Crescendo

Marina's eyes opened wide. 'A picnic?'

'We could walk up to the grave circle,' Gideon suggested.

Staring at him, she asked, 'How do you know about that?'

He shot her a look. 'The finest grave circle in the north-west? It's in all the guide books.'

'Oh,' she said. Was it? She had known it all her life and took it for granted but perhaps it was famous outside this area. She wouldn't know.

'It's a stiff climb up there,' she warned.

Gideon's eyes mocked. 'You think I look too de­cayed to make it?'

'I thought I ought to warn you,' she said, a dimple at the side of her mouth. 'What would you like for breakfast? I'm going to have a boiled egg.'

'I'll have one too,' he agreed. 'And put some others in for us to take with us on the picnic.'

When they had eaten their breakfast they searched the larder and the small refrigerator for provisions. They found some cold chicken, some salad and some fruit, and Marina searched for some digestive biscuits which they could eat with the large piece of cheese they had found.

'I'll go up and tell Grandie,' she said.

'I told him last night,' Gideon returned coolly, his hand detaining her as she was about to fly off to her grandfather.

She looked up at him in surprise. 'Oh. He didn't mind?' Was that what they had been arguing about?

'He agreed that we could go,' Gideon said unrevealingly.

They packed all their food in an old wicker basket which they, carried between them. They had to pass through the village to reach the field from which one climbed to the top of Circle Hill. Mrs Robinson peered from the Post Office window, framed on each side by a black cat. She stared curi­ously at Gideon and waved to Marina. 'We'll have to say hello,' she told him resignedly. 'She'll be hurt if we don't.'

Mrs Robinson lurked in her shop like a spider waiting for a passing fly, but she was so sweet that it was hard to get annoyed with her. She saw every single thing that happened in the street. Marina sometimes suspected her of concealing secret radar equipment about her small, fluffy person. She seemed to ferret out every piece of information about everyone in the village. It was a small village of around a hundred people and Mrs Robinson knew them all intimately.

Grandie said her eager interest in the lives of everyone round her kept her preserved. She fixed one with that bright, happy smile and the soft gentle voice asked questions unblushingly. Her only grandchild had emigrated to Australia—to get away from Mrs Robinson, it was rumoured. But the old lady was always cheerful, despite her empty private life. Her mission in life engrossed her to the fullest. She was an information service. She gathered it and she passed it on, often, Grandie said, much em­bellished. Mrs Robinson was an artist. She was not content with life as, it was—she improved upon it.

As Marina and Gideon walked into the little shop she came gaily forward, already talking. 'I expect you're going for a nice picnic. Just the day for it.

What a very nice car your friend has got! Staying with you and Mr Grandison, is he? That's nice for you. Mrs Bellish had her baby on Tuesday. Bald, it was, bald as an egg. Poor Mr Bellish, he was shaken—well, it was the first. It just shows, doesn't it? The cat at Ivy Tree got stuck up the chimney. I told her it would. Shot up there every time anyone went into the room. You can't take in a wild creature, I said. A wild cat is a wild cat, it won't change.'

'A bottle of lemonade, please,' said Marina when she paused for breath, making no attempt to answer or ask any questions, since it was quite unnecessary. Mrs Robinson would go her own way regardless.

Reaching down the bottle, Mrs Robinson fixed Gideon writh a smile. 'Come from London, have you?' She did not wait for an answer. Grandie said she read the replies in people's faces and if she didn't like them she made up her own. 'Never been there, I haven't. Nasty place, full of fog. Mr Robin­son took me to Blackpool once, but never again. I was so tired getting there and back I needed a holiday when I got home again. Anything else, was it, Marina? How's Mr Grandison's hands? Getting bad, aren't they? Nearly crippled, poor man. Nettles, that's the thing he needs. Mr Robinson swore by them.' A small boy came wandering in and started poring over the boxes of penny sweets arranged at the front of the counter. Mrs Robinson switched her gaze to him and Marina put down the right money on the counter.

'Good morning, Mrs Robinson,' she said.

Gideon followed her from the shop, laughing under his breath. They heard the old lady talking to the little boy and getting the same silence from him.

'Incredible, isn't she?' said Gideon.

They turned through the gate, carefully closing it after them, and began to walk through the long bearded grass, feeling it whisper against their legs. A great mass of buttercups grew among it and some black and white cows came heavily down from the top to inspect them.

'Curious creatures, cows,' Gideon observed as they lowered their heads to low mournfully at them.

If Gideon had ever been a regular visitor to the village, Mrs Robinson would have recognised him, Marina thought, but she had shown no sign of recognition just now. Her little eyes had glinted beadily over him, taking in the casual dark blue denims he wore, the open-necked blue shirt and wide leather belt which emphasised his slim waist.

Marina was wearing a tight-waisted green cotton dress with shirring at the bodice, her small breasts lifting beneath the thin material, giving her a grace­ful outline. The full skirts blew out as she walked with the wind behind her.

They climbed the stile at the top of the field. Gideon went first and put down the basket, then turned to lift Marina down. His hands tightened on her waist for a moment as he set her down, then dropped away and he turned to pick up the basket.

The grave circle lay on the very crest of the hill, overlooking the valleys on all sides. It was almost four thousand years old and had been in use during the bronze age.