Goodbye.
Surely the saddest, most painful word in the English language.
Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Ben walked with painstaking slowness and with the aid of two canes but with evident courage and determination, Samantha thought. Or perhaps it was his lean good looks, enhanced now by suntan, and the indefinable air of command that always somehow clung about him. Or perhaps it was simply that everyone loved a hint of romance, even a touch of scandal.
However it was, they were both greeted with smiles and friendly nods when they appeared at church together on Sunday morning. Samantha had been half expecting cold stares or frowns and turned shoulders, for obviously there had been talk. Her grandfather had heard it.
And though Ben looked almost austere much of the time, he was quite capable of charm. He used it that morning on the people of Fisherman’s Bridge and its environs. And Samantha smiled about her too, as she had not been allowed to do after Matthew’s death, and shook the hands of those who extended their own to her. She was sure she would not remember the names of all who introduced themselves and said so.
“Don’t worry about it, Mrs. McKay,” the doctor told her. “We have only two new names to remember, yours and Major Harper’s, while you have a few dozen.”
Other people within earshot smiled their agreement.
Samantha would have felt warm about the heart as they left church if her grandfather had not been there too. He had shaken hands heartily with Ben and kissed her on the cheek—while half the village looked on with interest—but he had not pressed his company on them. He had sat in the front pew, which was padded, though he did not act the part of grand gentleman after the service was over. He shook hands and exchanged a few words with everyone in his path. He dug into his pockets to bring out sweets for the very little children, coins for the older ones.
Other people’s children, Samantha thought with unexpected bitterness. How she would havelovedto have a grandpapa to beam at her thus when she was a child and give her sweets and coins. How her mother would surely have loved to have a papa to do those things.
It was a cloudy day, but it was neither cold nor windy.
“Do you want to swim this afternoon?” she asked Ben when they were walking slowly back to the inn.
She was feeling a bit depressed. She wished the sun was shining.
“What is it?” he asked without answering her question.
“It would be more appropriate to ask what it isnot,” she said with a sigh—and then laughed. “The vicar was right about the singing, was he not?”
“Well,” he said, “I was disappointed not to see the roof lift off the building. I was watching for it.”
She laughed again.
“But, yes,” he said. “That church really does not need the choir, does it? The whole congregation is a choir.”
“With harmony.”
“In four parts,” he added. “Yes, let’s swim. There will be time.”
She swallowed and heard a gurgle in her throat.There will be time.
Time before they went to Cartref for dinner.
Time before the week of their affair was over.
They went swimming. They raced and floated and talked, and they played silly games, the main object of which seemed to be to swim underwater and come up unexpectedly to submerge each other. It was not a very effective game since there was never any real possibility of surprise, but it kept them helpless with laughter for a time.
Laughter was better than tears.
A week had seemed a long time when they began their affair. But this was the sixth day. The knowledge weighed upon Samantha as if it were a physical thing. And she could not keep at bay the thought that they would be going to Cartref later. She wished she had not been weak enough to agree. And yet…Her grandfather had written, and Papa had written back to him. She ought to listen to his story, Ben had said.
When they left the water, they went to their usual rock, where they were met by a tail-wagging, bottom-wiggling Tramp, who had been guarding their belongings against seagulls. But instead of spreading her towel on the sand as she usually did, Samantha wrapped it about her shoulders.
“I gave Mrs. Price and Gladys the day off,” she said. “It is Sunday. Besides, I will be out for dinner today.”
He looked back at her. He was leaning against the ledge to take the weight off his legs and rubbing his towel over his chest and up under one arm.
Oh, dear, she was going to miss this—the daily swims, the sight of him, the smell of him, the touch of him. She was going to misshim.
“Come back to the house?” she said.
