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Authors: Mary Stewart
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where an old well stood, and seats were set under the trees that surrounded the cobbled space. Ahead of us a church lifted a pretty onion spire with a gilt arrow from weathercock. The road divided to either side of the church.
I said: ‘I think we’d better stop and ask the way. If we go up the wrong street among these crowds, heaven knows where we’ll get to before we can turn.’
He drew carefully in to the side, stopped in the shade of a plane tree, and leaned out of his window. He hadn’t far to go for help: a cheerful trio of women was passing the time of day in the middle of the road with half a dozen children skirmishing round their skirts. They all answered him at once, with explicit gestures, while the children, apparently stricken dumb and paralytic at the sound of Timothy’s accent, crowded round, staring at us with round blue eyes.
At length he drew his head in. ‘Don’t tell me,’ I said, ‘let me guess. It’s the road to the right.’
He grinned. ‘And we can’t miss it. They say it’s very nice along there, and quiet, because the other road’s the main one. I say, I like this place, don’t you? Look at that thing in the middle, the well or whatever it is, with that wrought-iron canopy. It’s rather fine. Gosh, do you see that
Konditorei
, the baker’s shop with the café tables inside? I could do with some of those cakes,couldn’t you? We could come out and buy something as soon as we get settled . . .’
He chattered on, pleasantly excited, leaning out of his window in the hot sun. But I had ceased to listen, or even to see. The pretty village, with its lively, milling crowds, had faded away, to become a shadowy background only for one person. I had seen Lewis’s blonde.
She was pausing beside the well to speak to someone, an old woman in black, who carried an armful of flowers. She was half facing the other way, and was some forty yards off, but I thought I could not be mistaken. Then she turned, and I was sure. This was the girl I had seen on the news reel. Moreover, in the flesh, and in the bright light of day, she was prettier even than I remembered. She was of small to medium height, with a slender curved young figure, and fair hair tied neatly back in a pony tail. Gone was the kinky look that the waterproof and dishevelled hair had given her; she was charmingly dressed now in the traditional white blouse, flowered dirndl, and apron. She looked about eighteen.
As I watched her, she bade a laughing goodbye to the old woman, and came straight towards the car.
‘Tim,’ I said softly, ‘pull your head in and shut the window. Quick.’
He obeyed immediately.
‘That girl coming towards the car, the pretty one, the blonde in the blue dirndl – that’s the girl I saw in the news reel. No, don’t stare at her, just notice her, so that you’ll know her again.’
She came straight towards us, through the bandedshadows of the tree trunks, and passed the car without a glance. I didn’t turn, but I saw Tim watching her in the driving mirror.
‘She’s going straight on down the street. Shall I wait?’
‘Yes. Try to see where she goes.’
After a pause he said: ‘I can’t see her any more, there are too many people milling about, but she was heading straight down the street, the way we came in.’
‘Towards the circus field?’
‘Yes. Would you like me to do a quick “recce” and see just where she goes?’
‘Would you?’
‘Sure thing.’ He was already half out of the car. ‘I’ve always fancied myself in the James Bond line, who hasn’t? You stay there and pay the parking fine.’
The door slammed behind him. I tilted the driving mirror so that I could watch his tall young figure striding back down the middle of the street with all the magnificent local disregard for traffic. Then he, in his turn, was lost to view.
I leaned back in my seat, but not to relax. It was no surprise to feel myself trembling a little as my eyes reluctantly, yet feverishly,
I said: ‘I think we’d better stop and ask the way. If we go up the wrong street among these crowds, heaven knows where we’ll get to before we can turn.’
He drew carefully in to the side, stopped in the shade of a plane tree, and leaned out of his window. He hadn’t far to go for help: a cheerful trio of women was passing the time of day in the middle of the road with half a dozen children skirmishing round their skirts. They all answered him at once, with explicit gestures, while the children, apparently stricken dumb and paralytic at the sound of Timothy’s accent, crowded round, staring at us with round blue eyes.
At length he drew his head in. ‘Don’t tell me,’ I said, ‘let me guess. It’s the road to the right.’
He grinned. ‘And we can’t miss it. They say it’s very nice along there, and quiet, because the other road’s the main one. I say, I like this place, don’t you? Look at that thing in the middle, the well or whatever it is, with that wrought-iron canopy. It’s rather fine. Gosh, do you see that
Konditorei
, the baker’s shop with the café tables inside? I could do with some of those cakes,couldn’t you? We could come out and buy something as soon as we get settled . . .’
He chattered on, pleasantly excited, leaning out of his window in the hot sun. But I had ceased to listen, or even to see. The pretty village, with its lively, milling crowds, had faded away, to become a shadowy background only for one person. I had seen Lewis’s blonde.
She was pausing beside the well to speak to someone, an old woman in black, who carried an armful of flowers. She was half facing the other way, and was some forty yards off, but I thought I could not be mistaken. Then she turned, and I was sure. This was the girl I had seen on the news reel. Moreover, in the flesh, and in the bright light of day, she was prettier even than I remembered. She was of small to medium height, with a slender curved young figure, and fair hair tied neatly back in a pony tail. Gone was the kinky look that the waterproof and dishevelled hair had given her; she was charmingly dressed now in the traditional white blouse, flowered dirndl, and apron. She looked about eighteen.
As I watched her, she bade a laughing goodbye to the old woman, and came straight towards the car.
‘Tim,’ I said softly, ‘pull your head in and shut the window. Quick.’
He obeyed immediately.
‘That girl coming towards the car, the pretty one, the blonde in the blue dirndl – that’s the girl I saw in the news reel. No, don’t stare at her, just notice her, so that you’ll know her again.’
She came straight towards us, through the bandedshadows of the tree trunks, and passed the car without a glance. I didn’t turn, but I saw Tim watching her in the driving mirror.
‘She’s going straight on down the street. Shall I wait?’
‘Yes. Try to see where she goes.’
After a pause he said: ‘I can’t see her any more, there are too many people milling about, but she was heading straight down the street, the way we came in.’
‘Towards the circus field?’
‘Yes. Would you like me to do a quick “recce” and see just where she goes?’
‘Would you?’
‘Sure thing.’ He was already half out of the car. ‘I’ve always fancied myself in the James Bond line, who hasn’t? You stay there and pay the parking fine.’
The door slammed behind him. I tilted the driving mirror so that I could watch his tall young figure striding back down the middle of the street with all the magnificent local disregard for traffic. Then he, in his turn, was lost to view.
I leaned back in my seat, but not to relax. It was no surprise to feel myself trembling a little as my eyes reluctantly, yet feverishly,
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