Wishing Water (14 page)

‘How about that?’ Derry cried. Lissa was astonished to find herself gathered into his arms. The scent of his hot skin against her cheek was heady and for a moment she wondered if she dared hug him back but he’d let her go before she’d made up her mind. ‘That was great. Thanks.’
 

He hugged Jan with even greater vigour, face flushed with triumph. ‘That was brave of you, Sis.’
 

‘It was Lissa’s idea You can thank her, not me.’
 

Derry cast Lissa a thoughtful glance then took out his comb and started to adjust his quiff as if the embrace had ruffled it. ‘They loved it, didn’t they? Did you see the young girls come up to the stage afterwards? Screaming and crying, some of them were.’
 

‘We saw them,’ Lissa said, an unusual tartness to her tone, eyes upon his laughing face.

He winked at her. ‘Didn’t make you jealous then?’
 

‘Why should it?’ Deliberately cool,

The pressure of his strong body against hers had felt delicious, better than she had ever imagined. It really felt quite good to be wanted. If only for a moment.

She longed for Derry to stay, to ask her to dance and hold her close again, but from the comer of her eye she saw Philip Brandon approaching. He took hold of her hand as if he owned her and she very nearly protested. But remembering what a good sport he had been she bit her lip, smiled, and went meekly with him on to the dance floor, acutely aware of Derry’s eyes piercing her back.

She could barely wait for the dance to be over before excusing herself and hurrying to Derry. Only she was too late, he had gone. To get changed, Jan said.

‘They’re to play again later. The MC has arranged a second interval specially. They’re going for a quick pint now, Derry says.’ She raised disbelieving brows. ‘Never had a quick drink in his life, mind.’
 

Keen disappointment bit into Lissa. ‘That means we won’t see them until after the dance then?’
 

Jan raised surprised eyebrows as she glanced at her friend but said nothing, even when Lissa, catching the expression, blushed furiously. Then suddenly he was there, at her elbow, and her heart jolted, shocking her by the astounding affect he had upon her.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘How was the dance?’
 

‘Fine, thanks.’ She could feel herself shaking. Not that Derry noticed. A group of young girls hovered close and half his attention was upon them, a smile curving one corner of his mouth, self-satisfaction lurking in the deep brown eyes. ‘Coming for a drink?’ he asked, his gaze suddenly switching to Lissa, then flicking over to include his sister and back to Lissa again.

Heart beating rapidly, she was about to accept when she saw one of the girls, a blonde with forget-me-not blue eyes who couldn’t be a day over fifteen, edge closer. Derry turned his head and winked at the girl who gave a tiny squeal of delight and at once came to hang upon his arm. When he turned back to Lissa, he was grinning from ear to ear.

‘We have to be quick because Tony’s broken a string so we must fix a new one and tune it in with mine before we go on again.’

‘Then don’t let me keep you.’ Lissa’s tone was frosty, as if she couldn’t care less what he did.

His smile faded. ‘What’s biting you?’
 

She saw him shake his arm free of the girl but it was too late. Lissa had seen the pleasure it gave him. ‘I don’t drink beer,’ she said, in her loftiest tone.

‘Fine. Well, I haven’t brought any champagne.’ Then he glanced down at the blonde still hovering close. ‘Come on then, love. I bet you drink beer.’
 

‘Ooh, yes,’ she squealed, in a poor imitation of Marilyn Monroe. Derry glared at Lissa for another half second then took a step back, evidently itching to be gone. ‘If you two want walking home you’ll have to wait. It’ll be late by the time we’ve changed and cleared away.’
 

‘And you’ve signed autographs for all your adoring young fans,’ Lissa said, while Jan watched the growing tension with amusement.

‘Yeah, maybe that too. Any objections?’
 

‘You can take as long as you like. It’s no concern of mine. We certainly don’t need you to see us home,’ Lissa haughtily informed him, determined to let him know she wasn’t hanging around waiting for any favours.

