Free Fragrance of Violets by Paula Martin Page A

table and bed linen, towels and bathroom items, and one contained Christmas decorations.
    When she found a stack of photo albums, she flicked one open. The first few pages were photos of Jack’s parents on holiday. Ireland, she guessed by some of the scenic shots. As she flipped over another page, she stopped at a photo of Jack and herself, taken on the day they decided to prune one of the apple trees behind the house.
    He was balancing in the tree and she was laughing as she reached up to hold a long branch while he sawed it. More photos followed. Mr. Tremayne had taken several while they worked, and the final one showed them both standing in front of the neatly pruned tree. Jack’s arm was around her shoulders, and hers was wrapped around his waist. We were such innocents , she thought wryly.
    “What’ve you found?”
    His voice broke into her thoughts, and she smiled. “Old photos. Some your dad took the day we pruned the apple tree.”
    He gave the same grin she’d seen in the photos as he crossed the barn toward her. “You were convinced I was going to fall out of the tree.”
    “You almost did at one point. Remember when you tried to hold onto a branch that snapped? You looked like—” She broke off with a giggle.
    “Like what?”
    Still laughing, she went on, “Like one of those cartoon films where a crazy character sways backwards and forwards trying to keep its balance.”
    “Yeah, but in cartoons, the characters usually go splat on the ground. At least I didn’t do that.”
    “If you had, do you think your Dad would have rushed to help you, or carried on taking photos?”
    Jack laughed. “Oh, he’d have taken a series of action shots. How my son fell out of the apple tree . Anyway, I need a break.” He held out a can. “Fancy a lager?”
    She put the album back in the box and took the can from him. “Thanks.”
    “Come on, let’s go and sit outside.”
    She followed him to a wrought iron bench at the far side of the lawn. Pale sunshine filtered through the tall conifer trees and created flickering patterns on the grass. Birds chirped and trilled, and in the distance the frantic high-pitched bleating of a lamb was answered by the deeper cry from its mother.
    In the last few minutes, it seemed as if she’d stepped into the past, talking and laughing with her best friend, the boy with whom she’d always been so much at ease. Today was the first time since his return to Rusthwaite that she actually felt relaxed with him.
    “It’s been a good few years since we last sat here, hasn’t it?” he said.
    “A lifetime.”
    “So let’s talk.”
    “What about?”
    He gave her a lazy smile that threatened to demolish her new-found composure. “I don’t know where we start. Do you?”
    She took another mouthful of her lager. “Not really.”
    “What would you have been doing today if you hadn’t come up here?”
    “I didn’t have anything planned, but I might have gone for a run in the forest this afternoon now the weather’s dried up.”
    “Do you often do that?”
    Obviously he was keeping to small talk. She could go along with that. It was easier than talking about the things that mattered. “Yes, when I have time, and when it’s not raining. In London, I go to the gym each morning, but up here the only gyms are at the big hotels, and they charge the earth for non-residents to use the facilities.”
    Jack gave her an amused smile. “Is this where we discuss whether tourists are more important than local people?”
    She let herself meet his gaze. “Maybe we’d better stay away from controversial subjects?”
    He tilted his head in acknowledgement. “If you say so.”
    “Tell me about your career and all the places where you’ve been.”
    “Okay, if you really want to know. Once I went freelance, I managed to land contracts that took me to South America, India, Japan, the Middle East, and Kenya. In between those, I did my own thing, researching topics that interested me