Thank you for your continued encouragement for this story! You are the best. It's strange to be sitting here, writing, as my country burns. We had to cancel our holiday to the coast, because it's on fire. And we can barely go outside, because the smoke is so thick that it chokes us. Still, we are more fortunate than many who have lost their homes, businesses and even their lives. We are only at the beginning of this bush fire season, and no one knows how it will end.

So as I said, it's a strange time to be writing escapist fiction. Yet, with all plans cancelled and unable to leave the house, I suddenly have extra time in my day to write. And Bess and Will are a welcome distraction from the 24/7 bush fire updates on the television, radio and internet. Your reviews - messages from strangers - make me smile, remind me that there are places in the world that are not on fire. I would love to visit Saint Malo and Mont Saint Michel again one day, to show them to my children. We have not cared for this earth as we should, and I fear for their present as well as their future. Please pray for us, or if you do not pray, then please think of us, and do what you can to help this small blue and green planet on which we are all fellow travellers.

As they beached the boat, eager hands reached out to help. The old man handed the boy off to his parents, who were scolding, sobbing and trying to thank the rescuers in French, all at the same time. Will ignored them.

He stepped out into the shallows and then reached back into the boat for Bess, lifting her in his arms. He'd wrapped her in his coat, but it was almost as wet as she was. Her skin was cold and clammy. As he lifted her, she turned her face into his neck. He didn't know if she was embarrassed, or just seeking his warmth.

Two ambulances had arrived at the road, and he carried Bess to the free one, accompanied by several of the crew, hovering anxiously. His legs sank even deeper into the sand now, with his extra burden. He held her close, bending over to protect her from the wind.

Mercifully, one of the paramedics, who introduced himself as Benoit, spoke English. Will sat Bess carefully on gurney in the back of the ambulance and then climbed up to sit next to her.

Her vital signs were good, Benoit explained, as he started to check her over. Her temperature was a little low, around thirty-six, but that was to be expected. He did not think there would be any lasting effects. If she would please to take off the jacket, she could have this nice dry blanket instead.

As Will helped her remove the sopping coat, he saw the blood on her thigh. 'You're injured!'.

She looked down, surprised. 'I probably scratched it on the edge of the boat'. She shrugged. 'I didn't even feel it'.

Will was horrified. He must have hurt her dragging her into the boat. 'Bess, I'm sorry…' he started.

'For pulling me out of the sea?' she said, with the hint of a smile. 'Will, it's only a scratch'.

Benoit cleaned and bandaged the cut, which wasn't as deep as Will had first feared, and suggested they head off to the hospital. Bess shrank back against Will, and he put his arm around her shoulders. 'Please, no hospital', she begged. 'Hospitals are for dying people. I'm fine. Please, Will? I just want to go back to Rennes'.

He was torn. He wanted her to get proper medical attention, but he knew now why she hated hospitals. 'It's about an hour's drive', he said slowly.

Benoit shook his head. 'Too far. She needs to get warm, quickly'.

He made a decision. 'I'll take her back to my hotel in Saint-Malo. It's only ten minutes from here. She can have a hot shower there'.

Bess sagged against him. 'Thank you' she breathed.

She was silent on the drive back to his hotel. He tried to keep an eye on her, but he really had to concentrate, driving on the right side of the road (which was the wrong side for him) with rain starting to lash the windscreen. He cranked the car heater up as far as it would go, but still she shivered.

Someone had retrieved Bess' clothes and day pack from the beach, and she'd dressed in the ambulance. He left the car with the valet and ushered Bess quickly through the hotel lobby to the lifts, hoping no one would notice them. Her ponytail was a tangled mess, and her underwear was leaving wet patches on her clothes. He was still wearing a linen shirt and pantaloons, so wet that they were plastered to his body, so they made an odd sight.

He swiped his card and ushered her into his room. She stopped in front of the bed and looked around blankly.

'The bathroom's this way', he said, steering her through to the ensuite.

He ran the shower until it was steaming hot, but still bearable. He turned back to find Bess fumbling unsuccessfully with the buttons of her shirt. He stilled her trembling hands. 'Here, let me'.

'I'm sorry to be so clumsy', she said.

'Hush, you're not clumsy, only cold'. He opened the last button and stopped, holding the edges of the shirt together. 'Can you manage from here?'

'I'll be fine. Thanks, Will'.

Reluctantly, he left her.

