Crescendo

The door of the cottage opened and Grandie hobbled out, bent as usual, his short body contorted with the pain of years of rheumatism.

Gideon Firth stepped towards him, hand ex­tended. 'Good evening, sir. My name is Firth— Gideon Firth. I understand you have a room to let.'

Grandie stared at him under bushy iron-grey brows. There was a silence. He ignored Gideon's outstretched hand. Slowly his blue eyes moved on past him to Marina. She stared back at her grand­father with curiosity and puzzled distress in her eyes. What was it? Why was Grandie looking so strange?

Her grandfather's stare delved into her face, reading the emotions etched clearly in the frank features.

After a long moment he looked back at Gideon Firth and his gnarled hand came out.

Gideon shook it gently and she realised that he was aware of her grandfather's physical pain, careful of the stiff, bowed fingers.

'We have got a room,' Grandie said roughly. 'But I'm afraid I've stopped letting it. I can't cope with visitors.'

She was amazed. Only a fortnight ago they had had a fishing couple staying with them, two men who had been before and who spent all their time out at sea in a rowing boat. Grandie had said to her then what a change it made to have visitors. He and Marina had cooked special meals for the two men and it had been tremendous fun to cook the fish their visitors brought back each evening.

Grandie caught her surprised face and looked away. Gideon Firth said quietly, 'I shan't cause any trouble.'

Again she picked up that hint of something un­spoken, something of which both men were very aware. Grandie was looking into Gideon's eyes with a heavy frown.

'It wouldn't be a good idea,' he said.

'I need it,' said Gideon with an abrupt ring, adding, 'A holiday. I haven't had time off for a year and I'm in need of some peace and quiet.'

Grandie looked at him less antagonistically now, his face uncertain. 'I don't want to be unsympathe­tic, b

ut there are problems.'

'I won't cause any,' said Gideon, his eyes on Grandie.

'I wish I could be sure of that.' Grandie sounded angry, rather bitter.

Marina caught a sudden movement in Gideon's wide shoulders. He had almost flinched, she thought. Grandie was being very unfriendly. She moved involuntarily to Gideon's side and looked at her grandfather. 'I'll do all the cooking, Grandie. Honestly, it won't cause much trouble.'

Grandie turned his heavy old head to look at her and she saw his pale mouth tighten. After a pause he nodded, shrugging.

Gideon turned the black head to look down at her. She smiled easily at him and slid her hand through his arm. 'There you are! Grandie says you can stay. Come and see your room. You couldn't have a more peaceful view. It looks right out over the sea, miles and miles of sea.'

The cottage was very old, built in the seventeenth century of local stone, the walls twice as deep as normal to withstand the battering of gales, the windows jutting deep into the rooms with solid windowseats in them. 'Bend your head,' said Marina, laughing, because every man who came into the cottage for the first time banged his head on the ceilings.

Gideon, though, was already stooped as though in premonition of what would befall him if he stood upright. He was such a tall man that no doubt he had learnt to take such precautions.

He straightened as they went up the stairs. Marina opened the door of the spare room and Gideon walked into the room in front of her. He went to the window and leaned his elbows on the sill, staring at the darkened sea. The moon had swum out of the mists and was sending faint shafts of pale light over the waves. The tide was coming in fast, the sound of the running water and the grate of pebbles reaching them clearly.

'High tide at eight,' she told him.

'How empty the sea looks from here.' He kept his gaze fixed on the wide expanse of water. 'Do you ever get tired of it?'

'No,' she said simply.

'Never lonely?' He asked that very lightly, yet again there was that undertone of something she did not understand.

She shook her head. Gideon opened the window, the metal catch shedding a few flakes of rust. The wind rushed into the room and whipped Marina's hair into tangles, blowing it across Gideon's face, brushing his cheek and mouth, filling his nostrils with the clean fresh scent of it. He put a hand up and drew the strands away, holding them, staring at the silver glint of them in his fingers.

'Beautiful hair,' he said quietly.

They were standing very close. He looked from her hair to her and she saw the black eyes clearly, seeing the gradations of colour in the iris which separated the pupil, faint flecks of blue and yellow which at a distance were invisible but which deepened the iris to that jet black.

'Have you got any luggage?' she asked a little shyly, very conscious of the way he was staring at her.