Page 73 of The Chocolate Tin

‘The Boer War, darling. It’s being fought in Africa now, where I got this wound,’ he’d said, with a sound of disgust at the leg he dragged around in those early years.

She’d understood little about war then but as he’d spoken of it a single channel of crimson had shot across the sky amidst the green and looked like an artery suddenly filled with rushing blood. Despite that sinister moment, the Merry Dancers, as they were sometimes referred to in Scotland, remained a visceral, brilliant memory of hers that was full of unforgettable joy. That’s how it felt to be alongside Harry in this moment – she was filled with anticipation and a helpless thrill to be with him. The price for this excitement was shame and while her mind was feeling the burden of it, her heart was feeling weightless in her chest as she gazed at the drifts of old snow gathered beneath the hedgerow.

‘Did you enjoy the Yorkshire Gentlemen’s Club?’

‘I did. Your father is pleasant company.’

‘He’s a sweetie. Bullied by Mum but only on stuff he doesn’t invest much importance in.’

She saw him nod. ‘Yes, I worked that out. He’s a wise fellow. Women should have as much of their way as possible and then you have a happy wife.’

Alex grinned with an expression that conveyed she was most impressed. ‘This sounds like you speak from experience.’

‘Every man is born with the knowledge, I suspect.’

She laughed. ‘We’re here,’ she said, pulling into a tiny, private lane that sat off from a lonely road.

__________

At the bottom of the lane Harry saw a stone dwelling that looked as though it belonged in a children’s picture book. It wore a layer of creeper – ivy, he guessed from this distance – like a green overcoat against the chill. One chimney puffed smoke gently against a sky so pale with flat, featureless cloud it looked the colour of shallow pond water.

‘I think it’s going to rain,’ he remarked.

‘Let’s run for it,’ Alex urged but they were caught in the drizzle all the same, made damper by her long search for the key that was supposed to be under a terracotta flowerpot.

In the end, Harry found it under the doormat.

‘She’s always like this,’ Alex admitted. ‘But Charlotte’s got worse since the news of Willie.’

He sympathised, watching her struggle to get the door open, and with each second that ticked by he felt a deepening sense of being a villain. Harry laid a hand on hers.

‘Alex?’

She smiled. ‘It’s always been a sticky one. I’ve watched Charlotte kick it before this.’

‘Look at me.’

She turned towards him, blinking in the heavier rain that was loud enough to hear against the leaves of surrounding trees and the splatter on the pathway.