outside,’ she contended. ‘Those hideous flat roofs with water tanks stuck on top, and—’ she stopped short suddenly. Then, after some second’s hesitation, she said, ‘Look, we’ll never agree on this subject.
But I don’t want to quarrel with you when you’ve been such a help with poor Bert.’
For once, his smile held no mockery. ‘Are you calling a trace, Miss Shannon?’
She held out her hand, and said, ‘Yes, I suppose I ... and everyone in the village calls me Jenny.’
His fingers closed firmly over hers, and then there were footsteps on the path and Mrs. Bagley rushed in.
Some time after nine o’clock, Jenny was crossing the hall at home when the telephone rang. She perched on the rug chest and lifted the receiver.
‘Farthing Green 181.’
‘Jenny? Simon Gilchrist.’ His voice sounded even deeper on the telephone. ‘I thought you’d like to know that young Bert’s X-ray didn’t show any serious damage, but they’re keeping him under observation for a couple of days.’
‘Oh, what a relief. How is Mrs. Bagley now? Has she calmed down?’
‘Yes, she sat with the boy for a while and then I took her home, and a neighbour is going to keep an eye on her.’
‘Well, thank you for ringing me. It was kind of you to think of it.’
‘I’m not entirely inhuman. Good night, Jenny.’
‘Good night ...’ She hesitated before adding ‘Simon.’ But before she said it, he had rung off.
The following Friday evening, James rang up to ask Jenny if she would care for a run to the coast on Sunday afternoon. But on Saturday the good weather changed, and it was still chilly and overcast on Sunday morning. Before going to church, Jenny rang James to see if he had any alternative plans for the afternoon. It would be unpleasant at the sea on such a day.
Somewhat to her relief, James said his mother was not well, and he thought he had better cancel the outing, and stay with Mrs. Langdon.
‘Oh dear - is there anything I can do?’ Jenny asked.
‘No, I don’t think so, thanks. I’ll ring you during the week. Sorry about our drive.’
After lunch, Mrs. Shannon went upstairs for a rest, and the Rector went off to Sunday School. Jenny washed the dishes, and wondered whether to make a cake, or do some sewing, or finish a not very absorbing library book.
Going outside to throw some scraps of pastry to the birds, she glanced across towards the building site and saw a tall figure moving about beyond the fence. Her heart gave an odd little double-beat, and she quickly retreated into the kitchen.
Twenty minutes later, in slacks but with a jersey which was rather more presentable than her usual gardening sweater, she fetched a trug from the potting shed and went round to do some weeding in the drive.
A few minutes after she had started, there was a whistle from behind her. She straightened and crossed the wet grass to the fence.
‘Hello. What a dismal sort of day.’
For the first time since she had met him, Simon was not wearing one of his impeccable suits. Today, he was in a grey sweater over a darker grey sports shirt, with corduroy trousers tucked into a pair of gum-boots.
‘Come and see how the goldfish bowl is getting on. Or are you too busy?’ he asked teasingly.
She laughed, and shook her head. ‘I’ll come over by the oak tree.’
Some rain had seeped through the leaves and made the bark of the tree slippery in places. As Jenny prepared to drop from the overhanging branch, one of her hands lost its grip. It was only a four-feet drop, but she might have landed awkwardly if Simon had not stepped forward and caught her.
For a second she was pressed against his chest, her hands on his shoulders. Then he lowered her to the ground and let her go.
‘Thanks,’ she said, oddly shaken.
‘Want to wipe your hands?’ He offered her a large spotless linen handkerchief.
She shook her head, and fumbled for her own smaller one.
‘I’m getting too old to climb trees. I should have gone
But I don’t want to quarrel with you when you’ve been such a help with poor Bert.’
For once, his smile held no mockery. ‘Are you calling a trace, Miss Shannon?’
She held out her hand, and said, ‘Yes, I suppose I ... and everyone in the village calls me Jenny.’
His fingers closed firmly over hers, and then there were footsteps on the path and Mrs. Bagley rushed in.
Some time after nine o’clock, Jenny was crossing the hall at home when the telephone rang. She perched on the rug chest and lifted the receiver.
‘Farthing Green 181.’
‘Jenny? Simon Gilchrist.’ His voice sounded even deeper on the telephone. ‘I thought you’d like to know that young Bert’s X-ray didn’t show any serious damage, but they’re keeping him under observation for a couple of days.’
‘Oh, what a relief. How is Mrs. Bagley now? Has she calmed down?’
‘Yes, she sat with the boy for a while and then I took her home, and a neighbour is going to keep an eye on her.’
‘Well, thank you for ringing me. It was kind of you to think of it.’
‘I’m not entirely inhuman. Good night, Jenny.’
‘Good night ...’ She hesitated before adding ‘Simon.’ But before she said it, he had rung off.
The following Friday evening, James rang up to ask Jenny if she would care for a run to the coast on Sunday afternoon. But on Saturday the good weather changed, and it was still chilly and overcast on Sunday morning. Before going to church, Jenny rang James to see if he had any alternative plans for the afternoon. It would be unpleasant at the sea on such a day.
Somewhat to her relief, James said his mother was not well, and he thought he had better cancel the outing, and stay with Mrs. Langdon.
‘Oh dear - is there anything I can do?’ Jenny asked.
‘No, I don’t think so, thanks. I’ll ring you during the week. Sorry about our drive.’
After lunch, Mrs. Shannon went upstairs for a rest, and the Rector went off to Sunday School. Jenny washed the dishes, and wondered whether to make a cake, or do some sewing, or finish a not very absorbing library book.
Going outside to throw some scraps of pastry to the birds, she glanced across towards the building site and saw a tall figure moving about beyond the fence. Her heart gave an odd little double-beat, and she quickly retreated into the kitchen.
Twenty minutes later, in slacks but with a jersey which was rather more presentable than her usual gardening sweater, she fetched a trug from the potting shed and went round to do some weeding in the drive.
A few minutes after she had started, there was a whistle from behind her. She straightened and crossed the wet grass to the fence.
‘Hello. What a dismal sort of day.’
For the first time since she had met him, Simon was not wearing one of his impeccable suits. Today, he was in a grey sweater over a darker grey sports shirt, with corduroy trousers tucked into a pair of gum-boots.
‘Come and see how the goldfish bowl is getting on. Or are you too busy?’ he asked teasingly.
She laughed, and shook her head. ‘I’ll come over by the oak tree.’
Some rain had seeped through the leaves and made the bark of the tree slippery in places. As Jenny prepared to drop from the overhanging branch, one of her hands lost its grip. It was only a four-feet drop, but she might have landed awkwardly if Simon had not stepped forward and caught her.
For a second she was pressed against his chest, her hands on his shoulders. Then he lowered her to the ground and let her go.
‘Thanks,’ she said, oddly shaken.
‘Want to wipe your hands?’ He offered her a large spotless linen handkerchief.
She shook her head, and fumbled for her own smaller one.
‘I’m getting too old to climb trees. I should have gone
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