Free Airs Above the Ground by Mary Stewart

choice of saintly qualities.
    I unpacked quickly. I had thought I would be glad to be alone, just to think about what was to come, but in fact I found that I was refusing to think about it. I had, as it were, switched my mind out of gear and was concentrating only on folding away my clothes, on selecting something fresh to wear, and on the drink which I would shortly have with Timothy under the chestnut trees.
    But when I was ready to go, I still lingered. I pushed the long windows wide, and went out on to the veranda.
    This was set only two or three feet above ground level, so that immediately beyond the rail, and directly, it seemed, beneath one’s feet, the fields began. These had been recently mown, and the almost forgotten smell of new-mown hay filled the late afternoon. Beyond the stretches of shorn velvet the river ran, sunk deep in trees, and behind this feathered girdle of ash and willow rose the pines, slope after slope to the silver mountain tops. One side of the valley was deep in shadow. It was nearly half past six.
    A sound made me look round. Timothy had comeout of his window on to his section of veranda. He had put on a clean shirt and looked alert and excited.
    ‘There you are, I thought I heard you. I wondered if you’d decided what to do next?’
    ‘Actually, I hadn’t. I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m a bit of a dead loss. I haven’t got over seeing that girl. It was a bit of a facer if you want the truth, like seeing a ghost.’
    ‘You mean you didn’t really believe in her till now? I know exactly what you mean,’ added Timothy surprisingly. ‘I felt a bit the same about Christl. But you know, I don’t know why you’re worrying, not about
her
. . . I mean, if there was any connection . . . seeing them together on the news reel like that . . . it wouldn’t be—’ He hesitated, trying to choose his words, then abruptly abandoned finesse. ‘Dash it, she may be pretty and all that, but
you
don’t need to worry about her! You’re beautiful! Did no one ever tell you?’
    It was a fact that, now and again, people had; but I had never been so touched – or so completely deprived of speech.
    I said eventually: ‘Thank you. But I – it’s not just that side of it that’s worrying me, you know. It’s just that I’ve no business to be here at all, and now I’m not so much wondering how to find him as what in the world to say to him when I do . . .’ I turned my back to the fields, and straightened up with what might pass for decision. ‘Oh, well, it’s done now, and the circus is the obvious lead. Did you say it started at eight? Then we’ve plenty of time. We can have a meal and talk to Frau Weber, and then walk down through the village. If this village is anything like our village at home, thebush telegraph’s faster than the speed of light. In fact, if he’s here still, he probably knew all about us within thirty seconds of my signing the hotel register.’
    ‘If this is the last performance, they’ll start the pull-down the minute it’s over, and they’ll be clear of the place by morning.’ He eyed me. ‘I thought – shall I just go along there now, and see about getting tickets?’
    ‘But if they’ve been stuck here a week there’ll be no rush, and—’ I laughed. ‘Oh, I see. Well, why not? If you do track down “the subject”, you won’t do anything rash, will you?’
    ‘The soul of discretion,’ he promised. ‘I won’t say a word. I’ll be back in good time for dinner.’
    ‘I bet you will,’ I said, but he had already gone.

5
    I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.
    Shakespeare:
Much Ado About Nothing
    The shadows of the chestnuts lay lightly across the café tables, and there was a slight warm breeze which fluttered the red checked cloths. Curled in the roots of one of the trees, an enormous St Bernard dog slept, twitching slightly from time to time in his dream. The place was quiet and very peaceful. I sat sipping my vermouth, telling myself