Chapter 9
Rhys sat silently during supper that evening and all through the following morning. But a single nod at dinnertime told Bridie he hadn’t forgotten his promise. She shovelled down her salt-beef, raced through mess duties, and grabbed her writing materials. The Bevans sat in their usual place, at the base of the main mast. Rhys, knees bent, shoulders hunched, a hand caught in the dark tangle of his hair; Siân perched on her knees, scanning the deck.
Bridie raised an uncertain hand. Was this it? Should she walk over? Or wait for Siân to notice her? As if on a string, the Welsh girl’s head swung round. She turned, nudging Rhys. His head rose, eyes unfocused. A smile woke his features.
Bridie wormed her way across the deck, paying no heed to card games, sewing circles, or whose fin
