‘So you were looking for me?’ He sounds like he needs affirmation, but I’m reluctant to give it to him because of what that will mean.
I shift my eyes from his and shrug. ‘I just happened to be coming down the stairs.’
‘Hmm,’ he says softly under his breath, his forehead creasing, as if he’s trying to figure me out.
‘You mentioned something about sandwiches?’ I say meekly.
Chapter 9
I was not only going to hide a treasure—
I meant also to bury a grief.
(Charlotte Brontë,Villette)
Dain takes me around the back of the house, where there’s a stretch of roughly mowed lawn with a couple of wooden benches set off to the side under some trees.
‘It’s quite sheltered here. There aren’t any gravestones, and there’s a smidgeon of sun,’ he remarks as if he’s been weighing up all the different locations we could have lunch.
‘Sun is definitely a bonus,’ I say, sitting down on the nearest bench and tilting my face to the warmish September rays.
He sits beside me and unwraps the large foil packet of sandwiches he’s been carrying. ‘Here you go. Get that down you.’
I can’t help giggling at the giant doorstep filled with ham and cheese that he hands over. ‘Wow, that’s certainly a man-sized sandwich! Luckily, I’m hungry.’
‘I don’t do things by halves.’ The way he says it makes me wonder if he’s full-on in other ways too, and I chew on my sandwich to distract myself. After we’ve munched steadily in silence for a while, Dain unscrews the lid of a silver thermos.
‘What’s in there?’
‘Hot chocolate, Cadbury’s finest.’
‘Gosh, fancy.’
‘Usually, it’s tea. You’ve caught me on a decadent day.’
He grins at me, and I can’t help but smile back, feeling glad I decided to have lunch with him after all; he’s so convivial and easy to talk to. I guess, being a guide, he’s used to making small talk with people, though he’s less formal with me now he’s outside the house.
‘Sorry, there’s only one cup, so we’ll have to share. But we can take turns sipping from opposite sides,’ he says airily, pouring out the hot chocolate and handing the steaming cup to me. Hmm, he’s also got a borderline flirtatious manner, which makes him doubly attractive.
‘So did you have a look at the catalogue?’ Dain finishes his sandwich, brushes crumbs off his trousers, and leans back on the seat, folding his arms and stretching out his long legs. I run my eyes over them. I’m a sucker for tall guys, and he’s got a great set of pins.
I try to focus. ‘Ah, I did, thanks. There’s a lot in there. I’m working my way through it. And I made some notes aboutVillettetoo.’
‘Anything stand out?’
‘Lucy’s depressive episode is interesting for the era. A literary analysis of how the taboo subject of depression manifests itself in the Brontës’ writing could be absorbing.’
‘You could include Cathy gnashing her teeth,’ Dain quips.
I smile. ‘Exactly. Oh, and when Lucy buried Dr John’s letters away from Madame Beck’s prying eyes, that was intriguing.’
Dain inclines his head towards me. ‘I’m not sure I remember that bit.’
I check the notes app on my phone.
‘Lucy goes into the town to find a glass jar, rolls up the letters in oiled silk, binds them with twine, and gets the shopkeeper to stopper and seal it so it’s airtight. Then she buries the jar in a hollow beneath a pear tree, covers it with some leftover mortar she finds in a shed, and replaces earth and greenery over the top.’
‘Ah, yes, I remember it now,’ he says, looking away.
