The Runaway by Grace Thompson Page A

short, face-hugging style.
    After having her hair cut she walked along the promenade. It was February but the air was still redolent with the remembered smells ofsummer. Rows of shops, closed now but promising tasty treats, from fish-and-chip meals to joky sweets made of seaside rock; others offered gifts and postcards showing views or saucy pictures. But that was all in the future. Today, in February, the area was quiet, her footsteps sounding unnaturally loud in the calm air, punctuated occasionally by the sad wailing calls of the gulls.
    The man called Ian Day was there again the following morning. He came and sat down with his head tilted in a silent request. This time she smiled and said, ‘Please, join me if you wish.’
    ‘I wish,’ he said cheerfully. ‘My, you look different. What happened to your long curls?’
    ‘It was time for a change,’ she said, and her voice discouraged further comment.
    ‘Have you seen much of the town yet?’ he asked as their meal was placed in front of them.
    ‘A little. I spent yesterday walking around the local beaches and later the town.’ She didn’t tell him that she had lived there for months or that she had bought a surprising amount of clothing. Having left everything behind apart from what she had crammed into her small suitcase she had needed replenishments. She had bought what was necessary to prepare herself for the job that awaited her on the following day.
    Ian went home thinking about the brief encounter. She was deeply unhappy, that much was obvious. He had recognized another victim like himself and wondered whether a broken romance was the reason she was sad too. His mother, Vivienne opened the door to allow the delicious smell of cooking to escape.
    ‘What’s wrong, dear?’ she asked, seeing his serious expression as she placed the plates on the table.
    ‘Nothing really, it’s just that I’ve been feeling sad and today I realized I’m not the only one to have had a disappointment.’ He told her about the unhappy woman he had met earlier. ‘Another romance gone wrong, I’m sure of it.’
    ‘Oh, you’re clever! Mind-reader as well as brilliant salesman!’
    ‘And I bet she doesn’t go home to a meal as good as this one!’
     
    On her last morning at the hotel, Faith didn’t wait for breakfast but left by taxi before serving began. It was unlikely that Matt would look for her here but the fewer people she spoke to the better. Hewould probably expect her to have travelled miles away and found work as a teacher, certainly not as a housekeeper companion, and in the same town, so she felt reasonably safe. But there was no point taking unnecessary risks. Her employer, Mrs Thomas, wasn’t expecting her until after lunch but Faith thought she wouldn’t mind her arriving a little earlier than planned. She still felt weak and didn’t fancy wandering around laden with her baggage for hours.
    Mrs Rebecca Thomas was a small, slim person with a constant frown on her face. She suffered from arthritis and Faith guessed she was in considerable pain. She spoke abruptly and at first Faith found it irritating to be treated like an idiot, having to listen to her employer explain the way she wanted things done in minute detail. As days passed she became used to it and waited calmly for the lecture to end, after which she did what was required with very few complaints.
    She gathered from Sophie, the woman who came in to clean twice each week, that Mrs Thomas had difficulty keeping the small staff she required.
    ‘Not used to it you see,’ Sophie explained in a whisper. ‘Not brought up to it, like. Now my other ladies they don’t have any trouble, they know what’s needed and once they sort out who does what they leave it to the staff to sort between them. Now Mrs Thomas, she’s unsure of herself if you ask me, so she overdoes the ordering about and people won’t stand for it, see.’
    ‘I’ll try to make allowances,’ Faith said solemnly. ‘You’re very