on the signposts struck answering chords within her, and most of them had happy associations—Wetherby with its race track where Chas had called her his mascot because she’d picked three winners for him on the card—Harrogate where she and Julie had been at school—York with its gated walls and towering Minster, and the little winding streets which seemed like a step into the past. She hadn’t realised until that moment just how much she had missed it all, and a wave of pure nostalgia washed over her. She had been homesick, but she had managed to keep it at bay by reminding herself how impossible it was that she should ever go back.
Yet now she was back, brought by the man who had driven her into flight in the first place. And again she thought, ‘I must be insane.’
The motorway was far behind them now, and it was getting dark, too dark to gain more than a fleeting impression of the surrounding countryside, the dale where Stoniscliffe was situated.
But she could remember it, could imagine the sweep of the moor, the tall rocks which pressed down to the very verges of the road, the splashing waterfalls, the march of the dry-stone walls, and the sturdy grey houses set firm against all the wind and weather could do to them.
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