"Six loaves of bread," called Susan. John turned and nodded. His eyes lingered on Sea Bear for a moment, then he faced forward again. Captain Flint somehow doubted that he'd been looking at Susan. When he'd nominated John to go ashore with him, he still hadn't been quite sure if he should say anything or not. After all neither of them were his children. They were rapidly approaching the point where they wouldn't be children at all. On the other hand Molly and the Walkers were trusting him in loco parentis, and he supposed he ought to take the responsibility seriously. It wasn't that he didn't trust John or his elder niece, but he knew how impulsive both could be.
It had been obvious for years that the two young captains had a close bond, but he'd always put that down to their joint role as leaders (although perhaps "instigator" was a better word for Nancy.) He'd started to wonder last summer, though, after he and Molly had returned from their cruise and the Swallows had come north. The children had spent an afternoon overhauling their sails on the Beckfoot lawn. The two veteran crews demonstrated how to lace the canvas to the spars then helped the Callums make a neat job of Scarab's sail. Nancy had been supervising work on Scarab's boom while John oversaw the yard. She'd asked him for a length of twine to put a whipping on the end of the sheet. She hadn't attracted his attention by calling his name though; she'd touched him lightly on the arm. That had seemed unlike Nancy, but what had really struck him was that neither of them appeared aware that she'd done it.
From then on he'd watched them slightly more closely, and had seen the same thing happen on another couple of occasions. It was much more obvious this summer. Both still contributed more than their fair share to conversation aboard - with growing confidence, too, as he entrusted them with more of the helm and watchkeeping responsibilities - but between themselves they increasingly communicated without speaking. A touch and a nod was enough to initiate a task, and a shared smile would mark its completion. Whenever they sat together - and he got the distinct impression that each of them contrived to do that without letting the other know it had been planned - there never quite seemed to be a gap between them, either. He'd been watching when they'd gone for ices in Portree and Roger had flopped down right next to Nancy. Calmly, with no fuss, she'd slid a couple of inches along the bench to give herself some space. Two days later in Stornoway, when it was John who squeezed in beside her, she'd sat quite content with one tanned knee brushing lightly against his.
Then, the next night, John had had his nightmare. Captain Flint had heard the tale of that wild North Sea crossing, of course - Nancy's lurid version first, then a less colourful but more detailed retelling from Mary Walker last summer. It was hardly surprising the boy had bad dreams, really. He'd taken an unfamiliar yacht across a bad stretch of water on a vicious night. No matter how well he'd handled it the strain must have been incredible. Once or twice before on this cruise - usually when Sea Bear was rocked by the wake of a passing steamer - he'd heard John mutter in his sleep. This time, perhaps because Titty had reminded him of Goblin's voyage earlier in the day, the dream had left him much more agitated. Then Nancy had climbed down from the cockpit. He knew there was generosity and compassion behind her often wild exterior, so he hadn't been surprised that she'd attempted - quite effectively - to reassure him. The real revelations had been how John had clung to her and the way she had kissed him when he was finally soothed back to sleep.
A close bond of friendship, Captain Flint decided, was now growing into emotions that were a good deal more elemental. It was lucky, he supposed, was that neither of them yet seemed to have realised that their feelings were thoroughly reciprocated. He didn't have anything against their feelings as such - in fact he thought they would be good for each other in a few years - but they were both fit and active young people and he well remembered from his own youth how that could turn out. He sighed inwardly and took the plunge. "John, while we're away from the others I'm afraid we need to have a rather awkward conversation."
If John knew what he was talking about he hid it well - better than he was probably capable of. Instead he looked honestly puzzled. That look quickly changed to horror as Captain Flint continued.
"I know you and Nancy have a lot in common, and I know you've been friends for years. Look here, though, you're not children any longer. You're seventeen and she will be soon, and you both have to think of your reputations. It's one thing for me to notice how you act with each other, because I know you both, but to a stranger it would look dashed suspicious."
John stared at him for a moment, clearly taken all aback. "But we act the same as we've always done, don't we? We're friends. Nancy's the closest friend I have really, but," Honesty prevented John from the finishing the sentence in the way he had planned. Instead he settled for "I'm sure she doesn't think of me as anything but a friend."
"That was probably true a year ago, two years ago. Not now. The way you sit and stand so close to each other would give that away, just by itself."
With his eyes anywhere but on Captain Flint and wishing miserably that he wasn't blushing, John nodded. Captain Flint took a few more strokes before continuing. This was even more awkward than he had thought it would be. In a way he was quite glad that John couldn't, or wouldn't look at him.
"Friendship doesn't have to preclude other emotions. And I'm not saying those other emotions are a bad thing, but they can be a bit overwhelming. I'd rather neither of you did anything to regret. Nancy is my niece." Captain Flint suddenly wished that Bob Blackett was the one here, having this conversation. Perhaps it made him say the last sentence more fiercely than he intended. Certainly it jerked John's gaze to his face briefly, before the boy dropped his eyes again.
