here,’ declared Amelia. ‘It’s peaceful and cosy and…’
‘A bit isolated,’ finished Tom. ‘Nowhere to go in the evenings, is there?’
‘Ah, I’d sit at home and embroider those lovely tapestries we saw in Bergen, and knit.’
He laughed at her. ‘What? No dinners out, no cinemas, no theatre—you’d get bored.’
‘No.’ She suddenly felt a little irritated with him. ‘I don’t believe the people who live here are bored, I think they’re content and satisfied with their lives—how could you be anything else with all this glorious scenery around?’ She added a shade defiantly, ‘I like it.’
Tom took her arm and turned her round to go back to the hotel. ‘Well, so do I,’ he said placatingly. ‘I’m looking forward to tomorrow.’
It was a splendid morning; blue sky and a cold sun with almost no wind. They breakfasted together and then went down to the boat, not as early as Mr Crosbie would have liked, but Amelia had wanted to sample the variety of breads and rolls arranged on the long table in the restaurant, and try the contents of the great number of dishes laid upon it. She had never had herrings in an onion sauce for breakfast, nor beetroot and cucumber. The cold meats and cheese seemed more like home as well as the great bowl of marmalade, flanked by cranberry jam. She tried as many of them as possible and declared that she would get up earlier in future so that she might have a go at the rest.
But there was little fear of them going hungry, judging by the size of the picnic box they had been given to take with them. Amelia arranging things just so in the small cabin, found it all very satisfactory and great fun. It was going to be choppy later on, they had been warned, but she didn’t mind that; she was wearing slacks stuffed into wellingtons, a bright yellow anorak and a wool cap pulled well down over her ears and thick gloves.
They cast off and her father started the outboard motor before leaving it to Tom’s care while he went off to check his rods and bait. Today, he had assured them, was merely a trial run; they would go north through the fjord towards Sortland and see if there were any fish.
There were a great many. Presently Tom left Amelia to steer in the little cockpit while he joined her father, and presently she stopped the motor and they anchored while the two men reeled in trout, herring, flounders and a couple of salmon. It was past midday by then and she gave them their lunch, made soup and coffee on the stove and joined them on deck to listen patiently to their enthusiastic discussions as to which rod and what bait were the best to use. It was nice to see her father so happy and Tom too. She looked around her and could find no fault in her morning.
It began to rain a little by mid-afternoon and they turned for home, slowed by a sharp wind. Mr Crosbie was at the wheel now, thoroughly enjoying himself, not minding the change in the weather, although Tom looked a little uneasy. It was getting dark already and it was no use trying to use the binoculars Amelia had brought with her. They stood side by side watching the lights of Stokmarknes getting nearer. The little quay, when they reached it, was almost deserted. The coastal steamer had come
