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“I like that!” She slipped her hands into her red and white Canada mitts. “Don’t you wonder: who lived there, and why’d they leave?”
“All the time. Every house has its story, some tragic, some not.” Tarquin blew on his hands and rubbed them together. “Life can be tough here. The remoteness and unpredictable weather aren’t for everyone, but it’s still a smashing place to live. That’s why I bought a few old houses and tumbledowns to work on.”
“Really? You’re going to bring them back to life?!”
“That’s my plan. Orkney has given me so much—it’s time I reciprocated.”
Leia looped her mitt-covered hand around Tarquin’s cold fingers. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
“Well, I try!” He laughed as they strolled toward the next stone, standing tall fifteen feet away.
Leia eyed up the enormous stone looming ahead. “The history geek in me still can’t believe we walked around Skara Brae. An actual prehistoric village! Can you imagine, Tarquin? Building houses now that people will pay to visit five thousand years later?”
“Nope!”
“And how organized were its settlers? Their houses had stone dressers and shelves! Maybe you can trace your neat freak genes all the way back to there!” She giggled.
“Hey, what can I say? Orkney has a lot to answer for where I’m concerned. So, what tops your list of favorite Orkney experiences?”
“Oh god, there are so many things. I loved that tiny tidal island!”
“The Brough of Birsay?”
“Yeah! Although, the whole time I worried the tides would rise and the causeway would vanish.”
“It happens.” Tarquin shrugged. “People have been stranded with only the seals for company.”
“Now they were cute! I could’ve watched them for hours. I really enjoyed St. Margaret’s Hope, too—such a pretty village—and the Italian Chapel blew my mind.”
“I think it does for most people. I remember visiting as a kid and Grandma saying it was made from Nissen huts and scrap metal. I thought she was having a laugh, but she told me about the Italian POWs who built it, and I was gobsmacked. If I didn’t want to become a builder before…”
“Right? Talk about resourcefulness. I mean, who makes intricate hanging light fixtures from corned beef tins?” Leia’s eyes widened. “You’d never know they were cans!”
“Gotta love it!” said Tarquin. “Upcycling circa 1943!”
Leia nodded. “It really is remarkable. And the paintings and the tiny metal heart in the floor…” She swooned, plopping her mitt on her chest. “That made me tear up, thinking about the Italian soldier at the end of the war who left his heart behind for the Orkney girl he loved.”
Tarquin pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. “Breaks your heart, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah. I felt the same way at Betty Corrigall’s grave on Hoy, buried alone in the middle of nowhere, just sky and wind for company.”
“The loneliest grave in the UK.”
Such a tragic story, a young, pregnant girl shunned by her community. Leia leaned on his shoulder. “I’m glad we could pay our respects.”
Tarquin let go of Leia’s hand and wound his arm around her shoulders like he knew she needed comforting. “Ava is still raving about her adventures with us. She absolutely adores you.”
“Aw.” She smiled wistfully. “I adore her, too! Such a sweet girl. Talented, too.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. I love Peedie to the moon and back, but blimey! Fiddle playing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ at breakfast yesterday…”
“But she was so enthusiastic!”
“Painful, more like! Ears bled, Bert howled—it sounded like she was strangling Mrs. Chuzzlewit.”
“It wasn’t that bad!” Leia playfully pushed on his chest. “Like you can talk! I’ve heard you play your drums.”
“So, my style might be considered experimental…”
