Submarine

'What should I be, then? Apple-cheeked, with straw in my hair and string round my trouser-legs?' She had flushed with annoyance, while he'd tried to smother his amusement:

'No help from your stepbrother, then?'

'He used to come down regularly, but mum discouraged him,' she said, tossing her golden curls and blushing again. 'We would have married, if things had been different.' She had paused and looked away. 'He was too dynamic for Spinney-combe, too full of ideas and energy.' And then she had met his eyes. 'Problems….' She jumped up from the chair, adding briskly: 'I ought to go. With mum away, I have to get up early.'

Farge had paid the bill and driven her back to the lonely farmhouse at the bottom of Spinneycombe. They kissed for the first time then; and on his way home to Newdyke, driving slowly beneath the sparkling stars across the shoulder of Dunkery, the truth had hit him: he was falling in love with this glorious girl. And Farge, alone now with her, jabbed at the logs. The sparks flew, soaring up the chimney.

Yesterday, Sunday, had been wet and windy. In the morning Julian bid adieu to his father and, borrowing his rod, drove off to Simonsbath. Lorna had fixed a sandwich lunch and, leaving the car on the far side of the bridge, they set off in the driving rain down the right bank of the Barle. They had walked down to the first bend where he tried a few casts: but the wind was blustery from the east and, as he had only his father's wet flies, casting down-stream was out of the question. To cap matters, the river was in spate and as thick as soup. So, leaving his fishing gear hidden in the heather, they had spent the rest of the morning walking in the rain and wind. They succeeded in kindling a fire to keep warm behind a wall and tried to toast their soggy sandwiches. They.walked back in the afternoon, learning more about each other and revelling in their shared happiness. He had even accompanied her to evensong in the village church. And today, Monday, had been good. He had helped Lorna all day on the farm — to the mystification of the shepherd. But she had worn her heart on her sleeve and had not cared; at tea-time, he had taken her back to Newdyke to see his father. Despite his feeling towards the Prynnes, the old man had mellowed towards her and they had got on well….

Then Julian heard the stairway door creaking behind him.

He rose to meet her as she walked shyly towards him, the velvet of her old dressing-gown whispering as it brushed the stone flags. Her arms reached up for him, her face glowing from the firelight as her lips sought his.

'That's better,' she murmured, gently prising his hands from her waist. 'I'm hungry.'

'So'm I.' They laughed awkwardly.

'Pull up the rug,' she said, 'while I fetch the trays.'

They sat in front of the fire, their supper on the flagstones behind them. They talked little and, if she had asked him later what they had eaten, he could not have told her. He had brought a bottle of Beaune from the pub and she had reheated some sort of spiced stew. 'It's not venison,' she laughed. 'We refuse to have it in Spinneycombe.'

He left her by the fire while he cleared away the trays and went into the kitchen. When he returned with the coffee, she was sitting as he had left her, staring into the fire, legs tucked under her, her red mules peeking from beneath the hem of her velvet dressing-gown. He stretched out beside her, while she leaned back to nestle in his arms. The light from the flames flickered in her curls, tinting them with the rich gold of a cornfield. They remained there for a long time, the glow from the embers caressing her face, like the woman in the Flemish portrait. It was she who broke the silence:

'I thought I was a sane sort of person,' she said softly. 'But things have gone so fast.'

'It's only three days,' he murmured, his chin resting on the top of her head, 'since I swore at you from the ditch.' There was a freshness, a delicious perfume about her, elusive, like the scent of new-mown fields in June.

'Julian,' she said softly, 'you've told me a bit about your submarine, but there's something worrying you, isn't there?' She half-turned, reading his face.

'I've got a lot to think about.'

'Can you tell me?'

'Very little. I don't know much myself yet.'

'About me?'

'You're involved.' His hand entered inside the collar of her gown, his fingers running lightly down her shoulder, tracing the curve of her breast. With the other hand he tilted her face up to his.

'D'you really love me as you say you do?' he asked. 'It's a silly question, I know, but take care how you answer it. D'you love me as I do you,' he repeated, 'to the end of the road?'