For a moment John could think of nothing to say. He had been dimly aware for a year at least that he didn't think of Nancy as he thought of his other friends. He'd never looked at this too deeply though. Really, it just seemed easier not to think about it. Sometimes, when they were doing something together, he'd find himself slightly hot and breathless. Other times sitting beside her gave him a pleasant warm glow. Most of the time, though, she was just Nancy, his best friend and fellow captain. At least that was what he'd been telling himself. What must Captain Flint think though? Worse, what must Nancy think? Eyes fixed on the dinghy's bottom boards, he said, "Nancy and I have never done anything wrong. All we've done is what we always have - sailing and camping. I've never even thought of anything else." He thought for a moment, wondering if that was true. Yes, it was - he'd avoided thinking about it. "I'm very sorry if I've disappointed you though. It's difficult on the ship, but I'll do my best to stay away from her from now on."
Those last words were so soaked with misery that Captain Flint felt more than a slight pang of guilt.
"Look here, old chap, there's no need to go that far. Just pretend one of Dick's eggs is between you or something. You're good friends. Just remember that some people, when they see you with a girl your own age, will be looking for something to gossip about. Peggy's not the only chatterbox in the world, worse luck."
John managed to drag his head up. "Alright. Do you think it would help if I spoke to her and apologised?"
"Um. It might, I suppose. Up to you. My feeling is that she might not be all that surprised. I don't suppose it will hurt if you both understand the situation, though."
Getting away from the others turned out to be a lot easier than John had thought it would. After Dick had explained the need for a hide, Captain Flint and the Callums had rushed ahead back to the shore. Nancy, unusually for her, walked slowly behind the others. Peggy was explaining how you made a net. John wasn't really following the explanation.
"What do you think Nancy?" Peggy asked.
Nancy also appeared to have been preoccupied.
"I think I'd better go and have a look at them."
Peggy sighed in exasperation. Susan and Titty looked bewildered. John waited, ready to follow Nancy's lead.
"Look at whom?" Titty asked.
"The Gaels. I don't believe they are such late risers as Uncle Jim thinks."
"You might have said when I was making Roger's sandwiches." Peggy didn't sound pleased.
"Suppose you do get stalked?" Titty asked.
"You ought not to go by yourself. Suppose you sprain an ankle or something." Susan sounded more prosaic.
"That's alright. We don't need sandwiches and we can't all net at once. I'll be back to do my share. Susan's got a point though. Come with me John?"
She had scarcely waited for him to nod before she turned and started back the way they had come.
"What about dinner?"
"We'll come back when we're hungry. We'll only be a couple of hours or so."
John hastily crammed his compass back into his pocket and hurried after Nancy.
After five minutes, he said, "They aren't following us and they aren't trying to call us back."
"Uncle Jim might send them back after us."
"At this pace they'll never catch us."
"We need to be far enough away not to hear a whistle either. Peggy and Susan both have one."
The pace Nancy was setting was too fast for comfortable talking. It wasn't just a matter of being out of breath. They found they could seldom walk side by side. With the lack of a path and the brisk pace, John needed to think about where he put his feet. He was quite happy to follow Nancy's lead. She had after all grown up in countryside not completely unlike this, although not as wild. He had not looked at his watch when they set out, but about half an hour later, maybe three quarters, John suggested mildly that they were surely out of whistle range by now.
Nancy stopped and turned around, so abruptly that he only just managed not to walk into her. She seemed completely comfortable standing so close to him – was that the sort of thing that Captain Flint had noticed? There was mischief in the dancing eyes that met his.
"I could go a little slower, if you can't keep up the pace."
"Of course I can keep up with you."
"Good."
They kept it up for about another hour, climbing the hills at the end of the valley, still without a path.
"We should be nearly there." she said, as they followed the course of a little stream. Burn, he reminded himself.
"Where?"
"You'll see when we get there. We need to go up to the left a little here. Do you want a drink from the beck before we leave it?"
"I thought you said that streams nearly always have a dead sheep in them somewhere?"
"Only after you've drunk out of them." She grinned at him, scooped up a handful of water and drank it anyway. "Where there are no live sheep, there won't be any dead ones. There's not been a single dropping nor a single bleat the entire time we've been walking, let alone any actual sheep."
"Deer?" he asked but drank anyway, scooping up the water where it trickled over a rock. It was cold and delicious, but not as cold has he had expected.
"They can't be as good at dying in inconvenient places as a sheep. Nothing could be."
John remembered the sheep Dick had rescued from the ledge, that winter Nancy had had mumps, and had to agree. They started up the slope to the left.
