That would help you to sleep, most likely.â
Elise shook her head, for she hated taking drugs of any kind. She hadnât taken the doctorâs tablets even when her ankle had been most painful and she certainly had no intention of taking them now. Besides, there was no way any tablet could ease the ache in her heart.
âIâll just drink my chocolate, Mrs Parsons. Iâm fine now. And youâre not to worry about the gentleman who telephoned â it was just a bit of a shock, thatâs all.â
âWell, if youâre quite sure â¦â Uncertainly Mrs Parsons turned once more to the door and Elise summoned a determined smile.
âGoodnight, Mrs Parsons. Sleep well.â
âAnd you, Maâam,â came the reply.
But Elise knew that tired as she was she would not sleep now.
She set down her cup once more and turned off the light above her bed, then lay staring into the darkness while the memories came flooding in. Herself, twenty-three years old and looking, if she was honest, very much as Katy looked today. Gordon, vitally youthful in spite of his forty-five years. And a young man in RAF uniform: tall, athletically built, with broad shoulders and hard muscles. She half closed her eyes and across the years his face came tantalisingly into focus for just a moment before it was gone again â dark hair springing strongly away from an angular face, a slightly crooked nose, cool hazel eyes and a scar that ran jaggedly down the side of his cheek. Brit as she had known and loved him.
But Brit was dead. She had seen him die. Forty years had passed since that day and she had known he must be dead. Nothing else made sense.
Slowly the long hours of the night slid by. Towards dawn Elise dozed, but her sleep was punctuated by the chaos of her thoughts.
With daylight common sense began to prevail, and determinedly she pushed the persistent memories to the back of her mind. It was crazy, ridiculous, that just one mention of a name from so long ago should have this effect on her. And to begin living in the past now, when there was so much in the present to claim her attention, was the sheerest folly.
Yet as she busied herself with the everyday tasks â her mail, her files, plans for the Flower Show which only yesterday had seemed so important â Elise was conscious of a feeling of breathless waiting, the blood coursing in her veins each time the telephone rang, her heart seeming to miss a beat whenever she heard footsteps or a car engine on the valley road.
It was late afternoon when the doorbell rang. The weather was less fine than on the previous day, with thunder in the air, and Elise was working not in the garden but in the sitting room. As the bell pealed in the stillness of the house, she recalled that Mrs Parsons had gone to the village to shop. Someone else would probably answer the door if she left it, she thought â Evans, or maybe even one of the gardeners if they were in the vicinity. But in fact she did not want the door answered by any of them.
She put her papers aside and stood up, a slim figure in a flowered silk dress of palest pinks and mauves, and gently touched her cap of soft silver curls to ensure their tidiness.
She crossed the hall, where the scent of roses still hung heavily, to the door which stood ajar to the heat of the afternoon. For just a second she hesitated, her breath coming a little too fast, her heart thudding uncomfortably. Then she raised her hand and opened the door.
He stood on the top step, a tall man with springy hair and cool hazel eyes, a half-expectant smile on his strong-boned, angular face. The beat of her heart seemed to increase in tempo until it resembled the ticking of a loud and erratic clock; against the door jamb her fingers tightened, whitening beneath the pressure, and her knees felt weak beneath her.
For a moment she could neither move nor speak, then her breath came out on a whispered sigh.
âBrit!â she
Elise shook her head, for she hated taking drugs of any kind. She hadnât taken the doctorâs tablets even when her ankle had been most painful and she certainly had no intention of taking them now. Besides, there was no way any tablet could ease the ache in her heart.
âIâll just drink my chocolate, Mrs Parsons. Iâm fine now. And youâre not to worry about the gentleman who telephoned â it was just a bit of a shock, thatâs all.â
âWell, if youâre quite sure â¦â Uncertainly Mrs Parsons turned once more to the door and Elise summoned a determined smile.
âGoodnight, Mrs Parsons. Sleep well.â
âAnd you, Maâam,â came the reply.
But Elise knew that tired as she was she would not sleep now.
She set down her cup once more and turned off the light above her bed, then lay staring into the darkness while the memories came flooding in. Herself, twenty-three years old and looking, if she was honest, very much as Katy looked today. Gordon, vitally youthful in spite of his forty-five years. And a young man in RAF uniform: tall, athletically built, with broad shoulders and hard muscles. She half closed her eyes and across the years his face came tantalisingly into focus for just a moment before it was gone again â dark hair springing strongly away from an angular face, a slightly crooked nose, cool hazel eyes and a scar that ran jaggedly down the side of his cheek. Brit as she had known and loved him.
But Brit was dead. She had seen him die. Forty years had passed since that day and she had known he must be dead. Nothing else made sense.
Slowly the long hours of the night slid by. Towards dawn Elise dozed, but her sleep was punctuated by the chaos of her thoughts.
With daylight common sense began to prevail, and determinedly she pushed the persistent memories to the back of her mind. It was crazy, ridiculous, that just one mention of a name from so long ago should have this effect on her. And to begin living in the past now, when there was so much in the present to claim her attention, was the sheerest folly.
Yet as she busied herself with the everyday tasks â her mail, her files, plans for the Flower Show which only yesterday had seemed so important â Elise was conscious of a feeling of breathless waiting, the blood coursing in her veins each time the telephone rang, her heart seeming to miss a beat whenever she heard footsteps or a car engine on the valley road.
It was late afternoon when the doorbell rang. The weather was less fine than on the previous day, with thunder in the air, and Elise was working not in the garden but in the sitting room. As the bell pealed in the stillness of the house, she recalled that Mrs Parsons had gone to the village to shop. Someone else would probably answer the door if she left it, she thought â Evans, or maybe even one of the gardeners if they were in the vicinity. But in fact she did not want the door answered by any of them.
She put her papers aside and stood up, a slim figure in a flowered silk dress of palest pinks and mauves, and gently touched her cap of soft silver curls to ensure their tidiness.
She crossed the hall, where the scent of roses still hung heavily, to the door which stood ajar to the heat of the afternoon. For just a second she hesitated, her breath coming a little too fast, her heart thudding uncomfortably. Then she raised her hand and opened the door.
He stood on the top step, a tall man with springy hair and cool hazel eyes, a half-expectant smile on his strong-boned, angular face. The beat of her heart seemed to increase in tempo until it resembled the ticking of a loud and erratic clock; against the door jamb her fingers tightened, whitening beneath the pressure, and her knees felt weak beneath her.
For a moment she could neither move nor speak, then her breath came out on a whispered sigh.
âBrit!â she
Similar Books
