LITMIR.BIZ

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started kicking off his waterlogged boots and saw her struggling with the jacket.

      ‘Let go!’ he shouted at her.

      Constance hadn’t known why she’d still been holding the jacket but she released the leaden weight. Like his plane, it disappeared into the water.

      His panic seemed to rise as he struggled with his boots. Constance tried soothing him. ‘Stay calm. The shoreline isn’t far,’ she said as she trod water. ‘You must swim for it.’

      The pilot followed her as she swam. She could hear his harsh breathing and sporadic coughing as he struggled to swim with boots full of water. Constance’s love for swimming in the loch had worn off when she’d reached thirteen and Douglas had no longer been around as much to share in the fun. But she still knew the loch like the back of her hand. They were swimming away from the house, towards the far side of the wide loch where the wooden jetty jutted out. That shore was closer and after all the pilot had been through, Constance didn’t think he could swim all the way back in the direction from which she had come.

      She slowed to swim alongside the exhausted man, ready to drag him along if he should give up. But he continued. He asked only once how far away the edge was and after a few minutes Constance felt pebbles and sharp stones beneath her bare feet.

      She turned to take his hand, to pull him from the lake. Weak from his ordeal, he grabbed her hand willingly, stumbled at the shoreline and then lowered himself down, crawling on his hands and knees out of the water. He lay on his front, facing away from her, and breathed deeply.

      Exhausted, not from the swim but from panic, Constance fell down next to him. It was only as she sat still that she realised how cold she was and she began shivering. She hugged her bare arms but it was of little use whilst she was in wet clothes. The pilot turned to look at her, wide-eyed with shock, and then looked around at his surroundings. She could barely see his face in the darkness. His wet hair fell partly over his eyes, which were now trained on her face.

      When he finally got his breath back he asked, ‘Where in God’s name did you spring from?’

      Constance raised her hand and pointed across the water. ‘The house. But I was already down by the loch.’

      He nodded and looked to where she pointed. But Invermoray House, in blackout and so far away, was indiscernible. ‘Were you on your own?’

      ‘By the water, yes.’ She shivered.

      ‘You’re cold,’ he said as he forced himself onto his hands and knees again and then turned slowly into a sitting position.

      ‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘Aren’t you?’

      ‘I suppose I am.’

      ‘We must get dry,’ Constance said as she stood. The thin fabric of her dress clung to her wet skin. Goose bumps covered her.

      ‘Where? To the house?’ he asked. ‘I’m not going back in that water to reach it.’

      ‘It’s too long to walk round,’ she said between shivers. She thought as quickly as she could. ‘There’s an estate cottage that’s empty. And it’s closer. If you can walk for only a few minutes, it’s just inside the tree line.’ She pointed to where spruce trees loomed high.

      ‘It’s empty?’ he asked, a flicker of something like relief on his face. ‘No one lives there?’

      Constance nodded.

      ‘All right. If you’re sure. But first …’ He wrestled each of his boots off and tipped out water before he stood and scooped the boots into his arms. His thick pilot’s uniform clung to him and as they walked Constance wondered what on earth the pair of them must look like.

      After a minute or two he asked, ‘How much further is this cottage?’

      ‘Not far.’ Constance hoped she hadn’t veered off course. She’d never been out to the unused ghillie’s cottage in the dark before. There’d never been the need.

      In the darkness of the forest the cottage appeared, looming suddenly. Constance tried the door but it was locked. ‘Oh no,’ she cried. ‘I hadn’t thought.’

      The pilot leaned against the cottage wall and put his head back against it. His eyes were closed. ‘Look under the mat.’

      Constance stepped off the front mat and lifted it. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said as she retrieved the key. ‘How did you know?’

      ‘Honest people always put their keys under the mat.’ His face was tipped up. Above them the clouds parted and the moon finally shone, bathing the pilot in light.

      For the first time since she’d set eyes on him she was able to see fully what he looked like. He had a strong jawline and he was handsome. Not like a film star, although she’d not been to see too many films recently up here since the war started. They were miles from anything exciting like that. But he was handsome in the sense that if she’d spotted him walking through the village, she knew she’d have glanced at him more than once.

      His eyes had opened and he was watching her. A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. ‘Are you going to open the door?’

      Embarrassed, Constance fumbled with the lock and turned the handle. As they entered, a strong smell of damp hit them. The cottage had been shut up for about nine months, since the ghillie, like all the other male staff of fighting age, had joined the war effort. The ghillie’s home, the only estate cottage not situated in the local village, had been closed up ever since and was awaiting his return.

      Constance sought out a paraffin lamp on a low table and fiddled with it.

      ‘Don’t,’ the pilot said sharply.

      ‘Why ever not?’

      ‘The blackout,’ he replied. He was right. Constance realised the blackout blinds weren’t in place and as the clouds moved aside, the moon filtered through the windows. ‘Leave it,’ he continued. ‘For now. We need to get our wet things off before we freeze to death.’

      He dropped his boots to the floor. They clunked heavily but Constance’s eyes weren’t drawn down. Instead she looked at him in horror as he pulled his blazer off and dropped that to the floor before starting on his wet shirt. He had undone at least two buttons, exposing his chest, before Constance pulled her gaze away.

      ‘Hurry up,’ he commanded. ‘Take your dress off. Do you want to get ill?’

      ‘You can’t possibly expect me to remove my dress in front of you.’ She couldn’t keep the horror from her voice.

      ‘I’ll turn my back,’ he offered. ‘I’ve just crashed into a bloody great lake. I’m in absolutely no condition to think about that sort of thing.’

      Constance blushed that he should even mention it. After Henry’s nightmarish behaviour in the orangery, she was petrified it might happen again, here, with this pilot. She was buttoned in so tight she was unable to free herself from her dress anyway. She was sure the silk was shrinking tight against her body thanks to the water. The buttons at the back were plentiful and started at the nape of her neck and ran down the dress until they reached the top of her bottom.

      He had turned his back and must have been aware she wasn’t moving as he said, ‘Are you watching me undress?’ in an amused voice.

      ‘No! I need your help.’

      He turned, rolled his shirt up and dropped it on the floor. She’d seen her brother Douglas’s friends without their shirts plenty of times as they swam in the loch over the years but here, in this dark room with this man, it felt different. It was too private. He looked different to any of her brother’s friends – stronger, taller … just different.

      When she didn’t speak he asked, ‘What do you need help with?’

      Constance had momentarily forgotten about the buttons. She turned and he began unbuttoning her wet dress, his hands moving gently down her

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