‘OK, where do I start?’
Lycos stood at the edge of the kitchen garden, surveying the scene beyond.
‘Strawberries first, then raspberries, then peas, then beans,’ Arielle said in response.
‘Are we eating all that?’ he asked.
‘Either we do, or the birds will,’ Arielle answered, heading towards the strawberry patch with her empty colander. She crouched down and made a start on lifting the leaves to check on the ripeness of the fruit beneath. She glanced back at him. ‘If you don’t pick any, you don’t get to eat any. You’re not eating mine!’
Resignedly, Lycos started on another row, hunkering down. Even dressed only in shorts and a tee shirt, he could feel that the morning was already hotting up. He glanced towards Arielle. She had put on a decrepit straw hat and, though it was fraying at the edges, it did the job of shading her head and neck. He kept his eyes on her a moment as she worked her way along her row. She couldn’t see him looking at her and he was glad of it. It was extraordinary, he thought, that even dressed as she was, making no effort whatsoever to look good, she nevertheless looked extremely good.
Beautiful.
A kind of natural beauty. Unforced, effortless, unadorned. Her hair was caught back in a thick knot on the nape of her neck. Her slender forearms were honey-toned and her bare legs likewise. Her tee shirt was rounding her breasts in a very pleasing manner indeed.
He looked away. Thoughts were running through his head and blood was running through his veins. Coursing to places that were inappropriate for a morning dedicated to fruit and vegetable picking. He set them aside firmly and focussed on gathering the luscious looking ripe strawberries. After a while, his colander was full and he straightened up, stretching his back.
‘Strawberries are the worst,’ Arielle said, straightening up likewise. ‘Raspberries are much easier. No stooping.’
So it proved and, although it took longer to fill his fresh colander on account of his sampling rather too many of the fruits he was picking, Lycos found it pleasantly relaxing. But then everything was proving pleasantly relaxing.
There was something about being in the fresh air with the heat of the sun beating down baking the earth and ripening its fruits. With no noise other than the ever-present chorus of cicadas beyond the kitchen gardens and the birdsong from songbirds chirruping from the sun-warmed walls against which pleached peach trees were espaliered. Something that really was very pleasant.
Very peaceful.
Very remote.
The world he knew seemed a long, long way away.
And he was glad of it.
Glad too, he realised, that he was not here alone, for there was something very companionable about working like this with Arielle nearby.
She seemed to have changed her attitude towards him. Was she accepting the inevitable now, that themaswas lost to her?The bristling hostility, the baleful expression in her eyes, had dissipated. Not completely, but he found he was glad of it all the same. Now she was being matter of fact, directing him to the next task.
‘OK,’ she announced. ‘Time to tackle the peas and beans.’
She moved towards the serried rows of legumes, pausing only to toss down a handful of her picked raspberries onto the path, where almost immediately it was targeted by several of the waiting birds, who demolished the fruit in short order then retreated to the walls again to await more largesse.
Peas and beans were picked, Lycos attending to the former and Arielle the latter. They gathered up all their collective harvest, together with a head of lettuce, some tomatoes and a fistful of rocket. As they headed out, Arielle set down some strawberries for the birds. She closed the wooden gate securely as they left the kitchen gardens.
‘Or the hens will wreak havoc!’ she said. She headed back to the kitchen with Lycos following her.
‘I’ve never picked my own lunch before,’ he observed musingly.
‘It makes it taste even sweeter,’ she assured him.
He heard her words echo again as they settled down to lunch. Did it taste all the sweeter for his having picked and prepared so much of it himself? He fancied it did and the thought was pleasing to him. As pleasing as sitting here, in the fresh sweet air. Shaded from the heat of the sun by the faded awning, while he sank his teeth into the luscious ripe tomatoes, sprinkled with olive oil and salt, and helped himself to another slice of ham to go with the healthy portion of warm, lightly toasted bread, lavishly spread with creamy butter.
As pleasing, too, as letting his gaze settle, through half-lowered lids, on the woman sitting opposite him. His eyes rested on her. How effortlessly lovely she looked, even in clothes thatwere not designed to enhance her beauty. But there was an allure about her, natural and without design, that was drawing him. That had no art to it, no intent, no coquetry.
He felt the blood course through his veins yet again, admitting to himself that it was her difference to all the women he frequented, was familiar with, that was drawing him… Kindling in him a nascent desire that he saw no reason to deny, or diminish. Why should he?
She is here, and so am I. So why should we not indulge?
Why not indeed? He could think of no reason. He had time on his hands. Time that could be spent very pleasurably, exploring and experiencing, all that this so-totally-different woman had to offer him. Charming this beautiful, bucolic Cinderella…
His gaze shifted, going out over the peaceful, scent-filled gardens, to the lavender fields beyond, framed by the citrus and mulberry trees. Then it came back to Arielle.
