he’d stood before a camera and told them what he had seen.
‘Now he’s a writer?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Gita responded as both girls continued to watch the tall, dark-haired man who was working at the far end of the balloon. Gita with gentle affection, Sarah with interest.
‘He lives here?’
‘Yes, for about one year now. He was out walking when he saw the balloon landing and came to help. Perhaps one day we will put up a little plaque,’ she teased gently, ‘to say that he wrote one of his best-sellers in the calm and peace of our lovely Bavaria.’
‘Would he like that?’
‘No, I think not. He is a very private man, not one for—extravagance?’ she asked doubtfully, unsure of a word that was not in her native tongue. ‘He walks in the mountains,’ she continued fondly, ‘and sits in the café, smiles his quiet smile, and we do not bother him because we think perhaps he is writing in his head and it is best not to interrupt such important thoughts. So we smile and nod and he stays for a little bit more. You will not disturb him?’ she asked worriedly.
She would very much like to disturb him, Sarah thought, but not in the way Gita meant. ‘No,’ she denied absently. ‘I will not disturb him.’
Leaning her forehead against the glass, Sarah wondered, now, if she ever had. Certainly it had never been with the same degree that he had disturbed her. In fact he still disturbed her with his narrow, intelligent face, long-fingered hands that, when he touched her, could play such havoc with her emotions. Dark, thick, silky hair that always seemed to need cutting.
She never had finished touring Europe. She had stayed in the little Bavarian village, not because of Jed, she didn’t think—not at first, or not consciously—but she had stayed, and fallen in love. But she had always known, or thought she had known, that she loved him more than he loved her.
And now? Now, she didn’t seem to know anything, and soon it would be dark. They would make a pretence at eating, and then she could go to bed. Another day she had got through. What a wretched way to live your life, just getting through it.
She heard the soft snick of the back door closing and panic flared in her eyes. She wasn’t ready to face him, not yet, not now. She would go for a walk, she suddenly decided. Without waiting to deliberate the matter, she turned abruptly away, snatched her raincoat off the hallstand and hurried out the front door. Descending the steep steps, she turned in the direction Jed had taken. The soft drizzle soaked her hair in seconds, darkened her raincoat as she walked blindly down to the shore. Waves lapped agitatedly at the pebbles, little slaps of sound that beat counterpoint to her pulse. She tired so quickly now. Not enough exercise, not enough air in her lungs. Feeling dizzy, she halted, looked around for somewhere to rest, and seated herself on a large rock.
With her mind empty, her eyes unfocused, she stared blindly at the loch. You’re being so silly, Sarah. All you have to do is talk to him, explain how you feel. Ask him how he feels…And that was the problem, wasn’t it? She was afraid to ask him how he felt; what he was thinking, because she had the awful, mind-numbing suspicion that he no longer loved her.
An RAF jet tore through the air above her from the nearby base and nearly frightened her to death. She didn’t think she would ever get used to that thunder of sound that seemed to rip the air apart. Hand to her racing heart, she vaguely heard the crunch of pebbles as someone ran along the shoreline, the laboured breathing, but it wasn’t until a satchel thudded onto the ground beside her that she bothered to turn her head. A young boy, maybe twelve or thirteen, was staring at her, all eyes and red face from his exertions. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she. They examined each other in silence for a few moments, and then he hunched down onto his school-bag and wrapped his arms round his knees.
‘They’ll go in a minute,’ he said with almost humorous resignation.
Who? Who would go in a minute? Glancing beyond him, she saw two young girls, just hovering, but she didn’t want to get involved in this, didn’t want the distraction.
Breath still labouring, he muttered. ‘They are driving me insane!’
‘Who are they?’ She hadn’t meant to ask.
‘From school.’ He shrugged. ‘They want to know where I live.’ Picking up a handful of pebbles, he began throwing them towards the water. ‘And you can imagine what will happen then, can’t you? It’s bad enough now.’ He gave a gloomy sigh. ‘Are you the lady who lives with Jed?’
‘Yes. You know him?’
He shook his head, glanced furtively sideways to see if the girls were still there. ‘What time is it?’
‘I don’t know,’ she confessed. ‘Just after half-past three, I think.’
‘Will his leg get better?’
‘Jed’s? Yes.’
‘Mum said he was in a car crash.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed quietly.
‘Is that why you’re sad? Mum said…’ Embarrassed, he broke off.
‘Mum said?’ she prompted.
‘That you cried a lot. Are you from London?’
‘No, Bavaria…Well,’ she qualified and wondered why on earth she was bothering, ‘from Surrey really, but I’ve been living in Bavaria.’
‘Where’s that?’ he asked without much interest.
‘Germany. I think they’re going.’
‘What? Oh, great.’ Scrambling to his feet, he hoisted his school-bag onto his shoulder. ‘See you.’
Yes, she thought almost blankly, see you, but it had been a start, hadn’t it? Talking to someone. With a gentle sigh, she got to her feet.
How had his mother known she cried a lot? Sarah wondered as she retraced her steps. Because Mrs Reeves had told her? Her, and everyone else in the small community? As she reached the road she saw that the street lamps had been lit, and now sparkled on the rain drifting silently across their yellow beams. The boy had gone, home to his own fireside, his mother. Had she ever followed a boy home from school? She couldn’t remember doing so; it had always been the other way around. Until Jed. Jed she would have followed to the ends of the earth. Still would. If he wanted her.
Grasping the rail, she hauled herself up the steep steps than ran parallel to the house. Opening the front door, she found Jed waiting for her.
‘You’re wet,’ he said quietly as she entered. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. I met a boy—two girls were following him home from school.’
He gave a small smile. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘girls can be the very devil.’ Helping her off with her raincoat, he hung it on the rack.
Was she the very devil? she wondered as she followed him towards the kitchen. Perhaps that was what he had thought when she’d plagued him in Bavaria—no, not plagued, she hadn’t done that, but she hadn’t tried to hide the tension he’d generated in her.
She slowly sat at
