Truly I do Read Free Page B

sake,' she thought, 'this guy is total stranger
. . . what am I thinking!' Luckily he looked up, grinned, and broke
the enchantment before she made an utter fool of herself. Seeing
her standing so close, his face coloured warm red under the bronze
remnants of his summer tan. "Oh, hello!" he spoke gently. "Good to
see you're out and about today."
    She shoved her
hands deeper into the soft pockets of her duffle coat. "Erm, yeah.
Thanks! Thanks for yesterday too. I think you meant well, y'know,
coming to see me. And look - it worked, here I am!"
    "Well, I'm
glad, if I helped." He stood aside to make way for her to get into
the store. She did not move.
    "Hey" she said
brightly, "how about popping 'round this evening for a little light
supper? Y'know, give me someone to cook for sort-of-thing. What do
you think?"
    His blue eyes
searched her face. As she looked up at him, waiting for his
response, Julie-Anne thought 'wonderful eyes!' and she smiled. But
then she thought 'What am I doing? I'm scared; I want my husband
back; I want the safety of my old life back; I feel like I'm
standing over a precipice.' A sensation like falling swam through
her, she panicked feeling as if she would faint. Helplessly she
clung to the smile that was fixed on her numbed lips.
    "Okay" he
decided. "What time shall I come 'round?"
    His question
jerked her back like a life-line. They agreed that six o'clock was
a sensible time. They also agreed that spaghetti bolognese, whilst
renowned for being a boring old stand-by and wholly unimaginative,
would be a good choice for her to cook. He followed her back into
the store so that he could pick up a bottle of wine. . . . Then
they agreed that he might as well carry her shopping for her and
come back up to her cottage straight away.
    "After all,"
Julie-Anne chattered easily, while she finally finished selecting
everything she wanted from the shelves, "it's past four o'clock
now. And it's not as if you need to go get dressed up or anything.
Unless you need to go home first, of course?" Russell reassured her
that he had no particular reason to go home. The autumn evening was
closing in around them already, it was pretty dark by now so,
privately, they each felt glad that Julie-Anne wasn't walking home
alone.
    Whilst
Julie-Anne cooked, Russell sat comfortably in her old rocking chair
beside the kitchen range. She'd poured him a big glass of red wine
and thought how naturally he fitted into this place. He seemed so
relaxed, his tousled blonde hair framed his handsome bronzed face
and curled around his head like a halo over an innocent, blue eyed
child. His arms and shoulders were settled in such a way that made
his whole demeanour look handsome and comfortable. Something about
the centuries old kitchen, its wattle and daub walls, its brown oak
beams and its flagstone floor just seemed to fit around him as if
he was a natural fixture of the room. She should know - Julie-Anne
had been born and brought up in this house. She'd moved back in
after university graduation, coming home with a first class degree
in fine arts and history of art. When her parents retired to her
aunt's place (her mother's sister) in New Zealand, she'd just
carried on living there. When she'd married a safe sensible
financier he'd just moved safely and sensibly into the cottage,
fitting his things in beside hers. While she was stirring bolognese
sauce, she thought about her marriage. They'd rubbed along
together, each unimaginatively carrying on with life pretty much as
it had been before they'd married. Inwardly Julie-Anne groaned.
'Did I actually love him? No, I don't think I did. I just took him
on because he was convenient. How awful . . . what's wrong with
me?'
    "Penny for
them?" Russell broke into her thoughts.
    "Sorry!" she
snapped back into the present, "This pasta's nearly ready to
serve." She glanced over her shoulder to admire him again, "Tell me
how long you've lived in the village? You're over at Joe's old
place on Bramley Orchard