Happy 2020 everyone! Thanks, as always, for reading and reviewing. Some reviewers were clearly annoyed by the last chapter. It was not my intention to drag things out needlessly, but looking back, I can see that it may have come across that way. Actually, I was just trying to write a quick bridging chapter to get us to the 'Pemberley' section of the story (some of which I had already written). So, as a token of good faith, I hope you will enjoy this chapter in which things happen and progress is made.
'Wake up, Bess'. A hand shook her shoulder.
'Huh, what is it?' She rubbed her eyes and peered out the bus window, confused by the sight of sand dunes. 'We're not back in Rennes?'
'No, they've added a bonus stop to the tour', Angus explained. 'There's a film shooting on the coast today, so they pulled over to give us a quick look. We've got twenty minutes.'
'A film?', asked Bess, coming fully awake. 'Did they say what it was about?'
'Some traditional French tale. The name didn't mean anything to me'.
Bess relaxed back into her seat. A French film. So, surely not the one that Darcy was working on, then.
'Are you coming?', asked Angus, standing up in the aisle of the coach.
'Sure, just let me grab my jacket and I'll be right out', she replied. The day had still been fine when they left Mont Saint Michel, but it had clouded over while she slept, and the grass on the sand dunes was dancing in the wind.
She joined Chris on top of a dune and surveyed the scene below. She'd never seen a film set before and was surprised by the number of people on the beach. She could make out three different cameras, each manned by two crew, while others held what she thought were microphones on large poles. Still others held up large shades, or milled around, their purpose unclear to Bess.
It looked to be a period piece, as there were several actors dressed in pantaloons, cravats and tightly fitted jackets with tails. They stood around a man in a director's chair, who was gesturing with his hands.
One actor in particular was tall, with broad shoulders and legs that showed to advantage in the tight pants. Oh no, surely it wasn't…
'Will! Bess, look, that's Will down there. What a coincidence.' Angus grabbed her shoulder and pointed with his other hand. 'Hi Will! It's us! Angus and Bess!' he yelled. He waved his arm over his head.
'Shut up!' she hissed, elbowing him in the side. 'Are you mad? If it is Will, he's at work. You can't yell at him like that'.
The man-who-might-be-Will looked up at them, shading his eyes and squinting. The director also turned in his chair, seeking the source of the commotion.
'I think it is him', said Angus, undeterred. 'Look, he's coming our way'.
'Oh no', moaned Bess. 'This is so embarrassing'. She turned and ran for the bus.
'Stop, wait, where are you going?' Chris called after her. She ignored him.
Bess had the bus to herself. All the other tourists were still gawking at the film crew. She shrank down in her seat, hiding behind her paperback book. Hanging around the stage door had been bad, but this was a thousand times worse. What would he think of her, turning up unannounced like this? She prayed it wasn't Will, or that if it was Will he hadn't recognised her, or that if he had recognised her then Angus would explain this stop wasn't part of the scheduled tour.
'Bess?'
The deep voice made her jump, and she lowered her book. It was Will, walking up the aisle of the bus. He was dressed in full period costume, but somehow managing not to look out of place.
'Oh Will, hi. I had no idea you'd be here, this wasn't even a planned stop, we were heading home, I was asleep…'
'Bess, it's okay, Angus explained'. Will frowned. 'Are you two travelling together?'
'No, I mean yes, there's a whole bunch of us travelling together. But Angus and I were the only ones who wanted to see Saint Malo and the Mont Saint Michel, so we took this day tour and the others stayed behind in Rennes for some last-minute shopping. We head back to London in the morning…'
She trailed off, realising she was babbling.
'Why did you run away?'
'You're working, and I didn't want to intrude. Angus was a dickhead to shout out to you like that, I'm sorry'.
He laid a warm hand over hers. 'You're not intruding. Would you like to come and see the film set?'
'Oh no, I couldn't possibly, what would people think?'
He squeezed her hand gently. 'Bess, actors have visitors on set all the time. No one will think anything of it'. He gestured out the window at the ocean. 'We have an hour, at most, before that storm rolls in. Then we'll wrap for the day and I can drive you back to Rennes myself. We might even get that coffee'. He smiled.
Still, she hesitated, unable to shake her mortification.
'Please?' he said simply.
'Okay, I'll stay'.
The crew conferred anxiously, looking at the radar images on their phones and then back up at the darkening sky. The storm was closing in, the wind picking up. They were racing to get the last scene in the can before the light faded too much.
Normally, Will would be frustrated by the thought of having to resume on another day, but now he welcomed the bad weather. He looked over at Bess, who was standing behind the director, wrapped in her jacket, hair whipping about her face. The tour bus had departed, taking Angus the Kiwi with it. Now, if they could just pull off this one last scene, he could drive off with Bess.