He called down to room service and ordered baguettes and a salad, in case she was hungry. He took a call from Emma, who'd already heard the news from the set and was predictably freaking out. He reassured her that Bess was fine, just cold, and promised to call her back once she was out of the shower.

He changed quickly into dry clothes, then searched for something Bess could wear. He didn't think she'd be comfortable in her wet, sandy clothes from the beach. All his pants would be far too long on her, but he thought the boxers might be okay, and maybe a t-shirt. It would be more like a nightie on her, but at least she'd be covered up.

It wasn't until room service knocked on the door that he realised how long Bess had been in the shower. He quickly tipped the waiter and pulled the trolley into the room, before crossing to the bathroom door. The shower was still running.

'Bess?' he called, knocking sharply on the door. 'Bess, are you alright?'

No answer.

'Bess? Answer me!'

No reply.

'If you don't answer I'm coming in' he shouted.

Still nothing. He opened the bathroom door a crack, letting out a cloud of steam.

The glass shower screen was fogged up, but he could see Bess slumped on the floor of the shower. He yanked the glass open door and reached over her to shut off the water. She was curled on her side. With the sound of the shower gone, her sobs echoed loudly off the tiled walls. Her cheek was pressed to the floor and hair covered her face. The white scars on her back stood out in contrast to her pink skin.

He grabbed a towel and dropped it over her nakedness, then followed it with a towelling robe. She continued to weep, seemingly unaware of his actions.

'Oh Bess', he said, 'don't cry'. He scooped her off the floor, wrapping the robe more fully around her as he lifted her. Her limpness alarmed him.

He carried her to the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed. He went back for another towel, which he wrapped around her wet hair. He didn't know what to do. Her skin felt warmer to the touch, but she was still shaking. He'd never heard anyone cry like this.

He wrapped the duvet tightly around her, but it didn't seem to make any difference. Reluctantly, he lay down next to her and pulled her against him, duvet and all. She buried her face in his chest and wept.

She cried for a long time, or so it seemed to Will. He shushed her, and held her, rocking her gently like a small child. Eventually, the sobs subsided into sniffs. 'Bess?' he ventured. 'Are you okay?' What a stupid thing to say. She was clearly very far from okay.

'Why can't people look after their own fucking children?' she burst out, accompanied by a fresh burst of sobbing.

'Bess?'

'I can't do this anymore. I don't want to die', she wailed.

'Oh, my poor girl', he whispered, kissing the top of her head. 'You're safe now. I won't let anything happen to you'. It was a singularly inane promise, but it seemed to comfort her a little, so he repeated it over and over, until her sobs quietened, her breathing evened out, and she slept.

Bess was warm. She'd been so cold before, but now she was toasty. She rolled over, seeking the source of the heat, and came up against a large, male chest.

She recoiled and sat straight up in bed with a squeak, pulling the doona to her chest.

'What the heck?'

Will opened his eyes and sat up too. He rubbed his hair, making it stick straight up in a way that would have been adorable if she wasn't so freaked out.

'Bess, are you alright?'

'What am I doing in your bed?'

'Bess, it's okay' he said, reaching out a hand to her.

She recoiled and jumped out of bed. 'Why am I wearing your clothes?', she shrieked, looking down at the too-big t-shirt and boxers on her body.

'Bess, calm down and let me explain', he said more firmly.

She ignored him, running to the window and pulling back the curtain. Daylight streamed into the room. 'What time is it?' she asked, breathing faster.

He held up a hand to shield his eyes from the light and squinted down at his watch.

'Just gone eight'.

'In the morning?'. He nodded. 'Aaargh, I'm supposed to catch the train from Rennes in half an hour. I start work tomorrow. Where are my clothes? Where's my phone?'

'It's on charge over by the desk'.

She ran over to her phone and snatched it up. 'Oh no, I've got seventeen missed calls. I have to ring Angus, and Emma, and ….'

'Bess!' Will almost yelled. 'Please stop running around like a headless chicken for one minute and let me explain'.

'Okay, okay', said Bess, perching suspiciously on the edge of the bed and crossing her arms across her chest. 'You have one minute. Explain'.

'You don't need to worry about missing the train. I've organised a flight for you this afternoon'.

'But I have to call Angus and the others. They'll be worrying about me…'

He held up a hand to stop her. 'I've already to spoken to Angus. He rang last night and I answered your phone. Your friends know you're safe with me'.

'But what about my luggage? I can't catch a plane like this'.

