Unlike the previous days, particularly the very humid day before, that day was radiant. The sky was a brilliant blue except in the west, where a light veil of clouds blurred the boundary between sky and sea.

Céline had come to meet him as she did every Sunday afternoon outside his house for their weekly outing. This was their fourth outing.

"Hello, Pierre! Ready for our walk?"

Céline seemed as radiant as the sun that illuminated the region. Her big, lively eyes sparkled with excitement at the thought of spending time with Pierre. As on previous occasions, she had come with a picnic basket under her arm loaded with goodies to share with the man who had captured her heart.

Pierre still didn't understand how he had managed it, he who had never tried to win her over. Since Céline had shown up at his door almost a month ago to express her feelings, he had let himself be carried away by the current. He let Céline do as she pleased, and that seemed to be enough for the moment, judging by her radiant smile.

All Pierre did was agree to follow Céline wherever she wanted to take him and answer her many questions.

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise! Are you coming?"

The young girl spun around like a top, making the hem of her light white dress fly around her.

Pierre sighed and casually grabbed a denim jacket lined with fake white fur. Despite the good weather, it was still chilly. After all, it was only early March. Céline also wore a jacket over her pretty dress. It seemed quite light, made of cream-colored faux leather, and matched the rest of her outfit perfectly. It even seemed to go well with the natural color of the young woman's hair.

What has she planned this time?

The ex-trader had quickly become accustomed to Céline's character. She was stubborn as a mule and loved to play tricks. If she decided not to say anything about their destination, he couldn't do anything to force her to reveal her plans.

Their first date had been the Sunday following the girl's confession. They had crossed the Aber Benoît and walked along the river. No one recognized them, and they were able to enjoy the afternoon undisturbed. On their second date, they had gone to the neighboring town of Portsall, where they had only ridden horses along the coast. Finally, on their third date, because the weather was very bad, they had stayed at his place and played a board game.

Pierre followed Céline to the port of Saint-Pabu where they boarded a small white and navy pleasure boat. It wasn't big and had only one mast, but it was more than enough for their adventure.

"Céline, are we really allowed on board? Whose boat is this?"

"It's fine. It belongs to my father. It's used by fishermen during the week, but today it's available. Can you help me set the sail? I'll untie the boat."

Pierre had very little experience in navigation, derived from his sea excursions with his friend Yvon. Yet he easily found the sail mechanism and understood how to operate it. Slowly, a triangular white sail rose along the mast.

A gentle breeze filled the sail and propelled the modest boat forward. Céline, proudly holding the tiller, maneuvered the boat on the Aber Benoît River until it faced the estuary. It glided peacefully, passing by small motionless vessels and slate-roofed houses.

Pierre felt a sense of freedom wash over him, a contrast to the rigidity of his past life.

Finally, they left the Aber Benoît and ventured out to sea. It stretched out before them as far as the eye could see. The sun made it sparkle like thousands of jewels or stars, which brought a smile to Pierre's face. A fresh wind from the west caressed his face and made his hair, which had grown too long for his taste, dance.

The boat, light and well-profiled, quickly reached a respectable speed. Céline, however, ensured they kept a reasonable distance from the many rocks in the area. The water was so clear that one could see them just by leaning over the railing. Sometimes they seemed very close to the surface.

"I-isn't it dangerous there? Phew, it didn't touch!"

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Good! Helm to starboard!"

Céline wore an immense smile as she piloted her father's boat. Pierre just hoped she had done it before, because he didn't really want to hit one of those black rocks like coal. His gaze alternated between Céline, focused on what she was doing, and what lay ahead of the small sailboat to avoid recreating the famous iceberg scene from the movie Titanic.

As the minutes passed, his reservations dissipated and he began to enjoy the trip and the splendid view.

They passed very close to a long succession of rocks covered with small mollusks without straying from the coast, and quickly two lighthouses came into view. They were located on the same uninhabited and treeless island. One was short and white while the other was tall and built of imposing blocks of cut stone.

The closer they got, the more Pierre was amazed by the size of this lighthouse, yet ridiculous beside the glass and steel tower in which he had worked.

"Here we are!" proudly declared Céline. "The Île Vierge lighthouse!"

Pierre stared at the serious girl before returning his attention to the two lighthouses. The tallest one was a bit like a chess piece, but much longer.