'And, action…' the director called.
Will focused, reaching for his character. The French were hot on their trail. If they were caught, it would mean the guillotine. He squared his shoulders and walked down the beach, followed by the steady cam operator. The actor playing Armand turned to greet him.
'Percy, mon vieux, I had not expected to see you here'. They embraced briefly.
'We must leave tonight', said Will, turning slightly so the camera could capture his intent expression.
A scream cut across Armand's reply.
'Cut, cut' yelled the director. 'I thought those people understood they could only stay if they were quiet'.
They turned to look back down the beach to where a family party had been picnicking. The woman pointed to the ocean, and screamed again.
He followed the direction of her finger and could just make out a child on a blow-up mattress, being pulled rapidly out to sea by the current. A man was waist-deep in the water, but seemed unable to get out through the breakers. 'It's a kid' he said, stunned. 'And the mattress is sinking'. Water was washing over the sides, the child clinging on desperately.
Others from the film set had also seen. Some ran towards the mother, others pulled out mobile phones to call for help.
Bess appeared at his side. 'Is there a boat?' she asked briefly.
'I don't think so', he said. 'It's not a patrolled beach'.
Bess shrugged out of her jacket and dropped it on the sand. She started to undo the buttons of her shirt.
'What are you doing?' he asked, alarmed.
'Going in' she said. 'What do you think I'm doing?'
'But those waves are really picking up'.
'And how long do you think the kid will last out there?' she shot back.
She dropped her shirt beside the jacket and turned in her bra to face the film crew. The scars on her back were white now, not the angry red he remembered.
'Are any of you strong swimmers?' she yelled above the noise of the wind. A few shook their heads, others just stared at her. 'For fucks' sake, you live on an island and none of you know how to swim', she muttered under her breath.
She turned back to Will. 'Can you bring me the life ring that's up there? I need the rope that goes with it, too'. She pointed to the orange and white ring hanging from a hook by the path leading off the beach.
Will ran to get it, his mind racing. He didn't want her to do this, but if he stopped her, the kid might drown. He snatched the ring off the hook and looped the attached rope over his shoulder. By the time he got back to Bess she had shed her jeans, revealing matching black briefs. Her legs were toned and tan. He tried not to stare.
'Thanks', she said, lifting the coiled rope from his shoulder. She passed one end around her waist and tried to tie it. Her hands were shaking. 'Damn', she swore. 'Can you do it for me?'
He nodded, reaching for the rope. Her stomach was firm and cool under his fingers. She was breathing fast.
'Tie it tight, I can't afford to lose it', she instructed.
'You don't need it to swim, do you?'
'Of course not, I'll pull it behind me. I'll need it when I get to the kid. Drowning people often panic and drown their rescuers as well. If I give him the ring he won't latch on to me'.
Oh God, this was too risky. He tied an extra knot, then tugged on the rope to check it. The knot held, pulling Bess towards him. 'Are you sure about this?'
She looked up into his face, and he saw the fear in her eyes. 'No, I'm not, but there's no-one else. I was a nipper as a kid. It looks like a rip that's towing him out, see where the waves aren't as high?'
He followed her pointing finger and thought he could discern a break in the pounding surf.
'If I swim out in the same rip, I'll catch him pretty quickly. I don't think I can get him back in, though. I'd have to swim him parallel to the beach for a while, then back in through the breakers. He might not make it'.
'What will you do?' he asked.
'I'll wait for you. Can you find me a boat?'
Numbly, he nodded.
She grabbed the ring from his arm and hooked it over her shoulder. He kissed her quickly on the cheek, for luck, and then she was gone. He bit his tongue to stop himself calling her back.
She ran down the beach until she drew level with the screaming woman, then turned into the ocean. She ran through the shallows, straight past the man, lifting her legs out to the side with each stride, then dropped the ring behind her and dove under the first wave. He held his breath until he saw her pop up on the other side, the ring trailing behind, still attached by the rope to her waist. She set out in a fast freestyle towards the next set of waves.
He turned back to the shocked crew. 'A boat, we need a boat', he yelled. 'Some of you follow me, the rest use your phones. A thousand pounds to the first person who gets a boat here'.
His feet sank in the soft sand as he ran along the path through the dunes. He knocked off the ridiculous wig he was obliged to wear as Sir Percy Blakeney.
A few old stone houses lined the road that ran parallel to the beach. 'Split up' he called to the crew who'd followed him. 'Knock on every door, ask everyone, if you see a boat just take it'.
Left or right? He didn't know. What if he guessed wrong? He thought there were slightly more houses to the right, so he turned that way. The others were already knocking on doors, so he kept running, scanning each driveway and courtyard, peering into garages where he could. He soon left the others behind him, but still he couldn't see a boat.
