was going to meet the first week’s rent, and if he asked for it up front like most landlords did . . .
He didn’t. ‘Right, we’ll take that as read then, lass.’ For some reason - and he couldn’t explain it, even to himself - Zachariah was finding that the sight of this young girl was paining him. In spite of the unusually mature way she had about her it was obvious she was little more than a bairn, her body was only just beginning to take on the first signs of womanhood and her eyes were as innocent as a five-year-old’s. The creamy-skinned oval face was pretty enough, and the dark brown eyes with their heavy fringe of black lashes were striking, but it would be an exaggeration to call her beautiful. And yet . . . there was something more than mere beauty shining out of this face, something warm and vital that was causing his guts to twist and his voice to sound abrupt as he said, ‘I’ll see you at the weekend if not afore then.’
‘Thank you.’ In spite of all the uncertainty before her Rosie felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She’d found them somewhere to stay and that was a start. ‘Thank you very much, Mr Price.’
‘Nothin’ to thank me for, lass.’ Zachariah had always considered himself a levelheaded, charitable man, and it was doubly disturbing to find he was already regretting the verbal agreement. ‘It’s business, that’s all. Straightforward business.’
‘Yes. Yes of course.’ They stared at each other a moment or two longer, Rosie’s eyes faintly puzzled, and then she said, ‘I must go, my mother will be worried. I’ll let you know what time we plan to arrive on Sunday when I’ve had a word with her, if that’s all right?’ ‘No need.’ His voice was over-jolly in his desire to take the stiffness out of it. ‘I’ll be in all weekend, lass.’
As she turned in the doorway he slid off the sofa and followed her out into the cold hall, and perversely he found he was swinging his body so it exaggerated his shambling gait all the more.
It was quite dark outside and the snow was settling, a thin wispy layer covering the frozen pavement like a bride’s veil, and Zachariah, in an effort to dispel the awkward atmosphere, remarked, ‘Looks like we’re in for a packet this time.’
After stepping down into the street Rosie turned to face him again and now she found the six inches or so difference in their height was evened out and her head was on a level with his, when she said, ‘So they say but we’ve been lucky so far.’
‘Aye, just so.’ She could say they’d been lucky after what she had shared about her family’s circumstances? He looked into her sweet face caught in the light of the street lamp, the shadow of her hat turning her eyes into dark pools of velvet, and felt something tighten in his stomach. ‘Just so, lass.’ She was a fighter all right, this one, and he’d always taken his hat off to them that bit back. He found he was suddenly glad he had agreed to rent out the rooms. ‘So long, lass, an’ watch yourself, mind.’
‘Yes, I will. And . . . thank you again, Mr Price.’
Chapter Three
‘Here we are then, hinny, this is your stop. Watch yourself, mind.’
It was the third time today she had had the last words spoken to her, but Rosie smiled at the fatherly tram conductor as she stepped onto the pavement. The tram only took Rosie as far as the corner of Mapel Avenue, there was still the trek down Chapel Lane before she turned into Forcer Road and home. She stood for a moment in the feathery white silence as the tram trundled away, the two men and one woman who had alighted at her stop disappearing into the darkness. It was strange how the snow changed everything. Rosie lifted her head and looked up into the swirling blanket above, the big fat starry snowflakes settling on her eyelashes as she blinked against their coldness. It could even make Chapel Lane a thing of beauty.
He didn’t. ‘Right, we’ll take that as read then, lass.’ For some reason - and he couldn’t explain it, even to himself - Zachariah was finding that the sight of this young girl was paining him. In spite of the unusually mature way she had about her it was obvious she was little more than a bairn, her body was only just beginning to take on the first signs of womanhood and her eyes were as innocent as a five-year-old’s. The creamy-skinned oval face was pretty enough, and the dark brown eyes with their heavy fringe of black lashes were striking, but it would be an exaggeration to call her beautiful. And yet . . . there was something more than mere beauty shining out of this face, something warm and vital that was causing his guts to twist and his voice to sound abrupt as he said, ‘I’ll see you at the weekend if not afore then.’
‘Thank you.’ In spite of all the uncertainty before her Rosie felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She’d found them somewhere to stay and that was a start. ‘Thank you very much, Mr Price.’
‘Nothin’ to thank me for, lass.’ Zachariah had always considered himself a levelheaded, charitable man, and it was doubly disturbing to find he was already regretting the verbal agreement. ‘It’s business, that’s all. Straightforward business.’
‘Yes. Yes of course.’ They stared at each other a moment or two longer, Rosie’s eyes faintly puzzled, and then she said, ‘I must go, my mother will be worried. I’ll let you know what time we plan to arrive on Sunday when I’ve had a word with her, if that’s all right?’ ‘No need.’ His voice was over-jolly in his desire to take the stiffness out of it. ‘I’ll be in all weekend, lass.’
As she turned in the doorway he slid off the sofa and followed her out into the cold hall, and perversely he found he was swinging his body so it exaggerated his shambling gait all the more.
It was quite dark outside and the snow was settling, a thin wispy layer covering the frozen pavement like a bride’s veil, and Zachariah, in an effort to dispel the awkward atmosphere, remarked, ‘Looks like we’re in for a packet this time.’
After stepping down into the street Rosie turned to face him again and now she found the six inches or so difference in their height was evened out and her head was on a level with his, when she said, ‘So they say but we’ve been lucky so far.’
‘Aye, just so.’ She could say they’d been lucky after what she had shared about her family’s circumstances? He looked into her sweet face caught in the light of the street lamp, the shadow of her hat turning her eyes into dark pools of velvet, and felt something tighten in his stomach. ‘Just so, lass.’ She was a fighter all right, this one, and he’d always taken his hat off to them that bit back. He found he was suddenly glad he had agreed to rent out the rooms. ‘So long, lass, an’ watch yourself, mind.’
‘Yes, I will. And . . . thank you again, Mr Price.’
Chapter Three
‘Here we are then, hinny, this is your stop. Watch yourself, mind.’
It was the third time today she had had the last words spoken to her, but Rosie smiled at the fatherly tram conductor as she stepped onto the pavement. The tram only took Rosie as far as the corner of Mapel Avenue, there was still the trek down Chapel Lane before she turned into Forcer Road and home. She stood for a moment in the feathery white silence as the tram trundled away, the two men and one woman who had alighted at her stop disappearing into the darkness. It was strange how the snow changed everything. Rosie lifted her head and looked up into the swirling blanket above, the big fat starry snowflakes settling on her eyelashes as she blinked against their coldness. It could even make Chapel Lane a thing of beauty.
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