On the morning of the fourth day, he said, ‘By the way, a chap I know has a place in Sicily and wants an architect to check if it’s still sound, and he’s asked me. He’s absolutely loaded and it’s a marvellous place apparently, but quite possibly damaged. Just a stone’s throw from Malta, you see.’
She studied him, uncertain what he was suggesting.
‘You could come too … if you like,’ he said casually. ‘Obviously not until the war ends, and even then I’m not sure how we’d get there. Would you like to?’
As he glanced at her she rose to her feet, went to thesofa and threw her arms around him where he sat. She felt his warm breath on her neck, and they held each other for a beat longer than was strictly necessary.
Then she pulled back. ‘Have you heard from Belinda at all?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. We met. She’s still not willing for the divorce to go ahead unless I relent over the share of the cottage.’
‘You’ll just have to stick it out. Wait for her to change her mind.’
‘I almost feel like giving in. I just don’t want Belinda to be my responsibility any more. But mark my words, she’ll be engaged to Hector the moment we do eventually divorce. Anyway, I’m off up to the farm now.’
‘Can I come?’
‘I’ve cleared the path but I think the walk in the snow may still be too much for you.’
‘I so want to get out in it.’
‘All right. Why not have a little wander with me and then I’ll go to the farm afterwards.’
She grinned, pulled on her boots, arranged her hat, coat, and scarf and was ready by the front door before he’d even managed to get his wellingtons on.
‘Come on slowcoach,’ she said and laughed.
‘I think you may be a little stir crazy, madam.’
‘A little?’
He grinned and opened the door to a blast of freezing air. The snow was still pristine and, spellbound, Florence breathed in the cold then headed for the water meadow. It was so peaceful that her mind felt empty, calm.
‘Not that way,’ he said, reaching for her. ‘It’s too risky. We won’t know what’s solid ground and what isn’t.’
‘I went that way before I got sick and saw a sweet little bird swimming for food under the water.’
‘Ah, that’ll be a dipper.’
‘It more than dipped.’
‘What did it look like?’
‘A fat little thing with a white bib.’
‘Definitely a dipper. Sometimes called a water ousel. Let’s walk up the track. It’s safer. Here, hold on to me,’ and he held out his elbow for her to link with him. ‘You can look in the bird book while I’m up at the farm.’
The branches of the trees hung low with the weight of the snow and the track was still completely white with a deep drift on one side. The sky was a seamless blue and the sun shining on the snow dazzled them, while the air felt as if it were made of crystals, fresh and cold.
Their breath puffed out in front of them as they trudged slowly uphill. A flurry of powdery snow lifted and blew away in the wind, and then halfway to the top they turned back. Florence carried on a little ahead of Jack and while he was gazing at the view across the valley, she bent to the ground then yelled, ‘Snowball fight.’
She threw one at him, missing by inches.
Laughing, he made a snowball of his own and threw it in response.
Invigorated, she made another, as did he. They threw at the same time. His missed but hers hit him in the chest and then she ran away, stumbling over the snow. He caught up with her quickly, grabbed her and they toppled overinto a deep drift, laughing and spluttering. His cheeks were pink, so was his nose and his green eyes were glittering. She felt his warm breath on her face and her heart thrumming as everything stilled. She listened to the silence brought by the snow, waiting breathlessly. There was a moment of uncertainty … and then Jack swiftly pushed himself up and rose to his feet, ending it.
CHAPTER 21