His eyes narrowed as he glared at her. ‘Maybe you’ve got an offer already?’
 

‘Maybe I have,’ she said, hating him for letting her down, wishing he’d take her in his arms and tell her he wanted to be only with her, not this foolish young blonde. But she was done with wishing, wasn’t she? ‘I haven’t gone short of partners so far.’

‘So I noticed. Suit yourself.’ And pushing back his ridiculously wide shoulders, he strolled away, the fifteen-year-old blonde scurrying after him.

‘Arrogant young fool,’ said Jan, crisply. ‘Still, at least we saved him from a dire death, eh? Fun, wasn’t it?’
 

‘Yes,’ Lissa said, swallowing bitter tears of disappointment. ‘At least we did that.’

So when Philip Brandon asked her for the last waltz she accepted, and afterwards let him walk her home.

He judged the moment of their meeting with a perfection that owed more than a little to careful planning. But then Philip Brandon approved of planning, of order and organisation. He liked perfection.

Lissa was perfection. From the sweet oval of her face, the curves of her slender body, to the last curl on her beautiful head.

He could see her sitting on a stone wall by the lake, her head bent over a letter she was writing as he willed the fickle breeze not to change direction at just the wrong moment. The yacht tacked bravely across the lake as if knowing its own destiny, skimming fast and sure across the waves.

Philip swung the jib round and brought the little boat safely to shore with well-judged skill.

‘Ahoy there,’ he called. ‘Fancy a sail?’
 

She glanced up from her work, her expression vague and unfocused. Then as they fixed upon him, the smile of recognition that followed was his reward. ‘Mr Brandon.’
 

She seemed lost for words and he longed for the ability to make some witticism, a little quip that would remind her of the fun they’d had in their attempts at rock ‘n’ roll, and of his prowess in the yacht race. But he was not good at quips. They were not his forte.

‘It’s a lovely evening,’ was all he could manage. He was quite close to her by this time, the tiny yacht bobbing gently up and down, the clear water slapping against the boat’s sides. ‘I did promise you a sail and this is probably the last chance we’ll get. I’ll be laying her up for winter soon.’
 

She looked confused, pursing her soft pink lips. Was that what he had talked of at the dance? His yacht? ‘I – I’m not sure.’ She half indicated the letter in her lap.

‘I can see you’re busy,’ he said, playing on her sense of guilt. ‘But a spin across the lake and back wouldn’t take more than a few minutes. Bring some colour to your cheeks.’

Such wonderful cheeks, and a perfect straight nose. If she would only stop dithering. All he needed was an opportunity to give her a sample of his charm.

He could see she was tempted. Her gaze kept straying across the lake, ruffled gently by the breeze, perfect for a sail on this lovely September evening. With summer gone and the quiet of autumn approaching, the water was the colour of amber, sky and lake melding together like molten gold.

Then she was climbing into the boat, laughing with delight as it rocked beneath her feet, and Lissa couldn’t have said quite when the decision had been made. Or why. Perhaps she wished to show Derry Colwith, and herself, that she was her own woman.

Whatever the reason she longed suddenly to feel the spray in her face, the keen wind in her hair, to trail her fingers in the rippling chill of the water. Lissa wanted to experience the hard thump of the waves scudding beneath the hull of the boat and banish the blues from her mind.

 
‘I can finish the letter at any time, so why not?’ It was to Meg and could wait.

‘Good.’
 

She laughed when a swan took off, beating its wings in temper, flurried by the winter geese newly arrived from the north.

Their eyes met. She had such wonderful eyes. Exciting, mysterious, sensual. If he saw any hint of rebellion or stubborn independence in them he chose to pay it no heed. If a wildness came into her expression he interpreted it as fear. She was young, and therefore impressionable, malleable, he was sure. And he knew that soon, very soon, his patience would be rewarded. The thought excited him almost beyond endurance.