'Your friends packed up your gear and I sent a crew member over to pick it up. Look, it's over there, in the corner'.

Bess looked and saw her well-worn backpack leaning against the wall.

'Okay, thanks, I guess. But why am I wearing your clothes?' She narrowed her eyes.

'I didn't want to leave you wrapped in wet towels all night. I was worried you'd get sick. I thought about waking you, but you were so exhausted. I promise I didn't look when I got you changed'.

'So why were you in bed with me?'

'I tried to sleep on the sofa but I'm a big guy, and it caught me in all the wrong places. Look, I wrapped myself in a separate blanket' – he indicated the red blanket around his waist – 'and you were bundled up in the duvet. It's a king bed, I thought it would be okay'.

He sighed. 'I'm sorry if I did the wrong thing, Bess. I did wonder about getting a separate room, but to be honest, I was afraid to leave you. Don't you remember anything about last night?'

She searched her memory. She was a bit hazy on how they'd got to the hotel, but she remembered lying on the floor of the shower, cheek pressed to the tiles, weeping. Crying so hard, not just because she and the kid could have drowned, but crying for her mother, for her father, for the accident, crying for all the times she'd had to stay strong and pick herself up again. Feeling this time, she had nothing left, no energy to get back up. Better to lie there and let everything wash away down the drain.

Her cheeks warmed, and she covered her face with her hands. 'I was hysterical, wasn't I?' she asked between her fingers.

'Not hysterical', said Will gently, 'just at the end of your tether'.

She looked up at that. Did he understand her so well? 'And you looked after me'. How long had it been since anyone had held her, comforted her like that? Not since before her mum got sick, and that was years ago.

'It was my privilege', he said simply.

They had breakfast in the hotel restaurant. Bess found her appetite surprisingly good, probably because she had missed dinner. She enjoyed her fruit salad, yoghurt and croissant while Will worked his way through a full English breakfast.

Bess called Emma while Will finished eating.

'Bess, is that you? Are you okay? Where are you?'

'Emma, I'm fine, please calm down. I'm in Saint Malo with Will'.

'I've been so worried about you'.

Bess nodded her thanks to the waiter who was clearing her plate, then returned her attention to the call.

'But Will said you spoke with him last night, and he told you I was okay'.

'Yes, but I wanted to talk to you. Bess, I heard that you had to fight through raging surf in a storm to save a kid, that you both nearly drowned or froze to death, and that you would have if Will hadn't rescued you'.

'Emma, you know how much film people exaggerate. A kid got a bit out of his depth on his pool toy. I swam out to him with a life ring. Will found a boat and brought us back to shore again. I'm fine. Everyone's fine.'

Emma harrumphed. 'I want to talk to Will again'.

'Sure, I'll put him on'. Rolling her eyes, Bess handed Will the phone and headed to the bar to get another coffee.

Will had hung up by the time she got back. He started at her intently.

'What is it? Do I have something on my face?' she asked, wiping around her mouth.

'So that's how you do it', he replied cryptically as she sat down.

'Do what?'

'Minimise what happened to you. Deflect attention. Convince everyone you're okay'.

'Everything I said to Emma was true', said Bess defensively. She sipped her coffee, avoiding his gaze.

He lent over the table and lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. 'Bess, I was there. You might have told Emma the bare facts, but that wasn't how it felt. You could have died. That kid could have died.'

'Do you think I don't know that?', she asked angrily, pulling her head away from his hand. 'I'm not an idiot. You want the truth? The truth is, I didn't want to swim out there and save that kid, okay? I was terrified'.

'But you did it anyway'.

She shook her head in frustration. She'd thought he understood. 'If the kid had drowned, and I'd been one of the people standing on the beach like a bunch of stunned mullets…'

'A bunch of what?'

She waved the question away. 'If I was a bystander, I'd be shocked, maybe for a few days, but then I'd get on with my life. If anyone else could have swum out, I would have let them do it. Because I was the only one who knew how, it was all on me. It would have been my fault if the kid died'.

'Bess, that's not right. If it was anyone's fault, it was the kid's parents for letting him get washed out to sea'.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and tried a different tack. 'Will, how did you feel when you were looking for a boat yesterday?'

Now it was his turn to stare into his coffee. 'Panicked', he finally admitted. 'Desperate. Willing to do anything for a boat'.

'And if you hadn't found one? Or you hadn't made it in time?'

He paused. 'Then I never would have forgiven myself', he admitted finally.

