Free Learning to Dance by Susan Sallis Page A

advice. ‘Easier to get out at the other end,’ she said knowledgeably.
    They were the only passengers. The guard took theirmoney and issued tickets, telling them that once the school holidays were over, passengers were few and far between. ‘We’ll stay open until half-term, but then close until the Christmas holidays. We do a lovely Santa Claus trip.’
    At the bottom, the jetty was to their left. At its end was a lighthouse crowned with an open fire basket instead of a lamp. To their right was the Lantern Inn, and then the land rose abruptly, funnelling the River Lyn as it ran down the combe and gurgled over rocks and stones before lining up rebelliously alongside the jetty and flowing into the sea.
    Judith stood looking at it. ‘It’s spectacular! So unexpected … so grand for such a small place … my God … it’s beautiful … thank you, Sybil … this is just right. Just absolutely right!’
    Sybil was laughing. ‘I knew you’d appreciate it. Now … let’s have elevenses – coffee and a bun or sandwich or something. It’s a pull up to that hotel on the top, but so well worth it. We can work there till lunchtime. What do you say?’
    ‘I don’t need coffee.’
    ‘Yes, you do. Come on.’
    Judith fell in behind her willy-nilly, wondering at the unexpected change in this woman, and only too glad that she had taken charge. They drank coffee, sitting outside on one of the two benches, chatting to the girl who served them. They were very end-of-season and therefore special. It was all somehow heart-warming. She thought suddenly: Of course he’s not dead, what a ridiculous idea!
    The pull up the side of the combe was unbelievably steep. The path had been cut into a zigzag in an effort to lessen the incline, but they had to stop frequently, clutch at a bush or a rock, and look back and concentrate on breathing.
    ‘You see? We’re already halfway!’ Sybil encouraged.
    ‘It’s getting steeper!’
    ‘Just a bit. Nothing to worry about.’ Sybil leaned back against a copper beech. ‘Looking down like this, do you feel the sheer weight of grief – which after all is composed of a great deal of water – do you feel it left behind for a little while?’
    Judith looked at her; she seemed to be projecting something. Some emotion, some force. As if, by the very strength of her will, she could lose her grief, let it fall like a stone into the water. Judith felt a fraud; a cheat. Sybil was a genuine widow, mourning her husband. But she understood exactly how Sybil felt.
    She said quietly, ‘Yes. I feel it too.’
    Sybil turned and smiled wryly. ‘I knew you would. That’s why I wanted you to come with me today.’ She patted her shoulder bag. ‘Come on, we have to get this recorded somehow!’
    Judith fell in behind her.
    The hotel, which had looked so isolated and ethereal from below, proved to be fronting the road into Lynton, with a very modern sign indicating the way to Croyde, Woolacombe and Ilfracombe. The car park was full. They booked a table for lunch and hurried back to the terrace and the riverbank. There were picnic tables beneath a grove of willows; the sound of the water masked the traffic noise. ‘I had completely forgotten all that!’ Sybil was disappointed.
    Judith said, ‘That’s part of its charm, surely? The wildness of nature and man side by side?’ She grinned. ‘Martin did warn us, after all. And this is perfect – enhanced by all that …’ She jerked her head at the hotel, then leaned back in the old-fashioned steamer chair. ‘Let’s have an hour before we eat, shall we?’ She gazed down the way they had come. ‘I’ve gota perfect frame here. The focus is the inn at the base of the jetty. It’s pillowed in the trees.’ She pulled her canvas bag on to her lap and began to unfasten it, never taking her eyes from the view below. ‘It’s the absolute opposite of the cliffs around the castle. Almost homely.’
    Sybil watched her as she fumbled at the pages of her