Primrose Square by Anne Douglas Page B

wonder remained.
    â€˜Oh, Elinor,’ he was whispering, ‘I was so afraid you might not come, might not be able to come, I mean. That somebody’d said you couldn’t have the time, or something  . . .’
    â€˜Nothing would have stopped me from coming,’ she said firmly. ‘But tell me, where are we going? I’ve to be back by six.’
    â€˜Six? My poor Cinderella.’ He laughed, tucking her arm in his. ‘Oh, but I wish you were Cinderella, and then you’d have till midnight. Where are we going? To the station; we’re catching a train.’
    â€˜A train? Why, Stephen, you know we haven’t got time for train journeys!’
    â€˜We’re only going to Colinton, takes fifteen minutes, or less. There’s country there and a nice place for tea, so let’s be quick and get the tram to Waverley.’
    â€˜I’ve never been to Colinton,’ she told him as they ran for a tram. ‘Is there really country there?’
    â€˜You bet. Why, it’s a village. Not part of the city at all, though they say that’ll be coming.’
    â€˜I’d love to see it; love to see some real country.’ As a tram rolled up and they took their seats, Elinor’s smile lit her face. ‘Nearest I get to it is the square, but then I love that, too.’
    â€˜This’ll be different from the square, I promise you. It used to be our favourite day out, to go to Colinton, before my father died.’
    â€˜You’ve never told me about your father.’
    â€˜We’ve had so little chance to talk at all.’ His eyes were serious. ‘But today, I want to learn all about you.’
    Her gaze fell. ‘Nothing much to know about me, Stephen.’
    â€˜Now, why do people always say that?’ He leaped up. ‘Here we are – here’s Waverley. Let’s hope we don’t have to wait too long for a train.’
    They were in luck. As soon as Stephen had bought the tickets and they’d found the platform, their little train came steaming in and they were aboard, Elinor as excited as though she was going to London at least, and Stephen indulgently smiling.
    â€˜Don’t tell me you haven’t been on a train before,’ he murmured, as they took their seats in a compartment with only one other passenger, an elderly man reading a newspaper.
    â€˜Of course I have!’ she cried. ‘We did a trip from school to North Berwick, to see the sea.’
    â€˜Never went on holiday anywhere?’
    She only looked at him, her brows raised, and he coloured a little.
    â€˜Sorry, probably wasn’t possible.’
    â€˜You’re right. But this’ll be sort of a holiday, eh? Seeing somewhere new? And the country?’
    â€˜Wish it could have been longer.’
    â€˜I’m lucky it’s happening at all.’
    Certainly, their journey was short enough, for they’d hardly settled into their seats when they were rising again, and a porter was calling out, ‘Colinton!’
    â€˜We’ll take the lane away from the village,’ Stephen told her on the windy little station platform. ‘I thought we’d walk a bit first, then come back to the teashop. What do you think?’
    â€˜Oh, yes, I want to see some grass and trees. Cows as well!’
    â€˜When we came with my dad, we always went to the Dell, where you can see the Water of Leith and the weir, but there are always people there, and we want to be alone, don’t we?’
    He took her arm, guiding her away from the steep main street of the village towards a lane that wound away into open country, explaining that she would get her chance to see a cow or two in the fields, and horses, too: they would be passing a little farm very soon.
    â€˜A farm?’ she cried, charmed. ‘Oh, Stephen!’
    It was all he could do to drag her away from the farm premises when they came to them, for she was exclaiming over the