"So now we've established that I can keep up with you, was there any other reason for all that hurry?"
She returned his grin. "That was the reason. Not that we'll need the plan, now that the Dactyl's gone charging off to the arctic. None of the others could have kept up the pace for that long."
"So if we hadn't shaken him off you had a plan?"
"Half a plan. I hadn't worked out all the details." She sounded almost regretful.
"The main thing is that Dick gets the picture and the birds survive." He reminded her.
"Yes. Here we are."
There was a heathery hollow. You could lie just below the sea-ward lip of it and look out over the lochs and the two valleys and the low ridge between them. The two inlets themselves were hidden, and most of the sea to the north. The ground was better drained here. Nancy lay down in the heather, felt the ground, pulled off her red knitted cap and stretched.
"It's dry enough, here."
John flopped down beside her. He still didn't know exactly what he wanted to say. After all, it seemed so completely unlikely that Nancy saw him as anything more than a friend. Had his own feelings led him to misunderstanding what Captain Flint had said? He had to think of something, though. She was watching him expectantly, waiting for him to speak. That wasn't surprising, of course, after he'd told her they had to talk, but it didn't look as though she thought it would be a discussion about social attitudes and proper behaviour. He was frozen with indecision; Nancy looked so content in this high place, and he hated the thought of spoiling her mood. She seemed to sense his hesitation and propped herself on one elbow. She pulled something out of a pocket that flashed in the sun and handed it to him.
"Here."
The metal of the flask was smooth and warm with the heat from her body. It turned out to be brandy, which reminded him of Nancy eating the marzipan from his piece of Christmas cake and that one kiss under the mistletoe, although that had been New Year and the kiss had tasted of champagne and had felt perfect. He glanced at the hip-flask. It was the sort of thing that was given as a present. Sure enough it had a name engraved on it. Robert Blackett. It was a 21st birthday present. He didn't recognise the name of the giver. His eyes met hers as he passed it back. Did she want him to say something?
"Mother knows that I've got it, but not that I've brought it with me." The tone of her voice suggested that that was the beginning and end of that topic. She flashed him a grin. "Nor, of course about the contents. It only gets used for Christmas cake and Christmas pudding. No-one will remember from one year to the next how much was there."
They lay propped up on their elbows, arms and shoulders almost touching, passing the hipflask between them until it was empty, and not talking much.
Nancy glanced at John. He had asked her to find a way they could talk privately, but did not seem in a hurry to start. She might almost think he was nervous. Strangely enough, she felt not quite so ruthless as usual herself. Perhaps it was lack of sleep. What was it that he had such trouble saying? Had she somehow given away how she felt about him? Was he working himself up to tell her that he had noticed and didn't feel the same way? He was so kind that she could imagine him getting embarrassed and anxious at the very thought of beginning such a conversation.
"Nancy?"
"Yes." She felt almost sick with nerves – or was it the brandy? No, that was meant to stop sickness wasn't it? She felt very slightly dizzy, but it was not an unpleasant feeling.
"How did you know this place was here?"
It was so different from what she thought he might say that she chuckled with relief.
"Looked at the contour lines on the map. Not every map is a nautical chart, John."
She looked at him affectionately and saw the expression in his eyes. She was not entirely surprised when he leant forward and kissed her.
This wasn't at all what he'd planned. To be honest he was slightly vague about what he had planned, but he felt sure it had been something very different. He did know that he'd intended to start by apologising to Nancy for anything he'd done that seemed inappropriate. She was his closest friend and Captain Flint's warning had left him deeply embarrassed. Ever since that silent trip back to Sea Bear in the rowing boat he'd been dreading the conversation he'd known they had to have. What had possessed him to kiss her rather than explain himself he'd never know, but when the effects of the brandy wore off he'd be lucky if she ever spoke to him again. At the same time he couldn't pull himself away from her. He kissed her again in an agony of confusion and guilt.
Nancy wanted this to last forever. John's hand was tangled in her hair. John's arm was around her. His lips were soft and insistent against her own. This was the perfect moment. It couldn't last for ever of course. They both needed to breathe at some point, for one thing.
"Nancy, I'm sorry. I .."
She really didn't think she could bear to leave him floundering for words like that. She kissed him back, perhaps a little more tentatively than she had intended. This was after all something she had been secretly day-dreaming about since last summer, despite her best efforts to stop herself. For once in her life she had not dared to make plans. Her friendship with John was far too precious to risk losing to embarrassment. This was an opportunity they would not get again these holidays. And after these holidays …..
She knew she was being a galoot. She had always known, from the very first day they had spoken to each other that he was set on the Navy. She had envied him the adventure. She still did, really. After this voyage she might not see him for years. As their lips parted again, and he seemed about to begin another apology, she buried her face in his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him.
"I am an idiot." he said "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm so sorry."
