aside, half eaten.
‘Don’t you want it?’ Kitty shook her head and Archie said something about it being a shame to waste good food as he helped himself to a slice of her bacon and two of her sausages.
How could he eat so heartily when her own stomach churned with nerves, quite robbing her of appetite?
Finally he laid down his knife and fork with a replete sigh, drained a second cup of tea and addressed her in his usual bright and cheery voice. ‘I say old thing, you’re a bit quiet this morning. Sleep all right?’ Just as if she’d spent the night down the landing in her own room, and not curled up beside him.
She flashed him a wavering smile but, anxious not to let him see how his careless tone hurt her, responded equally brightly, ‘Like a log.’
Another silence during which Archie finished off three slices of toast and marmalade. She felt the absence of emotion like a slap in the face. He gave no sign of the tender love which had been so prevalent during the night. Could Clara have been right after all? Sex, to the male of the species, as Frank and now Archie so clearly demonstrated, was of no consequence to them at all. Well then, it was certainly of no consequence to her either. ‘And you? Did you sleep well?’ Kitty politely enquired, with a desperate brightness.
‘Like a top.’
‘Good.’
He set down his cup. ‘We’d best be on our way then.’
‘Yes, why not?’ and thrusting back her chair, almost knocking it over, Kitty went in search of the landlady to settle their bill.
As the bus left the small town behind, Kitty forgot their discord as she caught her first glimpse of the breathtaking beauty of the mountains. Their brooding splendour backlit by a brilliant haze of light, the silver sheet of water that was Lake Windermere rippling at their feet, could well have been stage managed by Mother Nature entirely for her benefit. The glorious view acted like a balm to her sore heart and bruised pride. Kitty resolved not to worry about what had taken place between them, but to behave in a mature fashion, as if it were of no account. She was a woman after all, not a child.
The bus branched left by the steamer pier and Archie informed her that the remains of a Roman camp known as Galava lay beneath the green meadow. They were heading towards Clappersgate, Skelwith Bridge and ultimately Carreckwater, the hills she could see now were apparently the Langdales. Kitty could barely take it all in, but gazed about her in wonder as they drove down a maze of winding lanes, up hill and down dale, so entranced was she by the beauty of it all. It all felt quite extraordinary, just as if she were coming home.
And then in what seemed the middle of nowhere, Archie asked the driver to stop and they climbed down to stand in the empty lane watching as it drove away, leaving a swirl of dust in its wake. Without a word Archie set off along a wide dirt track, Kitty trudging alongside dragging her battered old suitcase, and the moment she saw the house Kitty knew that the adventure had begun.
It stood four-square in the centre of a small gravelled courtyard, rather like an oversized doll’s house, the paint work faded and cracked. It possessed no Ionic columns, no porticoes or gothic additions of any sort, not even a porch; simply a solid oak door and eight sash windows all shuttered against the sun. Clumps of grass and thistles grew up here and there through the gravel, a gate swung off its hinges, creaking eerily in the wind and the fallen branch of a tree had smashed down part of what might have been a stable.
Nevertheless the house possessed undoubted charm and at right angles to it stood a cluster of barns and outbuildings, the whole surrounded by a dry-stone wall. Beyond these lay satin green meadows, tall beech and oak trees, a flag-stoned packhorse bridge over a babbling beck which led in turn down to the edge of a lake, glittering and still in the morning sun. And towering over this bucolic scene, as
‘Don’t you want it?’ Kitty shook her head and Archie said something about it being a shame to waste good food as he helped himself to a slice of her bacon and two of her sausages.
How could he eat so heartily when her own stomach churned with nerves, quite robbing her of appetite?
Finally he laid down his knife and fork with a replete sigh, drained a second cup of tea and addressed her in his usual bright and cheery voice. ‘I say old thing, you’re a bit quiet this morning. Sleep all right?’ Just as if she’d spent the night down the landing in her own room, and not curled up beside him.
She flashed him a wavering smile but, anxious not to let him see how his careless tone hurt her, responded equally brightly, ‘Like a log.’
Another silence during which Archie finished off three slices of toast and marmalade. She felt the absence of emotion like a slap in the face. He gave no sign of the tender love which had been so prevalent during the night. Could Clara have been right after all? Sex, to the male of the species, as Frank and now Archie so clearly demonstrated, was of no consequence to them at all. Well then, it was certainly of no consequence to her either. ‘And you? Did you sleep well?’ Kitty politely enquired, with a desperate brightness.
‘Like a top.’
‘Good.’
He set down his cup. ‘We’d best be on our way then.’
‘Yes, why not?’ and thrusting back her chair, almost knocking it over, Kitty went in search of the landlady to settle their bill.
As the bus left the small town behind, Kitty forgot their discord as she caught her first glimpse of the breathtaking beauty of the mountains. Their brooding splendour backlit by a brilliant haze of light, the silver sheet of water that was Lake Windermere rippling at their feet, could well have been stage managed by Mother Nature entirely for her benefit. The glorious view acted like a balm to her sore heart and bruised pride. Kitty resolved not to worry about what had taken place between them, but to behave in a mature fashion, as if it were of no account. She was a woman after all, not a child.
The bus branched left by the steamer pier and Archie informed her that the remains of a Roman camp known as Galava lay beneath the green meadow. They were heading towards Clappersgate, Skelwith Bridge and ultimately Carreckwater, the hills she could see now were apparently the Langdales. Kitty could barely take it all in, but gazed about her in wonder as they drove down a maze of winding lanes, up hill and down dale, so entranced was she by the beauty of it all. It all felt quite extraordinary, just as if she were coming home.
And then in what seemed the middle of nowhere, Archie asked the driver to stop and they climbed down to stand in the empty lane watching as it drove away, leaving a swirl of dust in its wake. Without a word Archie set off along a wide dirt track, Kitty trudging alongside dragging her battered old suitcase, and the moment she saw the house Kitty knew that the adventure had begun.
It stood four-square in the centre of a small gravelled courtyard, rather like an oversized doll’s house, the paint work faded and cracked. It possessed no Ionic columns, no porticoes or gothic additions of any sort, not even a porch; simply a solid oak door and eight sash windows all shuttered against the sun. Clumps of grass and thistles grew up here and there through the gravel, a gate swung off its hinges, creaking eerily in the wind and the fallen branch of a tree had smashed down part of what might have been a stable.
Nevertheless the house possessed undoubted charm and at right angles to it stood a cluster of barns and outbuildings, the whole surrounded by a dry-stone wall. Beyond these lay satin green meadows, tall beech and oak trees, a flag-stoned packhorse bridge over a babbling beck which led in turn down to the edge of a lake, glittering and still in the morning sun. And towering over this bucolic scene, as
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