Free Lightning Encounter by Anne Saunders

trees? What kind of a person was she?
    Karen moved to the other unit of furniture. The mahogany gleamed blood-red as the heavy door swung back to reveal a tie rack and several drawers. His shirts were in the third drawer down. She found a checked one in peacock-blue and green. Perfect for her purpose. She was just about to take her spoils and go when she spotted the photograph of a petite girl sandwiched between two tall men. The girl was not pretty, not obviously pretty, but Karen sensed an elusive something ready to penetrate the elfin features and wide apart eyes. The men were also unsmiling. It was the Ian she knew best, saturnine and half in profile. The other man was staring blankly at the camera, as if waiting for someone to say ‘cheese’ before troubling to fix his features. Perhaps that was why she didn’t immediately realize it was Mitch. She knew Mitch’s face best in smile, perhaps because she didn’t want to remember him looking bleak and slaughtered. It didn’t look a very old photo, the corners weren’t curled and it wasn’t sepia with age, so that meant the breach between them couldn’t be very old either. Had they quarrelled over the girl? And was Valerie Stainburn small, with elfin features?
    The sewing machine was in the darkest corner of the attic. She disturbed a spinning spider to brush it reasonably free of dust, and then carried it gingerly down to the living room, where she soon had it wheezing into action. She experimented on her new acquisition, Ian’s shirt, slicing off the tail and hemming it round, shortening the sleeves and generally adapting it to her requirements. Presto, she had a knock-about shirt dress.
    She would have changed back into her green dress, but she left herself short of time. As it was she had to leg it to the bus stop. It was market day in Todbridge and Karen was fascinated by the huddle of open stalls. She found one selling material and bought two dress lengths, a multi-coloured print and a matt cream that handled beautifully and would lend itself to dressing up. At another stall she bought knitting wool in a pretty russet shade, needles and a cardigan pattern, selected because of its uncomplicated stitch.
    Then she went back to the first stall because she’d forgotten to look for lingerie material. She found some remnant pieces and because they were so cheap she planned to make two underskirts, and three shortie nighties with high drawstring necklines and tiny puffed sleeves.
    â€˜Replenishing your wardrobe?’
    She swung round and grinned up at Howard Mitchell. ‘You make it sound a chore,’ she accused. ‘It’s fun!’
    He grimaced. ‘Only a woman could say that. Have you had enough fun for today? Or might I tear you away for a spot of lunch?’
    â€˜You might. My thoughts were already edging that way.’
    â€˜You mean you accept. You’ll let me buy your lunch?’
    â€˜Why shouldn’t I?’ she counter-questioned his incredulity. ‘You might have quarrelled with Ian, but you and I have no axe to grind. You saved my life; in the circumstances I should treat you to lunch.’
    â€˜I won’t hear of that,’ he said, much to her delight as she didn’t want to get too heavily indebted to Ian, and she would have had to use his money to pay for her fine gesture.
    â€˜But are you sure?’ he persisted. ‘I’m sorry to be such a Doubting Thomas, but are you sure? What will Big Brother say?’
    â€˜Nothing. For the simple reason that I shan’t tell him.’
    His chuckle was low and resonant as his hand nipped easily into the crook of her elbow to guide her through the stalls.
    â€˜Know what I do first thing every morning?’
    â€˜Open your eyes?’
    â€˜Ah! So I’m squiring a joker, am I?’ he said. ‘After I’ve opened my eyes, after I’ve washed and shaved, before I have breakfast, know what I