won’t hear the robins until next year if you miss them now.” He sat in a large wicker rocker, motioning her into a nearby chair.
She sat. “I never knew a man who recognized a robin’s song, or knew when they sang,” she told him quietly.
“I grew up in the country,” he said. “Actually, I prefer it to the city.”
“I couldn’t live in the city,” Emily admitted. “My father does, and my mother lives just outside of D.C. But I’m not a city girl at all. I have lived in Egret Pointe my whole life, and I never want to live anywhere else. I suppose that makes me a world class stick-in-the-mud.” She laughed. “Did you like living in London? It’s a wonderful city.”
“I was very fortunate,” he said. “I lived in an elegant little row house directly across from a lovely park. Actually, I own it. I’ve let it out for a year to a wealthy American widow, complete with my butler, Mr. Harrington, until I see how things go now that I’m back. I’m not certain I want to stay here.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “Why not?” she asked him. Then, “It’s J.P., isn’t it? She really is a dreadful creature, but she has made Stratford exceedingly profitable, and in publishing today profit is the name of the game. Martin couldn’t do without her.”
“You know what’s happening then?” he said quietly.
“Yes, I know,” Emily answered him candidly. Then she stood up. “I really want to get the table cleared and those dishes started, Mick.”
“I’ll help,” he said, escorting her into the house.
They hardly spoke another word as together they cleared the rest of the dishes and glasses from the table. When everything was in the dishwasher and Emily had started it, she told him to take off the lovely Irish linen cloth that had covered her Duncan Phyfe dining table, and gather up the napkins.
“Essie, my housekeeper, will do them on Monday,” she said, putting them in a basket in the laundry room off the big kitchen.
“Is that a laundry tub?” he asked her.
“One of the benefits of living in an old house,” she replied as she set up the coffeemaker for the morning. “First one down turns it on,” she told him.
“I’m not usually an early riser on Saturdays,” he admitted with a grin.
“I thought we were going to work tomorrow,” Emily said. “I have so much to tell you, and I’ve already fleshed out the story, Mick.”
“It’s still early,” he responded. “I thought we might work a little tonight.”
“Oh,” she replied.
“Or we could sit out on your porch for a while longer, and get to know each other better,” he quickly suggested, seeing her dismay. “You aren’t a night person, are you, Emily?”
“Not really. My brain functions better when the sun’s up,” she confessed.
It was almost dark when they came out again to sit on the porch. They watched the night envelop everything about them, and they couldn’t even see each other’s faces, just their silhouettes. The stars came out to twinkle brightly in the blackness of the firmament. They talked about themselves, learning to become more comfortable with each other as the time slipped by.
“What’s that?” he said, suddenly hearing a chiming coming from the village.
“The Episcopal church, St. Luke’s, has a clock tower. Didn’t you notice it before?” Emily wondered. She had gotten so used to it she rarely ever heard it.
“No, I was too interested in listening to you,” he told her. “God, it’s eleven o’clock, isn’t it? I hadn’t realized it was so late.”
“Do you turn into a pumpkin at midnight?” she asked mischievously.
He laughed. “Did you leave any lights on in the house?” he asked her.
“I’ll go put some on so you don’t break your neck coming in,” she replied, getting up to do exactly that.
Able to see his way in he thanked her for a lovely evening.
“You have your own bathroom,” she told him as he made his way upstairs. “The house may be an
She sat. “I never knew a man who recognized a robin’s song, or knew when they sang,” she told him quietly.
“I grew up in the country,” he said. “Actually, I prefer it to the city.”
“I couldn’t live in the city,” Emily admitted. “My father does, and my mother lives just outside of D.C. But I’m not a city girl at all. I have lived in Egret Pointe my whole life, and I never want to live anywhere else. I suppose that makes me a world class stick-in-the-mud.” She laughed. “Did you like living in London? It’s a wonderful city.”
“I was very fortunate,” he said. “I lived in an elegant little row house directly across from a lovely park. Actually, I own it. I’ve let it out for a year to a wealthy American widow, complete with my butler, Mr. Harrington, until I see how things go now that I’m back. I’m not certain I want to stay here.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “Why not?” she asked him. Then, “It’s J.P., isn’t it? She really is a dreadful creature, but she has made Stratford exceedingly profitable, and in publishing today profit is the name of the game. Martin couldn’t do without her.”
“You know what’s happening then?” he said quietly.
“Yes, I know,” Emily answered him candidly. Then she stood up. “I really want to get the table cleared and those dishes started, Mick.”
“I’ll help,” he said, escorting her into the house.
They hardly spoke another word as together they cleared the rest of the dishes and glasses from the table. When everything was in the dishwasher and Emily had started it, she told him to take off the lovely Irish linen cloth that had covered her Duncan Phyfe dining table, and gather up the napkins.
“Essie, my housekeeper, will do them on Monday,” she said, putting them in a basket in the laundry room off the big kitchen.
“Is that a laundry tub?” he asked her.
“One of the benefits of living in an old house,” she replied as she set up the coffeemaker for the morning. “First one down turns it on,” she told him.
“I’m not usually an early riser on Saturdays,” he admitted with a grin.
“I thought we were going to work tomorrow,” Emily said. “I have so much to tell you, and I’ve already fleshed out the story, Mick.”
“It’s still early,” he responded. “I thought we might work a little tonight.”
“Oh,” she replied.
“Or we could sit out on your porch for a while longer, and get to know each other better,” he quickly suggested, seeing her dismay. “You aren’t a night person, are you, Emily?”
“Not really. My brain functions better when the sun’s up,” she confessed.
It was almost dark when they came out again to sit on the porch. They watched the night envelop everything about them, and they couldn’t even see each other’s faces, just their silhouettes. The stars came out to twinkle brightly in the blackness of the firmament. They talked about themselves, learning to become more comfortable with each other as the time slipped by.
“What’s that?” he said, suddenly hearing a chiming coming from the village.
“The Episcopal church, St. Luke’s, has a clock tower. Didn’t you notice it before?” Emily wondered. She had gotten so used to it she rarely ever heard it.
“No, I was too interested in listening to you,” he told her. “God, it’s eleven o’clock, isn’t it? I hadn’t realized it was so late.”
“Do you turn into a pumpkin at midnight?” she asked mischievously.
He laughed. “Did you leave any lights on in the house?” he asked her.
“I’ll go put some on so you don’t break your neck coming in,” she replied, getting up to do exactly that.
Able to see his way in he thanked her for a lovely evening.
“You have your own bathroom,” she told him as he made his way upstairs. “The house may be an
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