***
Sophie steers the trolley along a wide aisle lined with vats of nails and screws, and sheets of MDF.
‘What exactly are the Chrome Warriors, anyway? Are you outlaws or something?’
Sam laughs as he examines a package of 4mm flathead screws. ‘No, we’re just guys who like to ride bikes. We’re a Riding Club.’ He taps his shoulder. ‘You see the “RC” patch on the back of my jacket? That’s what it means. Riding Club. We’re not a motorcycle gang. We get together whenever we can and go for rides.’ He hands two boxes of screws to Sophie. ‘I used to bike down in Boston. It clears my head. We do a lot of charity events too. Ace’s wife died from breast cancer last year, so we’re doing a ride for that at the end of the month.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. How do you know them?’
Sam picks a nail out of a plastic bin and measures it against his thumb. ‘Ace is my dentist.’
‘Ace is a dentist? Seriously?’
‘Yep. His name’s actually Adrian.’ Sam counts out a dozen nails and drops them into Sophie’s free hand. ‘Thor’s Rupert’s vet. His name is Thornton. Any wonder he calls himself Thor?’
‘He’s a veterinarian?’
Sam grins at her. ‘What? They don’t look like a dentist and a vet?’
‘Not like any I’ve ever met.’
‘One thing I’ve learned here is that it’s best not to judge a book by its cover.’ He points down the aisle and to the left. ‘I need to find the sandpaper.’
‘And you’re all … bikers?’
‘Something wrong with that?’
‘Uh, no. Not really, I guess.’
Sam laughs. ‘People get the wrong idea about bikers. We’re not all Hells Angels. There’s nine of us in all, from Gander all the way to Musgrave Harbour. A couple of ex-military guys, a doctor, a couple of fishermen, a teacher … We just like bikes.’
‘Right,’ Sophie says as she juggles the boxes and screws. ‘Where did you say we’re going now?’
‘To a lighthouse up the coast. The one you can see from Kittiwake on a good day. There’s a great beach out there. You’ll think you’re in Florida.’
***
Sam’s bike bumps along behind the two other motorcycles, following them along the narrow road that snakes through a carpet of purple heather along the crest of a cliff. In the distance a white lighthouse topped with a red beacon squats on a headland beside a small white house.
They park in front of the lighthouse and dismount. Sophie is about to follow Ace and Thor into the lighthouse when Sam takes her hand and pulls her towards a narrow footpath that follows the cliff edge. ‘C’mon, Princess Grace. Nothing to see there, just a lot of stairs up to the beacon. There’s a great view this way. You can see the beach down towards the west.’
Sophie tugs her hand free. Holding up his hands in surrender, Sam grins. ‘Sorry, I just don’t want you to blow over the edge.’
‘I’ll be fine.’ She peers at the path. ‘It’s not that close to the edge.’
‘Fine. Suit yourself.’ He heads out along the path, following it as it meanders through the heather towards a headland where the cliff thrusts like a blunt thumb into the sea. A curtain of lacy clouds hovers on the horizon, and the sea, under the warm blue sky, is almost turquoise where it puddles into bays at the foot of the cliff.
Sam points to the gulls swooping along the cliff’s edge. ‘See those? The ones with the black tips on their wings? Those are kittiwakes, but they call them tickle-aces here. You know why?’
‘No.’
‘Because they chase after other birds and peck at their tail feathers to make them drop their food. Then they swoop in and steal it. Tickle-ace is the politer version of tickle-ass, which some prefer to call them.’
‘Trust Newfoundlanders to say it like it is.’
When they reach the headland, Sophie joins Sam at the end of the path. A curving stretch of beige sand stretches out along the coast to the west, just as Sam had said. Ahead of them, the long line of the horizon divides the ocean and the sky. Shutting her eyes, she lifts her face towards the sun.
‘You look better.’
She opens her eyes and peers over at Sam. ‘I look better?’
‘Better than you did when I saw you in Gander.’
Sophie grunts. ‘That wasn’t hard. I’d been on the plane for over twenty-four hours.’
‘That’s not what I mean.’
‘What do you mean?’
Sam looks at her, his brown eyes giving nothing away. Bending forward, he kisses her.
Sophie pulls away. Oh shit.
They look at each other, the silence that engulfs them pierced only by the cries of the tickle-aces swooping below the cliff. Then her arms are around his neck, tugging his head down to hers. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her against his body. They kiss, the wind wrapping them in the salt-tinged air. Sweet, hot kisses, as delicious as the blueberries in Florie’s pancakes. Kisses like purple heaven.
Chapter 24
Norwich, England – 14 February 1942
Ellie pulls her wool scarf up over her nose and hurries down Earlham Road past the Gothic spires and turrets of St John’s Cathedral. Glancing behind her, she veers left down a narrow gravel path, past the shuttered gatekeeper’s hut, and down a steep hill lined with neatly trimmed bushes and artfully placed specimen trees. Clumps of fresh green vegetation spring through the earth on the terraced hill, and thrushes swoop amongst the tree branches, oblivious to the cold. At the bottom of the hill, Ellie follows the winding path along the edge of the lawn and awakening flower beds to the Gothic fountain, with its struts and arches dressed in velvet moss.
A figure steps out of the shadows behind the fountain.
Ellie hesitates, crossing her arms and tucking her hands against the warmth of her body. ‘I got your note. I told Fire Officer Williams I had to run over to Curls to get a new typewriter ribbon. I have to get back soon.’
Thomas walks towards her, tall and slender in his khaki wool great coat. He reaches out a gloved hand. ‘I’m glad you came, Ellie Mae.’
Ellie looks at the black leather glove and back at Thomas. ‘What is it, Thomas?’
Thomas drops his arm and sits on the fountain’s low stone wall. Reaching into his coat pocket, he takes out an envelope. ‘I haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ about you, Ellie Mae,’ he says as he holds out the envelope to her.
Ellie frowns at her name in spidery blue handwriting on the envelope. ‘What’s this?’
‘What day is today, maid?’
‘February fourteenth. Oh, it’s Valentine’s. I’ve been so busy I actually forgot.’
Thomas gestures to the envelope. ‘Well, then, have a look.’
Running her finger under the flap, Ellie tears open the envelope and draws out a postcard. On the front is a picture of a blonde woman kissing a soldier in front of a large red heart. She holds up the card and reads. ‘Cupid is the victor o’er many a heart today. He’s made me love you, sweetest, far more than words can say. One little kiss would be such bliss, oh, don’t refuse me, pray!’