Bridie and Mairi had received no postcards from the brothers for a couple of weeks now. They had a feeling that this was either very good news or very bad, and so they scanned the horizon even more frequently than usual with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Flora had heard from Alec that he was still on patrolling duties off the coast of Iceland, but she, too, waited impatiently for the Isla to return.
As the sun rose above the hills, Flora and Mairi were preparing their ambulance for the day, going through their routine checks. Mairi made sure they had the necessary supplies in the first-aid kit, while Flora wiped away the heavy condensation that the chill of the night had deposited on the windscreen. They had orders to run a patient over to the hospital and to pick up two soldiers who were being discharged, dropping them back at their camp on the return journey.
It was one of those calm days of early autumn when the land and sea seemed to have been given a fresh coat of paint: the water was the purest aquamarine and the green of the hills was splashed here and there with the gold of turning larches. Even so, the two soldiers – who had turned out to be from the Indian regiment encamped above Mellangaun – looked a little miserable as the girls dropped them off.
‘I feel so sorry for them,’ Mairi said. ‘It must be a terrible shock to their systems, having to live in tents up here in the wilds. They’ll be used to the heat and the dust, not the rain and the mud. And as for the food – well, it’s no wonder that pair ended up with such bad stomach pains. Not that the hospital food will have made them feel any better.’
‘I know,’ Flora agreed. ‘But even so, their spirits haven’t been crushed enough to stop them proposing to us on the drive back from Gairloch.’
‘Right enough,’ conceded Mairi. ‘The weather doesn’t seem to have dampened their romantic notions. But they’re probably just lonely . . .’ She broke off abruptly, distracted by the sight of a ship that had just appeared around the point. Shielding her eyes against the sunlight, she leaned forward in her seat, straining to make out the ensign being raised above the deck. It unfurled itself slowly in the insistent tugging of the light breeze, revealing the unmistakable stars and stripes of the American flag.
Flora pulled the truck to a halt on the roadside above the bay where the British merchantmen lay at anchor. The girls watched as the tugs manoeuvred to open the boom nets, allowing the ship to slip into the safe haven of Loch Ewe.
And then all at once Mairi leapt from the cab, waving her WRNS cap above her head. And the autumn sunlight glinted on the blond hair of the two sailors who waved back at her, equally enthusiastically, from their stations on deck beside the flagstaff.
The far side of the loch was crowded with merchant ships now, and the naval escort had gathered in the bay at Mellon Charles. Next week, the first convoy of the season would depart from Loch Ewe, but for now the water could hardly be seen between the vessels of the densely packed flotilla.
The hall at Aultbea was equally packed out for the Friday night dance when Flora, Mairi and Bridie walked in with their own escorts, Alec, Roy and Hal. By popular demand, the Aultbea Songbirds would be singing a couple of numbers later on, but first they took to the floor as the band struck up, determined to make the most of their few days together.
When Alec had arrived back from his duties, Flora had felt awkward in his company. The flash of temper she’d witnessed in him – so unlike his usual gentleness – had continued to unnerve her. She’d tried to put it out of her mind, telling herself it was just the stress of the convoys and the thought of being away at sea again for so many. But she’d come to realise that in the moment when he’d smashed his fist into the wall she’d recognised something else in him, something that made her physically recoil: a likeness to his father. She couldn’t push the thought away, nor the memory of the bruises that she’d glimpsed on the underside of Lady Helen’s wrist that evening when she’d helped with the dinner.
His absence had left a vacuum that doubts and fears could easily fill. And perhaps that was why she’d purposely kept herself so busy. As well as the evening concerts, she’d thrown herself into her work by day, taking on extra duties by volunteering to help maintain the engines on the smaller boats in addition to the ambulances at the base. She’d quickly discovered an aptitude for coaxing even the most reluctant of salt-scoured, waterlogged motors back into life. The distractions of her singing and her work – and the camaraderie of the other Wrens as well as the naval ratings she worked alongside – had helped the time to pass while Alec was away. More than that, she was also developing a new sense of fulfilment: a sense of her own self and her own voice. But would Alec like this new side to her? Flora thought of Lady Helen, who always seemed such a shadow of the woman she might really be. Would Flora, too, begin to disappear if she married Alec?