"It's very tall. Do you want us to climb to the top?"

"Yes! The view is incredible!" she replied with contagious enthusiasm.

There were many lighthouses in the area because these waters were very dangerous. Many ships had sunk over the centuries by hitting a rock. Lighthouses were essential tools for navigation. The most beautiful of them was certainly the Île Vierge lighthouse. It was an architectural gem and the tallest in Europe.

Céline circled the island from the north, passing the two lighthouses and approaching cautiously. There was a long ramp partially submerged allowing ships to dock.

"Pierre? Can you furl the sail?"

He complied, and the sailboat slowed until it stopped. There were no other ships but theirs, and the sea was very high. Carefully, they went ashore.

The vegetation was low, adapted to a harsh maritime climate. Rocks polished by violent showers from the sea dotted the island and emerged like mushrooms from the ground amid grasses and wildflowers that were beginning to bloom. A few butterflies and bees flew joyfully here and there, giving the impression to the two young people that they had entered a garden.

Quickly, Céline and Pierre arrived before the two lighthouses facing each other.

"Which do you think is older?" asked the girl.

Pierre thought for a moment, looking at the two lighthouses, both of which seemed ancient and from the same period.

"The white one?" he replied, using logic, thinking there was no reason to build a second lighthouse if it was smaller.

"BING! Well done! You guessed it! It dates from the 1840s. The taller one dates from the 1890s-1900s. Isn't it beautiful?"

"Yes," he whispered, nodding, impressed by the dimensions of the building and its style. "We must have an amazing view from the top."

"Yes!"

Her smile didn't waver, and a well-placed sunbeam made her long golden hair sparkle for a split second.

"Have you climbed up before?" Pierre asked, trying to estimate its height.

"Two years ago, I think? It could be visited in spring and summer. During winter, it's too dangerous because of storms. Did you see what it was like last winter?"

"Ah, yes. That makes sense. But now, can we?"

"Pff, who cares," she shrugged mischievously. "Who do you want to disturb?"

Ignoring the information sign there, Céline took Pierre's right hand in hers and led him to the entrance. The interior was empty except for an impressive spiral staircase leading straight to the top. Pierre felt his throat tighten at the sight, which made him dizzy. The walls were covered with large white tiles that had withstood the ravages of time, and the steps were made of granite cut from the region, each one unique.

With one hand gripping the iron railing, Pierre began his ascent following Céline.

It was long, but in the end they were rewarded with a spectacular view of the entire region from a gallery. The stronger, cooler wind here did nothing to detract from the beauty of the panorama. A faint hint of seaweed reached the two visitors, mixed with a strange smell they couldn't identify.

The boat looks so small from up here! It's incredible!

Pierre couldn't help but smile, captivated by the beauty of the place. When he turned his head, he noticed Céline watching him closely with an amused smile. It was as if he were a small animal discovering a new treat.

Leaning on the granite ledge, Céline and Pierre remained for a moment to contemplate the landscape. Céline then took a snack from her little basket to share. She spread out a colorful little tablecloth and began to place small plates and spoons. Then, she placed a slice of lemon cake on each plate.

The flour is very coarse, affecting the quality of the cake, yet Pierre didn't complain. On the contrary, he devoured it to the last crumb.

"Well! Looks like it was good!" remarked the girl, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear.

Céline was delighted. Everything was going wonderfully well.

They stayed for a while at the top of the lighthouse, gazing at the horizon. Pierre, as after each of his outings with Céline, felt at peace.

As they prepared to descend, Pierre noticed something in the distance.

"Huh?"

"What's wrong?" asked Céline.

"I'm not sure. I feel like the water is black over there."

"Where? Oh, yeah. Um, what's that? There's a boat."

"Oh, shit."

Pierre and Cécile paled when they realized at the same time that what they had taken for a rock was actually a huge ship sinking.

"Is it a tanker?!"

"I-it looks like it."

"We have to warn everyone! There's an oil spill!"

While they enjoyed the good weather, the gigantic Canadian tanker Salamanca, carrying 120,000 tons of crude oil, had torn open on rocks after drifting almost a year with the winds and ocean currents. The entire crew had long been dead, but even if they had still been alive, they could not have done anything to prevent the disaster, reminiscent of the 1978 Amoco Cadiz.

My God! It's a disaster!

A few hours later, the first oil patties began to wash up on the Breton coast.