the towel again into the vulnerable landing window before going downstairs to the fireside.
Martin was helping himself to Lovell's brew and surveying the weather.
"I ought to be getting back pretty soon. I'm the cattleman this afternoon, and it's going to get dark early today."
They sat at peace, enjoying the warmth of the fire and their coffee.
Miriam looked at Martin as he gazed somnolently at the blazing logs. He had worn well. His hair was thick, his face tanned with his outdoor life, and he was as lean as he had always been. And yet, there was an air of unhappiness about him. Perhaps he felt the same about herself. Perhaps it was simply the passing of the years, the change from the effervescence of youth to the sobriety of middle age.
Middle age! It was a shock to realize that she was half-way to her three-score years and ten. Martin must be nearing forty.
He put his cup down in the hearth with a clatter, and stretched luxuriously.
"Oh, if I could only stay by this fire! Instead, I must go back and bash swedes."
"Do you really bash swedes?" asked Miriam.
"Not today," said Martin, with a laugh. "Just feed the cattle with something less demanding."
He held out his hand.
"Thank you for giving me lunch, and for your company. I come your way about twice a year. Perhaps I may call in, now I know where you live?"
"I shall look forward to it."
"Well, it may be in a few weeks' time. There's a cattle dealer in Wales I want to see."
He made his farewells, and they watched him race through the rain to his Land-Rover. The rain was now torrential, and the branches clashed overhead in the force of the gale, but Martin's grin was cheerful as he waved goodbye.
"Nice to see him again," said Lovell as they shut the door against the weather. "We live so near, really, and were such close friends in the old days, it seems absurd to lose touch as we have done."
The fireside was doubly snug after their brush with the weather outside. Peace reigned in the kitchen, and Robin slept aloft. Miriam and Lovell resumed their seats with relief.
She lay back, musing about the encounter. It was good to see Martin again. Their early flirtation had been a happy one, and it was comforting to see, once again, the unfeigned affection and admiration in his looks. She hoped she would see him again when he traveled to Wales next.
"What is Martin's wife like?" she asked.
"Martin's wife?" Lovell looked startled.
"Binnie, he called her," said Miriam.
Lovell shook his head sadly.
"Poor Binnie! I should have remembered that you knew nothing about it. She died two years ago—quite that, longer perhaps. I can't quite remember."
"How ghastly for Martin! What was it?"
"One of those incredibly stupid accidents that strain one's religious beliefs sorely. She was bathing within a few yards of the shore, when a freak wave carried her out to sea, and a sort of whirlpool sucked her under. There were treacherous currents there always, we heard later."
"Was Martin there?"
"He had gone to fetch towels from the car, and returned to find the rescue operation going on. The ghastly thing was that the body wasn't washed up until the next tide."
"Poor Martin! And no children?"
"There was one on the way, which made it worse, of course. I heard that Martin was in an appalling state of shock for months. His old mother was a tower of strength, and went to live at the farm with him."
"I remember her," replied Miriam, recalling the ramrod figure of Mrs. Farrar, her white hair and her deep voice. "Dreadful for her too."
"Anyway," said Lovell, "he seems to have recovered, and let's hope he finds someone else one day."
"That's Robin," exclaimed Miriam, at the sound of a distant wailing.
And she went to resume her duties.
***
She traveled alone to see Eileen that evening, Lovell volunteering to see his family into bed.
As she drove through the roaring night, buffeted by a fierce northeaster, she suddenly remembered that she had forgotten to telephone Joan.
Martin was helping himself to Lovell's brew and surveying the weather.
"I ought to be getting back pretty soon. I'm the cattleman this afternoon, and it's going to get dark early today."
They sat at peace, enjoying the warmth of the fire and their coffee.
Miriam looked at Martin as he gazed somnolently at the blazing logs. He had worn well. His hair was thick, his face tanned with his outdoor life, and he was as lean as he had always been. And yet, there was an air of unhappiness about him. Perhaps he felt the same about herself. Perhaps it was simply the passing of the years, the change from the effervescence of youth to the sobriety of middle age.
Middle age! It was a shock to realize that she was half-way to her three-score years and ten. Martin must be nearing forty.
He put his cup down in the hearth with a clatter, and stretched luxuriously.
"Oh, if I could only stay by this fire! Instead, I must go back and bash swedes."
"Do you really bash swedes?" asked Miriam.
"Not today," said Martin, with a laugh. "Just feed the cattle with something less demanding."
He held out his hand.
"Thank you for giving me lunch, and for your company. I come your way about twice a year. Perhaps I may call in, now I know where you live?"
"I shall look forward to it."
"Well, it may be in a few weeks' time. There's a cattle dealer in Wales I want to see."
He made his farewells, and they watched him race through the rain to his Land-Rover. The rain was now torrential, and the branches clashed overhead in the force of the gale, but Martin's grin was cheerful as he waved goodbye.
"Nice to see him again," said Lovell as they shut the door against the weather. "We live so near, really, and were such close friends in the old days, it seems absurd to lose touch as we have done."
The fireside was doubly snug after their brush with the weather outside. Peace reigned in the kitchen, and Robin slept aloft. Miriam and Lovell resumed their seats with relief.
She lay back, musing about the encounter. It was good to see Martin again. Their early flirtation had been a happy one, and it was comforting to see, once again, the unfeigned affection and admiration in his looks. She hoped she would see him again when he traveled to Wales next.
"What is Martin's wife like?" she asked.
"Martin's wife?" Lovell looked startled.
"Binnie, he called her," said Miriam.
Lovell shook his head sadly.
"Poor Binnie! I should have remembered that you knew nothing about it. She died two years ago—quite that, longer perhaps. I can't quite remember."
"How ghastly for Martin! What was it?"
"One of those incredibly stupid accidents that strain one's religious beliefs sorely. She was bathing within a few yards of the shore, when a freak wave carried her out to sea, and a sort of whirlpool sucked her under. There were treacherous currents there always, we heard later."
"Was Martin there?"
"He had gone to fetch towels from the car, and returned to find the rescue operation going on. The ghastly thing was that the body wasn't washed up until the next tide."
"Poor Martin! And no children?"
"There was one on the way, which made it worse, of course. I heard that Martin was in an appalling state of shock for months. His old mother was a tower of strength, and went to live at the farm with him."
"I remember her," replied Miriam, recalling the ramrod figure of Mrs. Farrar, her white hair and her deep voice. "Dreadful for her too."
"Anyway," said Lovell, "he seems to have recovered, and let's hope he finds someone else one day."
"That's Robin," exclaimed Miriam, at the sound of a distant wailing.
And she went to resume her duties.
***
She traveled alone to see Eileen that evening, Lovell volunteering to see his family into bed.
As she drove through the roaring night, buffeted by a fierce northeaster, she suddenly remembered that she had forgotten to telephone Joan.
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