She leaned back, satisfied. 'See, you do understand. So next time there's a situation with a kid, someone else can be the hero. I wasn't lying last night when I said I can't do this anymore'.

'But Bess, surely there won't be a next time. What are the odds?'

'What were the odds of it happening twice?' she asked sadly. 'I'm starting to feel like that guy who got hit by lightning seven times'.

'Someone got hit by lightning seven times?' asked Will, momentarily diverted.

Bess shrugged. 'It's in the Guinness Book of Records'. Suddenly, she laughed. 'Listen to me maundering on, after I said I didn't want a fuss'.

She looked out the window at the cloudless blue sky. 'It looks lovely out, and the tour only stopped in Saint Malo for an hour yesterday. Do I have time for some more exploring before my flight?'

Will signalled for the bill. 'We've got a few hours. I'll come with you'.

So they walked along the parapets on top of the walls surrounding the old stone town, overlooking the bay. The storm had blown itself out in the night, and the sky was a brilliant blue, with barely a puff of wind. Bess admired the architecture and watched the old men playing petanque, while Will watched her.

She was more tanned after a month's travelling, her skin glowing with health. The blond streaks in her hair had lightened, and as usual, wisps were escaping from her messy bun. Her simple knee-length summer dress concealed the cut on her thigh, and only the slight dark shadows under her eyes gave any indication of her recent ordeal.

Her mood had changed from breakfast, and she seemed determined to extract every morsel of enjoyment from the last day of her holiday. She dragged Will from bookstore to boulangerie to cathedral, stopping occasionally to breathe in the salty sea air. She made no move to walk out onto the beach, and Will didn't suggest it.

All too soon, it was time to head to the airport. A car from the hotel picked them up for the short drive.

Bess tugged on his shirt sleeve as they drove past the terminal.

'Will, I can't read much French, but I'm pretty sure that was the turn off for the airport'.

'Don't worry', he said, keeping his tone neutral. 'We're not departing from the terminal.'

'We're not?' asked Bess. 'That's weird'.

The car pulled up at a checkpoint in the perimeter fence. Their driver spoke briefly in French with the guard, who opened the boom gate and waved them through.

'Will, what is going on?' she asked suspiciously. 'What have you done?'

He fought to keep the smile off his face. 'Booked you a flight. Just as I said'.

The car drove onto the tarmac and pulled up next to a Bombardier Learjet. The steps had been let down and the pilot was waiting to welcome them.

Bess' jaw dropped. 'Will – do you own a private plane?'

'Of course not. I'm not that rich. I just borrowed one from a friend'.

'You borrowed a private plane. From a friend. To take me back to London', she repeated slowly.

He laughed and took her elbow as the driver opened the car door. 'Come on, they're waiting for us'.

Bess' astonishment did not lessen once they were on board.

'Will, this whole cabin is covered in cream leather', she whispered, running her hand along the inside wall. 'Look, not just the seats, the walls too'.

'It's probably pleather' he told her, sitting down in his seat. Unfortunately the plane only had single seats, even if they were oversized recliners, so he had to be content with sitting across the aisle from her.

She snorted. 'Pleather, leather, who cares! Oh my goodness, is that an ice bucket?'

He lifted the bottle from the container next to his armrest and held it out to her. 'I hope you like Moet?'

It was her turn to laugh. 'Oh Will, I've never tried it, but I'm sure I'll love it'. She bounced up and down in her seat like an excited child. 'I cannot believe I'm on a private plane'.

Ten minutes later, she was fast asleep, head leaning against the pleather wall, mouth slightly open. Every now and then she made an adorable snuffling sound.

Will regarded her ruefully. It would have been nice if she'd stayed awake a bit longer, but she had to be exhausted. And really, her reaction to his little surprise had been everything he'd hoped for, and more.

She stirred just as they touched down at London City airport. Looking out the window, she slapped her forehead with her palm.

'Oh no, please don't tell me that I slept through the whole flight'.

'Okay, I won't tell you that you slept through the whole flight', he deadpanned.

She stuck her tongue out at him. 'I'm such an idiot. Normally I count it a blessing that I can sleep on any train, plane or bus, but you'd think I could stay awake for a short hop across the channel. The only private jet ride I'll ever take, and I slept through it. After you'd gone to so much trouble organising it, too'.

'Don't worry about it', he said, leaning over her to pick up her day back. He hoped she would take many more flights with him, but now wasn't the time to say so. 'Let's get you home. You're tired, and you have a big day tomorrow'.