"It isn't that." Her muffled voice was not quite as steady as she would have liked, but she felt reasonably sure she was not going to embarrass them both any further by actually weeping. "When you're in the Navy properly I won't see you for years."
John didn't know what to say. He knew that Nancy could well be right. If his first commission was to the Far East or the Mediterranean it could be a long time before he saw England again. His own father had been absent for much of his childhood, and had really only been a regular presence since being posted to Shotley. The Royal Navy was the most powerful in the world and operated across every ocean, so there was a very real chance that he'd end up on a foreign station. For the last year or two he'd felt a vague unease at the thought of not seeing Nancy for so long, but suddenly that was a much more urgent concern.
"Don't worry just yet. There are lots of postings in the Home Fleet. Even if I do end up abroad I'll always come home when I get leave."
Nancy nodded her head slightly. There was not, after all very much else to be said about that. That they would write to each other and that she would miss him went without saying.
"Sorry to be such a galoot."
"You aren't – or else we both are." John's arms tightened about her briefly. It really was all the reassurance he could give her, she realised.
A little later Nancy lay with her head on John's shoulder one arm flung over his chest, feeling his arms around her and listening to his heart. She wanted this to last for ever too. She felt him relax. Was he asleep? Well, they had been both awake for much of two successive nights and the sun was warm. She would not wake him just yet.
It was a day for sleeping beauties, Ian thought. At least one of these was a beauty, or might be. He could not really tell. Her dark brown hair covered half her face, which was half buried in the shoulder of a boy who was about his own age. Even in sleep the boy's arms were wrapped protectively around her.
Ian had nearly reached home before he put the right name to his emotion. Not jealousy but envy. His anticipation of the stir and excitement that would happen tomorrow was vaguely tinted with dissatisfaction at a world under-supplied with long-legged girls.
John wasn't sure if it was hunger that woke him, or the fact that his arm had gone numb. The sun was much lower. He tried to check the time without waking Nancy, but she stirred as he moved his arm, murmuring his name and snuggling up to him more closely. They had ended up doing far more kissing than talking. By the position of the sun, they had done more sleeping than either.
"Nancy! Nancy, wake up! It's well past five o'clock. How far did we come?"
She sat up quickly. "About four miles. We'll be quicker going back. More of it is downhill. "
"Just as well. You know what Susan's like. She'll be trying to get your uncle to search for us if we're much longer."
Nancy put the empty hip-flask back in her pocket and pulled out something else.
"Kendal Mint Cake." she said. "Half each."
He noticed that his "half" was bigger. The mint flavour was powerful enough to mask the taste and, he presumed, the smell of just about anything. They scrambled to their feet.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Hungry. Bit of a headache. You?"
"Hungry."
There was a moment's pause. It lengthened uncomfortably.
"Would you like me to go first?"
He nodded.
If Nancy had set a fast pace before, the one she set now was faster. The only limit on their speed was how quickly they could think and place their feet. They weren't quite running, but John suspected that "headlong rush" was probably a fair description. They had breath enough for talking, but no concentration to spare. It was still astonishing how much quicker the return journey seemed.
It had been the most wonderful afternoon of Nancy's life. It had been even better than the moment she had first stepped cautiously into the Amazon. Her uncle might not be pleased at her lateness. Peggy would be furious. Neither would be as fierce as the Great-Aunt, so that didn't matter. Nevertheless, the feeling in her stomach was as much anxiety as hunger. If only John would say something! Cuddled up together in the heather, it had seemed so beautifully simply, so obvious that John felt about her in the same way that she felt about him. Now it seemed increasingly improbably. Was this marvellous afternoon an impulse born of alcohol on an empty stomach? Was John even now regretting it?
John was more confused than ever, but between the pace Nancy was setting and the happy memories that kept bubbling up he could barely think straight. He had no idea what was going to happen with their friendship now, and after this holiday ended there would be months apart before they could carry on. He had only meant to talk to her. What had happened? They'd both been a touch squiffy, and that probably explained her reaction, but how did she feel about it now she'd slept off the brandy?
"Nancy." John said abruptly, when they were perhaps twenty minutes from the shore. She stopped and turned around. He smiled at her. He looked as anxious as she felt. "Are you annoyed with me?"
She smiled at him and shook her head. "No. Not in the least bit."
He smiled briefly, but his eyes still looked worried. "Good, because I don't want this afternoon to be..."
The roar of anger was impressively loud and too close for comfort. The enormous Gael looked down at them, shaking a fist. They didn't need to understand the words to understand his meaning. They didn't need to discuss what to do next. They had after all been told to stay out of trouble with the Gaels. Although they would never admit it to their crews, they fled.
Both were breathless when they arrived at the shore.
"Good." Nancy said. "Uncle Jim's still in the dinghy. He'd better give them a hail."