‘Sorry. Do you think it’s broken?’
‘No – it’s just stuck,’ I replied.
He came round to the front to inspect my other leg. ‘How about this one?’
‘Just a scratch, I think.’
‘Part of the frame is twisted,’ he said. ‘I reckon the best thing is if I press on the blade here, and you try to twist your foot out. Try to get it ninety degrees this way. How does that sound?’
I blew out a nervous breath, my face close to his. ‘Okay – let’s try it,’ I said. He was wearing a green wax jacket and a tweed cap, looking like a typical upper-crust landowner. In spite of the state I was in, I couldn’t help noticing how distinguished he was; with sweeping curves beneath his cheekbones and a narrow nose.
‘Okay, let your weight rest against me and let’s get you into an upright position.’ I did as I was told, leaning into him. He smelt of bracken with warm peppery undertones. ‘Now, keep hanging on to me while I push.’ He looked earnest and determined. ‘Trust me?’
‘Yes…’ I said. I didn’t have much choice.
My heart was battering away inside my chest. Screwing up my eyes and fists, I waited for the agonising jolt as I tried to pull away. The space opened out – and I didn’t feel a thing.
‘It’s free,’ he said. ‘Your foot’s out.’ I had to look down to be certain. Sure enough my boot was resting on the edge of the tangle of metal, not buried beneath it. I pressed my face into his jacket for a second, overwhelmed with gratitude. I wasn’t going to be trapped here all night and die of hypothermia after all.
I thanked him, my lip trembling.
He helped me climb out of the contraption onto solid ground. The snow was tumbling down like breadcrumbs now. ‘I’m staying in a cottage near here,’ I told him. ‘But to be honest, I got a bit lost.’
‘What’s the name of the cottage?’ He was still very close to me; his body heat continuing to envelop me.
‘The name? Sorry, my mind’s gone blank. It’s owned by…Mrs Elling…ford…or something.’
‘Ellington. It must be McBride’s Cottage. I’m renting the next one along.’
‘There are others? I didn’t know.’
‘You could be forgiven for not realising you had neighbours,’ he admitted. ‘Mine’s a good ten minutes further west.’ He held me up under my arms and I looked straight into his sequin-grey eyes. ‘Can you make it back, do you think?’
‘Yes, it doesn’t hurt.’ I said it too soon. My ankle was stiff and cold, but I could have made more of the situation; affected a little pain so I could hang on to him for longer.
‘Husband staying with you?’ he enquired.
‘I’m with friends.’
We made our way back to the cottage. It was hardly any distance at all. I didn’t know how I could possibly have lost my way. I felt stupid by the time he guided me into a chair by the fireplace.
‘I’m fine, honestly,’ I said.
‘I’ll light this for you,’ he said, scooping up Karen’s lighter from the hearth and getting the fire going. ‘Where are your friends?’
It was nearly three o’clock. ‘Karen’s stuck at the hospital – her daughter’s unwell. The other two – are upstairs, I think. Or maybe they’ve gone out,’ I said, hoping they weren’t still in bed.
He propped my leg on a stool and took a look at my ankle.
‘It doesn’t look swollen.’ He stripped off the sock and put his palm against the sole of my foot. ‘Can you push against my hand?’
No problem. He moved it gently side to side. ‘And this?’
‘Honestly – it doesn’t hurt.’
‘How long are you staying?’ he asked.
‘Until a week on Friday or Saturday, I think,’ I said. ‘Are you a doctor?’
‘No – but my father is.’ He smiled warmly.
I rolled down the leg of my jeans. ‘Listen, I don’t even know your name.’
‘Stuart,’ he said, swinging the cap off his head and bending forward into a ludicrous bow. ‘Stuart Wishart at your service, Madam.’
I laughed. ‘I’m Alice Flemming.’ We shook hands in an awkward fashion. I noticed his eyes lingering on my face and then felt my cheeks heat up from the inside.
He put his cap back on and adjusted it, then zipped up his jacket, clipping the poppers into place.
‘Well – I’ll leave you to rest. Have you got painkillers?’
‘Yes – thank you.’
‘Right then…’ He slapped his pockets, seeming reluctant to go.