The Winter Folly by Lulu Taylor Page B

bottoms rising and falling in the saddle with steady little bumps.
    Alexandra crossed the road, getting grit in her sandals from the bridle path, and started ambling across the cool grass, not sure of where she was heading. There was a limit to how far she could
go, after all, no matter how much she might want to wander on forever. Her duty would call her back, the inexorable move of the clock hands towards six o’clock when she should be at home,
ready in case Laurence returned and expected a drink and dinner on the table by seven.
    She walked on, thinking about home and wondering if her father had read the long chatty letters she sent once a week. She had only received two postcards in return, both terse and concerned with
things like the planning committee on the parish council. Perhaps her father might visit her one day. Laurence would probably be riding in a parade soon, attending at some royal event, and perhaps
she might be able to ask her father along to see it. Surely he would like that. She wanted him to come and see the life he had chosen for her and to make it worthwhile by giving her his
approval.
    Just ahead of her, a girl in a short dress, sunglasses and a large hat was lying on a wrought-iron bench, twisted in an odd way with her chin lifted and one arm thrown up. A man was standing
nearby, similarly outlandish in tight white trousers and a bright pink jacket. His dark hair looked shaggy and long after the short army cuts she was now used to, and he was bent over, with a large
black camera pressed to his eye, taking pictures of the girl.
    Alexandra stopped nearby, watching as the man squinted through the camera and called instructions to the girl. She obediently bent herself into poses as he clicked away, turning her head and
holding it for an instant so that he could capture it, before striking another attitude. The model was pretty but unsmiling, which seemed to Alexandra to be the wrong kind of behaviour when
one’s picture was being taken. She loitered silently, watching with interest.
    ‘Hey, do you mind? I can do without a lot of gawping if it’s all the same!’ The man had turned around to face her. He lowered his camera, frowning. ‘I’m trying to
take some pictures here. It’s not a tourist attraction, you know. This is a serious business – for a fashion magazine.’
    ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think I was disturbing you,’ Alexandra said, flushing. He was rude but perhaps her staring had been ruder. ‘I’ll go now.’
    She turned and began to walk swiftly away.
    ‘Wait a moment, no need to run off – wait, will you?’ His voice came after her and she stopped, not turning around, blinking at the grass that was almost acid-green in the
bright sunshine. She heard him say, ‘Turn around – don’t I know you?’
    Know me?
she thought, astonished.
Who would know me? Who do I know? I don’t know anyone . . .
    She turned slowly back to face the man by the bench. He was looking at her in a curious way and as she stared at him, his features seemed to transform, rearranging themselves into something
familiar.
    ‘Alexandra?’ he said in a tone of surprise. ‘You’re Alexandra Crewe, aren’t you?’
    She nodded, confused. Then, just as he said his name, it came rushing back with a force that almost knocked her over. How could she not have recognised him at once?
    He said, ‘Don’t you remember me? I’m Nicky Stirling. How incredible!’
    And then he was walking towards her, a smile across his face, and she knew him at once, even though she hadn’t seen him since he was twelve years old and her mother had not yet died.
    ‘I think this is just the craziest coincidence!’ Nicky said, beaming. He seemed so happy to see her, she could scarcely understand why. The model had been sent away
and they were in a coffee bar, staring at one another across a Formica table and each taking in how the other had changed from childhood.
    ‘It is,’ she said breathlessly. ‘It’s very