Bess groaned. 'Don't remind me'.

The car drove them straight past his Canary Wharf apartment building on the way to Bess' bedsit in Peckham, but he didn't consider stopping. He wanted, needed to see her safely to her door.

They crossed the Thames at Tower Bridge. As they drew closer to Bess' place, Will's thoughts churned. He could have lost her yesterday, and not counting their terrible fight, he'd never told her how he felt. He longed to hold her again, when she wasn't distressed, but he didn't want to be like Wickham, kissing an unwilling girl up against a door.

He'd held back during her year of study, partly through circumstance, and partly because he understood she needed a year to just be. Surely he'd waited long enough? Then again, she'd been through a terrible twenty-four hours, and the poor girl had to start a new job in the morning. Was it a dick move to lay anything else on her now? Or was he just afraid of rejection? He was starting to think there would never be a good time to make his move.

Round and round his thoughts went, like a rat in a cage. He snuck a glance at Bess, who was leaning forward to give the driver directions to her place. Maybe he could discreetly text Emma and ask for advice? No, that would be disrespectful to Bess. Instead, he tried to imagine what Emma would say to him if she were in the car. If you don't know what she wants, just ask her, you dummy. Of course! He could almost hear Emma's voice, her rounded vowels and clipped consonants, chiding him. He would simply ask Bess what she wanted!

His palms were sweating as he followed Bess up the stairs of the converted Victorian terrace. It smelt of must and wet wool. She stopped on the top landing. Night was falling, and the stairwell was lit by a single dim bulb. There was no one else around. Bess rummaged in her day pack for her key, while Will placed her backpack next to her door.

She found her key and looked up. 'Would you like to come in?' she asked.

He shook his head. 'I can't, I'm afraid. I have to get back to the airport'.

'You're flying back to France tonight?', she asked, astonished.

He nodded. 'We're filming in the morning. I've got a five am call'.

'You arranged for a private jet, flew all the way here, just to see me home?'

He nodded again. Damn, had he completely lost the power of speech?

'Will, I don' know what to say'. She placed her hand on his forearm. His muscles leapt under her touch. 'No-one has ever looked out for me like that'.

This was his opening. He prayed he wouldn't stuff it up again.

Gently, he took her hands in his and looked down at her beloved face.

'There's so much more I wish I could do for you. You deserve to be cherished, taken care of'.

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

'Bess, I care about you. Deeply. I know you've had a terrible weekend, so please feel free to say no, but I really want to kiss you right now'.

Her eyes widened in surprise, and for a second he feared she was about to reject him again. Then her mouth quirked up in a small smile, and she nodded.

Hardly daring to believe it, he moved his hands to her shoulders and drew her gently towards him. She came willingly. Bending his head, he touched his lips to hers. They were soft, so soft and warm. Unable to resist, he ran his tongue along her bottom lip. She tasted of champagne and peppermint lip gloss.

Her mouth opened for him, and she put her arms around his waist, pulling him hard against her. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and her stomach met the hardness in his groin. Groaning, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and deepened the kiss.

Minutes later, a fanfare on the horn from the driver in the street below brought him crashing back to reality. He found, to his embarrassment, that he'd backed Bess against the door and was grinding into her as they kissed. Shaken, he released her and took a step back, breathing hard.

'Bess, I'm sorry. That got out of control fast. Are you okay?'

Her hair was mussed, her lips a little red and swollen, but he was relieved to see that she was smiling at him, her eyes twinkling. 'Am I okay? Will, I know I've had a rough weekend, but right at this moment I feel amazing'.

He hadn't fucked it up! Elated, he reached for her again. With exquisitely bad timing, the driver gave a few more blasts on his horn.

'Damn it to hell, I really have to go.'

'It's okay Will. I understand.'

He lent in for one more quick kiss, before starting down the stairs. 'I'll ring you tomorrow' he called back over his shoulder, 'and see how your first day went'.

She lent over the banister. 'Will, you don't even have my phone number'.

He ran back up and handed her his phone, watching intently as she typed in her details. Absurdly, he felt like a medieval knight receiving a token of affection from his lady. He had her number! He could call her anytime!

'Here you go', she said, handing back the phone and accompanying it with a quick kiss.

I don't want to leave you', he admitted.

'And I don't want you to. But you have to. Go'. She pushed playfully at his chest. He turned and ran once more down the stairs, his feet barely touching the ground.