Free Too Close to the Sun by Jess Foley

do to seem too eager. ‘Just give me a minute.’
    He turned and she called his name and he came back across the landing.
    ‘What is it?’ he said.
    ‘Billy, when I come down – you make yourself scarce, all right?’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Billy.’
    He sighed. ‘All right.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    After Billy had withdrawn and his footfalls had faded on the stairs, Grace remained there, looking at her reflection in the glass. Stephen was back, and here she was planning to leave the village for a fortnight. How could she? How could she be away when he was here? Hands fluttering slightly, she touched at her hair, adjusting the pins, then twitched atthe sleeves of her blouse and skirt. And, dear Lord, she thought, I look so dowdy. But there was nothing to be done about it now. She leaned forward a little, closer to the glass, and pinched a little more colour into her cheeks. Then she rose, smoothed down her skirt and left the room.
    Downstairs in the hall she moved towards the parlour, pushed open the door and went in.
    He was standing by the fireplace, tall, slim, and dressed in a dark grey, single-breasted suit. He had turned at the sound of her approaching step, and now greeted her with a little smile. She came to a halt just inside the doorway and smiled at him in return.
    ‘Hello, Grace,’ he said.
    ‘Hello, Stephen …’ A brief pause. ‘Welcome back.’
    ‘Thank you.’ As he spoke he lifted a hand to brush his fingers through his thick fair hair. Grace saw a touch of nervousness in the gesture, and for a moment wondered at it.
    ‘Please, Stephen,’ she said, gesturing towards an easy chair on the other side of the fireplace, ‘do sit down.’
    He muttered thanks and sat. She followed, sitting in the chair facing him. It had been almost four months since they had last met. Their meeting had taken place not long before her mother’s death. So much of that time now was hazy in her memory, but she could remember his being there, his presence, their walking in the lane, his concern at her mother’s illness.
    Now as she exchanged glances with him she thought how well he looked with his tanned skin and his hair bleached a paler shade by the sun. ‘You’re looking well, Stephen,’ she said.
    ‘Thank you, Grace.’ He looked down at his hat resting on his knee, then said, ‘Oh, I was so sorry to learn about your mamma, Grace. That was so – so awful for you. For all of you.’
    She nodded. ‘Thank you. It was indeed. It was a dreadful thing. But I so appreciated your letter, Stephen. Your letter to Father, too. They meant a lot to both of us.’
    He shrugged. ‘It was nothing. How are you now? Are things a little easier?’
    The sympathy in his voice was dangerous. One had to be so careful. Sympathy – it could make a break in the strongest dam, fracture the strongest resolve. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘things do get easier. But – well, I suppose we just take it a day at a time.’
    ‘Yes. And how are the rest of your family – your father and your brother?’
    ‘They’re well.’ A little shrug. ‘We keep busy.’
    ‘Of course. When young Billy let me in just now I thought, how he has grown.’
    ‘Oh, yes, he grows so fast. You can’t keep up.’
    His glance left her own, drifted away, then lowered again, settling on his hat once more.
    ‘You almost missed me,’ Grace said after a moment. ‘Tomorrow morning I’m supposed to be leaving for Remmer Ridge to stay with my aunt. I’m to stay with her for a fortnight.’
    ‘Then it’s as well I called today,’ he said.
    She smiled. ‘It is indeed.’
    A little silence fell, and to fill the space she added, ‘Now that I’ve finished working for Mr and Mrs Marren I have a little free time, you see. So it seemed an ideal time – to visit my aunt.’
    ‘What time are you leaving?’
    ‘Pappy’s driving me to Liddiston station at ten. I shall get a cab at the other end.’
    ‘You’ve stayed with her before, haven’t you?’
    ‘Oh, yes, on several