increasingly blue eyes. âYouâre Rowena. I liked it when you came to visit.â He was touching her shoulder when the sound of an approaching vehicle reached them. They both turned to see an SUV skirt the rear of the Cadillac and stop just short of the driveway. A man was getting out of the driverâs side, his concerned voice carrying clearly.
âHow are things?â
âIâm fine,â Sarah raised her voice against the breeze, âbut I canât assess beyond myself.â She wasnât going to shout out that her companion was still badly confused. He added nothing; his eyes had emptied again.
The driver of the SUV was now opening the front passenger-side door. She watched the newcomer assisting someone in getting out. A woman. Judging from the glimpse of silver hair she had to be elderly, or at the least not young. Relief at the arrival of support was tamped down by continued concern over the car crash victimâs behavior.
Sarah guided him across the lawn to the driveway which the arrivals now approached. The man was tall, ruggedly built with a thatch of white hair, and wore a lightweight jacket open to reveal a thick knit navy sweater. The woman was slim, fairly tall with an upright carriage and a suggestion of quiet elegance, perhaps partially supplied by the pearl earrings and single strand around her neck. She was coatless. The strain on her face was evident as they drew nearer, although Sarah sensed control over panic. Was this the wife, whom sheâd been told was dead?
The four met at the foot of the driveway, the woman dividing her gaze between Sarah and the man who had now taken hold of her hand in a surprisingly strong grip. âLook,â he was drawing her forward, triumph in his voice, âitâs Rowena.â Resentment filtered in, tightening his profile. âYou said she lived . . . somewhere else.â
The silver-haired woman put her arms around him as he released Sarahâs hand and shambled up to her. âNo, Sonny. This isnât Rowena, although I understand why you would think so; the dark hair and similar height. Now why donât you go and talk for a minute to this nice man who so kindly brought me to find you, and then we can go home.â
âI donât want . . .â
The other man cooperated promptly, a smile warming his fresh-complexioned face. Up close Sarah assessed his age to be in the early- to mid-fifties. The hand he extended to Sonny looked as if it was regularly put to manual use. He had a British accent.
âGood to meet you, Mr Norris. Iâm Sid Jennson from next door.â
âAre you?â
Sarah had been informed by the realtor that an English couple owned the neighboring house. Mr Jennson gave her a kind look before turning his attention back to Sonny Norris. âThe wifeâs gone for the weekend, visiting our daughter, so youâll be doing me a favor giving me a bit of a chat. How about we go take a look at your car and see what itâll take to get it chugging?â
âIt wasnât my fault.â
âIâm sure. Nasty hill that one, had problems with it myself. I understand you were a piano teacher. Always wanted to take lessons as a kid; think Iâm too old to give it a try?â The response was a mumble, but lacking in hostility.
The silver-haired woman waited until the two men moved away before turning her blue eyes to Sarah. âRowena is my sister. She lives in Cyprus. Iâm so terribly sorry for what youâve been put through; such a scare for you, the shock of the car coming at your house must have been dreadful. I hope at the very least you were indoors.â
âI wasnât, which was for the best,â Sarah added quickly, âbecause I was able to get to him at once. It was a relief to find he didnât appear badly hurt. But do you think you should come inside and phone your doctor to take a look at him?â
âI think Iâll wait
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