He was panting by the time he reached the last house. It was an old two-storey farmhouse with a freestanding garage. He peered through the gap in the wooden doors and could just make out a car, with a small boat on a trailer next to it. Thank God!
He pounded on the front door. 'Help, please help, it's an emergency!' No one came, so he banged harder. 'Help me, please!'
'Allez-vous en, Anglais!', came a shout from inside.
Damn, they didn't understand. What the hell was the French for emergency? Urgence? 'C'est une urgence' he yelled, still pounding. 'S'il vous plait, monsieur, aidez-moi!'
Still no one came. 'Ma copine' – was that girlfriend or female friend? He couldn't remember, and what a stupid time to be worrying about it, 'elle va noyer', wait, was the verb 'to drown' reflexive? Why hadn't he paid more attention in French lessons? 'Elle va se noyer, et l'enfant aussi', he hollered.
Finally, the door opened. A grizzled man in a blue cap peered at his suspiciously, then let loose a flood of French. Will couldn't understand half of it.
'Il y a un enfant, la-bas, dans la mer', Will tried desperately, pointing towards the beach. 'Il va se noyer. Ma copine essaie de le sauver. On a besoin de votre bateau'.
He pointed to the garage as he said 'bateau'. The man nodded once, grabbed his keys from a hook by the door, and indicated that Will should follow him. 'Merci, monsieur', said Will, expelling his breath. 'Merci beaucoup'.
It took agonising minutes to hook the boat trailer up to the jeep, and when they were finally underway, the man turned the car in the opposite direction from the beach.
'Non, monsieur, la-bas', said Will, grabbing his shoulder and pointing back the way he'd come.
The old man shook his head and let forth another flood of French, accompanied with hand gestures. Will wasn't sure, but he got the impression they couldn't launch the boat on the beach. They had to go round the point to the next beach, where there was a boat ramp.
Hang on Bess, he thought in his head. We're coming.
The first shock of the cold sea water seized her ribs and drove all the breath from her body, but once she was up and stroking it wasn't so bad. She had to dive under four or five sets of waves to get out the back, the rope from the life ring dragging her back each time. She finally made it under the last wave and into clearer water. It was still choppy, but the waves weren't breaking this far out. She could see the kid about one hundred metres ahead of her. He was mostly submerged, clinging to the last bit of mattress that still had air in it, too tired to cry out. He hadn't gone under, yet.
She put her head down and swam as fast as she could. She lifted her head occasionally to check her course, the salt spray stinging her eyes. The last bit of current from the rip pulled her along, and she flew through the grey water. As she neared the boy, she dragged on the rope around her waist, bringing the ring closer. When he tried to transfer his grip from the mattress to her neck, she quickly thrust the ring at him. 'Hold that', she said firmly.
She spoke in English, but the commanding tone seemed to penetrate. He clutched at the ring, whimpering, and she trod water while she flipped it over his head and helped him to pull his arms through the hole. 'That's it', she told him, reassuringly, holding on to the ring with one hand, fending off his attempts to grab on to her. 'We'll be fine like this. He's coming, we just have to wait'.
It seemed to take forever to back up the jeep and launch the boat. Will tried once to tell the old man to hurry, but this only elicited another tirade in French, so he bit his tongue and focused on helping. The water chilled his legs as they pushed the boat out. How long could Bess hang on in this?
At last they were underway, the old man gunning the outboard to get through the waves. Will called out directions in halting French, but the wind whipped them away, so he just pointed. The man nodded and started to turn around the point, back into the bay where they were filming.
Where were they? Will could see people gesturing from the beach, but he couldn't make out anything in the water. Then suddenly, a glimpse of orange and white.
'Over there! La-bas!' he yelled, but the old man had already seen it. The boat leapt forward, spray blasting in Will's face as he stood in the bows. He dashed the water away, straining to see. It was Bess! Bess and the boy!
The old man eased off the motor as they approached, the dingy sidling up beside the pair. Bess was white and shivering, and the boy had a blue tinge around his mouth. Will knelt down, reaching out for Bess, but she shook her head and thrust the ring at him. 'The boy. Take the boy first', she gasped.
He grabbed the child under the shoulders and hauled him into the boat. The kid clamped onto him like a limpet but he peeled him off and thrust him at the old man, who was digging a blanket out of a box.
Will knelt again. Bess had grabbed on to the side of the boat with one hand, and she gave him a weak smile as he reached for her. 'Can you help me? My arms are a bit tired'.
He wrapped his arms around her and half-pulled, half-rolled her over the side. They landed together in the bottom of the boat with her splayed across his chest. She was wringing wet, gasping and shaking, but she was alive.