Sam shakes his head. ‘Nothing yet. The airspace reopened today, but Gander hasn’t been told when the planes can leave yet. Best guess is a couple of days, but it could be as long as a week, with the backlog. Don’t worry, I’ve got a fellow in air traffic control on speed dial.’
‘Thanks.’ She peers out a window to the view of the steeple of St Stephen’s Church glinting in the morning sunshine. ‘I can’t believe I’ll be in New York in a few days. I like the quiet out here. It makes for a change.’
‘It’d bore the socks off someone like you.’
Sophie grunts. Who’s he to judge me? He doesn’t even know me. But what do I care? I don’t care. I really don’t. I’ll be done soon and we’ll be out of each other’s hair.
‘What would I do without Harvey Nichols or Neiman Marcus, right?’ She runs her hand over the smooth curves and valleys of the wood on the lathe. ‘This doesn’t look like it’s for a boat.’
‘It’s not.’ Sam fills a mug with coffee from a coffee machine set up on a table under one of the windows. ‘Coffee? Only black here. No fridge.’
‘No arsenic in it?’
Sam grins. ‘No. It’s safe. Promise.’
He pours out a second mug and hands it to Sophie. She takes a sip, grimacing at its bitterness. She nods at the lathe. ‘What are you making?’
Setting down his mug, Sam strides over to a bulky mound covered by a large Hudson’s Bay point blanket. He pulls off the blanket. Underneath, two chairs, contemporary in design but with intricate turned-wood spindles supporting their fanned backs, sit on the battered, wooden-planked floor.
‘Oh, wow. They’re beautiful, Sam. Can I sit?’
‘That’s what they’re for.’
She sits on one of the chairs, tracing the subtle curves of the arms with her fingertips. ‘Aunt Ellie said you made furniture, but I had no idea. These are stunning.’
‘Emmett works on them too, sometimes. He’s the one who got me started.’
‘Where do you sell them?’
‘Tourists in from St John’s mostly. I’ve sent a few pieces off to Toronto and Montreal. Florie puts the pieces in her shop when they’re finished.’ He shrugs. ‘It’s just furniture.’
‘Are you kidding? You could sell pieces like these in New York. Boston. Anywhere. Interior designers and architects would go crazy for this kind of handmade quality.’
‘Sure.’
‘Yes, really, Sam. I’m an architect. I’d love to commission pieces like this for my projects.’
‘You’re an architect?’
‘It’s why I need to get to New York. I have an interview at Richard Niven Architects.’
Sam whistles. ‘Richard Niven? That’s a big name.’
‘You’ve heard of him?’
Sam laughs. ‘You know, we’ve even heard of this band from England called the Beatles out here.’
‘Very funny.’
‘I was a building contractor in Boston before I moved back here with Becca. I’ve heard of Richard Niven.’
Sophie looks over at Sam. ‘Ellie told me you’d been living in Boston. She told me about the accident. About Winny. I’m sorry, Sam. That must have been … that must have been awful.’
Sam rubs his forehead. ‘Yes.’ He nods. ‘Yes, it was. I moved here for Becca. It seemed the right thing to do. She loves it here with her grandmother and Florie.’
‘How about you? It can’t be that easy after living in Boston.’
‘Away from the bright lights of the big city, you mean? It was tough at first, but this place … it grows on you. There’s nothing like living up here on the coast, by the sea. It’s, I don’t know, it’s pure. Unspoiled. You get to understand what nature’s all about up here.’
Sophie shrugs. ‘I guess. It seems pretty isolated to me. I mean, it’s a nice place to visit, but, you know, where am I going to get my grande skinny latte?’
Sam laughs. ‘I don’t think being away from a city is bad thing, Princess Grace. It gives a person space to think.’
‘Aunt Ellie said she thought you might be getting restless.’
‘Oh, she did, did she?’ He grunts. ‘Well, I’m not. It’s why I bought the bike. If I need to get away, I just get on it and go out for a ride with the other Chrome Warriors, or head out along the coast on my own.’ He looks at her for a long moment. Picking up the mug, he takes a sip of coffee. ‘You should come out with me. Before you go.’
What! Where did that come from? After the cold shoulder he’s been giving her?
Sophie’s mobile phone buzzes. Setting down her mug, she pulls the phone out of the back pocket of Ellie’s jeans. ‘Sorry, Sam. It’s New York. I’ll just be a minute.’
‘Sure.’
Turning her back on Sam, Sophie ambles over to the window, nodding as she listens to the caller.
‘Yes, fine. Yes, absolutely, Jackie. I understand. He’s leaving for Tokyo when? The nineteenth? Right. He can see me on the eighteenth. Okay. I’ll find a way. Put me in. Two o’clock is perfect. Yes, I understand. I’ll find a way. Thanks for calling.’
She slides the phone back into her pocket and looks at Sam. ‘That was Richard Niven’s office. I’ve got to get back for the interview on the eighteenth or I’m out of the running. I’ve got to get to New York, Sam. My future depends on it.’
Chapter 18
Holkham Beach, Norfolk – 21 June 1941
Setting down her sketchbook and charcoal pencil, Ellie leans back into the yielding warmth of the sand dune. She waves at Dottie who shouts at her as she splashes through the sea with George, Charlie and Thomas. If she tilts her head and squints, she can just manage to obscure the rolls of barbed wire massed along the sands of Holkham Beach.
She closes her eyes and raises her face to the sun. The unseasonal heat beats into her wet skin, evaporating the salty drops, and turns the blackness behind her eyelids a deep crimson with the heat. Somewhere in the tufts of marsh grass between the pine
