Free Thorn in the Flesh by Anne Brooke Page B

mirrors behind them made the area seem larger than it really was. Kate took a handful of leaflets from the brochure stand, sat down on the sofa and glanced through them as she waited. She discarded the bicycle hiring company – though it did answer her earlier question – and the Chocolate Factory advertisement, but slipped the museum and gallery information, as well as the Cathedral organ recital flyer, scheduled for Saturday, into her handbag. That might be something she would enjoy.
    When the receptionist returned ten minutes later, it didn’t take long for Kate to be installed in her small ensuite room with yet another wall-length mirror giving a sheen of elegance to her surroundings. After unpacking, she decided on an early evening stroll followed by a late supper at the hotel. She needed to see if she could be alone. There would be time enough to eat out during the few days she had here.
    Outside, after she’d made her way through the more tourist-orientated parts of the town with its accompanying rich smell of chocolate and horses, it was the architecture that drew her eye. The roofs of most of the tall, thin houses were castellated to a point, which gave the streets a magical air, as if in stepping out of her hotel Kate had been transported to a mysterious land somewhere out of time. Perhaps that was what she needed. To be out of time. She almost expected Rapunzel to lean out of one of the high-up windows and to let fall her long hank of hair to the water beneath.
    It was strange too how subtle the canals were. Not like Venice where the difference was shouted aloud like a street vendor’s sales talk. Here in Bruges the water flowed softly, almost unnoticed through the streets, only coming alive when Kate crossed over a bridge or stood leaning on the railings to gaze at the bank on the other side. The water made her feel peaceful, as if she were being protected by silk, interwoven in the plainer cotton of the town.
    On the way back to the hotel, she turned a corner of a quiet street and there in the centre of the road, a young couple were kissing. Not passionately, but with affection. The boy – for he was no more than a boy – took a half-step forward, his dark hair a contrast to the milky-coloured hair of the girl, and as he did so the bicycle he was clutching fell to the ground with a clatter. The girl sprang away, eyes dancing, and laughed before leaning down and retrieving the bicycle. As she handed it back to her beloved, now grinning and shrugging, her glance met Kate’s and she smiled before wrapping her arm round the young man and walking out of sight. To her surprise, Kate found herself smiling too, encased in the unexpected bubble of joy that had sprung into life at the incident.
    It’s worth it, she thought. Whatever happens after this, it’s worth it for the small moments, wherever you can find them.
    ***
    The next day, a Friday, was the hottest so far of the year, both here and, according to the morning’s English language news broadcast, back in the UK. Kate dressed in a skirt and thin cotton blouse and, because of the legacy from her red hair, applied her sunscreen liberally. She’d decided on a day of leisurely sightseeing. Just like a normal person, just like someone who hadn’t been attacked and nearly killed. Today, she promised herself, she would be open to the moment, as she had been yesterday evening. Going back to work had proved she was weaker than she had imagined and so, from somewhere, she had to find new strength. Nicky had suggested counselling, which was one solution, but Kate knew she had been right to reject the idea. She would have to find another way.
    Sightseeing in Bruges couldn’t help but include the churches. From the moment Kate stepped into the wall of warming air outside the hotel, she was indeed summoned by bells. In tunes. She recognised Beethoven’s Ode to Joy and, later, the Toreador’s Song from Carmen, but was unable to place the others.
    The first church