brought the terrible news that the Rector’s son and his daughter-in-law had been killed in a collision at the crossroads just outside the village.
Now, years later, Jenny could see some mercy in the fact that she had lost both of them. From what her grandparents had told her, and her own dim memories, she felt sure that Peter and Cathy Shannon had been so happy together that her childish grief had been nothing to what either of them would have suffered if bereft of the other.
‘Children grow away from their parents. It’s natural and proper that they should,’ Grandpa had said to her once. ‘But husbands and wives grow together and become indivisible.’
This train of thought led to her own eventual marriage.
But she was no nearer to knowing whether she and James could achieve that marvellous state of indivisible harmony than she had been on the night of his proposal. If anything, she felt less sure.
One evening she was waiting at the county bus stop when she saw a silver Jaguar approaching. Quickly she turned her back to the road, hoping the driver would not spot her. But the car slowed down and stopped beside her, and the driver tooted his horn to attract her attention.
Forced to turn round to face him, Jennifer searched wildly for some feasible excuse for refusing a lift. But there was none.
‘Hop in, Miss Shannon. I’m going your way,’ said Simon Gilchrist, leaning across to open the nearside door for her.
‘It’s very good of you,’ she said stiffly, climbing in beside him.
‘Not at all. I’ve been hoping for a chance to have a word with you.’ He glanced in his driving mirror, and waited for some cars and a lorry to pass before he pulled out.
‘What about?’ she asked.
‘You don’t like me, do you?’ he said casually.
She flashed a startled glance at him, and saw a gleam of amusement in his eyes, a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth.
‘I hardly know you, Mr. Gilchrist.’
‘Is it because you can’t forgive me for felling the beech tree? Or is it one of those instinctive antagonisms?’
Jenny floundered for a moment, feeling her cheeks growing hot. Finally she said, ‘As I’ve already told you, I don’t think you’re improving Farthing Green by slapping an ultra-modern house in the middle of it.’
‘Not precisely in the middle,’ he said mildly.
‘Well, anywhere in the village. Old and new just don’t mix.’
‘They can - if they’re the best of their kind.’ At last he set the car in motion. ‘I take it your taste inclines to stockbrokers’ Tudor, Miss Shannon?’
‘Not at all,’ she countered sharply. ‘I just don’t think a lovely unspoilt village is the place for ... for a glorified goldfish bowl. I’m sorry if that sounds rude, but it’s something I feel quite strongly about.’
‘Evidently. But how do you know it will be like a goldfish bowl?’
‘Well, that’s what we’ve heard.’
‘And from what you know of me, you can well believe it.’
Jenny bit her lip, and let that pass.
They drove a couple of miles in silence, and then he said,
‘I gather you work in the city. What do you do for a living, Miss Shannon?’
‘I’m a nursery schoolteacher.’
‘At one of the State primary schools?’
‘No, at a private kindergarten and prep school.’
‘Whereabouts is it?’ he asked.
Jenny told him. She felt sure he was not really interested, and wished he would not bother to make polite conversation. The drive home had never seemed so long.
On the straight stretch which had once been a bad place for accidents but which was now widened into a dual carriageway, he took one hand off the wheel and offered her a cigarette.
‘No, thank you, I don’t smoke.’
He lit one for himself from a lighter built into the dashboard. Watching him use the gadget, it flashed through her mind that he had beautiful hands; strong and shapely, with long supple square-tipped fingers. Then because she did not want to admire anything about him, she turned
Now, years later, Jenny could see some mercy in the fact that she had lost both of them. From what her grandparents had told her, and her own dim memories, she felt sure that Peter and Cathy Shannon had been so happy together that her childish grief had been nothing to what either of them would have suffered if bereft of the other.
‘Children grow away from their parents. It’s natural and proper that they should,’ Grandpa had said to her once. ‘But husbands and wives grow together and become indivisible.’
This train of thought led to her own eventual marriage.
But she was no nearer to knowing whether she and James could achieve that marvellous state of indivisible harmony than she had been on the night of his proposal. If anything, she felt less sure.
One evening she was waiting at the county bus stop when she saw a silver Jaguar approaching. Quickly she turned her back to the road, hoping the driver would not spot her. But the car slowed down and stopped beside her, and the driver tooted his horn to attract her attention.
Forced to turn round to face him, Jennifer searched wildly for some feasible excuse for refusing a lift. But there was none.
‘Hop in, Miss Shannon. I’m going your way,’ said Simon Gilchrist, leaning across to open the nearside door for her.
‘It’s very good of you,’ she said stiffly, climbing in beside him.
‘Not at all. I’ve been hoping for a chance to have a word with you.’ He glanced in his driving mirror, and waited for some cars and a lorry to pass before he pulled out.
‘What about?’ she asked.
‘You don’t like me, do you?’ he said casually.
She flashed a startled glance at him, and saw a gleam of amusement in his eyes, a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth.
‘I hardly know you, Mr. Gilchrist.’
‘Is it because you can’t forgive me for felling the beech tree? Or is it one of those instinctive antagonisms?’
Jenny floundered for a moment, feeling her cheeks growing hot. Finally she said, ‘As I’ve already told you, I don’t think you’re improving Farthing Green by slapping an ultra-modern house in the middle of it.’
‘Not precisely in the middle,’ he said mildly.
‘Well, anywhere in the village. Old and new just don’t mix.’
‘They can - if they’re the best of their kind.’ At last he set the car in motion. ‘I take it your taste inclines to stockbrokers’ Tudor, Miss Shannon?’
‘Not at all,’ she countered sharply. ‘I just don’t think a lovely unspoilt village is the place for ... for a glorified goldfish bowl. I’m sorry if that sounds rude, but it’s something I feel quite strongly about.’
‘Evidently. But how do you know it will be like a goldfish bowl?’
‘Well, that’s what we’ve heard.’
‘And from what you know of me, you can well believe it.’
Jenny bit her lip, and let that pass.
They drove a couple of miles in silence, and then he said,
‘I gather you work in the city. What do you do for a living, Miss Shannon?’
‘I’m a nursery schoolteacher.’
‘At one of the State primary schools?’
‘No, at a private kindergarten and prep school.’
‘Whereabouts is it?’ he asked.
Jenny told him. She felt sure he was not really interested, and wished he would not bother to make polite conversation. The drive home had never seemed so long.
On the straight stretch which had once been a bad place for accidents but which was now widened into a dual carriageway, he took one hand off the wheel and offered her a cigarette.
‘No, thank you, I don’t smoke.’
He lit one for himself from a lighter built into the dashboard. Watching him use the gadget, it flashed through her mind that he had beautiful hands; strong and shapely, with long supple square-tipped fingers. Then because she did not want to admire anything about him, she turned
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