White sails cracking in the wind. Dare he land on the island? Should he risk mooring the boat and make love to her with a passion that would have her begging for more? He could feel his arousal and busied himself with the jib and the sheets.

‘Ready about,’ he called. What was he thinking of? He mustn’t blow it, not now he was so close.

As Lissa climbed out of the boat, cheeks aglow, curls bursting loose from the restraints of the bobbing pony tail, he asked her for a date. ‘Would you care for dinner one evening?’

‘Oh, that was wonderful, thanks a lot, I loved it. And for the offer of a meal only…’
 

‘You’re pretty busy?’
 

She smiled, flushing pinkly. ‘Yes.’
 

His dark eyes looked sad as she walked away and Lissa almost regretted her refusal. But Philip Brandon was reminding himself of the need for patience. She was young still. He could afford to wait.

Chapter Seven

1957

Carreckwater, like many another of its kind in Lakeland, was a town with a split personality. For most of the year it was a quiet, sleepy place where people walking up and down its slate cobbled streets would smile or say good morning to everyone they met. In the summer they thought themselves lucky if there was room to walk on the pavement let alone see a familiar face.

Lissa loved the hustle and bustle. She enjoyed the clatter of walking boots even if bulging haversacks did constantly bump her off the narrow pavements. The visitors came in droves down the mountain paths which descended like the spokes of a wheel into the little town. Lunchtime and late afternoon were popular times, when they carne to partake of a substantial lunch or a high tea in the many cafes and hotels along Carndale Road. They tramped their mud in and out of every establishment, bought a few postcards to send back home, explored the many little shops and picture galleries, replaced a broken pair of boot laces and went away thinking they had done the town a favour by bestowing their meagre business upon it.

At Stevens Drapery they were rushed off their feet. Lissa soon discovered there wasn’t time in the summer to do anything but deal with customers and their endless enquiries. Often these were not at all concerned with the goods in the window, which grew increasingly dusty since there was no time to change it. More often than not the visitors asked the most unlikely questions, like where Beatrix Potter had lived, what time the next steamer left, and if they sold fishing nets.

‘The fish shop.’

‘Half-past two.’

‘Far Sawry.’
 

June had been pleasant but July was heavy and sultry with the heat. It made Lissa almost long for a cold snap. Perhaps all this rush and her long working hours was the reason she hadn’t seen Derry lately. The streets were so crowded she’d missed him. Not that Lissa had seen much of him through the winter either. He always seemed so busy, what with his work as clerk during the day, his evenings devoted to skiffle practice and weekends given over to playing at dances. The group travelled half across the county in their little van at weekends.

She only had herself to blame in a way, she supposed. Frozen him out, as she always did. She’d given up going to dances, certainly those at which Derry played. Not that there were many dances in Carreckwater itself but she couldn’t bear to watch the crowds of screaming females all clamouring around him. Derry seemed to revel in their silly attention. Even Jan had told him off for letting it all go to his head.

‘You’re turning into a prig,’ she’d said, with her usual lack of sisterly affection, but he’d merely grinned and told her he couldn’t help it if he was popular, puffing out his chest all the more.

Lissa would not have minded so much were it not for that other Derry she’d caught a glimpse of, and the memory of a kiss that still haunted her.

So by and large she was glad she was busy. That way she could maintain her resolve to keep him at a distance.

Lissa brought her wandering attention back to the reality of a long, hot and tiring day, pushing back damp tendrils of undisciplined curls as she bid good day to yet another grumbling customer who had taken thirty-five minutes to choose two yards of lace trimming.

‘Why doesn’t Miss Stevens spend more time in the shop?’ Lissa groaned, propping herself on a stool so she could massage her aching calves. ‘We’ve been run off our feet from the moment we opened. One minute she’s in the middle of serving that plump lady with some Lyle stockings and the next she’s vanished. I was left with a queue of not very happy customers to attend to.’