A small crowd of onlookers had gathered to watch. As Alex dragged Laura up onto the sand, he vaguely registered the presence of Henrietta and George. Teddy was there as well. Yardley must have helped him down from the jetty.

“Laura!” Teddy cried.

“Is she dead?” Henrietta asked.

“She’s not breathing,” George said.

A stranger shouted for an attendant to fetch someone from the coast-guard station at the summit of the cliffs.

“It’s too late,” a woman exclaimed. “She’s been drowned.”

The sound of Teddy’s voice cut through the roar of chatter: “Do something!”

Do something.

The same words Alex had uttered on the beach so many years before.

But there was no Justin Thornhill to save the day this time. No Tom Finchley to assist him. It was up to Alex alone. And this time, this time, he couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

He rose up on his knees. “Get back!”

Some in the crowd obeyed him. Others remained where they were.

Alex leaned down over Laura. He put his hands on her wool-clad midsection and pushed upward to force the water out of her lungs. Once, twice, and then again, to little effect.

Desperation made him reckless—heedless of the crowd. He might even have cursed a time or two, commanding Laura to wake up. All the while, his mind raced over his limited options for reviving her.

In Marseilles, he’d once seen a sailor resuscitate a man with a pair of bellows. But Alex didn’t have any bellows, nor was there time to have someone fetch a pair. In place of them, he did the only thing he could think of. He bent his head and covered Laura’s half-open mouth with his own.

The gasps from the crowd reached a fever pitch.

Laura’s lips were cold as ice. He exhaled into her mouth, giving her as much breath as she might have received from one pump of the bellows.

“This is outrageous!” a woman said shrilly.

“Unhand her, sir!” an elderly man joined in.

“Leave him be!” Teddy shouted. “That’s my sister.”

Alex breathed into her mouth again. It was surely nothing like he’d seen done in France. And it was probably too late anyway. She’d been too long in the water. He hadn’t been fast enough. Strong enough.

He drew back from her face, setting his hands on her midriff once more, and pressing with all of his might—so forcefully he feared he might crack her ribs.

Laura gave a choking cough.

Relief tore through him. He swiftly turned her over, holding her in his arms above the sand as she expelled the water from her lungs in great heaving retches.

The crowd closed in.

He had only moments before they took her away from him. Any second, she’d be wrapped in towels and conveyed back to the hotel.