there.’
There was a kind of childish urgency in his request for information. Far too late now to hide behind the
Evening Standard
. Other passengers had opened paperback novels, fished office work from their briefcases, were muttering into mobile phones or had fallen asleep. She was on her own. She did her best to give a thumbnail sketch of Bamford.
‘It’s only a small place, some nice old buildings, but it’s a workaday town, not on the tourist circuit. There are a lot more picturesque places not far away, like Bourton-on-the-Water, Chipping Camden. You’ll findit all in tourist literature or guidebooks. Bamford hasn’t really got much to offer in that line.’
He listened to all this, nodding, and when she stopped speaking, he asked, ‘You appear to know it very well – you live there perhaps?’ His voice expressed only a conversational curiosity, yet it struck her that his dark eyes had become just a little speculative. Saint or sinner? she found herself wondering again.
‘Yes, with my partner.’ That was to let him know their acquaintanceship was going to end at Bamford station. But as soon as the words left her mouth she realised, with a jolt, that this was the first time she’d ever referred openly to Alan as her partner. Their relationship had moved on, she thought. They were partners, he wholeheartedly, she as ever ravaged by secret – or not so secret – doubts. Suddenly she felt ashamed at her quibbling attitude. She had either to show equal commitment to the partnership or walk away from it, and she didn’t want to walk away from it. She
would
put her house on the market, she decided. Not for renting out but for sale. Unless she took that necessary first step, there could be no progress along their road. She must phone Juliet and let her know.
Her travelling companion was still looking thoughtful, pursing his mouth and tapping his fingers on the little shelf under the train window. It surprised her to see that his hands, albeit strong and tanned, were quite small and as well-formed as a woman’s.
‘Perhaps I’ll visit these other towns.’ His tone dismissed the whole lot. He wasn’t interested in touristic details. ‘I really want to know about Bamford, you see . . .’ Without warning he leaned forward, smiling conspiratorially, and she realised with some alarm that she was about to become the recipient of a confidence. ‘I’m not here just as a tourist. I’m here to visit my family.’ He sat back and his smile widened, the gold tooth flashing.
‘Oh, right.’ Meredith was reluctant to go on with the conversation and did her best to speak in a way which would close it off without being impolite. She wondered afterwards if this was because she’d sensed somehow that she was about to be told something which would disturb her.
‘I disengaged mentally,’ she explained to Alan when she was telling him all about this later. ‘And that was my mistake because I was totally unprepared for what was coming. I thought he meant he had relatives descended from Polish émigrés, but it wasn’t that at all. I nearly fell off my seat when he asked if I knew the Oakleys.’
‘The Oakleys?’ She’d gaped at him. Cautiously, she began, ‘I don’t know a family, I mean a big family . . . ’
He was shaking his head. ‘It’s not a big family. There are just two ladies, quite old, sisters.’
The train had drawn into one of the stations along the line and the carriage had largely emptied. When it drew out again, Meredith and the stranger had no one seated near them.
‘We can’t,’ Meredith said firmly, ‘be thinking of the same people.’ It seemed impossible.
‘They live at a house called Fourways.’ He pronounced the name of the house as if it were written as two words. Four Ways.
Meredith gasped, still unable to believe it, ‘You’re talking of Damaris and Florence Oakley.’
The gold tooth flashed. ‘Yes. They’re my cousins. You know them? This is wonderful!’ He
There was a kind of childish urgency in his request for information. Far too late now to hide behind the
Evening Standard
. Other passengers had opened paperback novels, fished office work from their briefcases, were muttering into mobile phones or had fallen asleep. She was on her own. She did her best to give a thumbnail sketch of Bamford.
‘It’s only a small place, some nice old buildings, but it’s a workaday town, not on the tourist circuit. There are a lot more picturesque places not far away, like Bourton-on-the-Water, Chipping Camden. You’ll findit all in tourist literature or guidebooks. Bamford hasn’t really got much to offer in that line.’
He listened to all this, nodding, and when she stopped speaking, he asked, ‘You appear to know it very well – you live there perhaps?’ His voice expressed only a conversational curiosity, yet it struck her that his dark eyes had become just a little speculative. Saint or sinner? she found herself wondering again.
‘Yes, with my partner.’ That was to let him know their acquaintanceship was going to end at Bamford station. But as soon as the words left her mouth she realised, with a jolt, that this was the first time she’d ever referred openly to Alan as her partner. Their relationship had moved on, she thought. They were partners, he wholeheartedly, she as ever ravaged by secret – or not so secret – doubts. Suddenly she felt ashamed at her quibbling attitude. She had either to show equal commitment to the partnership or walk away from it, and she didn’t want to walk away from it. She
would
put her house on the market, she decided. Not for renting out but for sale. Unless she took that necessary first step, there could be no progress along their road. She must phone Juliet and let her know.
Her travelling companion was still looking thoughtful, pursing his mouth and tapping his fingers on the little shelf under the train window. It surprised her to see that his hands, albeit strong and tanned, were quite small and as well-formed as a woman’s.
‘Perhaps I’ll visit these other towns.’ His tone dismissed the whole lot. He wasn’t interested in touristic details. ‘I really want to know about Bamford, you see . . .’ Without warning he leaned forward, smiling conspiratorially, and she realised with some alarm that she was about to become the recipient of a confidence. ‘I’m not here just as a tourist. I’m here to visit my family.’ He sat back and his smile widened, the gold tooth flashing.
‘Oh, right.’ Meredith was reluctant to go on with the conversation and did her best to speak in a way which would close it off without being impolite. She wondered afterwards if this was because she’d sensed somehow that she was about to be told something which would disturb her.
‘I disengaged mentally,’ she explained to Alan when she was telling him all about this later. ‘And that was my mistake because I was totally unprepared for what was coming. I thought he meant he had relatives descended from Polish émigrés, but it wasn’t that at all. I nearly fell off my seat when he asked if I knew the Oakleys.’
‘The Oakleys?’ She’d gaped at him. Cautiously, she began, ‘I don’t know a family, I mean a big family . . . ’
He was shaking his head. ‘It’s not a big family. There are just two ladies, quite old, sisters.’
The train had drawn into one of the stations along the line and the carriage had largely emptied. When it drew out again, Meredith and the stranger had no one seated near them.
‘We can’t,’ Meredith said firmly, ‘be thinking of the same people.’ It seemed impossible.
‘They live at a house called Fourways.’ He pronounced the name of the house as if it were written as two words. Four Ways.
Meredith gasped, still unable to believe it, ‘You’re talking of Damaris and Florence Oakley.’
The gold tooth flashed. ‘Yes. They’re my cousins. You know them? This is wonderful!’ He
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