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‘Jamie is definitely that.’
‘I meant Benneit.’ Angus smiled. ‘Good luck, Mrs Langdale.’
Once she ascertained Jamie wasn’t in the copse Jo followed the path towards the north bay, but without any real expectation of finding Jamie there. So even when she saw the flash of orange from Jamie’s plaid coat laying casually on the stone near the cliff gate, her mind still rejected the possibility Jamie had gone down to the bay itself. She picked up the coat and promptly dropped it.
On the highest point of the rise of boulders past the first line of the rocks, sunlight gleamed off a black oval. She’d seen it only this morning when Jamie had produced his dress shoes so proudly, convinced he could yet manoeuvre his father into allowing him to attend the ball.
The waves were already licking at the base of the rocks and she moved forward without thinking. She could not see beyond the boulder, but he might be there, sulking, oblivious to the fast-rising water. Only two days ago they had walked past here with Angus on the cliff path and not two hours later none of those rocks had been visible beneath smashing, frothing waves.
‘Jamie!’ she yelled again and again, but the wind and the waves made a mockery of her cries. As she watched, a wave smashed against the rocks, sending a white spray into the air. The shoe slipped sideways several inches.
She picked up her heavy skirts and ran the rest of the way down the cliff path.
* * *
Benneit stopped on the top of the cliff path, picking up his son’s discarded tartan coat and folding it with a frustrated curse which faded as his gaze caught on a movement below.
Perhaps it was the way she let her shawl flutter away, like a bird set free from captivity. Or perhaps it was the madness of her next move.
His heart lurched in shock and denial as he watched her move into the waves.
‘Jo!’
Even as her name burst from him in a mix of outrage and terror he knew it was pointless. She would hear nothing but the beat and hiss of the surf. Already it was about her thighs, catching and tugging at the grey fabric, the waves snatching higher and higher, pushing her back even as she forced her way through them towards the underwater ledge marked by froth swirling like boiled milk.
He ran. Vaulting over boulders and cutting the last section of the path in half by leaping a good eight feet down to the sand. He stumbled but shoved to his feet again and continued towards the water, stopping only to discard his coat and rip his boots off—from long experience he knew the waves were best faced unencumbered. He didn’t bother yelling. Anyone mad enough, or desperate enough, or lost enough to head into those waves willingly would not turn simply for a command.
His teeth clenched as the water rose around him—snapping cold and vicious. He could see her struggling, turning her face from the waves that reared at her like stampeding horses even as she plunged on, heading for the boulders that still jutted dark grey out of the rising sea. If by some strange strain of madness she thought that way safety lay, she was about to discover how wrong she was. If she meant to end her life, she was within moments of achieving that aim.
He stopped thinking, shoving his way through the icy water, tearing free of the grasping tentacles of kelp that lashed and tangled about his legs. She was almost to the boulder when he saw the seventh wave. It was always the largest, though not always the most dangerous if you knew how to ride it. But coming at her it would smash her against the boulders and crack her like an otter cracks a mussel.
He lunged, reaching for whatever he could grab. His hand closed on the cold fabric of her dress and he heard her cry out even as he dragged her under. She struggled, but he dug his hand into the fabric and held her down as the wave sucked at them, almost crushing them on to the stones beneath. As soon as he felt the weight of the water roll over them he shoved to the surface, pushing towards the shore without letting go his hold on her. She kicked and tried to twist out of his grasp, but he kept going as if she was nothing but a net full of fish.
The water was rising fast and soon he would lose his purchase on the rocky bottom. The waves kept coming, picking up weight. Soon the big wave would hit again, he could feel the backward surge as it gathered itself, coming at them. This time he pulled her to him, wrapping her against his body as he plunged. He felt her hands fist on his shirt, her head pressed to his chest as she curled into a ball as they went down. Even in the chaos and fixed determination of the moment he admired how quickly she had grasped the object of these plunges. In fact, all fight seemed to have gone out of her. She stayed below the water until he rose. They were just steps away from the ledge that marked the safe point.
