Read Online Robbie's Wife by Russell Hill - Free Book Online

Jack Stone! Stir yourself!”
    I caught up with her and we climbed the field but this time we turned the opposite direction at the top, headed for a distant copse of trees. We stopped once to look back down at the farm and she pointed out the spire of the church in the next village, and further on the rise of Bulbarrow Hill. As we stood there she leaned back against me and it seemed natural to put my arms around her, and she remained, reaching up to pull my arms tighter around her body, her hair a tangle just below my face and she said, “I can feel your heart racing, Jack Stone.”
    “I’m not used to walking so quickly,” I said.
    “Oh dear, I thought it was racing because of me.”
    “It probably is.”
    “Then you will take me off to Majorca to lie in the sun?”
    “This afternoon.”
    “No, I’m afraid I can’t make it this afternoon. Not unless we can be back in time to fix tea.” She turned her head so that she could see me and said, “You’re a funny man, Jack Stone.”
    “You mean an odd man?”
    “No, I mean funny. You have a sense of humor but you keep it hidden. You keep nearly everything hidden, don’t you, Jack Stone?”
    “I’m not sure what you mean.”
    “Look.” She pointed toward the copse where there was a low bank just before the trees. “Look at that rise, tell me what you see.”
    I looked at the long low rise, uneven ground that was dotted with shrubs and bracken, and I wondered what it was that I was supposed to see.
    “It’s just a rise in the field,” I said.
    “No. Look again. Really look.”
    I stared at the rise and then I noticed a slight movement and as I looked there was another movement, as if there were something on the rise and, as if the stretch of rough ground were being brought into focus by some unseen hand, I saw more movement and it became rabbits, one and then two and then dozens, browsing along the rise, moving imperceptibly as they ate, and I said, “Rabbits! There’s dozens of them!”
    “Yes. And if I hadn’t told you to look, by the time we got closer they would all have gone to ground and you would have been none the wiser. You need to know when to look and where to look, Jack Stone. You’re a writer, you should know that.”
    She turned around so that she faced me, still within the circle of my arms and she said, “I think you’re like that, Jack Stone. You’re like that rabbit warren. If anyone gets too close, you go to ground, leave a blank slate so they won’t know you’re there. But I can see the rabbits, Jack Stone. There’s more to you than meets the casual glance.”
    She pulled away and walked toward the copse, turning to say, “Come on. We’ll walk to Shilling Okeford and have a cup of tea. We can pretend it’s a seaside cafe in Majorca.”
    That evening, as we finished supper at the kitchen table, Terry said, “I don’t have any grandfather. Would you be able to be one for me?” He looked at his mother and father. “I don’t mean you’d be a real grandfather and have to live in England. You could still live in California and we could write to each other.”
    “I don’t see why not, Terry.”
    After the table had cleared and Terry had gone off to watch the telly, Robbie said to me, “You’ve made a casual promise, Jack. But it’s not casual to him. He expects that if he writes to you, you’ll write back to him. But you’ll be half a world away and he’s not important to you. Don’t make promises you won’t keep.”
    “If he writes to me, I’ll write back.”
    “Easy to say now, Jack.” Then he added, “Not to worry. I doubt if he’ll remember you once you’ve gone. You’ll drive out the gate and you’ll disappear from our lives. We’ll stand at the gate and wave to you, Jack. What was it Hamlet said? ‘Adieu, adieu! Remember me.’”
    I looked across the kitchen to where Maggie was stacking dishes on the drain board. She had her back to us but something about the way she held herself told me that she