was a normal storm warning—nothing to worry about. Mary had thought briefly of taking the boat and heading for the mainland, but the wind was rising and the usually placid sea around the islands was rough. It’d be safer to sit it out.
Or it had seemed safer, until about an hour ago.
Another gust slammed into the hut. A sheet of iron ripped from the roof and sleet swept inside.
The foundations creaked and the pictures on the wall swayed.
Uh-oh.
‘I think we might head for the cave,’ she told Heinz uneasily. ‘You want a walk?’
The little terrier-cum-beagle-cum-a-lot-of-other-things cocked his head and looked even more worried. Right now a walk didn’t appeal even to Heinz.
But the cave was appealing. Mary and Heinz had explored it a couple of days ago. It was wide and deep, set in the cliffs above the only beach where swimming was possible. Best of all, it faced west. It’d protect them from the worst of the gale.
Now that the roof was open, there didn’t seem to be a choice. She had to go, and go now before it got worse. But what to take? The cave was only two or three hundred yards away. There was a flattish track and she had a trolley, the one Barbara and Henry used to lug supplies from boat to hut.
The boat. There was a sickening thought. The tiny natural harbour on the east of the island should protect the boat in all but the worst conditions—but these were the worst conditions.
She had no communications. No boat. She was on her own.
So what else was new? She’d been on her own now for as long as she could remember. Like it or not, she’d learned to depend entirely on herself, and she could do it now.
Concentrate on practicalities.
She grabbed plastic garbage bags and started stuffing things inside. Provisions, dog food, firestarters, kindling, bedding. Her manuscript. That was a joke, but she was taking it anyway.
Water containers. What else? What would Barbara and Henry want her to save?
Barbara’s patchwork quilt? The lovely cushions embroidered by Barbara’s grandmother? They went into plastic bags, too.
Another sheet of roofing iron went flying. The cottage was now totally open to the weather.
She had to stop. This was starting to be seriously scary and she had to pull the trolley.
‘Why couldn’t you be a sled dog?’ she demanded of Heinz as she hauled open the door and faced the weather. ‘You could help me pull.’
In answer, Heinz stared up at the wildly swaying trees, jumped onto the trolley and wriggled down among the plastic bags.
He was terrified. So was Mary, but she made herself pause. She made herself think. What else might be important?
‘First-aid kit,’ she muttered, and headed back into the already soaking cottage to find her medical bag. As a district nurse she still had it with her, and she’d brought it to the island just in case.
In case of splinters. In case of colds in the head. Not in case of cyclones.
She could hear branches splintering from the trees. There was no time for more.
And then the rest of the roof peeled off, with a shriek of tin against tin.
‘Go,’ she muttered, and started pulling. Heavy didn’t begin to describe it. Sleet was stinging her eyes, her face, every part of her.
What to discard? Everything but essentials? Nothing Barbara and Henry cherished?
‘Don’t be a wuss,’ she told herself. ‘They entrusted you with their island. The least you can do is save their stuff. The path’s reasonably flat. Come on, muscles, pull.’
She tugged and the trolley moved.
‘I can do this,’ she said through gritted teeth, and put her head down into the wind and pulled.
* * *
The life raft was in freefall. Ben was falling over and over. It felt like one of those crazy fairground rides, only he’d forgotten to buckle his seat belt. Who had designed this thing? It’d be safe enough on a calm sea but who got shipwrecked on a calm sea?
He could find nothing to anchor himself to. He was flailing, bashing against the sides of the raft with every bounce.
He felt ill but he didn’t have time to be ill.
At least Jake was safe. It was a mantra, and he said it over and over. He had to believe the chopper had pulled his twin to safety. Thinking anything else was the way of madness.
The raft crashed again, but this time it was different. It was smashing against something solid.
They’d been miles from land when the yacht had started taking on water. Ben knew what this must be and his nausea increased. The raft would be bashing against what remained of the yacht’s hull. Caught in the same currents, with no way to get himself clear, he’d be hurled against timber at every turn.
The second crash ripped the side of the life raft. Another wave hurled over him, and the life raft practically turned itself inside out.
Tossing its human cargo out with it.
He grabbed one of the ropes around the outside of the raft. The bulk of the craft should stay upright. If he could just hold...
Another wave hit, a massive breaker of surging foam. No man could hold against such force.
And then there was nothing. Only the open, smashing sea. The GPS was in the life raft. Chances of being found now? Zip.
It was no use swimming. There was no use doing anything but hope his lifejacket wouldn’t be torn from him. He could only hope he could still keep on breathing. Hope... Hope...
There was nothing but hope. He was fighting to breathe. He was fighting to live.
There was no help. There was nothing but the endless sea.
* * *
She had to round the headland to get to the cave. It meant putting her head down and pulling almost directly into the wind. She had no idea how she was doing it, but the trolley was moving.
Tourists came to this place in summer, beaching their kayaks and exploring. The cliff path had therefore been trodden almost flat. It was possible, and she had terror driving her on. ‘This is mad,’ she muttered, but her words were lost in the gale.
She was at the point where the path veered away from the headland and turned towards the safety of the cave. Five more steps. Four...
She reached the turn and glanced down towards the beach, beyond the headland where the storm was at its worst. And stopped.
Was that a figure in the water, just beyond the shallows? A body? A crimson lifejacket?
She was surely imagining things, but, dear God, if she wasn’t...
Triage. Her medical training kicked in. Get the provisions safe, she told herself. She was no use to herself or anyone else without dry gear.
She had to haul the trolley upwards for the last few yards but she hardly noticed. In seconds she’d shoved the trolley deep inside the cave. At least the cave was in the lee of the storm, and so was the beach below.
It was wild enough even on the safe side of the island.
‘Stay,’ she told Heinz, and Heinz stuck his head out from the plastic bags and promptly buried himself again. Stay? He was in total agreement. It was dry and safe in the cave but outside the scream of wind and ocean was terrifying.
She had to face it. She wasn’t sure what she’d seen was...someone, but she had to find out.
The path down to the beach was steep but manageable. Running along the beach on the lee side of the island was almost easy as well. Thankfully the