to walk towards the village.
And she knew, before she'd gone fifty yards, that if she glanced back over her shoulder she would find him watching her.
CHAPTER TWO
DEFEATING an almost overwhelming impulse to break into a run, Zanna walked briskly, head held high, round the turn in the lane. Once she was sure she was safely out of sight she slowed down, making herself breathe deeply in an attempt to regain her faltering composure.
This was the second time in a couple of hours that she'd been made to feel disconcerted and on edge. And she didn't like it, not one little bit.
Just what I needed, she thought with angry irony. A garage hand with attitude. The ideal end to a perfect day.
And she was determined it would be the end. She was already deeply regretting this sentimental detour. As soon as the car was fixed she would be off back to her city centre hotel and its mechanical civilities. At least she knew what to expect there.
However, the village, when reached, was certainly charming. The cottages which lined the road were stone-built, many with thatched roofs and gardens bright with seasonal flowers. Aubretia tumbled in shades of purple and crimson over low front walls, and laburnum and lilac trees were already heavy with blossom.
The road itself led straight to the broad expanse of the village green. Apart from a railed-off cricket square in the middle, it was tenanted solely by a pair of tethered goats, who lifted their heads from their grazing to watch Zanna curiously.
She hesitated in turn, wondering what to do first and feeling ridiculously conspicuous.
On the face of it, there was no one else around.
Emplesham seemed to be drowsing in the sunlight. But Zanna sensed, all the same, that from behind the discreetly curtained windows of the clustering cottages her arrival had been noted.
She decided, for reasons she could barely explain to herself, not to pinpoint Church House immediately. She'd behave like any other tourist who'd stumbled in off the beaten track. She was here, ostensibly, to look at an art exhibition, and that was what she would do.
The green was bordered on three sides, she saw, by more houses, a shop-cum-post office, a pub-whose sign announced it as the Black Bui! and offered real ale, meals and accommodation-and the church, rising like a stately and benign presence behind its tall yew hedge. Apart from a narrow track beside the churchyard, which presumably led to the farm mentioned by her persecutor, there was no other visible egress.
The village hall stood on the opposite side of the green to the church, a wooden board fixed to its railings advertising the exhibition.
Zanna found herself in a small vestibule, where a woman in a flowered dress, seated behind a table, paused in her knitting to sell her an exhibition catalogue for fifty pence.
'You're just in time.' Her smile was friendly. 'The show ends today and we'll soon be clearing the hall for tonight's dance.
'Dance?' Zanna's brows lifted. Far from being asleep, Emplesham seemed to be the Las Vegas of the neighbourhood, she thought caustically.
'Oh, yes,' the woman said cheerfully, it's become an annual event. We combine the art club's exhibition with the church's spring flower festival and make it a real celebration.' She nodded towards the double doors leading into the hall. 'I hope you enjoy the show-although there isn't a great deal left for sale, I'm afraid."
It really doesn't matter,' Zanna assured her politely. I’ll just enjoy looking round,' she added, not altogether truthfully.
Nothing, however, could have prepared her for She riot of colour and vibrancy which assaulted her senses inside the hall. Every possible hanging space was filled, and by work which was a thousand miles from the pallid water-colours and stolidly amateurish still-lifes she'd been expecting.
Landscapes in storm and sunlight seemed to leap off their canvases at her as she trod
And she knew, before she'd gone fifty yards, that if she glanced back over her shoulder she would find him watching her.
CHAPTER TWO
DEFEATING an almost overwhelming impulse to break into a run, Zanna walked briskly, head held high, round the turn in the lane. Once she was sure she was safely out of sight she slowed down, making herself breathe deeply in an attempt to regain her faltering composure.
This was the second time in a couple of hours that she'd been made to feel disconcerted and on edge. And she didn't like it, not one little bit.
Just what I needed, she thought with angry irony. A garage hand with attitude. The ideal end to a perfect day.
And she was determined it would be the end. She was already deeply regretting this sentimental detour. As soon as the car was fixed she would be off back to her city centre hotel and its mechanical civilities. At least she knew what to expect there.
However, the village, when reached, was certainly charming. The cottages which lined the road were stone-built, many with thatched roofs and gardens bright with seasonal flowers. Aubretia tumbled in shades of purple and crimson over low front walls, and laburnum and lilac trees were already heavy with blossom.
The road itself led straight to the broad expanse of the village green. Apart from a railed-off cricket square in the middle, it was tenanted solely by a pair of tethered goats, who lifted their heads from their grazing to watch Zanna curiously.
She hesitated in turn, wondering what to do first and feeling ridiculously conspicuous.
On the face of it, there was no one else around.
Emplesham seemed to be drowsing in the sunlight. But Zanna sensed, all the same, that from behind the discreetly curtained windows of the clustering cottages her arrival had been noted.
She decided, for reasons she could barely explain to herself, not to pinpoint Church House immediately. She'd behave like any other tourist who'd stumbled in off the beaten track. She was here, ostensibly, to look at an art exhibition, and that was what she would do.
The green was bordered on three sides, she saw, by more houses, a shop-cum-post office, a pub-whose sign announced it as the Black Bui! and offered real ale, meals and accommodation-and the church, rising like a stately and benign presence behind its tall yew hedge. Apart from a narrow track beside the churchyard, which presumably led to the farm mentioned by her persecutor, there was no other visible egress.
The village hall stood on the opposite side of the green to the church, a wooden board fixed to its railings advertising the exhibition.
Zanna found herself in a small vestibule, where a woman in a flowered dress, seated behind a table, paused in her knitting to sell her an exhibition catalogue for fifty pence.
'You're just in time.' Her smile was friendly. 'The show ends today and we'll soon be clearing the hall for tonight's dance.
'Dance?' Zanna's brows lifted. Far from being asleep, Emplesham seemed to be the Las Vegas of the neighbourhood, she thought caustically.
'Oh, yes,' the woman said cheerfully, it's become an annual event. We combine the art club's exhibition with the church's spring flower festival and make it a real celebration.' She nodded towards the double doors leading into the hall. 'I hope you enjoy the show-although there isn't a great deal left for sale, I'm afraid."
It really doesn't matter,' Zanna assured her politely. I’ll just enjoy looking round,' she added, not altogether truthfully.
Nothing, however, could have prepared her for She riot of colour and vibrancy which assaulted her senses inside the hall. Every possible hanging space was filled, and by work which was a thousand miles from the pallid water-colours and stolidly amateurish still-lifes she'd been expecting.
Landscapes in storm and sunlight seemed to leap off their canvases at her as she trod
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