Free Separation, The by Dinah Jefferies Page A

village. She wondered if she should have left him with the police in the first place, but the image of her own children shut up in a cell banished the thought.
    The boy was still looking at her, his pale eyes hopeful.
    ‘But you need to stay with your people, child. I’m going to find my own family.’
    He left the milking and came up close, planting his hand in her own, looking up with tears forming. ‘Please. I have no family here.’
    She watched the swallows that flew about the place, heard the birdsong, the sounds of goats and chickens, and the rumbling noises beyond. Across the embers the tall man stood in the shadows watching with dark unblinking eyes. She stared back. He gave her a nod. After he had caught up with her the afternoon before, they’d walked the remaining few yards to the village in strained silence, and since then she’d only seen him at supper. He continued to hold her eyes.
    She was the first to look away. He came straight across, moving fluidly as if he had well-oiled joints, like an athlete. A runner. He offered a firm hand. ‘My name is Adil,’ he said.
    She nodded, removed her tingling palm, and looked down at the ground. But not before she’d noticed his wide high cheekbones, strong nose, and cool sable eyes beneath well-formed brows.
    ‘Why did they ambush the bus?’ she asked, for something to say.
    ‘Execution and extortion. Next they will burn the bus if the company doesn’t “subscribe”.’
    ‘You know about these things?’
    He shrugged.
    Though he didn’t seem particularly young, maybe forty, hisforehead was unlined, and, as she’d noticed on the bus, his head was shaven and brown. Two lines ran from the sides of his nose to a full mouth. He was lean but wide-shouldered, and although he was quite dark-skinned, she was unable to distinguish his nationality.
    ‘Where are you travelling on to?’ he asked.
    ‘Ipoh,’ she found herself saying. ‘I’m going to join my husband.’
    He rubbed his chin. ‘Ah well. We shall go together. It is a difficult journey. I am headed that way.’
    Lydia hesitated, considering his words. She hoped George Parrott had got it right and Alec and the girls were still there. She didn’t know exactly where she was now, and she didn’t know this man. He was reserved, but there was nothing deferential, as she might have expected. He could be anybody.
    ‘Oh. I’ll probably travel on alone,’ she finally blurted.
    ‘I insist,’ he said, adopting a friendly expression and smiling softly. ‘You’ll be much safer with me, Lydia. It is Lydia?’
    ‘How did you know?’
    He shrugged, and palm upwards, indicated Maz. ‘I must have heard you tell the child. You are leaving him here?’
    What was it to him? It seemed more of a statement than a question. She noted his calm confidence and her previous indecision was instantly resolved. She looked away as she spoke. ‘No, he’s coming with me.’
    Maz hugged her legs as a cloud of iridescent yellow butterflies flew past. She saw him try to count them, but they were too fast, and too many. The man inclined his head with a look of indifference, but not before Lydia noticed his lips tighten.
    She moved away and helped Maz into his dry shirt. He beamed prettily, displaying the row of even white teeth, and patted the shirt all over. She repacked her case, ditching two pairs of shoes and one of the evening dresses. The gritty dust stung her eyes, and her newly cropped hair felt damp with sweat. She flicked the droning creatures from her face, scratched the bites around herankles and prayed the journey ahead wouldn’t be too fraught. She fingered her locket and took a deep breath. Won’t be long, my darlings, won’t be long.



12
     
    They left the village with just a nod to each other, and barely spoke as they picked their way along a tangled pathway. After an hour or so they found a station of sorts: no more than a simple telegraph booth and a small platform at the edge of the jungle. Lydia