the hall, snatched open the door into the porch. As David came hurrying round from the garage she flew out to greet him, threw her arms round his neck. He embraced her warmly, gave her a tender kiss.
Later, as they finished clearing the supper things, he put his arm round her shoulders. ‘I’ve something to tell you,’ he said in indulgent tones. ‘Something to show you. I’ve arranged a wonderful surprise for you.’ Her face lit up like a child at Christmas. He squeezed her shoulders. ‘I know you’re going to love it. Come and sit down, I’ll tell you all about it.’
A dark Monday morning, October 23rd. The birds not yet awake, only the occasional mournful cry of an owl.
On their smallholding, two miles from Ferndale, Bob and Irene Garbutt had been up since five; always plenty of indoor jobs to be done before sunrise.
At six-thirty Garbutt came out of the warm kitchen into the chill air, bending his head against the whipping breeze. A tall, broad-shouldered man, lean and solidly muscled. He had been a regular soldier, both his sons were in the Army.
As he crossed the yard a cock crowed shrilly in the distance. A lively cackling erupted from the wire-fronted sheds housing the geese. Garbutt glanced at his watch – he was due at Ferndale at five past seven to pick up David Conway and drive him to Oldmoor station, a regular booking since April, one Monday in four. Garbutt supplemented what he made from the smallholding by running a one-man hired-car service locally.
He went into the cold store for the box of fruit Conway had ordered for his wife. Garbutt had selected the fruit with particular care the previous evening: sweetly-smelling Cox’s orange pippins, prime Comice pears.
He carried the box out to his car and stowed it away in the boot. He went back into the house and stood washing his hands at the sink. Irene came into the kitchen, carrying a jar of her newly made damson jam. Still a pretty woman, with bright blue eyes and a ready smile.
She set the jam down on the table. ‘You can take this for Anna, a little present to say I hope she’s feeling better.’
Garbutt ate a piece of toast and drank a mug of tea; time for a decent breakfast later. Promptly at ten minutes to seven he got into his car. He prided himself on punctuality and reliability. No need to allow for delays; scarcely any traffic on these rural roads at this time of day, this season of the year.
The sky showed the first signs of lightening as he turned the car towards Ferndale; birds began to twitter from the hedgerows.
The front of the bungalow was in darkness when he pulled up by the recessed porch but a light shone out from the kitchen, round to the left. He tooted his horn and Conway appeared a minute or two later, switching lights on as he came. He found Garbutt standing by the open boot of his car, lifting out the box of fruit.
‘Anna’ll be delighted with those,’ Conway exclaimed as he cast an appreciative eye over the unblemished skins. ‘What do I owe you?’
‘No need to bother with that now.’ Garbutt set the box down inside the porch. ‘Leave it till this evening. We can settle up then.’ Conway was travelling to Dunstall – home of Zodiac’s factory and head office – for the four-weekly sales meeting. Garbutt usually picked him up again at Oldmoor station at a quarter to one but today was the firm’s silver jubilee, to be marked, following the sales meeting, by festivities lasting well into the afternoon.
Garbutt handed over the jam, along with his wife’s message. ‘That’s very good of Irene,’ Conway said with pleasure. He carried the fruit and jam inside and Garbutt got back into his car, out of the wind.
A few minutes later Anna came out into the shelter of the porch. She wore a blue woollen dressing-gown and bedroom slippers.
‘The fruit’s lovely,’ she told Garbutt with a warm smile. The porch light threw shadows over her face and hair. She reached into a pocket for a handkerchief and dabbed at her lips. ‘And please thank Irene for the jam, it’s very kind of her. Damson’s one of my favourites. Tell her I’m feeling much better.’
‘I’m delighted to hear it,’ Garbutt responded heartily. ‘You can start eating the Coxes any time but I should give the pears another day or two. You’ll want to keep your eye on them, catch each one just right, when it’s sweet and juicy.’
‘I’ll remember.’ She thrust her hands into her sleeves for warmth, like a Chinese mandarin.
‘Not long now till your holiday,’ Garbutt commented.
‘November 2nd, a week on Thursday.’ Her tone was pleased and lively. ‘I’m really looking forward to it now.’
Conway came back, wearing a short tweed overcoat. He carried a briefcase and a pair of gloves. He caught the tail end of their conversation.
‘I’m driving Anna down to Southampton,’ he told Garbutt. ‘I’m meeting her there again when the ship docks.’ Anna looked up at him with a loving smile. ‘We’re going shopping on Wednesday,’ Conway added. ‘To buy her some gorgeous clothes for the trip. I’ve fixed it so I’ve got the whole afternoon free. We’re going into Cannonbridge.’ He named a large department store. ‘We’re taking it easy, doing it all under one roof, breaking off for tea in the cafe halfway through, so she won’t be worn out at the end of it. I intend it to be a pleasure, not an ordeal.’
Anna turned her head and smiled at Garbutt. ‘I’m really being spoiled, don’t you think? I shall enjoy choosing the clothes, though I’m not going to be too extravagant.’
Conway put his arm round her shoulders and kissed her tenderly. ‘Don’t stand out here in the cold. I’ll be home around a quarter to seven. And don’t go wearing yourself out, doing too much housework. You’ve got the place looking spotless already.’
‘No, I won’t.’ Her mouth opened suddenly in a deep yawn and she put up a hand to cover it. ‘I’ll make sure I get plenty of rest. There’s a film on TV this afternoon I’m going to watch, it should be good. And I might go out for a stroll if the wind drops.’ Conway smiled approval.
But she didn’t go back inside at once. She kept her gaze fixed on her husband as he got into the passenger seat.
Garbutt switched on the ignition. His watch showed seven-fifteen. Anna stood smiling and waving as the car reversed and drove out into the lane.
The instant it vanished from sight the smile left her face, her hand dropped to her side. She shivered, pulled her dressing-gown closely round her. She sent a long, lingering look round the shadowy garden, the dark trees, the paling sky. Then she reached out and switched off the outside light. She turned and went slowly back into the house, closing the door behind her.
Oldmoor station lay one and a half miles from Ferndale on a stretch of line closed thirty years ago, later rescued from vandalism and dereliction by a preservation society which raised funds, laboured to restore it, acquired and refurbished old rolling-stock, repaired the buildings.
Now, fifteen years after the first rejuvenated steam train rode the rails, the society operated – with the aid of extra income from occasional filming and TV commercials – a successful and established schedule, highly popular with local travellers as well as holidaymakers and steam enthusiasts. The line linked up with the main railway system at Sedgefield Junction where a fast train would carry Conway
