Of course, Margaret would sneer and tell her that the old woman had a dozen more in the stockroom ready to pass them off to birdbrained tourists. And Margaret, as always, was probably right. But it didn’t matter.
She had the pendant and a wonderful story to go with it. And all for ten pounds. Quite a bargain.
She glanced up now, wincing. The sky was heavy with clouds, and all of them were thick and gray. Margaret would not be pleased that the weather wasn’t falling in line with today’s plans. The ferry ride to the island had been meticulously arranged.
Tea and scones would be served on the trip over, while Margaret lectured her twenty-person group on the history of the place they were about to visit. It had been Allena’s job to type up Margaret’s notes and print the handouts.
First stop would be the visitors’ center for orientation. There would be a tour of a ruined abbey and graveyard, which Allena looked forward to, then lunch, picnic style, which the hotel had provided in hampers. Lunch was to last precisely sixty minutes.
They would then visit the beehive cottages, and Margaret would deliver a lecture on their history and purpose. The group would be allotted an hour to wander on their own, into the village, the shops, down to the beach, before gathering at four-thirty on the dot for high tea at the restored castle, with, naturally, another lecture on that particular spot.
It was Allena’s job to keep all of Margaret’s lecture notes in order, to help herd the group, to watch valuables, to haul parcels should there be any, and to generally make herself available for any and all menial chores.
For this she would be paid a reasonable salary by Margaret’s definition. But, more important, it was explained, she would receive training and experience that, her family hoped, would teach her responsibility and maturity. Which, by the age of twenty-five, she should have learned already.
There was no point in explaining that she didn’t want to be responsible and mature if it turned her into another Margaret. Here she was, four days into her first tour and already something inside her was screaming to run away.
Dutifully, she quashed the rebellion, glanced at her watch. Stared at it, dumbfounded.
That couldn’t be. It was impossible. She’d only meant to slip into the shop for a few minutes. She couldn’t possibly have spent an hour in there. She couldn’t—oh, God, she couldn’t have missed the ferry.
Margaret would murder her.
Gripping the strap of her bag, she began to run.
She had long, dancer’s legs and a slim build. The sturdy walking shoes Margaret had ordered her to buy slapped pavement on her race to the ferry dock. Her bag bounced heavily against her hip. Inside was everything ordered from the Civilized Adventure directive and a great deal more.
The wind kicked in from the sea and sent her short blond hair into alarmed spikes around her sharp-boned face. The alarm was in her eyes, gray as the clouds, as well. It turned quickly to despair and self-disgust when she reached the dock and saw the ferry chugging away.
“Damn it!” Allena grabbed her own hair and pulled viciously. “That’s it and that’s all. I might as well jump in and drown myself.” Which would be more pleasant, she had no doubt, than the icy lecture Margaret would deliver.
She’d be fired, of course, there was no doubt of it. But she was used to that little by-product of her professional endeavors. The method of termination would be torture.
Unless…There had to be another way to get to the island. If she could get there, throw herself on Margaret’s stingy supply of mercy, work like a dog, forfeit her salary. Make an excuse. Surely she’d be able to come up with some reason for missing the damn ferry.
She looked around frantically. There were boats, and if there were boats, there were people who drove boats. She’d hire a boat, pay whatever it cost.
“Are you lost, then?”
Startled, she lifted a hand, closed it tight over her pendant. There was a young man—hardly more than a boy, really, she noted—standing beside a small white boat. He wore a cap over his straw-colored hair and watched her out of laughing green eyes.
“No, not lost, late. I was supposed to be on the ferry.” She gestured, then let her arms fall. “I lost track of time.”
“Well, time’s not such a matter in the scheme of things.”
“It is to my sister. I work for her.” Quickly now, she headed down toward him where the sea lapped the shore. “Is this your boat, or your father’s?”
“Aye, it happens it’s mine.”
It was small, but to her inexperienced eye looked cheerful. She had to hope that made it seaworthy. “Could you take me over? I need to catch up. I’ll pay whatever you need.”