No Wings to Fly by Jess Foley Read Free Book Online Page A

basket.
    ‘Are you going so soon?’ he said.
    ‘Yes – I must get back.’ She moved a hand to her bonnet strings and adjusted the bow.
    ‘So . . .’ he said, ‘d’you think we might meet on Sunday? When you’re through getting the old lady’s dinner.’
    Her heart began to beat a little harder in her breast. ‘Well – yes – perhaps we can.’
    ‘Good.’ He smiled. ‘What time d’you finish?’
    ‘By the time we’ve eaten and I’ve washed the pots it’ll be about half-past two.’
    ‘I could come to meet you there in Henhurst – or wherever you like, come to that. If the weather’s fine we could walk in the park.’ When she did not answer, he said, ‘Well – what d’you think?’
    ‘Yes. Yes, we could.’
    ‘Then I’ll meet you at the park, shall I? Is that convenient for you?’
    She nodded. ‘I have to pass by the gates on my way home.’
    ‘Even better,’ he said. ‘I’ll be waiting by the gates. Say quarter to three?’
    Another nod. ‘All right.’
    ‘If it rains I’ll wait in the bandstand shelter.’ He was gazing at her intently, and she shifted her eyes to thewindow again. ‘The sun’s trying to break through,’ she said. ‘I’d better go.’
    He reached out and took her right hand in his. ‘I’m so glad to have met you, Lily,’ he said, shaking her hand.
    ‘Yes . . .’ she said, feeling utterly foolish. She was so aware of the touch of him, his skin against hers, the feel of her slim hand held in his broad grasp.
    ‘I’ll look forward to Sunday,’ he said as he released her.
    She could think of no words to say, and merely nodded.
    ‘I’d like to walk back with you now,’ he said, ‘but I’m bound to wait here to see Mr Haskin.’
    ‘Yes, of course you must.’ She pulled on her gloves, then picked up her basket and hooped it over her arm. ‘Well . . .’ She started towards the door, conscious of each step she took. ‘Until Sunday, then.’
    He moved before her, opening the door to allow her to step out into the rain-washed yard. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘till Sunday.’
    Lying in bed that night, Lily kept thinking back on her meeting with the young man. She could hear his voice and the words he had spoken. She could see him too, his tall frame, his broad face with the wide smile.
    She had said she would see him on Sunday afternoon. Would she? Would she, when the time came, have the courage? Would it matter that much if she did not go to the park as arranged? Oh, he would think poorly of her if she failed to turn up, and just left him waiting, and she would deserve his calumny. In the long run, though, it would not matter. She would not have to witness his disappointment and his displeasure, or hear any hard words that he might speak. It was unlikely that they would ever meet again. They were little other than ships that pass in the night.
    *
    The weekly visit to Mrs Haskin’s mother, who lived a little over a mile and a half away, was a regular part of Lily’s routine, and one that she quite enjoyed. The old woman was in her early eighties now and finding it increasingly difficult to get about. So it had become Lily’s regular Sunday task to take food to her for her midday dinner, and prepare it and eat with her. Mrs Shalcross was very glad of Lily’s company, though she never failed to complain that her daughter had not come instead.
    The weather had remained fine on this Sunday, and judging by the clear sky looked set to continue so. Lily arrived at the cottage to find the old woman waiting for her. As Lily stepped over the threshold, Mrs Shalcross looked her over and said at once, ‘You’re lookin’ sharp today, Lily. You got yourself a new bonnet?’ Lily replied that she had not, that she had merely added some blue ribbon trim to her second-best, at which the old lady nodded approval, and said, ‘Well, it looks a treat, dear, it does, really.’
    Lily got busy at once and wasted no time in preparing the meat and vegetables, and putting them on to